Drowning

Thirty One;

My covered fists pounded repeatedly, relentlessly, against the bag, but not without skill; I wasn't just throwing punches. There was routine to this, professionalism. And, if my punching bag happened to be a person, they'd be long dead.

Jolting me from my winning fight against the inanimate object, Bill spoke.

"Alright, Haz. Think that's enough practise for today," Bill sighs. "It's been 3 hours. Anything more and ya wrists will snap,"

"No, they won't." I grunt, throwing more hits, as hard as I possibly could. The bag was swinging helplessly; pathetically.

"I said," Bill shouts, stepping next to the swinging bag. "That's enough."

With a sigh, I paused my throws. My chest was racking, and sweat dripping, falling, down my face, my arms, my bare chest, even my shins.

"Not done yet." I pant, my eyes ripping away from the hypnotically moving bag, and to Bill's eyes, which were filled with concern.

"What's going on?" he asks, holding the slowing bag still.

"Nothing," I shrug, bending down to pick up my water. I took multiple swigs, and even poured some over my face.

"Who's face were ya beating?" he chuckles, trying to get through to me.

"Nobodies." I mumble.

"C'mon, Haz. Talk to me," Bill sighs.

"Don't need to," I say.

"Always so stubborn," Bill says, shaking his head. "Let's get ya all cleaned up."

"Alright," I nod, sick of the sweat mixed with water dripping through my eyelashes and into my eyes.

We left the studio, and I took myself to the shower, locking the door behind me. Bill waited in the changing room for me.

I turned the water onto cold, and felt every part of me come even more alive as each droplet coated my sore body. I knew the cold would only seize me up straight after training, but the thought of hot water when I was already as hot as could be, was sickening, suffocating.

After my shower, I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my waist, before entering back into the changing room.

"Cleared ya mind?" Bill asks.

"Nothing to clear," I grumble, grabbing my clothes before walking around a little corner to change in peace.

I tugged on some jogging bottoms, black, followed by a tight black t-shirt. It was only tight right now because my muscles were pumped, it'd loosen up later.

Reappearing to where Bill sat, I received a very annoying look from him.

"What?" I grunt, slipping back into my trainers.

"Let's go get coffee," he says.

"What about Mandy?" I ask. Mandy was Bill's wife, and she liked him home by certain times, everyday. Not because she was controlling, but because their kids were naughty and she needed help when they were home.

"It's Thursday, only 2pm, Haz. Kids are still at school," he shrugs. I nod my head.

"Alright, then. As long as you promise to not keep asking me what's wrong, because I swear to god-"

"C'mon, lad. Let's get that coffee," Bill chuckles, interrupting me. I frown.

As we walked through the building and out to the car park, Bill made small talk, diverting away from the topic of my mood.