Mixie Moxie (COMPLETED)

Sleepless

As night fell, I laid in my apartment alone. Auntie and Zoey went to a different motel, and Jinx left me alone for once. I'm pretty sure he either stayed with Monty, or one of his Eagles.

Monty, fuck.

I sighed, realizing that I've been keeping Monty our of the damn loop this whole time. I stared at the darkness on the ceiling, watching the streaks of moonlight fade away and return in cycles. My head continued to throb even while on the pillow.

I wad so tired of thinking— of feeling.

Emptiness filled my body, a numbness I've never felt before. In the corner, my Red Bull fit had been collecting dust, and I glanced at it with disgust and longing in the same look. Jinx's words played over and over again in my head:

you'll have to live with the fact that the Blacks and Max got away with killing Luca, and will always remain on top.

Before I could stop myself, I picked up the gear, and found myself leaving the apartment and sneaking into the tournament locker room in the dead of night.

The place looked so lonely when it wasn't packed with fans cheering for the Wolves. The darkness emptied the seats, and the locker room was no different. All the lockers, seats, and equipment sat peacefully, waiting to be used. I fought the dread in my body to put the gear on.

As I took my shirt off and replaced it with that trademark red hooded sports bra, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I watched that empty frown on my face. I watched the emptiness overcome me, and suddenly it felt like that bright red hoodie was dulled. All the color sapped away. Who was this person?

I felt like my own reflection managed to punch me in the gut. This wasn't who I used to be... this wasn't the fighter I claimed I always was. I hadn't even noticed I was losing weight from stress, and that my body looked less muscular and more fragile now that I wasn't empowered mentally.

I lost myself.

"Fuck," I mumbled, feeling my headache again. I tried to shake the feeling before my eyes fixed on that blue Wolves training dummy. It held it's arms out with it's boxing gloves and the dumbest fucking angry face I've ever seen. I waited for that twinge in my knuckles, for that sensation that felt like my whole body fell asleep to drive me to lifting my fist... but...

Nothing.

Was I really broken?

Images flashes in and out of my head. First of me as a tween, in the middle of a boxing match. Then, of me as a young teen, training and sparring with Jinx before we both left for our matches. And then, every single event that happened as soon as I stepped foot in New Jersey.

From what felt like the tip of my toes to my hips, that tingly sensation slowly came crawling forward again. That stupid sparring dummy taunted me... the images started taking place of his stupid face. Luca's face, Jinx's, Monty's... Amy's... Max's... Triss'...

Mine.

My fist raised, and my blood boiled. That emasculated reflection of me— that pitiful sweet ass fucking reflection— I hated it! I fucking hated looking weak! I hated feeling weak, helpless, alone!

Who the fuck has the right to make me feel like that!

"FUCK!" I felt it now. Red Bull, the second half of me that I thought I lost, took control of me and drove my fist into that dummy again, and again, and again, and again until I finally faded back into reality and realized that I punched dents in the damn thing.

My forehead slammed against it, watching the faces fade away back into my mind. Panting, I realized how much energy I put into my anger. I stared at the ground.

"What the fuck is happening to me...?"

Out of nowhere, the training door creaked open, and I jolted before I threw my guard up defensively. Cloudy's surprised face calmed my nerves, and I threw my hands down.

"Mixie?" He questioned, walking up to his locker cautiously.

"Why are you here?"

"I forgot my jacket in here... I come to train. Why are you here?"

"Stress relief."

He analyzed my body, "Mix you're shaking,"

He was right, I was shaking so bad my body felt like it was vibrating. My nerves were going haywire and my whole body was on edge. This is what happens when Mixian Moxelle loses her damn mind.

"Are you okay?"

"No, Chad, I'm not fucking okay! This shit is getting to me,"

He left his locker in a heartbeat, walking up to me with the most concerned and saddened face he could muster.

I turned my back to him, leaning my forehead against the mirror in defeat. "I'm so mad at myself! Who even am I anymore!?"

"Mix..." Cloudy's voice grew quiet. He hugged me gently, without a word to be spoken. After five minutes, he looked me straight in the eye, "that's something you've known for years. You're a boxer, a fighter, and a human. You're dealing with death, and victory, and defeat." His eyes watered slightly, before he turned me back to the mirror to look at myself once more. The veins were popping out my arms.

"But you're damn sure not weak."

I bit my lip.

"Cloudy,"

"Yeah?"

"... When is the next tournament?"