Vicious Romance

Chapter 18

I pick up my feet against the uneven floor, walking as fast as I can to the training center.

I feel pairs of eyes tracing my face, but I ignore them. Now's not the time to care. Not when my blood is boiling like this.

It's only 6:30 in the morning, yet I feel as if the entire day has been ruined. It's funny how one small detail can destroy everything, isn't it?

It's because of this one, little detail, that your entire world starts falling apart.

Today was a big day- yet things were falling apart.

It was Friday.

I had my date with Noah. Well, I wasn't sure if it was a date- but that should be the least of my concerns, right now.

Right now, I had to focus on pushing my anger towards the punching bag that sat in the training center.

It was the only way.

I shove past doors, and the lightly filled hallways, watching groggy-eyed people glare at me, and then on with their Friday mornings. I force myself to ignore them and push through the double doors that lead to the training center.

Finally, I'm here.

I throw my duffel bag off my shoulder, onto the nearest bench.

I search the dark room for its light panel, and when I finally come across it, I flip all the buttons until the room is slowly lit.

I sigh, taking in the sight of the large training center.

It's been a while since I've been here. I forgot how huge this thing was. It was practically the size of Grand Central Station, housing more than thousands of different kinds of training equipment.

For a psychopath like myself, this was heaven. This room had everything I needed to be content, strong, and stable. What more could I need? The sight of the large room automatically makes me feel better. This was the only room in the entire building that was well stocked and in good condition.

But it wasn't enough. Whatever happened this morning wasn't something that could be fixed with the sight of an empty room, full of weapons and weights.

My momentarily second of happiness, fades, and I sigh. I zip open my duffle bag, revealing my helmet, gloves, and tape, amongst other things. I take the gloves and the tape out, laying them out on the bench.

I take the tape first, carefully wrapping my hands in them, the sticky sensation stiffening my fingers. I then slide my gloves on top, trying my best to wiggle my fingers, getting used to the suffocation of the gloves.

I walk over to the big red punching bag, the heaviest bag in the room, and take a deep breath, punching the poor thing, out of control.

I lead with my knuckles, punching in a one-two pattern, leaving no room for hesitation. Only anger.

Anger towards people. Anger towards the world. Anger towards people to hurt the world. Towards the people that had the need to form scars, and to hurt others.

But I felt excruciating anger towards Anita's kidnappers, and what they'd done. How dare they? Who in their right mind does something like that? Why? Why her?

A tear escapes my eye, rolling down my cheek.

Don't let them escape, don't let them escape, I scold to myself, blocking any foreign liquid that may fall from my eyes.

My attempt at controlling my feelings fail me. Within seconds, tears roll endlessly, blurring my vision, only making me want to punch the bag harder.

One-two. One-two. One-two.

Harder, and faster, my fists fly to the bag, beating it out of control.

It doesn't help the anger though, not one bit.

The tears flow faster, and rough to the point where breathing becomes harder, and I can feel my lungs squeezing all the air out of my body, leaving my throat feeling like sandpaper.

Anita. Why Anita? She was the sweetest. She deserved better.

More tears fall, but the thought of her surfaces the memories from this morning. The text from Special Agent Isle. The pictures. Everything.

It was 4 AM when I got the text from him... about the bombing. Of Anita's apartment. Worse, he sent the pictures. Of the apartment. And her body.

Her dead, rotting body.

At first, they weren't sure if it was her, because the body was burned badly. They were only able to identify her by the engagement ring on her finger, and her dental records. As Isle said, the psychopaths bombed her apartment and left her body like a bow to the present they delivered.

All the evidence of her disappearance... gone. Anything that could've lead us to who took her.. gone. Everything was gone.

Except for the testing sample of the dirt found in Anita's apartment. It came back positive from the lab, confirming that it was the same sample from the Thanksgiving attack.

Not that it mattered, anymore.

At this point, I feel my skin sting, and my movements get shaky. It's not until a pair of hands wrap my waist, that I realize I'm wheezing unstably.

My feet give up, and I feel myself collapsing in the muscular arms of my stabilizer.

"Hally, you're alright. Breathe, breathe... take deep breaths, you're alright," the male voice softly reassures.

Without thinking, I grip the speaker's arms and try my best to follow their directions, but it's no use.

I wheeze harder, and heavier, and I barely feel it when my supporter slowly brings me down to the mat and begins cradling me in comfort.

"Hally, I know, I know-" the speaker begins, but I interrupt.

"Anita," I moan in sorrow, crying harder into the chest of the poor soul guarding me.

His arms cling onto me tighter, embracing me, letting me get all the tears out.

"I know, I miss her too," the voice says. It's then when I look up at the source of the voice.

It's Doug.

Guilt suddenly wipes over me, and I genuinely can't help but feel that this is all my fault.

Doug lost his fiancée, his soulmate, and yet here he was, bracing me, tearless.

"Doug-" I start, but he shushes me off and pulls me in for a long hug, and within seconds I can feel his tears on my shoulder.

I tell myself to be strong, but I can't.

I lost the one person in life that kept me happy.

A/N: Okay, this chapter really tugged on my feelings, how about you guys?

Vote if you want things to get better for Hally 😭