One More Night: a Adam Levine story

Chapter Two

I woke up in an empty bed in a quite bedroom. It was still dark out so I checked the time on my cell: 05:06. Callie usually woke up this time crying and demanding either one of her parent’s attention. I quickly counted and deduced that today would have been my turn to tend to her. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up. I dragged my feet to the bathroom and hit the switch. My face was stubbly and Michaela would have complained. I stared in the mirror and saw the now purple bruise formed around my eye and the cut on my eyebrow. My lips were also a bit swollen on the side, but it came with boxing so I didn’t mind. I opened the mirror cabinet and took out my razor and shaving gel. I noticed Michaela had cleared all her feminine products out there as well. I squirted a ball of gel in my hand and rubbed it on my cheeks and neck. I shaved in five minutes, not cutting myself once, thanks to the expensive razor Michaela had bought be a couple of weeks ago. I brushed my teeth even quicker and stripped my clothes off. I turned on the cold water nozzle of the shower and let the water splash over my body. I preferred cold showers even in winter. The icy water instantly drained any sleep left in me. I felt refreshed but not quite ready for the day yet. My shower lasted exactly four minutes and I got out and dried myself off. I walked to my bedroom and changed into a pair of fresh boxers, black sweats, white wife beater and dark zip up jacket. I put on my socks and newish but worn Nike trainers. I planned on jogging the mile or so to the boxing studio after a bowl of cereal with warm milk. I sat on the couch and ate my cereal in silence, never bothering to turn the TV on. I rinsed my bowl out and let it drip dry in the sink. I filled my water bottle, fetched a towel from the spare bedroom and a pair of fresh clothes to change into after training. I put all three items in my tog bag and searched the bowl on the TV cabinet for the keys to my apartment. I unlatched the door, unlocked the gate and stepped outside into the cold, bitter air. I breathed in deeply and inhaled the chilling air. I threw my tog bag over my shoulder, locked my door and gate, and broke out into a swift jog into the direction of the boxing studio. I arrived at the end of the Fordham road after about fifteen minutes of jogging. I was sweating a bit, which was good. The boxing studio sat on the corner of Fordham road which joined with Lancedown intersection.  The studio was quite big with two stories, four separate arenas, two separate showers and bathrooms, an office for my dad and two general training rooms filled with equipment in good condition. It was still locked since it opened at six on weekdays and seven on weekends. I checked my Police watch: 06:14. I shrugged and unlocked the double doors with the key my dad made for me almost ten years ago when I moved out. I quickly disabled the alarm system and locked the doors again. I headed for the training room upstairs and dropped my tog bag on a chair. For the next two hours I began my training. I started with 200 reps with the skipping rope, 1000 punches on the speed bag, 200 star jumps, 200 knee highs, 200 crunches and 200 push ups. It was a lively warm up and by the time I was done, the studio had opened and there were a few other early morning trainers in the same training room as me. After a much needed water break and stripping of my jacket and vest so that I was bare chested, I slipped on my favourite, shiny red boxing gloves. They were a birthday gift from Michaela last year. I moved to one of the punching bags and began my usual boxing warm up. I started with 200 left and right punches, then 200 upper cuts. My training was going exceptionally well and I was quite proud of myself. I had worked up a good sweat and it wasn’t even noon yet.

‘Good to see you so early, son.’ I heard the familiar voice of pride. I turned around and found my father with a proud expression as he watched me train.

‘Hi dad,’ I said as cheerfully as I could.

‘Forget the small talk, I heard about last night’s win! You made it into the big league son!’ He slapped my shoulder in a way of saying congratulations.  I didn’t feel as happy as I should because firstly: my girlfriend and my baby are gone and I have no idea where they are. And secondly, I didn’t make it into the big league yet. The qualifying finale that I won was just a gateway to another qualifying couple of matches which only then led to the big league, if you got through. It was a big deal, but nothing to be proud of. My dad looked ecstatic on the other hand so I didn’t have the heart to tell him about Michaela.