Darren bounced in place, fists twitching in their wraps, breath already quick.
The gym was dead quiet except for the buzz of red neon stuttering across the ceiling. The sign outside read CLOSED, but he never left when it flipped. He had the key. He had the night.
The smell was always the same every time he visited, old sweat baked into mats, rusted pipes and a subtle smell of the Bleach boss used to clean the blood.
Some music was screaming in his ears. It was loud. He liked it loud.
The heavy bag shook with the first jab. The chain jolted and dust rained from the rafters.
Second. Third. His cross snapped in tight. Hook. Elbow.
Teep. Jab. Cross. Low kick. Reset.
"Ha!" He attempted a roundhouse but his heel slipped. He managed to recover quick and keep moving.
One, two, buckle my shoe three four shut the door... wait why am i singing? Shit.
His mind drifted. Was that four or five?
He struck harder.
He tried to focus, on form, on weight shifts, on exhaling when he struck. But part of him was still running running running on and on never stopping always droning constantly in the background.
"SHUT UP,"
The playlist shifted. Monster. The riff kicked in hard and fast. He liked that. Gave him something to chase.
The secret side of me... I never let you see...
He lost himself in it. Hook, kick, elbow, clinch.
He yanked the headphones off. Threw them to the mat. Let the silence hit.
Nothing except the clink of chain, rain on the roof, and the thunder of his pulse behind his ears.
He slammed an elbow into the bag. Another. Spinning elbow. The bag rocked.
A loud beeping alarm echoed through the empty gym. Times up.
His heartbeat roared in his ears and his body trembled. Chest heaving in harsh, uneven gulps.
What time is it? Shit, I forgot to eat dinner...
He shook his head hard.
The sweat stung his eyes.
He let himself drop to one knee. Hands on thighs.
The red light pulsed in the cracked mirror nearby. Hollow-eyed. Soaked.
He picked up the headphones. Linkin Park hummed through them now.
I tried so hard, and got so far...
He turned the music off.
When's that assignment due?
He wiped his face. Drank from the old dented metal bottle. It tasted like metal and home.
He stared at the bag. It barely swayed.
He'd probably be back tomorrow.