I slept in late and woke up even later—it's the weekend baby, and I couldn't be happier. As I shuffled down the stairs, the smell of bacon wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble.
My parents were already at the table, eating breakfast—or rather, lunch, considering it was 1 p.m.
"Good morning, family," I said, dropping into my chair.
"How was your night?" my dad asked, looking up from his coffee.
Before I could answer, my mom slid a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. She didn't go all out for breakfast, especially not on weekends, but I didn't mind.
"Good," I mumbled.
What are my plans today, hmmm, now that I think about It's strange how boring life feels without school, training, or missions. What do 'normal people' even do on weekends? Play on their phones? Watch movies? I never had time for that stuff, and honestly, it doesn't sound that fun.
Maybe they go out with their friends, but I don't have friends, Kyle have yet to give me his number, Amy and Riley are super cool but they're more of Rose friend then mine.
Well.... that's depressing.
"Mom," I called out.
"What is it, honey?"
"Can we train today?" I asked, hesitation clear in my voice.
"Wouldn't you rather hang out with your friends?" She asked, side-eyeing my dad, so they could have their weird eye conversation.
"Kinda hard to 'hang out' with people that don't exist" I rolled my eyes.
"That's sad," my mom said. Bitch.
"Maybe you guys should do some training," my father interrupted, acting like the peacemaker he is.
"That's why I love you," I said, a small smile on my face as I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Without waiting for a response, I added, "I'll go change."
I dashed upstairs, quickly swapping my top for a sports bra layered under a T-shirt. My shorts were fine as they were. Braiding my hair to keep it secure, I took a steadying breath before heading back down.
Mom was already waiting in the garage, her arms crossed. Dressed in her training gear, she looked every bit the professional hunter she was—a killer, just like me.
"We'll train here," she said, her voice steady.
The empty space made sense; without a car, the garage had become our makeshift arena.
I dropped into a stance as she mirrored me, her gaze sharp.
She didn't wait. Neither did I.
Mom lunged for my neck, her hand slicing through the air like a blade. I bent backward, dodging the strike by inches, and retaliated with a kick that landed in her stomach. She staggered slightly but deflected my follow-up punch with ease.
Then she swept the floor with her legs, I went down hard, my back slamming against the concrete, with no time to recover, her hand closed around my throat, cutting off the air. Choking the life out of me, my pulse pounded in my ears as I fought to stay calm, ignoring the searing pain in my neck.
I gasped, my vision blurring at the edges. My legs, still free, shot up, wrapping around her torso. With every ounce of strength, I pulled her back, sending her sprawling to the ground.
My neck burned, the bruises already forming, but I couldn't focus on that now. Mom was already on her feet, faster than I expected. This time, I moved in first. I threw a faint punch, aiming for her face. She dodged, just as I knew she would, and I pivoted, sending a kick to her ribs. It connected but her counterattack came instantly a blow to my shoulder that sent me reeling
The fight blurred into a relentless rhythm of strikes, blocks, and counters. My muscles screamed for relief but I couldn't stop. Not yet.
Finally, I collapsed, my chest heaving and limbs trembling. I was bruised, beaten, and utterly exhausted.
I missed this.
"You really should take it easy on this old lady," my mother said, offering a hand to help me up.
"Says the woman who won."
We left the garage together, our faces flushed and our bodies aching. Dad stood by the door, holding towels for both of us.
"How was it?" he asked, his tone light but curious.
"I was reminded—yet again—why I'm so glad we quit," Mom replied, grabbing a towel before leaning in to kiss him.
"Well... she kicked my ass." I grabbed the towel from his hand, smirking.
"Language, sweetie," Dad said with a small smile, though it faltered when he caught sight of the forming bruise on my neck.
"Did you have to choke her?" he asked, frowning. My dad hated seeing me hurt, even if it was self-inflicted.
Mom rolled her eyes. "Wait till you see what she did to me."
The banter was light, but I could sense Dad's disapproval. It only deepened when Mom lifted her shirt to reveal a bruise on her stomach. Guilt hit me like a punch.
My dad blushed a deep red as if he didn't see this kind of thing every other day. (This is probably why I don't have any siblings.) His bashful look quickly shifted to concern.
"Maybe no more training from now on," Dad said, his tone firm as he glanced between the two of us.
I didn't argue. Instead, I made my way upstairs, craving a much-needed bath.
In the bathroom, I paused in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. The bruise forming on my neck was ugly—an angry mark that hadn't yet fully settled. I had a few more scattered across my body, but this was nothing compared to before. Back then, I'd come home with black eyes.
I stepped into the shower, turning the water to cold—just the way I liked it. I never understood how people could bathe in boiling hot water. I'd tried it once and hated it. Never again.
As the water ran over me, I undid my hair and climbed into the tub. Today had left me drenched in sweat, so I decided to wash my hair as well. The cold water helped soothe my aching body, but my mind wouldn't stop replaying the fight.
She's a professional. She's been doing this far longer than I have. But still—she won by a landslide. I shouldn't be this weak. It hasn't been that long since we gave up being hunters.
"Ouch." I winced as I scrubbed too hard, my loofah grazing a fresh bruise. Training today was supposed to help me feel better, but all I feel is pathetic.
I got dressed and flopped onto my bed, still damp from the shower. Staring at the ceiling, I tried to push away the self-critical thoughts swirling in my head.
Why does it feel like I'm slipping? Like every day I'm getting weaker, slower... less of what I used to be.
The life of a hunter wasn't just something you could leave behind—not completely. The discipline, the muscle memory, the instinct to fight back—they were all still there, lingering under the surface. But lately, it felt like they were fading, little by little, and I hated it.
But another part of me—one I didn't want to acknowledge—was growing tired of fighting, tired of trying to prove something. What if I wasn't cut out for this anymore? What if I never really was?
I sighed and rolled over, the ache in my neck reminding me of the fight.
"You'll get stronger," I whispered to myself. "You always do."
It was the same promise I'd made a thousand times before. But this time, it felt like a hollow echo, a reassurance meant to drown out the doubt creeping into my heart.
I ended up sleeping for the entire day; I woke up at 11 pm with no more sleep in me. My room was so hot that I had to change clothes, a crop top with shorts. All the lights were off, and I'm assuming that Mom and Dad were in their room.
Maybe I should go for a run; I haven't had a good run in a long time, so I changed into running out and headed out, making sure to lock the door. I ran full speed ahead; in gym class, I usually hold back, but not tonight; tonight, I'm going all out.
I had no idea where I was going, but there's something about running at full speed that just makes everything move faster. I finally felt like I was moving again; everything had been in slow mode for so long.
I ran, just turning and going where my feet wanted to go, everything burned, and my leg gave out way before my mind did so I kept pushing and forcing myself, 5 hours in and I was wiped out. My leg wouldn't move anymore, I dead tired I could do more it not for the training with my mom today.
I looked around and I was completely lost.
This place was the complete opposite from where I live, the street lights mostly broken, homeless people basically everywhere you turn. The houses a lot more modest. I could run some more if really wanted to but I didn't feel threatened enough to push myself and I want to catch my breath.
I started to walk, slowly, no where in particular just moving my feet, slowly.