Lachlan
Why is she so persistent? Why does she even care? Maybe it's okay to let her in.
The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment, all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart. I stared at her, still unsure if I should let her in or send her packing. But she had already crossed the threshold. She wasn't going anywhere, and I hated that. I hated that she wasn't running from me like everyone else had.
She didn't understand. She couldn't.
I was a wreck. A fucking mess. And I didn't need anyone to see it, least of all her. But here she was, standing in my living room like she belonged. Like she was some kind of tether, some anchor that was supposed to pull me out of this. Out of the darkness. But what did she really want? Was it pity? Was that what she was offering? Or maybe she thought she could save me. Some white knight bullshit.
I was no hero. And I sure as hell wasn't anyone's charity case.
"You don't have to trust me right now," she said, her voice softer than I expected. It wasn't some grand proclamation, but it settled somewhere in my chest, quiet and insistent. "But you don't have to do this alone."
Her words hit me like a blunt force. She wasn't saying I should trust her. She was just saying she was here. Just... here. No strings. No promises.
But that was the problem. I couldn't let anyone close. I didn't want anyone to see what was really happening inside of me. I didn't want her to see how broken I really was. She was too good for me—too clean, too hopeful. I wasn't some fucked-up puzzle she could solve. I was just a disaster. And I was dragging everyone around me into the mess. She wouldn't understand that.
I didn't know what to say to her, so I just stood there, staring at the floor, at the chipped concrete beneath my feet. I hated the silence, hated the suffocating quiet between us, but I didn't know how to fill it. My mouth felt dry, my throat tight. Every time I tried to speak, the words caught in my chest like they were too dangerous to say out loud.
I wanted to tell her to leave. I wanted to tell her she didn't know what she was walking into. That I was a storm she wasn't equipped to weather. But then, the silence wrapped around me like a shroud, and I felt it again—the weight of everything, pressing down on my ribs, choking me from the inside.
The things I'd been running from, the things I'd locked away in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind… they came rushing back with a force I couldn't control. I couldn't stop the images, couldn't stop the memories. My father's voice, cold and cutting. My brother's eyes, full of anger and disappointment. Delilah's words tearing into me. The years of feeling like I was never good enough, like I was nothing more than a failure waiting to happen.
It had always been there, the feeling of being less. Of being unworthy of love, of care, of attention.
And now, here she was—Ria—standing in front of me, offering me something I couldn't take. Something I wasn't capable of accepting.
My hands curled into fists at my sides. I couldn't breathe. The air felt thick, and I wanted to claw it away. I wanted to scream. To break something. To break myself.
"You don't get it," I said through gritted teeth, my voice rougher than I intended. "I'm not someone you can fix. I'm not some project you can take on because you feel bad for me. I'm not... I'm not worth it."
I wanted to shove her away, to push her out of the door and never see her again, but I couldn't move. The words spilled out of me in a rush, like a floodgate that had finally given way, and I couldn't stop them.
"I've never been worth it," I continued, my voice shaking now. "No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, I always fuck it up. I always end up hurting the people who care about me. And you—you think you can just waltz in here and tell me I'm not alone? That I don't have to do this by myself?" My chest tightened, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Well, guess what? I am alone. I always have been."
Her eyes were wide, but she didn't move. She didn't back away like everyone else did. She just stood there, staring at me, her face a mix of confusion and something else I couldn't name. I couldn't figure it out.
I couldn't figure her out.
But what I did know was that I was fucking terrified of what she could see in me.
"Lachlan, you're not—"
"I am alone," I snapped, cutting her off, my voice rising in the small space between us. "I've always been alone. People leave. They walk away. They get tired of me. I don't know how to keep them. I don't know how to be good enough for anyone."
I could feel the burn in my chest, the ache of everything I had tried to bury, rising up like a tidal wave. It threatened to swallow me whole.
And then, before I even realized it, I took a step back. Away from her. Away from the thing that scared me the most.
I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't let her see how much of a fucking mess I was.
"You need to go," I said, my voice lower now, quieter, but still sharp. "You need to leave before you get hurt, too. I won't—" I choked on the rest of the words. I couldn't even finish it.
Her face softened, but there was something in her eyes that I didn't understand. Not pity. Something deeper. Something that made me feel exposed.
But still, she didn't leave.
"I'm not going anywhere, Lachlan," she said softly, her voice a little shaky, but determined. "You don't get to push me away that easily."
I couldn't take it.
I wanted her to leave, but I couldn't make her go. Not when she was looking at me like that, like she saw something in me worth saving.
"Why?" I spat, feeling the anger rise again. "Why do you care? Why do you keep coming back? I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
Her eyes never wavered. "Maybe I'm not here to save you, Lachlan. Maybe I'm just here because I care. Maybe that's all it is." She took a step forward. "Maybe you don't have to be anything more than just you for me to care. Maybe that's enough."
Her words hit me harder than I could've expected. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't know what to say.
There was a long, unbearable silence between us. And then I felt it—the dam breaking. The thing I had been holding back for so long, the thing I had kept hidden beneath layers of false bravado and bitterness. It started to slip through the cracks.
I didn't know what to do with it. But I couldn't keep it in anymore.
I was done pretending.
For the first time in forever, I let myself breathe.
The gym was cold, the familiar metallic scent of sweat and iron filling the air. The thump of fists against pads, the low murmur of grunts, the clang of weights being dropped to the floor—it was all part of the same rhythm I'd been living for years. The harshness of it was comforting, the repetition a way for me to lose myself in the grind, to forget everything that lingered outside these walls.
But today, it felt different. My body moved through the motions with a kind of intensity I hadn't felt in a long time. There was no hesitation in my punches, no second-guessing. Each strike felt sharper, heavier, like it was a message I was trying to send—not to anyone in particular, but to myself. A reminder that I still had control. That I could still tear through anything that stood in my way.
Chiron was watching me, as always. He didn't need to say much—he never did. His eyes were sharp, scanning every move I made, every shift of my weight, every exhale of breath. He was waiting for something, and I wasn't sure if it was to see if I'd break or to see if I'd rise. But either way, I wasn't about to disappoint him.
I smashed a fist into the heavy bag, feeling the resistance in my muscles, the burn in my arms as I pulled back and struck again. My breath was coming faster now, the rhythm of it syncopated with my hits. The anger, the rage—whatever the hell it was that had been building inside me—felt like it was leaking out with every punch. I wasn't holding back anymore. I wasn't thinking about anything.
Just the feeling of power.
Just the sound of my fists pounding against the leather, drowning out everything else. Everything that had happened in the last few days—the fight with Ria, the shit with my family, the constant weight of my own self-doubt. It was all gone, lost in the chaos of my strikes.
Chiron stepped forward, his thick arms crossed over his chest as he studied me closely. "You're moving differently," he said, his voice gravelly, like he'd seen something he didn't expect. "What's going on, Lachlan?"
I didn't stop punching, didn't even break my rhythm. I wasn't sure what had changed, but something had. Maybe it was Ria. Maybe it was the conversation we'd had earlier. Maybe it was just everything inside of me that had been bottling up for too long finally breaking loose.
"I'm not holding back anymore," I grunted, my words clipped as I threw another jab. "I'm done pretending."
Chiron nodded, his eyes narrowing as he watched me. He always understood, always saw right through the bullshit. But this? This was different. This wasn't just anger; it was something sharper. Something more controlled.
"You're tapping into something," he said, voice low. "But be careful. Wrath can carry you, but it can break you just as easily if you're not careful."
I didn't need him to tell me that. I knew the danger of getting lost in it, of letting it consume me. But I didn't feel consumed. I felt alive in a way I hadn't in a long time. The adrenaline in my veins was like a drug, pushing me further, harder.
I threw a combination—a flurry of quick jabs, then a sharp uppercut—and the bag swung violently. The sting in my knuckles felt good. I could feel the bruises rising, the tension in my shoulders as I fought against the ache. Every hit was a reminder that I was still here. Still alive.
I paused for a moment, wiping the sweat off my face, and then turned to Chiron. "What if I don't want to hold back anymore?" I asked. The question felt strange, but it was honest. "What if I want to use this? All of it. The anger. The rage. I've been hiding from it, but I'm done with that."
Chiron's gaze didn't leave mine as he took a step closer, his presence imposing. "That's what I've been waiting for," he said quietly, his voice gruff with something I couldn't place. "But you have to keep control. The moment you lose it, it'll destroy you. And I'm not sure you can survive that."
I didn't respond right away. I just watched him, trying to absorb the weight of his words. I knew he was right. I couldn't let this take me over. I had to use it, not be used by it.
"Show me," he said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Let's see what you've got."
Before I could even process what he meant, Chiron had moved in close, too close, and I instinctively stepped back, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. He threw a quick jab to my stomach, but I was ready this time. I blocked it, countered with a hook that I knew was too fast for him to dodge.
The feeling of it—the speed, the precision, the power behind it—felt right. I wasn't holding back, not like I had before. Every movement was a controlled explosion, an eruption of everything I'd been stifling. And Chiron? He wasn't surprised. He was waiting for it.
"You've got the fire now," he said, stepping back to reassess. "But don't forget the fundamentals. You need to stay grounded, Lachlan. You can't just chase the high. Control it."
I exhaled, wiping sweat off my forehead, still feeling the rush. I wasn't sure if it was the fight or just the fact that I'd finally stopped running from what was inside me. Maybe it didn't matter.
"I won't lose it," I said, the words slipping out with a certainty I didn't even recognize in myself.
But as Chiron nodded and stepped back, I knew he was right about one thing: I was changing. Something inside me had shifted, and I wasn't sure where it was taking me. But it felt like power. Real power.
And for once, I wasn't scared of it.
Ria was still there, in the back of my mind. Her voice. Her eyes. She had opened something in me I didn't know how to close. But that wasn't something I could deal with right now. I had to focus on this—this moment, this fight, this raw power building up inside me.
I wasn't sure what was coming next. But whatever it was, I'd be ready.
I could feel it. The storm was coming. And this time, I wasn't running from it.