JAXSON
I kept slamming my fists into the heavy punching bag until the chain holding it up began to rattle. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My knuckles crashed into the leather again and again, each hit harder than the last, until the metal groaned above me. One final punch—too hard, too desperate—snapped the chain clean off. The bag dropped to the floor with a hard, echoing thud that shook the entire underground room.
I stood there, breath tearing out of me in sharp, uneven bursts. Sweat ran from my hair down my face and stung my eyes. My hands throbbed, my knuckles burning, but the pain didn’t touch the anger inside me. It didn’t touch anything I actually felt.
Nothing was enough. I stared at the fallen bag like it had offended me. Like breaking it would somehow make the last month make sen
