I was an idiot. Wondering around like a lost spirit did nothing to soothe me.
I needed to sweat it out.
Traveling like a thought was something my brain did, not my body. Moving like a monster was way too easy now— I ended up running in my human form just like I did out there on the football field.
"IDIOT!" I shouted when my whole body was burning.
I stopped by a random tree inside whichever forest this was and felt my muscles objecting, evolving a pulse of their own— my whole body was beating itself up from the inside.
I hated that I couldn't run a while longer. So I punched the innocent log that was next to me with all the built-up frustration I had. The broken knuckles were healing by the time the pain in my hand reached my head. The log was stained with my most precious blood, I felt the skin complaining, wanting me to withdraw my hand so it could heal. I kept my hand there and rubbed it against the roughness again and again.
