Can't Control

Chapter 1: Sweetheart

A/N: I just wanted to tell you all to go check out DameKaraRen on Wattpad. Her stories have inspired this piece and inspired me to write freely for the first time in nearly a decade. I hope you all enjoy the adventure.

"Thanks, Dana," I waved goodbye to the owner of the MMA gym. He waved back with a smile and a small comment of seeing me in a couple days. The gym was just a few blocks away from where I was headed next. It was so nice to be able to have the freedom finally to go to the gym to workout whenever I pleased and also to be able to work at a gym. Back in Scottsdale, I couldn't even go to the gym for an hour without issues arising.

My phone rang while I was running on the treadmill, finishing up with some cardio for the end of my workout. I'd only been at the gym for about 45 minutes, but I knew what to expect if I stayed too long. I stopped running and answered the phone, panting. "Hey babe."

"Where the hell are you?"

I sighed, breathing deep and attempting to catch my breath. "I told you I'm at the gym. I'll be leaving shortly, I'm just finishing up my run now."

There was a pause. "No, I know where you are sweetheart."

Fucking hell, this again? "Babe, I'm not wherever you think I am. I'm at the gym, and I'll finish up now and grab my stuff." I took a deep breath and stopped the treadmill.

"You sound like you just got fucked!" he shouted on the other end of the line.

I groaned internally and reached down to grab my gym bag. "Baby, I'm doing cardio, I haven't—"

"Some fucking cardio that is," he interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Babe, you can come with me to the gym the next time I go if you want," I pleaded, as I always did when this happened, but he always declined. "You'll see that I have a set routine—"

"Hell no!" he shouted. I had to bring the phone away from my ear briefly at the noise. It hurt my ear drum. "No, because then you'll actually go to the gym, instead of fucking whatever guy you are now!"

"Babe, I'm not—"

"Shut the fuck up and get home now," he snapped and hung up the phone. I silently began wiping down the treadmill I was using. I sunk my head down and headed towards the door.

After I did get back to the house that afternoon, just like any time I had gone to the gym, I wasn't allowed to shower immediately, because I'd be accused of "wiping the sex off of me right when I walked in the door." But I wasn't allowed to go back to the house freshly showered either, because that means that I had cheated and then showered at whatever man's house he thought I was at. Eventually, I stopped working out all together when I was with him; it just wasn't worth the stress.

I brushed off my memory with a shiver. I wished I had seen all the red flags so much earlier, but when you're deep enough in shit, you don't realize how much shit you're actually in. At least, that's what I've realized after seeing my therapist over the last few months.

I walked the streets of Denver, nearly to my new job at 4 Aces Tavern, located on the main street that ran through downtown. It was the final day of my first week, though I didn't need much training; I'd worked other bars back when I lived in Arizona, so I mostly learned where everything was within the bar itself and the routine for opening and closing. The bar was surrounded by several other businesses as well: a small sushi place on one side, a pastry company on the other side, as well as an adult arcade and pizza slicery across the way. Needless to say, it was a busy street when the evenings rolled around, lots of twenty- and thirty-somethings tipsy and wandering with their friends. 4 Aces was not only a bar but it also housed a stage on one end of the establishment that was typically closed off unless there was a band playing inside.