Stained

Chapter 9

I shove a hand against Damien's chest. "What the hell!" I yell, panting. I pull my headphones out, even though the musics stopped — probably when I was knocking the punching bag out as if it had personally offended me.

He doesn't even move an inch from the blow, just stares coldly down at me. "You need to calm down," he repeats as if I didn't hear him the first time.

I look up at him, gasping for every shred of oxygen my deprived lungs can grasp. He's wearing a white t-shirt that doesn't fail to hide the tattoos beneath it, with grey jogging bottoms. There's sweat on his forehead and upper lip, and for some strange inexplicable reason, I feel an urge to wipe it away.

I narrow my eyes when his question finally sinks in. "what's it to you?"

Smiling bitterly, he raises a dark brow, and for the first time I see it; two dimples on his cheeks.

"It's nothing to me, you were gonna hurt yourself. I called you but you couldn't hear me."

"What's. It. To. You?" I repeat, emphasising each word as I cross my arms over my chest. Maybe if I keep saying it he'll get annoyed and go away.

He looks down, and it's then that I realise I have a vest on, so I'm basically pushing my breasts up for his leering gaze. Sending him a harsh look, I quickly zip up my jumper.

Meeting my eyes again, he says dryly, "can't have anyone getting hurt in my gym."

Wait what! My lips part and my eyes widen with shock. "Y...your gym?" This is his gym? No, it's Mr Hunters. Oh my gosh! His names Damien Hunter, he's Mr Hunters son!

He nods as if hearing my thoughts.

"I'm not a child that needs babysitting." I shove past him and move back over to the punching bag. He's behind me, I know it because I can feel his scorching eyes on me like the heat of a flame, but I ignore him and continuing kicking and punching as if this encounter never happened. As if I never met him.

He comes up behind me and stops the bag, again. I slap my palms against it, frustrated. What is his problem?

Sighing, I turn around and look up at his impassive expression. "What do you want?" I ask, angling my head in question.

"Have some water and sit down, Rose," he says in a calm tone, his demeanour suddenly sympathetic. "You'll pass out with the way you're exerting yourself."

Quite the opposite actually, I need to let everything out through this punching bag to not. "I'm not going to pass out." I duck under his arm, getting out of the cage his body's encased me in.

Wait did he call me Rose again? "And my names not Rose, it's Hazel."

He narrows his eyes in a way that tells me he's about to argue, and not over my name. Why is everything I'm saying going through one ear and out the other with this guy? He opens his mouth but I beat him to it. "Do you mind?"

He still doesn't let go, though, and I'm tired of bickering so I punch it with him still holding it. His eyes momentarily widen, but his grip stays on the bag. It hurts more like this — with him holding it— but I welcome the pain. Like I always do.

Whilst I punch and kick vigorously, his eyes roam over me, amusement glinting in them as if I'm entertaining him. Jerk.

Ughh he's insufferable! Who does he think he is? Just because his dad owns the place doesn't mean he can tell me what I can and can't do. I pay to come here for god's sake. And it's not like I'm vandalising the property, I'm punching a punching bag that's been made to be punched.

I came here to forget about him, yet here he is, holding the bag whilst I kick and punch it. The irony isn't lost on me.

"If you continue to kick like that, you're going to end up seriously hurting yourself," he tells me, but I disregard him yet again, and continue kicking.