Selfie With The Mafia

Book II - | 1 |

Happy (late) Christmas, amores ❤

Song: Miley Cyrus - Wrecking ball

•••

"You will not find love in her heart until you give her mind more attention than her body, her existence more respect than her attributes."

- Pierre Alex Jeanty

•••

● Seven months later ●

Ava

The scent of old leather clung in the air and sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I continued to land my fists on the punching bag.

My knuckles were already injured from yesterday's practice and it were beginning to bleed again with the amount of powerful hits and I was clearly aware of the fact that they weren't going to be healed very soon. It didn't matter to me because I was used to bear more than that and this slight burn would never concern me.

The hardness of it was magnificent on my bruised skin, my strength was doing nothing to make the bag swing to the another side. I kept my balance and grounded my feet before throwing a punch for the last time, putting every ounce of strength and it was still immovable.

Frustrated, I kicked off my shoes and slumped on the bean bag. I cocked my head and watched carefully as I unrolled the strip of cotton cloth wrap from my hands which were soaked in my blood, clenching my jaw when the wounds burned extremely.

Even after so much, even after everything I have come through and even after the never ending pain, I couldn't bring myself to shed even a drop of tear from my eyes. My parents thought I was depressed and wanted to appoint me a counsellor to get over it, over him.

This has become a routine. Every single day, I was regretting over the loss of something that was too close to my heart and that hurt even more knowing that it was never there. He was never mine.

He never loved me.

Fūck him.

I would rather avoid their baseless psychology before I let myself into something that was irrational and unacceptable to me. I didn't want sympathy or anyone to pity me. Regardless his unworthy dıck could not do any good for his slūts.

I was not a spineless coward who curled into a ball against the wall and flow a river of tears for someone who didn't deserve it. So, I have stopped feeling. My nerves have stopped responding to everything, it has been useless from a long, long while.

And, I have hid my feelings so deep, I can't find them anymore.

I grabbed another clean strip cloth and wrapped it around my wrists and then to my knuckles. I threw my fist on the punching bag and hissed with the contact, the agony bit my muscles thoroughly.

"Toughness should be in the soul and spirit, not in the muscles, Ava Knights."

The dark room was suddenly bright and I saw Michael Alonso leaning standing across me beside the switch board while holding a paper bag. I had to blink several times to get used to the light. I huffed a long, tired breath and switched on Treadmill, setting on a normal speed but as soon as I stepped on it, it wasn't working.

I looked back to find Mr. Michael holding the plug of Treadmill. "Lat pulldown, now," he announced, placing the paper bag on the table and going back to fix the machine.