016. Fight
Fists balled and bandaged, she raises them in front of her face and concentrates on the heavy, grain-filled punching bag hanging from the ceiling. She grits her teeth and adds a slight bounce to her step. Heart rate quickens, muscles tighten, adrenaline pumping pumpin' pump.
Fucking fear, she thinks as she lands a right-handed jab, knuckles crushing against rough leather.
There's pain, but there's release. Punishment, maybe.
She's hurt him, so the next hit is for how unfairly she's treated him. She realizes that one's not enough, so she pummels the bag with a flurry of quick shots.
Technical knockout.
017. Naked
He imagines her hand ghosting over his skin, fingertips trailing warm paths down the valleys of his muscles. Kisses – just a few – and she makes him work for them.
Her naked body graces his dreams, infiltrates his nightmares. It's everything he's never wanted, but he lacks the brakes, can't escape the nine point eight meters per second squared spiral.
Imagination is free, but the residual memories she leaves behind are not. He pays for those every day, breaks more than just the bank.
He finds himself tragically alone every night, wishing she meant more to him than a mere conquest.
018. Push
The rope burns her palms, but her willpower is fireproof. She sees him in the distance; he's reeling her in. There's no turning back; she pushes on.
Braided straw grinds through her fingertips, unforgiving edges slicing scarred skin. She loosens her grip and watches her own blood gradually seep into the rope. She knows this isn't real, but the sudden punch to the gut leaves her breathless, questioning.
She stumbles awake in a pool of sweat that is too reminiscent of blood. She checks her hands.
She learns the hard way that there's no pushing required in tug of war.
019. Alive
Human life cannot be sustained underwater without complicated gizmos and gadgets, yet he's never felt more alive. He dives to forget his father's disappointed eyes, his sister's sickly pale skin, his best friend's coffin disappearing into a six-foot abyss.
Constant reminders of what he's lost rest on dry land, so he remains submerged.
He's running on tanked oxygen and sheer adrenaline, but there's peace. Solitude. He clenches his jaw and reminds himself that he can do this without her. Has to.
He finds life in the silence of the ocean, away from the din of death that envelopes his existence.
020. New
"I miss us," she whispers one day, head hanging as if from marionette strings.
It's taken her everything she's got to admit that, and he's silent for so long that she's prepared a billion ways to write off her words. She's awash with relief when she needs zero.
"I'm sorry," comes his gentle reply.
She's overwhelmed by the emotion his apology has elicited.
"I miss us," she chokes out again, louder, tears blurring her vision.
He swallows a sob, warm liberation cascading into his chest. "We'll start anew, Cal," he murmurs, hope overflowing from somewhere he's long ago locked away.