Always running

Chapter 1

Syvlia
"Get up, Brown! Keep going!" My kickboxing coach yells at me from where she's seated comfortably on her toadstool. She's currently painting her toe nails an ocean blue color, the same color as the mats. She looks up at me every twenty seconds to correct my stance and my punches and then returns to what she's doing.

I'm lying on the mat, spread out like a starfish. Sweat coats my skin and my whole body aches, but I force myself to my feet, swiping the sweat off of my face with the back of my glove.

I don't remember why I started this particular sport, but I remember the first day it began.

I instantly fell in love with the way it felt when the glove made contact hard with the bag. I loved the aching feeling afterward. I loved how for a second, or a minute, or an hour, my problems seemed so very far away. So I kept doing it. Every day.

After practice, I walk across the street to the little coffee shop on the corner. I take a booth in the very back and order a chocolate caramel latte. I take a minute to look around me.

It's not too busy today, in fact it's pretty empty except for two people, (who I'm assuming are boyfriend and girlfriend) having a somewhat heated conversation on the other side of the room, and a mother trying to get her baby to stop crying.

The track is blaring really loud. Some song about a girl running from herself. It's catchy.

A couple hours pass by and I'm still sitting in the booth drawing on a napkin.

It started pouring a half hour ago and hasn't shown any sign of stopping. I've ordered two coffees, a tuna bagel, and an iced tea.

Right as I sit down in the booth with my third coffee in my hand, I hear the little bell on the door jingle and the girl at the counter says "hi, welcome to Jet's, how can I help you today?"

I don't bother to look up. But then I hear the person's voice. Deep and confident, just how I remember it to be. My eyes dart to the counter.
"Yeah, I'll just have a smoothie please," he says, talking to the waiter in a flirty voice. She stutters and giggles. He has that effect on everyone else.

His dark hair is stuck to face, his clothes covered in water from the rain. He's holding a closed umbrella in his hand, and I fight he urge to take it from him and beat him with it.

The next thing I know, someone plops down to sit across from me in the booth. My hands begin to shake and I avoid looking at him.

"I can't wait. Until you go to sleep," he says.

That's when I look up at him and make eye contact with him. He holds my stare and I still feel like he's looking into my soul. Like he knows every single one of my secrets. He probably does.

I can't say anything, and he knows it.

"Oh come on, you're not excited?" He asks, laughing, putting his hand to his chest feigning being offended.

"I really have to run, babe but I'll catch you later. HAHA get it? CATCH you later?" He laughs at his own joke. The laugh isn't happy, just bitter and empty. "Oh and this is for you," he says pointing down at the smoothie.

His body turns a clear, shimmery color before slowly fading away and disappearing. His smoothie still sits across from me as sick reminder that he was really there.

He can't touch me or hurt me in real life. On earth, he's almost a ghost. People can see him, interact with him but if they ever went to touch him, their hand would go straight through him.

But in the dreaming world, he had full control over me.

For a second I think I need to change my sport. Kickboxing might be good for a lot of things, but I would never be able to win in a fight against Cory. I've tried.

I think I need to take up track, because running is the only thing that works.