Page 30 of Shattered

I approach him, attempting to maintain eye contact, despite my mind’s temptation to glance lower.

“Don’t you think you have done enough for today?” I say as I reach him, raising an eyebrow.

He throws the jumping rope aside and says, “Yeah," between gasps for air. "I have to go back to my dorm and take a shower.” He takes a towel from his bag and uses it to wipe his face. Evidence of his hard workout can be seen in the wet patches on the floor.

“Rough day?” I question him. His tense and fatigued demeanor hints at something weighing on his mind or an event that took place today. The sparkle in his eye from earlier is no longer vibrant.

As he sighs, he grabs his top and pulls it over his head, saying, “Long story.”

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm. You can tell me on the way.” He suddenly stops and swiftly turns, tilting his head sideways.

“I was drunk last night. I’m good now. You don’t have to walk me to my dorm.”

I give a casual shrug, but on the inside, I’m anything but calm. I can’t help but find reasons to be near him because he brings clarity to my mind, and I’ve missed that feeling of lightness.

“I want to know what’s got my student hitting a boxing bag like he’s trying to tear his way through it.”

On a sigh, Brayden laughs. “OK,” he eventually responds, then hoists his bag onto his shoulder.

Once we’re outside, we walk at a snail’s pace to his dorm, which is only a 5-minute walk. I feel relieved he doesn’t seem in a hurry to distance himself from me.

“So, talk to me.”

“Take a guess.” He sighs, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“Your brother,” I state, eyeing him. He bites his lip, nodding.

“Yep.”

“What did he do this time?”

“Apologized.”

I frown, confused about why apologizing is a problem for him.

“Rightttt,” I drag out. “What is the issue there?”

“I could have become rich if I had been given a dollar every time he said sorry. I’ve had enough of him consistently screwing up and assuming an apology will make it right. I’m sick of fighting my way up and using all my energy to put him up high on a pedestal and him letting me down each time.” I remember last night what he said on the stairs. “I put all my energy into him, and he gives me nothing back. I’m sick of it.”

His eyes remain locked on the sidewalk, never lifting his gaze.

“Did he call you?”

“No, he turned up at training. I said a few things which are now flooding me with guilt, but it had to be said.”

"Does the gym help when you’re feeling this way?” I want to keep him talking instead of focusing on Bexley. As he says, he uses enough energy on that boy when he doesn’t even appreciate it.

“Yeah, a lot. It clears my mind.” I understand that feeling and nod in agreement. The moment my fist meets the bag, a bubble is created, isolating me from everything else. Every negative thought in my mind travels through my bones, my hands, and into the bag. It’s as if I can physically attack and eliminate all negative thoughts.

After continuously staring at the ground, he finally raises his eyes and peers up at me. “Is that why you go there?” he says.

“Yep.” I respond. I don’t want him prying into my messed up thoughts, so I divert my attention as we approach his building entrance. I open the door, letting him enter first before following him inside. He frowns at me. “I’ll walk you up to your door,” I say, stepping ahead slightly, hoping he doesn’t ask why. I can’t let him know how much I enjoy being around him. He will find that weird, surely.

“Sir, I wanted to ask you something.” Jogging a few steps, he struggles to keep up with me as I bound up the stairs.

“Shoot,” I reply. Brayden casually places his hands in his sweatpant pockets as we reach the top, but I catch the uneasiness in his quick sideways glance at me.

When we reach his dorm door, I face him. “Brayden?”

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