Turning Point [ONC 2022]

07. Anger & Boxing Bags

It's decided, my marbles have officially scattered all over the place, never to be found again.

That's the only reason I can think of for my current position, which is outside 3B's door, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and leggings. Every atom in my body is begging for me to turn around, head back to my apartment, crawl into my bed and sleep. I can't understand why I'm willingly spending yet another evening with the person who's been the bane of my existence over the last week.

Okay, maybe I'm being a tad over dramatic. Underneath her crappy taste in music and the volume at which she listens to it, Gabby's not that bad. I'm the one who asked her to teach me boxing, I should be grateful that she would be willing to help me.

I finally bring myself to knock, empty handed and sober for the first time. It swings open almost immediately, revealing Gabby in a green crop top and shorts. A wide smile stretches across her face which is a completely different welcome than the ones I'm used to from her.

"Morgan! I hope you got some work done today? Or was the silence a distraction now?"

Damn her. How did she know? It was too peaceful today, the quiet atmosphere allowing me to stare out my window and day dream for longer than I'm proud of. I don't admit that though. The poor girl just can't win with me. And I've been complaining about her being annoying. "Oh yeah, totally. I, uh, cracked on. Got it done. You know."

"Awesome! Well, come on in then." She steps back and allows me entrance into what can only be described as a disaster zone. An explosion of boxes litter the floor, contents spilling out of them at random. Mountains of clothes cover every inch of furniture and dishes are collected on the counter top and stacked next to the sink. I'm honestly too scared to check what's clean and what's dirty.

"Nice place. It's very..." Many words spring to mind; cluttered, disorganized, messy. But since I'm trying to be nice I can't use any of them. "Is that the boxing bag?" I ask the obvious, pointing to the black sack looking thing that hangs in the middle of her lounge.

"Oh yeah, this is Sophie." She strolls over to it and pats it fondly, as though it's her closest friend.

"Sophie?"

Her smile drops and her gaze slides to somewhere over my left shoulder for a moment. "Right, should we get started? Bring your hands over here." She bends over and picks up a long white piece of gauze from somewhere under a pile of clothes on her couch.

"Uh, you're not planning on hurting me are you? What's the gauze for?" I stay where I am, eyeing the material with distrust.

If eyes could roll out of their sockets, I have no doubt that Gabby's would make a bid for freedom at my comment. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult, Morgan? The gauze is to protect your knuckles. No offense, but athletic tape is expensive and you're an amateur, so this is the next best option."

Firmly put in my place, I stretch my hands out and allow her to wrap them tightly. It takes her a few minutes as she twists the material round and round, tucking it in and securing it with practiced ease before stepping back to admire her handiwork.

"Right, now put these on." She hands me a pair of bright green gloves, heaving a deep sigh when I stare blankly at her instead of taking them. "Here," she huffs, helping me tug them on, her knuckles grazing my wrist. "How do they feel?"

I punch my hands together like I've seen them do in movies, a soft thud accompanying my movements. "Heavy. Aren't they supposed to be red?"

"Green's my favorite color."

"Mine too." I grin, looking down at the gloves before meeting her eyes again. She holds my gaze for a moment, a soft smile crossing her face.

"Right, well." Clearing her throat loudly, she steps back and points to the boxing bag. "Have at it."