Belonging | Alec Lightwood

(25) Short end of the stick

I felt the sweat bead down my skin; every hit, every move burning through my muscles like fire, igniting my very soul alight. The lights fell heavy against my exposed skin and my movements felt nowhere near as precise or as powerful as they usually did.

I was distracted.

Not by the fire in my muscles or the heat of the light.

I was distracted by thoughts of her.

Camilla Fairchild has me completely side-tracked, and it was beginning to drive me mad.

I step back from the sparring bag with a deep sigh, letting my weapon loosely hang at my side, my fingers tightly gripping the handle for leverage. Recently, all I seemed to think about was Camilla. Before, any thought of her was fuelled by annoyance and frustration; at her recklessness and disdain for rules, but now everything had changed.

Now, all I could think about was that kiss.

The kiss I'd been replaying over and over in my mind.

With a frustrated exhale, I lift the stick to eye level, straightening out my posture and within a second I land a harsh and loud blow to the bags side, the vibrations recoiling off the stick and through my sturdy bones. I re-do the same maneuverer several times, getting leverage on my stick as I twist my arm and shift my waist sideways, the stick slamming down like thunder onto the bag.

I needed to focus, and the only way to get my feeling out seemed to be through sparring.

I spend the next few minutes repeating these moves, my weapon coming down harder and reverberating louder each time, and as the minutes pass by I become more and more transfixed by the power of my movements and the emotions running through me, that I barely even notice that the was weapon blistering my skin and tearing the bag.

Though, right now, I couldn't care less.

I throw the stick upwards into the air, watching as it drops into my dominant hand and I strike the end into the bag, my eyes carelessly flickering over the exposed white inner tissue seeping out of the torn hole, a hole created through my own volatile actions.

"Promise me you won't go through with it."

I instantly stop my actions and turn blankly to a seemingly anxious Izzy, whom I barely noticed enter until she spoke.

"Promise me you'll say no." She states again, loudly and desperately, staring intensely at me. I furrow my brow in confusion at her, running a hand loosely through my damp hair as I narrow my eyes.

"What are you talking about? Say no to what?" I ask with confusion, a frown covering my features as I take in Izzy's exasperation. I had no idea what she was talking about, but if it had Izzy, the queen of flippant, looking worried, then something must be seriously wrong.

Like I don't have enough problems right now.

"They're gonna make you marry." She states, her eyes low and expression grave.