Page 68 of Ravaged From Fate

The bag shoots back, and for a moment I’m worried it might break off its hinges. I don’t want to brag, but my right hook is starting to become legendary in this gym, and for good reason. Here’s proof.

I wind up for another punch.

WHACK!

Damn, beating up an inanimate object like this punching bag is so fucking satisfying. I don’t know why I’ve never considered doing something like this before I moved to East Springs.

Well, Caspian, you were too busy playing with Ravaged and running away from your problems to even think of letting out your anger…

It was right what I told Elsa the other night in bed. This boxing gym of Cyrus’ really is a good place for me. It’s hard to put it into words exactly… it’s like, being here every day, I’m starting to chill. The aggression inside me is not as strong as it used to be, more than anyone else I know but still less.

But that doesn’t mean I’m any less scared of what I’m capable of. I’m still so fucking scared of the power of the rage inside me. Every waking moment and every nightmare that fear is at the back of my mind. Elsa hasn’t been hurt yet because of my violence, but I’m scared to hell that time may not be on my side.

I punch the bag again.

WHACK!

Clear out these evil thoughts.

WHACK!

Sweat pours off me. I take a breather and look up from the poor punching bag. There’s a row of TVs on the wall opposite me playing the news. The segment flickers over to entertainment.

And that’s when I see Ravaged again. Even in this small town in the middle of nowhere, I can’t escape the famous boys. I read the headlines as they appear on the screen. New photos of my former bandmates emerging from their houses and recording studios. Well, it seems like they’re still having troubles with the press, months on from the incident with the paparazzi guy. Harold has fully dropped his legal charges and has now turned to writing endless op-eds about how bad the band is. He wants their heads. This isn’t good. The press has completely turned against Ravaged.

And it looks like they haven’t found a replacement drummer yet.

For fuck’s sake, boys. Get your shit together. Move on from me.

I turn away from the TVs and deliver another perfect right hook into the bag.

WHACK!

Maybe it was a mistake leaving the boys. But the last few months in East Springs have been good for me. I’ve really changed, for the better.

And I’ve met Elsa.

I like the slow pace of this town. Let’s be real; I was never suited for the whole Los Angeles lifestyle. The parties. The glamor. The networking. Social media. Who’s up and who’s down. It all goes back to Crystal River and home. I’ve always been a small town boy at heart.

All I’m worried about is my cover getting blown. Elsa should never know who I really am.

And that’s getting hard to do.

I’m lying to her…

“You’re really giving that bag your everything, aren’t you?”

It’s Juniper. She’s walking towards me. I lay down my arms.

“I’m just letting a few things out,” I reply.

“I get you. I like to do the same thing when my mind gets into a mess.”

I use my hand towel to wipe the sweat dripping from my forehead. “You’re always here. How long have you been boxing?” I ask her.

“Not long,” she replies. “Cyrus thinks I’m naturally talented, but I just like punching things.”

“And you’ve always been good at punching things?”