The gym was empty when Alexander arrived. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows against the worn-out mats. He needed to hit something. Hard.
He unwrapped his hands and rewrapped them methodically, letting the familiar ritual calm him. The moment his fists met the heavy bag, the world faded into the background. Every strike was an answer to the chaos in his head. Every hit was a way to drown out Carver's voice.
But no matter how hard he hit, the truth remained: He was back under Carver's thumb.
A door creaked open behind him. He didn't stop punching.
"Rough night?" Eve's voice cut through the silence.
His muscles tensed. He should've known she'd show up. She had a way of sensing when something was wrong.
"Not now, Eve," he muttered, landing another brutal hit to the bag.
She stepped closer, undeterred. "Not now, or never? Because the way I see it, you're always running from something."
He exhaled sharply, stepping back. "You wouldn't understand."
Eve folded her arms. "Then make me understand."
He turned to her, sweat dripping down his temple, his chest rising and falling heavily. "What do you want me to say, Eve? That I'm a lost cause? That no matter how much I try, I always end up back in the same damn place?"
Her gaze softened. "I want you to tell me why you think you don't deserve to be free from it."
His jaw clenched. Because he didn't deserve it. Because every sin he had committed had led him here. Because the blood on his hands could never be washed away.
The silence stretched between them like a chasm.
Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew who it was.
Carver.
Eve's eyes flicked to his clenched fist. "Who was that?"
"No one," he lied.
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but instead, she just watched him.
He turned back to the heavy bag and threw a punch so hard his knuckles split open.
Some wounds never heal.
And some battles are never meant to be won.