𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪

38: Game Over

Calm down girl, why you so mad?

Why's your heart gone?

It's all good girl, why you upset?

Guess they have forgotten what they did

Angry Too - Lola Blanc

Liz beat her hands into the punching bag, her knuckles white with clenched tension and frustration. The sound of the clanking chains rang in her ears each time she'd strike it. It made her feel balanced, training was a good way for her to release her stress and built-up emotions. She'd been doing this for almost an hour, just striking the bag over and over again. Her body was starting to ache and there was a sheer layer of glistening sweat coating her tan skin. Her spandex and sports bra clung to her skin and her hair, crested on her head in a ponytail, caught on her dripping shoulders. She clenched her hands tighter as she grunted into her punches and kicks. She was so frustrated.

After Heimdall transported her back home she'd marched straight to her room, a mask of nothingness plastered onto her face. As soon as she'd entered the room she jaggedly ripped open her dresser drawer and pulled out all clothing inside until she held her small container of toothpicks in her palm. Liz immediately clutched the sliver of wood between her teeth, a sense of calmness and belonging washing over her as she padded to the bathroom and snatched her pointe shoes from the counter. As soon as she grabbed the ribbons of her shoes she headed to her gym to train the pain away. Her heart still quivered with remorse and envy, and she needed some way to relieve the demise sinking within her. Liz danced for hours, not missing a single beat, and if she did then she restarted her dance all over again. The slightest fumble wasn't acceptable, the smallest waver was deemed trash, and she continued to tell herself that she wouldn't stop until she performed this dance perfectly. But after trying time and time again, she found that she couldn't focus enough to enter the mindset she needed. So she turned physical training.

Liz grunted as she struck the bag multiple times, each hit harder than the previous. Her shins were red from skinning against the heavy-weight bag and she was notably breathing heavily by the drastic rising and falling of her chest. She clenched her teeth together, denting the wood locked between her jaw. Then with a furious kick and a frustrated yell, she sent the bag flying from its hinges on the ceiling and onto the floor. Its seams split from the contact and sand began spilling all over the floor. Liz panted, brows furrowed as she watched the sand spread. She ripped the wrist guards from her hands and threw them against the wall before pinching the bridge of her nose with resentment.

It was her own fault for this outcome. She knew that opening up was a bad idea yet she'd gone ahead and done it anyway. How could she have let this happen, especially while knowing that her vulnerability always led to demise? She sighed deeply before turning toward the door and retreating back to her room.

When she arrived in her bathroom, Liz stripped her soaked clothing from her skin and cranked on the shower, not bothering to adjust the temperature. The water was chilly as it ran over her body and enveloped her into her own tantalizing thoughts. As she stood fully submerged under the freezing water she couldn't help but let her mind wander. A sigh escaped her lips as she tried to relax and let the water wash away her insecurities, but as seconds turned into minutes of waiting and hoping, she realized this wasn't going to be a fuck-and-forget situation like she'd hoped it would be.

Liz glanced around the shower and her gray eyes landed on the condensation-clad glass door. Her lips pursed together and she bit her lip before wiping some of the fog away, the image of a chair showing through the now clear portion of the glass. Previous memories and silhouettes showed Loki sitting in that exact chair with her between his legs. It still seemed so recent, she could practically feel the energy of the moment oozing onto her skin. Liz scoffed and turned back toward the wall while scrubbing at her arms, desperately trying to rid of the memories and even the feeling of his skin against hers. One of the most annoying parts about this situation was that it was almost as if she was going through withdrawals. This game had prolonged for almost a year, much longer than any fling she'd taken on before.

The brunette felt a sudden disturbance in the air, like the pushing and pulling of gravity. She immediately recognized it as Loki attempting to enter her home. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn't be able to, because the book that she'd secretly taken from his library was the same book that he'd used to teach her about magic. And in that book laid spells of enchantment, one of them being a barrier spell. Liz made sure to cloak her house with it. She didn't want to see him. Not after what happened. There was nothing left for them to say to each other, anyway. She knew far too well that she'd fucked herself over.

Liz rested her forehead against the cold wall, the water cascading down her back and over her face. The bending of gravity went on for several more long minutes, and she found that the more Loki tried to break the spell the more she wanted to see him. Her growing feelings for him were messing with her mind and the situation at hand. In some sort of odd way, she hoped that he would somehow be able to break through. What would happen if he showed up here, in the shower nonetheless? Would he embrace her in a hug, ignite a flaming kiss, say "I told you so"? Finally, when the gravitational pulls withdrew and the air around her went back to normal, she closed her eyes. With a feeling of defeat, anguish, and longing, her tough exterior crumbled and silent tears mixed with the rivers of water strolling along her curves.

The worst part about all of this was that she thought that there might have actually been a chance between them. Whether or not she fully admitted to wanting this, she knew it deep in her heart. There was something about Loki that made him so intriguing to her. Maybe it was the fact that they were similar yet different in enough ways to hate and care for each other at the same time. She didn't know, she didn't care. All Liz knew for certain was that this needed to stop immediately. Their game was over, he'd won, and that was it.

Her hands rested on the back of her neck as she fought to control a growing sob.

Son of a bitch.