I can’t sleep.
Maybe it’s the constant throb of my strained muscles. Maybe it’s the bruises or the way I anxiously keep looking at my phone for a message from Silva. Maybe it’s the dread for tomorrow’s training. I’m exhausted. So exhausted. But I feel restless.
The sheets feel like sandpaper on my skin but it’s freezing when I take them off of me. It’s like my body can’t find relief no matter what. The floor is like a block of ice beneath my bare feet. I’m shivering even after I slip on my sweatshirt and sweatpants. Even after I leave the room and jog down the hallway.
Now that I finally have wifi, I don’t have to worry about living in complete silence anymore. I can put my headphones on and drown all my thoughts out. And that’s exactly what I do. Blue Oyster Cult blasts through the headset as I run down the steps. I’m stretching while jogging out of the building, knowing exactly where I’m headed.
Everyone’s asleep so I don’t have to worry about anyone’s eyes on me in the training room. They don’t lock the doors, as I discover, so I slip right in, turning the lights on after me. They hum overhead, washing the room in color.
The punching bag is already positioned in the center of the mats, like it was just waiting for me. I bring my knees to my chest and make sure to stretch those muscles out too. Then I crack my knuckles and remember everything Alex told me the day prior. Check your footing. Hit with your first two knuckles. Wind up with your body, not just your arm.
I check my stance and make altercations with my footing. I bend my knees and hop on the balls of my feet, loosen my body up. I make quick jabs at the bag, sidestep out of the way. Then I hit harder. I use the momentum of the bag as practice for dodging and ducking. I kick, making sure I hit with the right parts of my foot. Spin kick. Roundhouse kick. Front kick. I alternate legs and then practice more with my hands.
It feels good to hit the bag. But this isn’t enough. My fists hit faster, harder. The bag bends and swerves beneath my punches. The next series of hits knock the bag off it’s weight. It rolls away from me on the ground. I pick it back up, start again.
I keep going even after my knuckles split and start to chafe. I make small adjustments each time, watching my stance change in the mirrors. I protect my face and chest more. Bend my knees in closer. Widen my stance.
And then I feel a presence behind me. I don’t even have to look in the mirror to confirm my suspicions. I turn, mid punch, and my esteemed guest has to duck out of the way to avoid getting hit. I take a look at his face and immediately drop my hands.
“What a warm welcome,” he deadpans as he’s straightening back up.
“What?” I slightly yell and realize I still have my headphones on. I slide them off, rest them around my neck.
“Is this how you greet everybody?”
“When they sneak up on me, yeah.”
“I didn’t sneak up on you. I was trying to get your attention for a while now.” Alex scowls and I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. Without realizing what I’m doing, I look him up and down. He’s also dressed in black sweats, but they suit him well. Whereas I look like I’m drowning in my dad’s borrowed clothes. Something about him looks different. But I can’t tell what it is. He just looks more… accessible?
His eyes are brighter, even though there are a smudge of bruises beneath his eyelids from lack of sleep. He looks like I do in that moment, tired, frustrated, desperate.
Without warning, he lifts my headphones from my neck and holds it close to his ears. He wears a curious expression when he looks at me again.
“Don’t Fear the Reaper?”
“What? Something wrong with that?” I ask defensively. I almost catch a hint of a smile on his face when I say that. It makes me stop, breathless.
“No, nothing wrong with that.” His eyes travel down my own body and I suddenly feel naked. I cross my arms over my chest and he lingers on my hands. I had forgotten how beat up they look now.
“You should wrap those,” he says, more like a grunt. I shrug.
“Don’t have anything to wrap them with.”
Without further explanation he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of gauze.
“And you just happen to carry this with you because?” I ask as he motions for my hands.
“Because of idiots like you,” he retorts. But his words don’t come out quite as insulting as I was expecting. More playful than anything. I feel like I’m seeing a new side of Alex. And I’m left wondering if this is who he really is, underneath that fierce and scary exterior. Which is the true Alex? And why am I so eager to find out?
I’m all at once aware of how intimate this feels, having my hands wrapped by another person, let alone another man. I steal a glance at him, the quirk in his lips and the dark stubble on his face, his long eyelashes and black hair, his gray eyes that look pale against his rich, medium dark complexion, the way he doesn’t even have to flex for his muscles to show beneath his clothing. I swallow hard, remembering Amy’s stupid words. Fine, I think. Whatever. He’s attractive. And, for whatever reason, I can’t look away.
Alex continues speaking, oblivious to my internal turmoil.
“And besides, I only carry things like this when I know I’m coming here.”
“Hm? Oh yeah,” I mutter, distracted. I snap myself out of it. “Why are you here? Isn’t it really late? Or early?”
“I could be asking the same thing to you. Though I imagine we’re here for a similar reason. A similar purpose too.”
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. You always come here when you can’t sleep?”
“Almost every night.”
“Makes sense,” I mutter to myself, eyeing his body quickly once more.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
Alex steps back to stretch his arms across his chest.
“You learn fast.”
“Hm?”
“I was watching you when I came in. Your stance is better. But you’re still too slow.”
I want to snap back at him, tell him to mind his own business. After all, right now he isn’t my instructor. He’s just some dude from the same division who couldn’t sleep. But I hold my tongue. I remember the rest of what Amy told me and take a deep breath. Now is not the time for pride. I want to improve. I want to get stronger. I want to be better. And Alex believes in me, has faith in me and my abilities. I could use some faith right now.
“How do I get faster?”
“For starters, don’t wait for your opponent to attack in order to move. Hit and keep moving. Use your weight when you punch but don’t leave it there. Reel it back, keep your balance. It’ll be harder for them to get you off your feet.” He doesn’t scold me or ridicule me like he did yesterday. I feel blown away by such a simple thing. He’s actually teaching me without being an asshole. “Not that it’s a hard thing to do, really.” Nevermind.
“I understand when you say this shit, but it’s hard to remember when I’m out there,” I mumble. “How am I supposed to keep all this information?”
“You won’t really learn until you’ve taken a few hits.” Alex shrugs. I deflate.
“I’ve already taken more than a few hits.”
“And you’ve already learned a few things, haven’t you?”
I bite my lip. He’s right. I don’t tell him that though. I know he’ll just use it against me.
“Ok well punching bags don’t fight back. How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
And then I got an idea. A brilliant, insane idea. Alex must have seen it on my face because he laughed. Actually laughed. And my ears burned at the sound. Probably from embarrassment.
“You’ve gotta be-”
“Spar with me!” I beg. He looks at me like I’ve gone mad, which I probably have. Alex is a soldier, a professional. He’s probably been on the battlefield. He’s hurt people. Probably very seriously. He’s got scars to prove it too.
And yet, I’m not worried when I say those words. I’m eager. I’ve got something to prove too.
Alex looks around, stuck between a rock and a hard place. He could easily refuse but what kind of instructor refuses a lesson? But, then again, I will get my ass handed to me if we really do this. And people will question how I got more bruises overnight.
“You’re a damn fool,” he says with a quirk in his brows. His eyes almost harden, like he’s trying to turn off this new unguarded side of him. But it’s still there. I can still see it.
“So?” I urge. I see a crack in his walls and I attack it. Because maybe, just maybe…
Alex hesitates, looking down at my bruised knuckles and eager expression.
“Listen here,” he says and I instantly know I won. The shit-eating-grin is prominent on my face before he even finishes. “If this were a real fight you’d be dead on the spot. So if we’re going to do this, if,” he stresses and I listen attentively. “Then we’ll keep this contactless, for the most part. Understood?”
“Deal,” I say before he even finishes. He sighs languidly. But I’m fucking stoked.
“Alright, Brooks. Let’s see what you got.”
I move the punching bag and we get into position. Alex waits for me to make the first move. He still looks unbothered, completely relaxed. I, however, feel like I’m made of a million tightly-wound coils that could snap at any second. Relax, I tell myself, though I’m not sure what good that does me.
I go for a hammer kick which he easily dodges. He grabs me by the ankle and pulls me in close so I hop forward and lose my footing, hitting the mat before I even realize I fell in the first place. Alex hasn’t even moved his feet yet. I scowl, scrambling back up.
“Too slow,” he announces and I try again with another kick, aiming for his ribs. He blocks just as easily. I try to fix my footing and go for a punch. But I put too much weight into it and don’t have time to bring my hand back fast enough.
“Too slow,” he says again. I bite my tongue and shake my arms out, hopping on my feet to loosen up. I try again with two consecutive punches. This time I move quickly, jab the air just before his ribs. He doesn’t block that one, just let’s me take it. I recoil just as fast and move back on my feet.
“Better,” he announces. And, as much as I hate to admit it, a surge of warm pride washes over me. It makes me want to improve, be the best I can be, so long as he keeps noticing.
I aim for the face, which he dodges. And then a kick to the knees, which he blocks. I frown. “You’re not even trying,” I complain, trying not to sound as out of breath as I really am.
“Careful what you wish for,” he says behind a devilish grin and I realize I have just made a grave mistake.
He kicks so fast I hear the snap by my ear before I even notice that he moved. As if on a delay, a burst of wind hits my face. His sneaker is an inch from my chin and I swallow, wide eyed in both awe and total fear. I shake it off. His foot is back on the mat before I fully recover.
And he goes in for a punch, which I’m able to block. But the second punch is too fast for me to even dodge. It stops right under my ribs and my breath catches in my throat. Before I move, the bottom of his palm is pressed lightly to my Adam's apple. I realize that my only option is to retreat.
I jump back and try to regain my composure. Unfortunately for me, my shoe came untied. Which is just great. Because Alex doesn’t even lift a finger this time for me to fall to the ground. My back hits the mat in a shameful thud but Alex doesn’t relent. He’s on me in barely one second, knees digging into my hips to trap me. A finishing blow hits the ground right beside my head. I gasp, though I can’t tell if it’s because of that punch or because of the look in his eyes, something like fire. Like silver fire. I feel torn apart by that look, the way it's unraveling me.
We’re silent for a moment as I catch my breath. It’s hard to do though when in such a position where I’m quite literally pinned to the ground. I tell myself it’s because of my embarrassment that my heart is pounding so fast and my cheeks are burning.
And then, out of nowhere, I burst into laughter. Alex looks bewildered at my sudden outburst. I shake my head and clutch my sides. I laugh so hard that I can’t breathe. It must be contagious because even Alex lets out a low chuckle, one that has me feeling like I’m made of air.
“That’s not fair,” I whine as Alex rolls off of me and helps me to my feet. “You just won because I tripped.”
“So you’re saying you could have won if you didn’t?” He asks. No, not at all, and he knows it. My laughter dissolves into a soft groan.
“You’re a fucking machine, dude. How am I ever going to get that good at fighting?”
“Who says you ever will?” He asks and I give him a look, one he completely ignores.
A foolish confidence gets the better of me. I clear my throat.
“Hey, why were you being such an asshole earlier? During training? Why single me out?”
“Who says I was?”
“Um literally anybody with eyes and ears.”
“Well I’m an asshole to everyone.” Can’t argue there. “You’re not special.”
“I’m not, am I?” I tease. I know he’s lying. Because Amy even said so. For once I have the upperhand and he knows it.
“Come on,” Alex says while bringing his hands up to his chin. “Let’s go again.”
Until it’s practically time for training, we practice again and again and again. Alex straightens me out. He corrects my movements and gives me tips. He insults me until I get it right. And when I do, there’s something in his expression, when he doesn’t even have to say anything for me to understand that he’s pleased.
An hour later, we’re lined up on the field. Considering I got barely any sleep, I feel invincible. Joan can tell. She gives me a questioning look which I promptly ignore. She doesn’t press. Nick does, though. “You’re suspiciously happy,” he says. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I reply a little too fast. I think for a second he’s going to interrogate me but he just shrugs and faces front.
We split up after a headcount and I wave goodbye to Jason and Lexi before joining my group. Jason doesn’t acknowledge me, he rarely ever does. Lexi, however, smiles wide and blows a kiss back.
“Nick’s right,” Dante says while we follow Alex off the field. “You are awfully chipper today. It’s intriguing.”
“I’m not always miserable,” I frown. But my friends’ faces tell me they’re unconvinced.
And maybe they’re right but I don't care. I just keep thinking about Alex’s small laugh and that look on his face. I keep sneaking glances at him though I know he’s back to big bad instructor mode again. He doesn’t so much as look my way. And still, I want him too. It’s foolish but I want him to look at me. Even if it’s to scold me.
And then that ditzy feeling turns to ice when I see where we’re headed. We pass the main training room, headed straight for the forest.
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