She left.

She walked out of the fucking door.

All I want to do is call her back, run after her and drag her back, hold her against me, breathe her in.

The haunted look in her eyes, she shut down right before me. Retreated back into her toxic mind and I let her. I just added fuel to the fucking fire.

Why did I say those stupid fucking words? Fucking stupid!! Absoloute fucking idiot.

I did the one fucking thing she was scared of all along, the reason why we're here now. I told her I'd fucking leave her, told her she'd lose me if she walked. So she left first.

I never meant it. I never fucking would. I didn't mean it.

I turn from the closed door, where I've been staring at the chipped wood since she left. Rage burns deep from my core. At her. At me. At fucking Alabama. Everything tumbles into this fire like wood, burning ferociously through my veins. My vision reduces to red pinpoints.

Glasses and bowls crash to the floor as I swipe my arm across the kitchen island, throwing the stools as they crack against the walls. Ignoring the dull throbbing in both hands and forearms, the trickle of blood coming from my skin flowing down my wrist. All welcomed as they fuel the fire.

My heartbeat echos through my head, the thumping pounds like a migraine behind my eyes. Wet coats my cheeks, salt dripping onto my lips, my fists pound against the wall smashing my knuckles as blood coats the wall. I tear into my room and fling everything that reminds me of her across the space. The duvets and pillows that smell of her, my jumpers she wore with nothing on underneath.

She should fucking trust me! She.... She should trust me...

I never did anything for her not to trust me, that's what hurts the most and the fact I let her go. A deep tear travels through me and my chest tightens. My eyes sear and I squeeze them shut but it only amplifies the dull throbbing behind my sockets. Sickness engulfs me as I look at the couch where we would watch movies most evenings, her sat in my lap.

I pummel my fists into the fabric, teeth clenched as something that sounds like a sob flows through them. I- I... what the fuck just happened.

What did I do? Why didn't I try harder to stop her? Why didn't she believe in us more? If I could she can!

"Blaze..." Something touches my shoulder, I shrug it off and carry on destroying the room. "Blaze, honey." Something moves in my peripheral. "Blaze! Stop!" I whip around and look at my mom, worry shines brightly in her eyes slightly glassy, hands held out toward me tentatively. Behind me Gemma cowers by the door, small hands shaking and my body fills with shame. Guilt and regret tug at me. Pain flows from the tear in me made wider by my sister's terrified face. I drop my hands covered in blood. The room is a mess, a hurricane of my destruction in a real life. "Blaze, what happened?" My mom's voice is barely a whisper, she scans my arms then the room shellshocked.

"I-...I.... she left mom." I manage before I turn to the door, "I have to go. I can't be here." I stop in the doorway by Gemma and kneel down slowly. She gulps but keeps eye contact with me. My brave girl. "I'm sorry shortcake." I pull her into a hug and she wraps her arms tightly around my neck. "I love you," I whisper into her dark hair, place a kiss on her forehead and get up and leave. Car keys in hand.

The leather of the bag smacks against my knuckles. Blood seeps further across my hands I conveniently left unwrapped. Jack knew better than to ask questions when I stormed in and nearly took the door off the hinges, the others also thought it wise to leave me be.

The bag swings mercilessly on the chain, the thuds of my beaten flesh echoing through the gym. All I can see is fucking red. Mother fucking red. She left me. I fucking love her and she left me. Sweat trickles into my eyes, I welcome the sting as they go red, bloodshot and tired. My hair is slick against my forehead.

The distance scares me too, it always has. Why does she think I didn't want to do this in the first place. This was what I didn't want to happen and it's fucking happened. I'm petrified too, I so fucking petrified but... but I didn't walk away... the things I said were unforgivable and if she came back of course I'd pull her into my arms and forget the entire thing. I love her too much to ever stay angry at her.

But she should trust me. Nobody in the last few years has ever trusted me as much as I thought she did, I understand she finds it hard and after all, she's been through I can't blame her in the slightest but what can I do to make her really trust me. She should know I'd never walk away, id never wants anyone as much as I want her, never. Despite the ugly words I threw in her face.

Maybe I can move closer to her, go somewhere else. There are such good programs all over the country...I... I'd do it... but that wouldn't solve the problem, she'd be unhappy that I'd given up my dream school and... Alabama always came first and she knew that before, but now I'd easily say she comes first. Above all else. She wouldn't let me. It's why she walked away to stop me 'missing out'.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

I hit the bag harder, harder. My breath coming out in laboured pants. My fist moving faster than light shoving the swinging hunk of material. Sweat rolls down my naked chest, muscles taut in my biceps and back.

It hurts. It hurts too much. Like I've been ripped open, a kind of pain that I've never felt before. It's physical, a deep ache that never ceases.

Moister gathers beneath my eyes, sweat or tears I'm none the wiser. My chest constricts tightly and before I realise I've slumped onto the bag, grappling at it to keep myself from falling. My cheek smacks the leather, cold against my clammy skin.

"Alright, son." A hefty hand lands on my shoulder, calloused and rough. I turn my head slightly to see Jack hovering behind me, most of the bags in the gym have gone still, pads dropped at their sides as men shamelessly gaup. "You're done for the day kid, go home-"

"No, no I can't go home. Not yet." I seeth between my teeth. Thinking about mom and Gemma cowing behind me sends more moister from my eyes.

"How about you come into the office then, we'll talk." His tone is soft, softer than what he uses for any of the other men. He's always been that way, toughening me up with a soft bed to land on when I fall. Always there to train me under his wing and offer a shoulder to cry on. I nod shakily and push off the bag. Men turn shamelessly as if they weren't staring blatantly and anger fills me again.

"What!" I scream at the ones who turn too slowly, "The fuck are you pissheads all staring at! Huh? You never seen someone angry? How about we get in the ring and I'll show you fucking angry." I grab the shirt of the guy nearest to me, he shrinks back against my fist before jack can pry me away. Fucking pussy. What I would give to pummel his nosy fucking face right here, right now.

"Come on kid, I don't want to have to deal with the old Blaze again. What's going on?" I drop the shirt and snarl at the coward in front of me.

"Nothing. You know what... fuck this. I can't be here either." It reminds me, every little thing, having her on the weight bench, her knowing to bring me here when I was mad.

"Blaze, come on-" But I'm already striding towards the doors, the main road humming with cars driving by idly.

The night air bites at me as I throw on my shirt, bouncing down the weathered steps onto the sidewalk. My sweat cools into chilling trickles that soak into my hair and shirt. Stars twinkle in the sky as small clouds drift over like veils. I swear up at the sky remembering when we stood outside the old bookshop. How the moons rays caressed her pale skin and blonde locks that cascaded past her flushed cheeks.

Fuck. What the fuck have I done. I feel lonelier than I've felt in... forever. The warmth that grew inside me has flittered out, cooled into stone.

"Christ boy, usually people go to the gym to get rid of their anger. Not gain it." I whip my head to the gruff voice behind me. The glowing cherry red pokes out of the shadow as smoke billows from what I can presume are his lips. The figure leans against the archway by the steps, hand casually tucked into his hoodie pocket. I cant see his face well enough, dosed in shadows but his dark jeans are smart and the boots on his feet look brand new. Not the kind of person to hang around outside a gym in the dark. "So what is it? Home? Girls..." His lips quirk up at one end, the cigarette hanging limply at the other end.

"None of your fucking business pal," I mumble starting a walk down the street. He steps out of the shadows and drops the cigarette to the floor, stubbing it with his new boot.

"Look, I saw you swinging the bag in there, that's some unmatched power." I turn to look at his face now visible under the streetlights. An ugly scar runs across his cheek, his eyes are a murky kind of blue made nastier by the stubble on his jaw. The man creeps me out, something about him just exudes... nasty... "You remind me of myself when I was younger... using my fists instead of my words. Better release, I get it." He chuckles darkly, running his teeth across his bottom lip, a chill not from the cold air snakes across my spine. "I run matches, fights, underground now though. And if you swing jaws the same way you swing that bag I think you and me could do some serious damage." He crosses his arms across the black hoodie, a smirk on his lips.

"Not interested," I mutter, wondering why I've even stayed this long. I turn to leave but his hand shoots out with a small card, matte black with a gold stripe and a phone number.

"Take this anyway. If you change your mind." I take the rectangle and watch his back as he walks away in the opposite direction. I stand under the dull lamplight for a while before I pocket the card and walk back to my car.

I passed serval trashcans but the card remained in my pocket.

Maybe I should just go back to being that asshole, it hurt a lot less.

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