I collapse on the wood floor, reaching for my water bottle. The anger—along with a gallon of sweat—has trickled out of me. My body feels depleted, but my mind is racing.
Duke might be giving Dr. Lawson a run for her money.
Shifting my feet under me, I attempt to stand and promptly fold back into the floor.
May stumbles over to me but is smart enough to stay standing. “I hate you.”
I hold out my hand and she hoists me up with far more grunts and groans than should be allowed. “Would it help ease your pain if I told you I think I just had a major breakthrough?”
She slings a sweaty arm around me and we trudge out to the parking lot. “Breakthroughs can’t buy me drinks.”
13
Journaling is always a good idea; write down your true feelings and don’t hold back.
—Lana Parker, “New Hobbies to Try When You Find Yourself Suddenly Single”
I climb out of my car at theAlways Take Fountainoffice two days after kickboxing, a latte in one hand and a croissant in the other. My body still aches, and even the simple act of opening the office doors sends a wave of dull pain through my biceps. Our third set of articles is due soon, and I need this one to be good. I have to close the gap between Seth and me if I’m going to have any chance of winning this competition. Normally I’d head to one of my favorite coffee shops when I’m on deadline, but I’m hoping the added pressure of being in the office will help me churn out my best work.
Only subconsciously, I might also be hoping to run into Seth. Not because I’m dying to see him, obviously, but because I’m mildly curious to know how he’s doing with histask for this week. And maybe test out that whole letting-go-of-the-anger deal.
I’m the only one there aside from Ian, our web tech manager, which is probably for the best since I won’t have any of my colleagues to distract me from writing. I hole up at one of my favorite tables, open my laptop, and get to work.
Writing about the kickboxing class itself is surprisingly easy. Duke is a character in his own right, and whether I want to admit it or not, the experience was therapeutic to say the least. Where I stall out is the ending. I want to win this competition. And to do that, I need the readers to be on my side. Which means my writing needs to be compelling, and in order to be so, it needs to be honest. But I don’t know how much I want to reveal about Seth and me and our previous relationship. Yes, everyone knows we dated thanks to our viral Instagram shitstorm, but I haven’t exactly filled the world in on the finer details of our breakup. Or our meltdown at the reunion. Yet for me, the most important part of the kickboxing experience was being able to physically express my anger toward Seth, and a little bit toward myself, and how that helped me let go of it.
And I’m as surprised as anyone to find out I really did let go of it. It’s been two days since the literal blowout, and while I certainly wouldn’t classify my feelings for Seth as suddenly warm and fuzzy, the rage has faded. Hopefully it stays that way the next time I see him in person.
I settle on a middle ground for my article, detailing how kickboxing allowed me to work out some long-held-in anger, painting my vulnerability all over the page. But I decideto leave Seth’s name out of it. For the readers, my anger was directed at some unknown person instead of my competitor. I’ll save the major reveals for later, if at all, but I’m finally offering something of myself in my writing, and hopefully it will resonate and bring in the engagement I desperately need if I want to catch up.
“You missed a comma right there.” A finger points over my shoulder, nearly touching the screen of my laptop.
I jump back. I was so deep in my zone I didn’t even notice anyone else come in. “This is my first draft, asswipe.”
“Nice to see your insults haven’t changed since sophomore year.” Seth leans against the edge of my desk, making himself perfectly comfortable in my space.
“Nice to see you’re still a condescending jerk about grammar.” I scoot my laptop and my chair a few inches away from him.
“Working on your column?”
“Obviously.” I angle my screen so he can’t see it.
“When do I get to read it?” He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a charming grin.
“When it goes live on the site.” I clickSaveand shut my computer before he can do something truly obnoxious and juvenile like grab it out of my hands. It’s what high school Seth would’ve done, although back then the gesture would’ve been teasing but gentle. And he would’ve fixed all my grammar mistakes without giving me shit for it.
“I gave my draft to Natasha two days ago.”
“Well, good for you.”
“And I’ve already got a jump on one of my long-term tasks.” He pulls out his phone and opens something on the screen. “Meet Harry.” He shoves his phone into my sight line.
“You got a fish.” I try to not be charmed by the bright-blue fish, swimming happily in a tank outfitted with a neon-green castle and bright-pink and orange rocks, but I don’t manage very well. “You know, when I tasked you with getting a pet, I meant a cat or a dog or even a bunny. Something that requires care and nurturing.”
He grabs the phone from my hand. “Fish require care. I have to feed him and clean his tank.”
“You know that wasn’t the point.”
“I guess you should’ve been more specific then.” A cheeky smirk slides across his face. “Besides, I’m learning a lot about myself by having a pet fish, which is the whole purpose of the assignment, right?”
