Page 9 of The Breaking Pointe
Finally, I pull the door open, leaning on the doorframe. “You’re asleep, already?” He wheezes out a laugh.
Iyawnmywordsout,“Ihadalongday.”
He shakes his head, pretty much breezing past my words. “I just came to say that I gave you the weekend, but training starts tomorrow.”
I groan, rubbing my eyes more. “Why must you live in the same complex as me?”
He smiles, patting my shoulder. “I’m not your manager for no reason, Kennedy.We gotta put in this work!”he cheers, clapping.
My body jolts at the intensity of it, covering one ear. “No doubt,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut for a millisecond.
He grabs my shoulder and squeezes it, bringing his energy to a lower level now.
“How’s Mom?I almost forgot to ask.”
I nod, finally looking at him. “She’s alright. Tonight, at least.” He raises his brows, looking at my face.
“What? Why the look?” I furrow mine.
He says, “Yeah, get some sleep. Your eyes are bloodshot red, man.”He pats me one last time before walking down the hall to his own apartment.
“Well goodnight to you, too!”I watch him as he waves without looking back.
“Seven in the morning, Cole!” he shouts back. I close the door and sigh.
“Why do I do this, Bonnie?”I ask out loud as I let my head fall back against the door.
I bet if she could talk, she’d be the one to agree with me.
* * *
Each fist that I land on the punching bag isn’t enough to shake the weird cloud that I can feel hovering over me. Any moment and it’s going to burst into a terrible thunderstorm. That’s arguably a good way of describing what anxiety feels like for me on a daily basis. It’s also another way of saying that I’m a ticking time bomb.
Iftrainingforthepastsixhourswasn’tenough,thenI’ll
consider myself a dead man by tomorrow night. Six hours, plus the additional one hundred and fifty-seven other hours that I’ve dedicated to trying to up my game for the past three weeks. It’s a surprise that I haven’t wiped out yet. Though once this fight is over, I’ll be sleeping like I’m getting paid just as much as I do to throw fists.I wanna be unavailable to everyone for at least one day, and if I can get even more lucky, I’ll shoot for two.
I’mprettymuchdonewithmylastextensiveattempt at trying some different combinations that I managed to come up with. Now I’m standing in the middle of the gym, contemplating multiple thoughts at once as I drip in sweat, showing no urgency to wipe it off with my towel. Saying that I’m exhausted is an understatement.
What I could really use is an ice bath.
Finding the consciousness to grab my gym bag and other things, I hear Trey doing the same, rummaging through things in the office.I assume he’s getting ready for us to call it a night and get home.Probably my favorite part of the night when it comes to counting down the weeks of training. Except the part where I only got three weeks this time, as opposed to five or sometimes seven.It varies in skill and management, but I’m sure Daniel has every person you could need standing in his corner.Moreover, he doesn’t need more than three weeks to train.
Hell, he probably doesn’t even need to. I’m testing pure fate at this point.
I’m normally more confident when it comes to my range and abilities.Yet, you have to look at things a little more realistically when someone has much more experience than you do.I have no doubt that he’s possibly not the brightest.
He looks to be satisfied quite easily with his material things from what I’ve seen, and that speaks for itself.But this isn’t an academic competition, and it doesn’t matter how intelligent I think I am.
I have to be the quickest, the most meticulous, and most of all, the most sovereign.
The moment I toss my bag over my shoulder, my phone stops me with an urgent vibration.When I manage to geta grip on it, the message is from nobody I can think of. No name, and a number I’ve never seen in my life.
Ready for tomorrow? I hope you know it’s a wrap, dumb fuck.I’ll take a guess that it’s Daniel himself, or some deranged freak.Ormaybeboth.Iswipethemessage,typingupaquick
response as I stand in one place.
Aguado?
