Steelheart

05. | missed calls

I miss Vera. I wish I wasn't alone. Someone to comfort me. Relate to me. I want that from her.

The studio's silence was loud. My grunts and fists jabbing the bag were the only things causing any kind of ruckus. I can never punch hard enough when I'm upset. I dunno if I'm mad or hurt. Both? I'm scared to. Maybe I'm everything and all of it, all at once.
My mouth closes as I use my nostrils for all of my air circulation, throwing my fists harder now. Pretending it was all of my problems, wrapped up into one giant, stuffed dummy. I was getting head high, feeling my blood rush to my ears now.
"Yo, Silas! Chill, the bag isn't going anywhere!" Cree's voice echoed through the studio as he grabbed my arm.

I wasn't expecting his presence at all, and my nerves were already shot. It's not like he would know, but you can't scare someone who's currently rage-punching an object. I mean, it's just common sense. Turning my body around, my arm swings back, flying toward Cree. He ducks his body quickly before stopping me completely.
"Hey. Chill. What's going on, you can't announce yourself?" he scoffs, jokingly.
My chest repeatedly rises as I drop my arms, finally breathing out completely.
He raises his eyebrows, looking at me harder now, "You good?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." I say, using my arm to wipe my face and mouth of sweat, turning and walking to the bench to sit down.
"So what made you come here at nine at night then? Cause this is pretty late for you, of all people," he questions me, chuckling.
Plopping down, I rest my head in my hands, "I'm fine. I'm just tired." I bristle, finding it hard to be calm now, "I just wanted to blow off some steam."
I could hear him walking over, and soon, I could see his shoes standing in front of me, fixing to sit down beside me. He sighs.
"Not to be a nosy ass, but uh—that sounded like a little more than tired," he suggests, patting my back.
"Sorry, I'm not exactly good at explaining my feelings." I quietly confess.
"Don't apologize to me. You just look like you need to vent," he says.
My hands drop, resting my elbows on my legs as I hang my head, "How does one find peace?" I ask him, quieting my voice.

We both say in silence for a few seconds while I'm assuming he looks for the answer. Although I wasn't expecting him to have an answer. I guess it was a rhetorical question. But I wish there was an answer.
Everything feels so loud sometimes. The volume is slowly turning up as time goes on. Finally, it reaches its maximum capacity. And then everything feels too overwhelming to handle.
"I think you have to make it for yourself, bro. Nobody can do it for you." Cree interrupts the silence.
wandering my eyes to him, my head follows as I fully look at him.
"I'm not happy Cree. I'm tired. Not physically, but... mentally. I feel like I'm losing everything. I can't seem to keep anything good in my life. It never stays, or sticks," I lament.
"My mom is sick. I have no idea what to do with Eric. He's not even processing it I don't think." I add, pausing.
"And neither am I. But I'm just not good at this shit, Cree. I feel like I'm a lost kid. I have everything and nothing all at the same time."
Cree sighs, "Look, Silas. That's where you're so wrong. Okay—it's not about having everything or everyone. Or anyone," he gloats, pointing at me.
"It's about having yourself, right? As soon as you realize that part," he stands up, looking down at me now, "You will be fine. I promise." he smiles.
I sigh, looking down before standing up, "Yeah. Sure." I nod, still feeling defeated though.

He was right to some extent. It's just that I have felt alone so much recently. A change of scenery wouldn't hurt.

"Now c'mon. You wanna get to work, or what, let's get it!" he laughs, holding his fists up, squaring up with me, even bouncing a little.
Giving a half-suppressed laugh, I quickly get into my stance, holding my fists up now too as we make our way back to the bag.
I have myself, but myself doesn't feel like enough. Not to me. To everyone else, I'm tough, or I have a good head on my shoulders. But it doesn't mean anything when everything around you is dying or leaving you hanging. Or when you have to pretend to continue to be someone you're never gonna be okay with.
I live with a lot of guilt for leaving Eric behind on my mom. Sure I take care of them however I can. But they each could have a better life. It wasn't always happy for us. It wasn't really until I started working for the firm that things changed.
Before that, I was just like anyone else. So I felt. I just didn't get along with people. They didn't like me. I was too smart, or too fat, or weird. The stereotypical bullying archetypes.