Abused and Bullied (A One Direction Fanfiction)

Chapter 28

A gym. A big, modern gym filled with equipment which is either new or just untouched. There's everything from treadmills, ellipticals, a bike, punching bags, a torso training bag; anything you can think of, they have it.

I stand there, looking around the room and thinking. Thinking about my piece of crap father and the hell he put me through. My fists clench and I feel myself growing angry, needing a release. I turn around and sprint back through the hallway and up the stairs into my room. 

I quickly take off my clothes, tossing them onto the bed and walk into the closet. I grab out a pair of workout clothes (pictured above) and get dressed, sliding on a pair of sneakers. 

I jog back down the stairs as if I'm running away from something when in reality I'm running towards it. That release. 

As I'm jogging down that hallway towards the gym that I can tell will become like a home to me, I pull my hair back from my eyes, pulling it up and into a messy pony-tail.

I enter the gym, walking over to the boxing equipment on the small shelf near the punching bag I'm going to be using.

I quickly pull out my phone and search up how to properly wrap your hands for boxing. After watching a nearly ten minute video, which shouldn't have been that long but over half of it was unnecessary commentary, I manage to finally get my hands wrapped.

I plug my phone into the AUX cord on the speaker system and go to Spotify, searching up a workout playlist. I quickly look through the list of songs, making sure they're actually stuff I would like to listen to while boxing, and press play, hearing the room fill with music. 

I jog in place for a little bit in front of the bag, getting myself warmed up as I stretch my arms and shoulders, and take the first swing.

It comes damn near naturally as I relentlessly punch away the worries, the stress, and the tension. At some point, I pretend the bag is my father, and force myself to remember all of the horrible things he has done to me so I can move past it.

I keep punching, feeling my knuckles start to ache and my shoulders, ribs and hips start to burn from swinging so hard and putting all of myself into my punches.

After what must have been a few hours, I hear someone say my name, snapping myself out of my rage-infused tremor.

 I quickly flatten down my hair, which is nearly covered in sweat and walk to my phone, pausing the current song, which was Pump it Up by The Black Eyed Peas. I turn around, seeing Liam and Zayn standing there. Liam looks shocked, while Zayn just looks impressed.

"Hey! Sorry, I didn't hear you guys come in," I say, reaching up with my wrapped hands and wiping the sweat off of my brow. They must have been standing there for at least a minute or two before they spoke up; or maybe they did, and I just didn't hear them.

"Uhm . . . we picked up some food for dinner, are you hungry?" Liam asks. I see his eyes dart from my fists to the bag, which if I kept punching, I definitely could've left a large dent in. 

"Yeah, I actually am. Just let me take a quick shower, because I probably stink, and then I'll meet you guys downstairs."

I grab my phone, unplugging AUX cord and walk past the shocked boys, who don't move an inch as I walk past them.