We'll Be Strong

Yellow Rose

Shane

I don't know what to expect. I have tried to wipe the image off my mind and forget about everything but I can't. I honestly can't. It's annoying and keeps messing with my mind and emotions and it overall sucks. As I sit here and edit, my mind drifts to possible reactions my girlfriend will have as to when I tell her I kissed a guy. Not just any guy. It just had to be Joey fucking Graceffa. I still haven't told her, even after a few days.

I know I should have forgotten about the dream by now, but it's still engraved in me and to this day, the events that took place in it are still fresh and vivid, as clear as freshwater going down a stream. I kept reminding myself the dream didn't mean anything, that none of the things that occurred would actually happen.

How mistaken was I.

I'm lucky it was just a kiss that happened. I wouldn't know what to do if...He were actually to show up and actually harm my friend. Maybe a demon would possess me and take my ability to think, feel, and breathe for a while.

What's worse than a possibly angry girlfriend and a nightmare you just can't seem to discard from your brain? The fact that I actually liked the damn kiss. In both my dream and in real life! His lips were so soft and sweet, dangerous even. He was very gentle and warm, making his kisses and affection as addictive as cocaine or heroin could, making this whole situation more fucked up than it already is. It's scary but oh so intriguing at the same time.  

“Fuck I can’t take this anymore." I bring my hands up to the bridge of my nose, tired of all this thinking. After a while, I take a deep breath and sigh. I figured I would go to the gym to try to clear up the mess that is my brain. I'm just paranoid or something. Pushing myself off from my legs, I get up, leaving everything where it is and closing my laptop. I grab my duffel bag, containing a water bottle and clothes, and just leave the house and attempt to escape from myself.

                                                                         * * *

"Jab! Jab! Hook! Block! Roll! Body! Roll! Uppercut! Straight! You better block with the other hand Yaw! Keep that hand near your eyebrow! Move Yaw, move!"

Smack!

A punch to my nose.

"What did I tell you, keep that arm high and open the glove! Alright Yaw, let's work on defense. Get on your stance!"

Faster than I got into position, I felt two hands pushing me back, causing me to stumble a bit. Shit. I need to work on my stance.

"Balance check!" This time I stood tense, pushing forward, all power coming from my heel. This time I didn't flinch.

"Guard check!" His gloves connected to either side of my temple, tapping to verify If I have my arms up, which I successfully do.

"Great, now I want you to come in and throw body shots repeatedly. Then hop back out. Got it?" Coach asks.

"Gotcha," I managed to say before getting back on my stance.

Tap, tap, tap, can't let that foot touch the floor of the ring. European style, keep hopping, can't stop moving. All I need is the right timing.

Smack!

Another blow towards my torso.

"C'mon Yaw, your opponent is never gonna wait for ya! Do it now or get hit!"

Right, there is no perfect timing.

Fucking hell. I went in and did as I was told. A few punches to his stomach and backed out range. But I saw him coming, one arm raised and ready to swing, the other covering half his face. As soon as his arm swung, I ducked, rolled, and came back up with an uppercut, my glove connecting with his jaw. Looks like someone wasn't guarding his face. I really felt the amount of energy I was releasing. Twist your body, push from your foot. I went in, and jabbed at his face once again. Then a hook near his ribcage, careful not to hit his back. And I stepped out. Push, twist, throw.