Chapter 10c: Celebration
I can't be there for her birthday.
Does she resent me for it?
I want to go, but they won't let me.
I tried hard, but they aren't happy yet.
It is just one day...
I sigh. I hope she has received my card, at least.
If it wasn't for the therapist helping me out, I don't think I'd have been able to send her even that. The world is full of red tape when you have done what I did.
At least we are getting to exercise a bit. The first time was last week, but I am still just as happy to see this room as back then. It isn't just a huge lame room meant for kids to run around in or on top of boxes.
No.
It has a ring. An honest-to-god boxing ring.
And punching bags everywhere.
Right now, I feel great. My fists are just lashing out on the punching bag. They always have us do that for the first few minutes - to take the edge off, they say.
Fair is fair, whatever works, works. And work it does.
I catch myself in a rhythm as my fists land time and time again. It is a tune.
Happy birthday. To you. Dear Setsukaaa. Happy Birthday. To youuu.
Somehow, she's always on my mind. I have started hiding it as of late - I didn't quite like the way the therapist responded when I asked him about her for the so-manieth-time a month back. I'll admit it isn't normal.. but our situation isn't normal to begin with!
Had I not backed off like that, I think he might not have sent that card for me. At least she knows now that I haven't forgotten.
I am still a little lost in my own considerations as we get paired off. Being physically fit, I get paired with a bulky boy with a mean look. I heard he used to be a bully. Punched someones teeth out when 'his' girl answered the question of someone else. Sigh. Of course.
At least we get a mouth guard. And a coach. So let's not worry about lasting damage like that.
As I am in my corner, I bounce a bit on my feet as we had been taught last time. I have to keep moving. He grins. His grin is predatory.
He just wants to punch me. To see me buckle.
I recognise that glare. It reminds me of him when I did something wrong.
I move.
I swing.
A miss. He swings back.
I duck and follow up.
A hit. A straight hit.
His chin is heavier than I imagined. Does he have a brain after all?
My wrist hurts, but he's down.
Once again, that whistle that signifies fault. My fault, no doubt.
I've stopped taking that little thing too seriously. Rather, I take the guard out of my mouth and look at his dazed expression.
"I could have killed my father, had I cared to. Choose someone your own size to pick on instead, you waste." I spit at his feet for good measure; the exercise had turned it more into slobber than proper spit.
That provoked more whistling. Angry whistling. Oops.
At least I feel better now. As if I can protect you a bit more.
Happy birthday, Setsuka.