Ironically, for someone named after the jolly emotion, Joy is quite sad. But justifiably, she hasn't really had much reason to squeal in happiness these days. Stuck in a job she hates with responsibilities so paramount she feels asphyxiated on a goo...
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"There is nowhere in the good book that says love is ever supposed to be this dämn hard. "
My crescent kick sent Isaiah reeling off to the side. He stumbled before he caught his footing at the edge of the mat, righted himself and advanced.
"I've been patient! I've been kind! I've given her her distance. Respected her need for space." I dropped both fists to my torso and circled, bouncing on the balls of my feet, "But it's been three days. Three days of nightmares and anxiety and radio-fücking-silence."
Two feet alternate kick- he managed to block the first but caught the other beneath the chin.
"Yes I made a mistake, that's crystal clear. I should never have projected my issues on to her. Yes, I was wrong. I'm not disillusioned enough to think myself irreproachable, but Christ, I at least deserve to be heard!"
Turning kick to the body, then to the head.
"Yes, I succumbed to my emotions. Yes, I allowed my anger to dictate my actions. But where the fück is it written that I'm not allowed to make mistakes!"
Jab. Block. Front kick. Bounce. Circle.
"I am not perfect. And, as a matter of a fact, neither is she! That's what's suppose to make what we have special. Two imperfect people coming together to create something beautiful."
Block. Bounce. Circle. Kick.
"I took everything she had to give! Accepted and embraced every fücking flaw." He came for my head but missed. I did a three-sixty and countered with a reverse turning kick, and he went down like a house of cards. I was so worked up, satisfaction evaded. "Am I not deserving of the same?! Are my sins so repulsive that they are unworthy of forgiveness?"
I turned away and paced, panting, "She kissed Luke! She kissed him, and I got mad. And sure, I didn't tell her we share the same face but you and I both know why-"
Isaiah tackled me from behind like we were in a WWE ring. He hitched his arms beneath my ribs, and squeezed me close. I was lifted clean off the ground and thrown over his shoulder. Before I knew it I was airborn, and within a fraction of a second, I landed. Hard.
My skull ricocheted off the mat and my back slammed into the floors, taking the brunt of the impact. My organs shifted. My kidneys and lungs decided to switch places and my brain opted for vacation.
"Mother-" wheeze, "-fücker!"
He took his time getting to his knees, and hunched over my crippled body, "If I have to take one more kick to the cranium, I'll be forced to explain to our grandmother why I put her favourite in a coffin."
He rose to his feet, huffing, and began to unwind the tape from his knuckles.
"Call Luke. We both know he's the one you'd rather be talking to." His tone was deficient of rancor or bitterness, just plain honest.
"I refuse to take anymore punishment because you're mad at him. You both can forget I exist until you've made up. You should know better than to try and put me in the middle. I will not pick a side."
Turning from me, he pulled his shirt off from the back of the neck and walked away, "I'm borrowing your shower."
He left me there, crippled on the mats.
Though he'd retired my body for the night with a german suplex, his words only served to further perturb my mind.
With no one to vent to and no one to hold, I was adamant to stay immersed in my well of frustration. It seemed like I was the only one willing to offer any ounce of compassion.
Fine. The minute my spine realigned I'd order some cake and drink myself drunk. If I was to have a pity party, I would make it a rager.
•••
Procrastination is one hell of a productivity siphon.
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