We Are Infinite

t h i r t e e n

k a d e  /  t h i r t e e n

I throw another punch at the boxing bag, sweat dripping down my body. I push my hair back with my fingers, trying to keep it away from my face, as I unload all of my anger onto the bag.

It's the next morning, and I'm at the gym again. I left home at five this morning, made it to the gym by half five, and have been here for the past one and a half hours.

When my body can't take the exhaustion anymore, I let my fists fall from the bag. The gym is empty, abandoned, but it's no surprise. I'm the only one here on most mornings, besides the guard and a few other staff.

I head over to the bathroom, unwrapping the white tape from around my fingers. I look into the mirror, angry at the person staring back at me.

My hair is a mess, and I rake my fingers through the dark locks. When I push my hair further away from my face, the scar on my forehead is visible. My first scar, the only one that had never quite faded. The one from my first fight, back when I was just a little kid with scarred knees and spindly arms.

I splash water over my face, the coldness satisfactory after this mornings grueling workout and the amount of punches I'd thrown at the boxing bag. It doesn't take away my anger, but it does lessen it slightly.

Why do I get myself in situations like these, and ruin everything? It's not like it's the first time.

After wiping my face dry with a towel, I sling my gym bag over my shoulder and leave the gym. I don't let my eyes meet anyone else's, and by the time I'm back in my car, I've cooled down a little more.

I know I've sunk my claws right into Mia Lynch, and damn do I regret it. It's obvious that I'd hit a sore wound by mentioning her mom, but although it's been on my mind all night, I haven't been able to think what her situation may be like.

It can't be something like mine, because she seemed dead set on the opinion that parents always wanted the best for you. Her perspective made a lot of sense, and the conversation I'd had with her opened my eyes a lot. I'm just still not willing to believe that Dad doesn't see that soccer isn't what makes me happy anymore.

It was, once upon a time. Soccer was my whole life. Until Dad got much more into it, starting coming to all of my matches, cheered me on from the sidelines. Soccer became something that I no longer did for myself, but something I did just to make Dad happy. I'd never seen him that proud of me before, and I wanted to keep making him proud.

Until I didn't. Until I ended up at the gym, and began boxing. Learnt to fight, learnt to stand up for myself. It just all took off from there. When Miles, big shot ex-fighter and pretty much a legend in the street fighting world, found me, I was strong, but not strong on their level.

I think you could say that they, um, taught me.

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