2 YEARS...
e.
The adrenaline rushes through my body as I attempt to push all of the stress and hurtful thoughts out of my wandering mind.
The harsh force of my fists slamming against the punching bag in front of me has it swinging around violently but I can't bring myself to stop it.
I can't stop.
If I knew running an entire fucking gang would be this stressful then I would've thought about it a little more before accepting this role.
It also would've been very helpful to get some more tips and tricks from Liam before he died.
I miss that motherfucker so much but I think I'm okay now. At this point, I'm just happy that he isn't hurting anymore.
He went through so much pain for so long without anyone knowing and I'm just glad he doesn't have to deal with it anymore. I just hope that he's found some sort of peace wherever the hell he might be.
I still hate the fact that I couldn't even help him because I was shot but life happens in weird ways.
If I wasn't shot, I would've obviously ignored the DNR but Liam didn't want that. I believe that everything happens for a reason and I've come to terms that everything that happened that day 2 years ago was supposed to happen.
The loud music blasting through the gym has me hyper-focused on this punching bag right now. This song always gets me in the mood to fuck someone or something up.
"It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit,
I think you better quit, let the shit slip,
Or you'll be leaving with a fat lip,
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit,
I think you better quit, talking that shit."
This song gets me so riled up and I fucking love it. I used to sing this song with Liam all the time and it brings such good memories.
I continue to throw my fists relentlessly at the punching bag, showing it no mercy. The beads of sweat from my forehead are starting to drip down my face causing my vision to go a little blurry.
I just want to get last night out of my head.
I had a lot of business to take care of and a man got very nasty with me. Calling me a whore, trying to touch me and stuff.
Let's just say some of my women are having a blast teaching him a lesson about keeping his hands to himself.
I have a pretty nasty scar on my forearm now from him trying to stab me but I've gotten a hell of a lot better at fighting since Zayn and Ronan started training me 2 years ago.
He's gonna regret being alive.
A loud knock on the door causes me to pause and grab the punching bag to make it stop.
I take a couple of seconds to calm myself down in an attempt to catch my breath. I take my wrapped hand and wipe it against my soaked forehead only to see how red and swollen my fingers are from the harsh impacts against the leather material of the bag in front of me.
"Come in," I respond as I hug the punching bag.
The large white door opens and once I see the person walking through the doorway, I roll my eyes and laugh to myself.
"Millie, you don't have to fucking knock," I say, making her chuckle.
She shrugs her shoulders and walks over to me to stand next to the chair that has my water, gun, and t-shirt laid on it.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Notion
Fanfiction[COMPLETED] Esmereld Payne, better known as Emera or Esme, has always been a rebellious young woman. She doesn't take shit from anyone and will put someone in their place that disrespects her. But that may not be ideal when you are kidnapped by the...
