I could feel the cuts on my knuckles long before I peeled the tape off an saw the bloody results of a long 85 minutes of boxing. My chest heaved, sweat curled my hair on my neck, beaded on my brow and slipped down my back in small streams. My arms were quivering, my fingers kept clenching and unclenching as I sat on the bench, trying to catch my breath, moving my legs up to my chest in an effort to stave off cramps.

‘Come on. We have some laps to do before you can sit on your ass.’ I didn’t need to look up, it was my trainer (and a good friend of mine), the one who had taken me from being a large man, to a large, muscled, man. I pushed myself off the bench, ignoring the groan of my knees and took after him. We usually do about 2 miles after boxing, but I could tell that wasn’t going to happen today, my body was too tired, my mood too black to consider even half of that. Still, I pushed myself until I caught up to and passed him. Competition drives me.

I zone out when I run. Like self-hypnosis, almost, I become a spectator within my own skin, thinking only in terms of survival - avoiding cars, glass in my path and the like. My body almost feels like an engine, moving automatically until it plows into something that awakens me. I kept moving, lost in that space, around the track that ran along the inside of the gym. My eyes stung from the sweat that leaked down from my brows. My vision was blurry, but the path was a swath of color and easy to follow.

I saw him come up on my shoulder, his fingers grabbing my shirt and I felt myself slow down as his grip tightened. I stopped and turned back to him, his face was red, mine, most assuredly, was the same. I felt the heat of it, my temples throbbed.

‘How far were you planning on running today?’ He said between bursts of breath, we were both bent over, hands resting on our knees as we stood there.

‘I don’t know, a mile - mile and a half?’

‘Yea, well we passed that. We were about to move onto three.’ He gave me a disgusted look that I found amusing coming from his beet red face.

I shook my head. ‘No way.’

He just shook his head.

I was going to laugh, but couldn’t find the energy. I stood up and walked over to a station and grabbed a hand towel, running it over my face. I gestured with my head and walked towards the locker room. I couldn’t feel anything wrong, but I knew that it would catch up to me later.

I turned on the water for the shower - cold - and lay my head on the tile as the water cascaded over me.

***-***-***-***-***

About 30 minutes later, I was back at my office. My mood hadn’t improved and seemed to only sour worse when I stepped off of the elevator. I could hear the phone ringing and the receptionist picking up as a dull, muted background noise. I saw the light on the phone in my office blink, but before I reached it, my cell phone vibrated on my hip. I hate those calls. It usually means something has gone wrong.

It had.

***-***-***-***-***

I didn’t get home until 11. By the time I entered the door, the mood that had plagued me most of the day was worse. I felt it crawl upon my skin, move through my muscles and eventually, ooze out in an aura of black that surrounded me. I don’t slam doors and rage when I am in the worst of it. Silence spills off of me instead, terse, pregnant silence.

I closed the door behind me with a soft click, and settled my suitcase to the floor. I rounded the corner and was greeted with a living room bathed in black. She was sitting in a chair, covered with the blanket she had made for me, asleep. I stood there, debating whether to wake her and I was in motion towards her before the conclusion was even a given in my head. I hate to think I was driven by my mood, but in that instance, I was.

My body had settled into an ache that wouldn’t leave me. It was from stress, from exercise, and from the weight of the mood I had carried with me. It all reflected in the malevolent gaze I leveled on that sleeping girl just before I slapped her cheek.

‘Wake up.’

The statement was superfluous, she was in motion the moment my hand had made contact. I stood there as she took an inventory of her surroundings and watched the shock of it register first before her eyes narrowed. ‘Bastard.’ She unfolded her legs and moved from the chair, standing before me, her hand rubbing her stung cheek. ‘That was unnecessary.’

I said nothing and just looked at her. She made to move past me, her shoulder brushing against my side and I reached out and grabbed her upper arm, twisting it upward to keep her from moving further away. Her free hand came around and slapped my cheek. I watched her eyes water. ‘Bastard! I was waiting for you. And you wake me up like that?’ She jerked on her arm, but I held her fast. She beat the heel of her palm into my shoulder and pulled back. I held. ‘Let go of me!’ The tears started to pool at the corners of her eyes and one stream fell down her cheek, silvery. I knew my disregard hurt her. I didn’t care.

It only seemed to infuriate her more, her tears, and she closed her hand into a fist and beat it into my shoulder. The marks of my hand would remain on her arm for several days, but I did not relent. I looked at her and said quietly. ‘Stop. Now.’

To her credit she did give a moments pause, taking in a staggered breath, but the stubborn set of her jaw still remained and when she jerked again, I released her, pushed her in fact, backwards, so she sprawled on her ass. I turned fully towards her then and stood over her. She scrambled backwards, drawing her knees up to her chest. I crouched down and meet her gaze.

‘Make your choice.’

She knew what the statement meant. Leave or stay. I knew what I wanted her answer to be, but pain in this instance, should be accepted or it is nothing more than brutality - overpowering a physically weaker person.

I watched her tongue dart out and run along her bottom lip, watched her teeth tug upon it. It was a nervous habit she had that never failed to draw my eyes. I remained still, coiled, ready to strike. She moved and I watched her, thankful for the darkness that shielded whatever was in my gaze - I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am, and my flaws were showing quite plainly for her.

She placed her palms to the floor, moving towards me, instead of away, and ran her cheek along my hand. She lingered for a long moment and then lifted her head, coming up on her knees to slide her fingers across my neck. I felt the coolness of her ease the heat that enflamed me, enough for me to wonder at what relief lay in the rest of her touch. Her whisper brushed my mouth like a kiss and I growled softly.

‘Hurt me, D.’

It was then I reached for her.