Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit.
Hit!
Hit!
The final punch landed with a force that made the punching bag swing violently, a sharp crack echoing through the air. My breath came in ragged gasps as I fought to steady myself, but my body betrayed me. I stumbled, collapsing to the ground in a heap, the muscles in my arms and legs screaming in protest.
It had been over a year since I'd pushed myself this hard in the gym, and the pain was more than I expected. The soreness in my body was almost unbearable, but it felt... good. It reminded me that I was still capable of feeling something—anything. Even if it was just physical exhaustion. I hadn't let myself feel much else lately, especially after everything that had happened.
I hadn't bothered with my afternoon class. The lectures, the assignments, the expectations—they all felt distant, like I was living in someone else's world. The calls from Lucien and Kaiser went unanswered. I didn't care. Not today. Not anymore.
"You've had enough for today, Nine!" Drake's voice rang out, cutting through my isolation. I didn't have to look to know he was standing there, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression he always wore. The kind that made me feel like I was both seen and unseen at the same time.
I forced my gaze toward him, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. There was no judgment in his voice, just the same calm authority that had always marked him. But today, it only made me feel more vulnerable, more exposed.
I pushed myself up, my body trembling with fatigue, and stepped out of the ring. My legs were shaky, but I forced myself to walk it off. I reached up to peel the cloth off my hands, the protective wraps feeling heavier than usual, as if they were holding me back. Once they were gone, the damage was clear.
My knuckles were raw, blood seeping from the open wounds, the skin bruised and swollen. The sight made me feel a strange mix of satisfaction and self-loathing. It was proof that I'd let myself get lost in the pain, trying to fight away everything that was building up inside me. But I couldn't stop. Not yet. Maybe never.
Drake's voice snapped me back to reality. "You're out of control while doing these workouts, Nine. Are you trying to kill yourself?" His tone was sharp, but underneath it, there was a hint of concern. He was already in front of me, his hands hovering over mine, inspecting the damage.
I winced slightly as he took my hand, his grip firm yet gentle as he studied my injuries. "Your posture, your emotions, your focus... everything is messed up. Do you even realize what you've done? If you're not used to this kind of strain, you could end up in the hospital. What you did this afternoon... it's beyond your capacity, especially after being on hiatus for a year. What happened to you, Nine?" His words were like an interrogation, but it felt more like he was trying to understand the person behind the action. It was frustrating, though, how much he sounded like a concerned father.
I could feel the weight of his stare on me, the judgment in his eyes pressing down like a physical force. But I didn't want his pity. I didn't need his understanding.
I shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the motion felt weak. "I'm fine, Drake," I muttered, pulling my hand from his grasp, ignoring the sting. My fingers were trembling, but I didn't want him to see it. I didn't want to show any weakness, especially not in front of him. "You don't have to lecture me."
His eyes softened for a moment, but he didn't back off. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh. "You're not fine, Nine," he said quietly, as if he knew that I was lying. But he didn't push any further. For now, anyway.
I could feel his eyes still on me, the unspoken concern hanging in the air between us. It made everything feel heavier. And for once, I wished I could just escape it all. But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the weight of everything that was happening in my life—everything I was trying to bury—kept pulling me down.
Drake is like a father to me. He's old, yes, but you'd never guess it by looking at him. His body still carries the strength and discipline of a young fighter, the kind of athlete who's been through every challenge, yet somehow remains untouchable. He isn't as massive as The Rock, but don't let his size fool you. You wouldn't want to face him in the ring. I know that firsthand. He trained me every time I visited him in Australia, pushing me to my limits. And even when he made the long trip to the Philippines, he still found a way to put me through the paces, teaching me new techniques, showing me how to balance my head and heart.
But this... this is different. It's been a year since I last set foot on this ground. A year of silence, of pushing back everything I didn't want to face, and yet here I am again, fighting not just in the ring, but against myself. The worst part is how easily I lost control. I never thought I'd let my emotions get the best of me—not like this. Anger, frustration, it all mixed together, spiraling out of control. And now everything's a mess. Drake was right; if I kept going like this, I'd end up in the hospital. Worse, I'd hurt someone who didn't deserve it.
Yet, there's something oddly satisfying about releasing all this pain, even if it means putting myself back into a place of hurt. My body's been through it all before, though. I've been beaten, battered, and bruised so many times that pain has become a part of me. I'm built for it. I don't break easily. But right now, I'm broken in a different way—mentally, emotionally. And I know it. I can feel the weight of it in my bones.
I've messed up. So badly.
Drake's voice pulls me back into the moment. He's looking at me like he sees right through me, his eyes sharp and understanding, yet cold. "Is it because of your husband or him?"
The question cuts deeper than I expected. My breath catches, and I freeze in place. My heart thuds in my chest, too loud, too fast. My mouth goes dry, and for a split second, I forget how to speak. How do you answer something like that? How do you even begin to explain the chaos inside? The confusion? The weight of everything I haven't been able to say?
I stand there, motionless, caught in the middle of my own war, the silence hanging between us heavier than any punch I've ever taken.
"You know you can't escape them, right?" Drake asked again, his voice steady, but there was a weight behind it, a knowing that made the words hit harder than any blow I'd ever received.
I bit my lower lip, fighting to keep my emotions in check. He was right. As much as I wanted to pretend otherwise, there was no hiding from the truth. It had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to surface.
Without answering, I turned and started walking, my steps slow and heavy as I made my way toward the locker room. Each step felt like a burden, like I was dragging something too heavy for me to carry, but it was a burden I'd never been able to shake.
'I know, Drake. I know I can't escape everything now.' The thought echoed in my mind, louder than any words I could speak. I couldn't run from my past. I couldn't outrun the mistakes, the decisions that had led me here. But for the first time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to escape anymore.
Once I'm done changing, I stand there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the locker room mirror. I should be heading home by now, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to move. My mind is a mess, filled with thoughts that won't stop swirling around. Should I go back to the place that's supposed to feel like home, or should I just... unwind for a while? Let my head clear before making any decision?
I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a second, trying to focus. There are two paths ahead of me, both leading somewhere, but neither one feels right.
The first one's easy. I could just give up, act like I don't care. Pretend that everything's fine, that the mess I'm in isn't tearing me apart. I could stick to what I promised, just give Calyx the out he seems to want so badly. File for divorce after a month—just like that, no second thoughts, no looking back. It's the safe route, the one that lets me keep my peace, even if it's temporary.
The second option, though... It's what my heart's been pushing me toward, even when my head says to quit. I could fight. I could fight for what's left, for what might still be there. The tension, the love, the frustration, the desperation—all of it. It's alive in me, beating harder than ever.
But fuck... this is the worst kind of problem to have. A battle between what I promised and what my heart wants, the two pulling me in opposite directions.
I rub my hands over my face, feeling the exhaustion creep in. "Geez," I mutter under my breath, my voice barely audible, as if to no one but myself. It's overwhelming. How do I even begin to decide?
I walk into Drake's office and find him sitting behind his desk, the sound of a newspaper rustling as he reads. He glances up at me, his brow raising, sensing the tension in the air before I even speak.
"You need anything?" he asks, his tone casual, though I can tell he's already reading me.
I bite my lower lip, not sure what exactly I'm doing here. I'm lost, confused, and I don't know how to fix myself. But I have to fix myself. I can't keep living like this—spinning in circles, paralyzed by everything I can't change.
I take a deep breath and nod. "Sign me in for the next season's fight."
Drake's face changes instantly. His forehead creases, and he shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "Are you crazy?"
"Maybe I am," I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He stands up, the frustration clear on his face now. "You can't go back again, Nine. The last time you were there, the two of us almost got killed!" His voice rises, but I don't back down. I know what happened, and I know how dangerous it is. But the truth is, I'm not sure I care anymore. I'm so lost in my own head, I don't know what else to do.
Drake walks over to me, his expression stern, fatherly, like he's about to lecture me. His voice softens but his words are sharp.
"You can't just go back there every time you're lost in your life. The best way to fight it is to face your problems! Not running back to the fucking dent of hell!"
"Alright! Alright!" I shout, frustration surging. "I know I'm lost, Drake! I know that!" I pause, trying to keep it together. "But can't you see? Every time I try to face my problems, I get even more... lost?"
My chest tightens, and I close my eyes, trying to hold back the overwhelming weight of everything building up inside me. I take a shaky breath and continue, my voice breaking.
"Maybe being a wife to a Lockhorst is easy as hell. Maybe I'm lucky, maybe I'm supposed to be grateful that he became my husband. Maybe I don't have the right to complain because I'm the luckiest bitch in the world!" The words come out faster now, faster than I can control. "But guess what? He doesn't love me! At all! And my freaking uncle Bryan is still controlling my life! On top of that, my damn brothers have no idea what's happening to me. They don't care! They don't fucking care!"
I wipe the tears that are already streaming down my face, but it doesn't stop. The tears just keep coming, each one a release I didn't expect to feel. This is it—the worst of it all. Admitting it. Facing the reality.
"Drake," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper, "I'm not Severa Gabrielle Brinth. I wasn't treated like Severa. I wasn't." My chest heaves with sobs as the weight of everything crashes down on me. "I'm not Severa Gabrielle Brinth Trexler. I'm not. Because I'm Nine. I'm just their fucking pet. Their fucking puppet."
The words feel like they're tearing me apart as they leave my mouth. I want to say something more, but I can't. My entire world is crumbling, and I can't stop it.
Before I know it, Drake is wrapping his arms around me, pulling me close. He hushes me gently, but my tears keep coming, flooding out of me, uncontrollable and raw. I never thought I'd break like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone. But here I am, a complete mess.
"I'm not Severa," I whisper again, as if saying it one more time will somehow make the truth easier to accept. It doesn't. It never will.