Page 28 of Ravaged From Fate

“Sure you do,” Cyrus says, with no fear that I may retaliate. Most men cower in the sight of my sheer physical presence, but not this man. I’ve gotten used, in my time, to most people getting intimidated by a hulking, muscular rockstar drummer when he gets angry. But Cyrus is different; he matches my spirit with his own. “I can see it as bright as day. Something’s broken in your core, and you don’t know how to fix it. What is it? The past? Yeah, I’ve had something like that too, man. But fuck the past. Let’s do another drill.”

“Another drill?” I ask with a frown.

I don’t even know where this is heading…

“This time, let’s do it differently,” Cyrus says. “How about every time you jab, or hook, or cross, you yell something out? Fuck the past. How about that?”

I groan.

“You want me to say fuck the past?”

Cyrus looks at me stoically. “I want you to yell it out at the top of your massive lungs.”

“This is bullshit,” I say. “I’m going.”

“You’re going to walk away, just like last time you were here? What a waste.”

“Yeah,” I retort to the Samoan. “I am going to walk away. Just watch me.”

“Coward,” he sneers under his breath.

I turn to face him front-on.

“What did you say to me?”

“Nothing, bro. Just the truth.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“What I should’ve called you last time you walked.”

I am seething. My voice drops another octave. “You want me to fuck you up, big guy?”

Cyrus merely smiles at my vicious threat.

“There we go,” he says cheerily. “There’s your broken side, and it didn’t take much persuading, didn’t it? One word from me and that hidden side of you just came roaring out.”

Damn. He’s fucking right.

Even if I do want to rip off his arms for labeling me a coward.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” I warn him.

Cyrus is unfazed.

“Just give the exercise a go, bro,” he says.

I feel myself pouting, but I still give him a nod. Anything to get him off my back. I did tell myself to try out the gym.

Anything not to be called coward again.

Cyrus lifts up his punching mitts.

“Let’s go,” he barks.

And I jab.

And just like Cyrus instructed me to do, I yell out those words after my fist lands.