Freddie sat cross legged in the middle of his bed, cradling his camera in his arm and a lens cloth in the other when his phone vibrated against his knee. He glanced at the message that popped up on the screen.
I need someone to hold the bag.
He started to regret not grabbing a jacket as he watched the rain drench everything outside of the bus. He blinked as raindrops hit his eyes while he walked the block to Sam's house. He opened the door and the water in his shoes left wet foot prints through the living room and down the hall to the familiar door. He pushed wet hair from his forehead and with a light knock, he opened the door.
Sam's room was always a mess but today it was the most disorganized he had ever seen. Posters had been ripped off the walls and now lay in pieces on the floor among clothes, pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals. Cups and plates from previous late night snacks were broken in corners of the room and on her bed.
Sam stood in the middle of the messy floor. He hair was put up in a messy pony tail, random pieces of hair hitting her face, neck and over her eyes. She didn't look at Freddie when he closed the door behind him or when he walked over to the punching bag that was hanging right in front of her. His foot slipped on a piece of paper, he looked down.
From your daddy, on your birthd-
The rest of the card was ripped and missing among the mess.
He looked back up at her and tried to see her eyes behind her blonde curls. Sam widened her stance and put up her bare fists. Freddie blinked and grabbed the red bag, bracing himself for her blow.
With a yell Sam punched the bag with the weight of her small frame behind it. Freddie could finally see her eyes as she stepped back. She didn't look at him, just at the bag. She took another swing before he could say anything. He stumbled back but quickly steadied himself as Sam charged at the target again. She took two steps back and glanced at Freddie and then at the bag.
"It's not my birthday." She grumbled loudly, her eyebrows forwarding. She hit it again. Freddie decided not to agree even though she was right.
"I'd much rather have a five dollar bill than see his face." She threw a punch. "On my actual birthday." Another swing.
Freddie's shoulders tensed at the thought of her dad in this house, in her room, maybe where he stood right now. He put his foot over the ripped birthday card.
"I hate him." Every word trembled from her and came with a blow.
With his eyes closed, Freddie held the bag as Sam punched, kicked, and rammed her body into it until the beatings stopped and he opened his eyes.
Sam stood with her arms down and her hair returned to it's position in front of her face. Her curls swayed as she breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The only sound in the room was Sam's heavy breathing.
Freddie put his hand on top of the bag. "I'm glad we have this between us."