strangers.

c h a p t e r | 9

It had been an off day, and by 'off', she meant bad. Sofia needed a break after today. It was nothing major; nothing too bad had happened. It was more one of those days where the littlest things had to become frustrating.

First, her morning schedule was a mess, making her run late to school, which resulted her in an after-school detention. At least it wasn't Wednesday or Thursday. Then, she found out that she got a D on the math test she took on Friday, bringing her overall grade down to a C, when she was a strict 'A only' student. Next, her shirt had become the target of a large splash of water on accident, furthering her frustration. Last but not least, she had almost been caught falling asleep in her English class at the end of the day.

"Hi." she greeted, tucking her phone in between the side of her tilted head and her shoulder.

"Hey" He breathed, his voice quiet, but with a hint of a smile at the end. He always enjoyed their chats, even if they were about nothing special; average chatter, as today would be.

They talked about many things: the weather, her impending schoolwork, and Ian's lunch. The conversation floated between the two of them: moving, but not headed in any particular direction. They talked until Sofia finished the walk to her apartment. She ended the call, saying goodbye to the boys before pressing the red,'end call' button. Today was not her best day.

____________________________________________________________________________

One punch.

Another punch.

Another.

Fist after fist was heard, each hitting firmly against the heavy punching bag hanging from the ceiling. From an onlooker's point of view, anyone could tell that each strike was calculated and a product of expert practice.

Her eyes stared straight ahead as she went at it, letting all her feelings out as strong jabs against the course material of the punching bag. The warehouse had been deserted a while back, but she had only started coming here about two years ago. There was only one other person who knew of this place, but they would never come here. They couldn't.

Her forehead beaded with sweat, effort finally showing after hours of going at it. A thin layer of sweat covered her skin; she was only in a sports tank and shorts. No one would be seeing her anyways. She would always come here, sometimes at odd hours, for it was the only release she knew. Her thoughts would make her so restless that she would come here, going through routine after routine. Throwing knives, target practice, kickboxing, whichever. Anything to tire herself out.

Her emotions released themselves through her vigorous motions, punches and kicks in rapid succession. All that could be heard was the sound of each hit meeting its exact mark on the punching bag, and her Spotify playlist playing, the sound echoing off the walls of the hollow warehouse.

"I may be crazy, don't mind me

Say, 'boy, let's not talk too much.'

Grab on my waist and put that body on me.

Come on now, follow my lead

Come, come on now, follow my lead

I'm in love with the shape of you

We push and pull like a magnet do

Although my heart is falling too

I'm in love with your body

And last night you were in my room

And now my bedsheets smell like you"