Wednesday, September 28th....

My hands move on autopilot as I wash a few dirty dishes in the sink, eyes stuck on the window as I watch Alex through the glass. He'd gotten up sometime before even I was awake, already going at it.

To say I was surprised yesterday when Alex showed up after his short walk outside, asking Don if he could get a boxing bag is an understatement. Don, like me, didn't know how to react either.

Of course one side of us was elated that he wanted to do anything after all this time of refusing to do any type of activity. Though, the other side, wasn't so sure if this would exactly be considered 'healthy' for his mental state.

So, needing another opinion, we called up Mrs. Waver.

She, apparently, thought it was a great idea and was excited to hear it was all his idea. She says it was a type of "breakthrough" she was looking for. Apparently he's letting a part of his past become his present which is, therapeutically speaking, a good thing.

I still wasn't so sure.

But, as it happens, Don called up an old friend in town, who ended up having an old punching bag and gloves, basically settling the situation on its own. Don drove up to retrieve it before nightfall had even completely settled in for the day and Alex, once again surprising us, helped him tie it up to a limb out back.

Though, I will add, that I didn't wholeheartedly agree on this until I made a pact with Alex. No way was I letting him do all this physical stuff with the way he was eating. So, much to his pleasure, we came to the agreement that he has to eat more to be allowed to go punch his bag. I will not stand for him to be fainting due to too much strenuous activity in my backyard.

And, now, I've stood around the kitchen all morning, cooking breakfast as I watch him go from; running around his field Don trimmed a path around for him, to doing, what I can only guess, are some karate drills, and now, punching at that silly bag, looking far too professional than I'd like.

I hate thinking about what they made him do at that awful place. And this, this is only reminding me more of that horrid seven weeks.

I scrub the center of the skillet a little too hard, hearing the water splashing but not caring at the moment. Hands suddenly grab each of my shoulders, easing some of the tension from them.

Don gives me a peck on the cheek, ducking his head down lower to look out the window. He lets a low whistle out. "He's real good at that."

I give him the stink eye, shrugging his hands off with a huff. "Well I don't like it," I shoot back, not caring if I sound like a whinny five year-old at the moment. Don steps back, letting an exasperated breath out as he snatches an apple off the counter.

"You may not, but Waver said this could be good for him." He shrugs. "It's a way for him to safely blow some steam off. And you know he has plenty of it." He gives me a searching look. "It beats watching him lounge around the house all day."

I look back down at my rubber gloved hands. "I know," I let a defeated sigh out, glancing back up outside at Alex. "I just worry about him. What if this backfires? What if-"

Don gently grabs my shoulders again, silencing me. "We'll deal with the 'what if's' if it comes to them. Right now, just let him do his thing. He's working through more things than any teenager normally has to work through at his age."

I let another sigh out, knowing he's right. "Alright. I'll stop glaring every time I look out at the damn thing - for right now."

"Deal."

~*~

Alex's POV...

I let my gloved hands fall to my sides, chest heaving as I stare at the ugly punching bag before me. Sweat glues my hair to my forehead and drips into my eyes, coating my shirt to my skin.

I'd gotten up, well, I don't know if I was ever really asleep to begin with, around five a.m this morning. Once again too antsy to just walk the halls like usual. Only, unlike all my other restless nights, I finally had something to let my tension out on.

First I'd started with a two mile run around the field to warm up from the brisk autumn morning air, following that with a half an hour of karate techniques I've neglected to practice. And finally, I'd wrapped my trembling hands, hearing the voice of Felix once again as he guided me through the steps, before I'd pulled the gloves on.

My body had fallen into the warm-ups Frances had drilled into me like I'd never left the place, leaving me feeling conflicted once again. But after a few minutes of letting my anger out on the hard bag, a sense of peace had washed over me so abruptly I'd almost staggered.

I thought I'd never wrap my hands or put those gloves on again. But I'd thought wrong. Because, in reality, I'm finding out that this may be the only peace I can achieve. Even if it is only brief.

And yet, I can't help but feel a little guilty. Here I am, doing what I vowed never to do again, and Felix is dead. People I cared about. Are. Still. Dead. I shouldn't be allowed to feel any peace...

Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I smack the bag with one more jab before falling out of my stance and stepping away from the gently swinging bag. Unwrapping my hands as I walk towards the back screened-in door, I unconsciously keep my face in a frown, already feeling the anxiety beginning to flood back into my knotted chest.

I subconsciously rub it as I get the last wrap off, reaching out with my other hand to grab the handle on the screen. Pulling it open, I walk through, letting it fall back into place behind me. Already knowing both Lucy and Don are in the kitchen, I quickly head on the opposite direction towards the staircase, not in the mood for the unavoidable lecture over most likely 'overdoing' it on the punching bag.

Tossing the wraps and gloves on my bed, I grab a fresh change of clothes and slip off my shoes, glancing at the clock as I pass it: 7:24 a.m. Stepping into the bathroom, I lock it behind me, scanning the small room before I strip off my sweat-soaked clothes, the shirt being particularly stubborn as it sticks to my skin like a second layer.

Piling the wet clothes in a corner, I quickly scrub up and get out of the shower, already ignoring the now familiar trembles that usually wrack my body after a shower. Buttoning the button on my jeans, I just so happen to glance up in the large mirror that fans out over the sink.

I straighten up slowly, trying to avoid direct eye contact with myself. My eyes skim over the ugly scar on the side of my neck and down to the even uglier scorpion brand Razim had particularly fun carving out before pressing a hot iron to it.

A cold shiver races down my spine, and I reach forward to brace my hands on the sink as the simple task of breathing abruptly gets harder. My hand reaches up before I can stop it, fluttering softly over the uneven skin, probing gently. My eyes flicker over to my left shoulder, and I suddenly gasp as a sharp, white-hot phantom pain flares out from the now throbbing area marring my shoulder.

My right hand automatically clamps over it as my other tightens on the side of the sink, head sinking down as I grind my teeth together through the pain.

Out one. In two. Out one. In two.

Once the pain fades enough to be tolerable, I straighten up, ignoring the rest of the marks on my body before I trigger another spasm of pain. Tugging on my white t-shirt, I throw my leather jacket on over it, running my hand through my hair in what could be considered brushing.

I glance at my reflection one last time, figuring there isn't much I can do to soften my rugged appearance besides possibly putting a bow in my hair. Then I'd just look plain stupid.

Grabbing my soiled clothes from the floor, I toss them in my hamper before heading back down the stairs again, somewhat happy to find I don't feel so down in the dump anymore.

Maybe this boxing stuff really is the therapeutic stuff I needed? Not all that, 'talk about your feelings' crap.

I slow as I reach the door to the kitchen, carefully placing my mask back in place before pushing the door open and walking through. I look around to find Don's already left and Lucy's in the middle of wiping one if the counters off. She glances up when I come in, a large smile instantly on her lips.

"Good morning," she chirps, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Don said to tell you morning also. He had to head out early." I nod my head, walking over to the smoothie Lucy already has made and set out on the counter by the fridge. I've told her multiple times I can make my own smoothie, but she insists on doing it herself.

I take a sip, letting the bitter protein taste linger a few seconds before swallowing. I've found, since my days in the underground, that drinking smoothies for breakfast doesn't bother my stomach nearly as much as solid food - if at all. Once Lucy found out, the freezer hasn't been deprived of frozen fruits since.

I hop up on one of the barstools behind the counter in the middle of the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring the thick strawberry smoothie with the straw. Lucy looks over before I can take another sip.

"I dare say you've forgotten our little pact, Alex? And don't get me started on how hard you looked like you were pushing yourself." She places a hand on her hip, eying me. And here comes the lecture I was talking about. "You know you're supposed to take it slow. It's barely been three weeks and I'm still worried about your shoulder."

I stare down at the thick pink liquid inside the cup, knowing she's right. But in all honesty, I think I'm in the best, physical, shape of my life right now. And that's all thanks to the underground. So even though it seems like I should be taking it easy after just getting back from, yet another, kidnapping, I don't agree. Besides, my shoulder barely bothers me anymore.

"I know. I'm sorry," I apologize, looking up at her from under my hair. Her face softens, and she smiles again. "There isn't anything to apologize for. If there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you don't like to be kept cooped up."

I finish the rest of my smoothie in silence, simply watching as Lucy cleans the kitchen until it's more then spotless. But, to be truthful, I think I just liked the normalnnce of it all; a mother cleaning up after her husband leaves for a hard day's work, her son -

I quickly clamp down on those thoughts, unexpectedly feeling my cheeks warm at the same time my heart jumps in my chest. Shifting in my seat, I clear all wishful thinking from my mind.

"You better go grab your stuff, Alex." I snap my gaze over to Lucy. She pulls off her apron. "We gotta get goin if you're gonna make it to school on time."

I nod, keeping my face straight even as my chest tightens at that one dreaded word, pushing off from the stool. Cleaning up my simple mess, I then head back upstairs, grabbing my backpack and rummaging through it quickly to make sure I have everything.

Practically sprinting down the stairs, I find Lucy already by the stairs. She looks up, looking me over with an approving nod. She then gestures to the backpack. "Do you have your medication to take with lunch?"

Ah yes, the medicine that has yet to work. I'm almost beginning to doubt they ever will.

I look away from her gaze, pulling on my backpack strap as I give a jerky nod.

To say I was embarrassed about taking medication, not just at home, but in school, was an understatement. It just helped as a reminder of how much more different I am from everyone. Popping a mouthful of medication in the middle of a school cafeteria just doesn't look right.

  A rock suddenly settles on my chest, and I shift uncomfortably where I stand, hands clinching and unclenching at my sides. Lucy finally leads the way out to her suv, and I take the passenger seat, plopping my backpack in the backseat.

Lucy drives in silence, letting her classical music, that seems very out of place in the country, fill the void. I try to keep from moving around in my seat too much as a ball of nerves grows larger in my stomach the closer we get to school, antsy being the understatement of the day.

I swallow the growing anxiety as she pulls into the high school's parking lot, and my hands, that I'd been keeping perfectly still, begin to vigorously fiddle with the bracelets on my wrists once I catch sight of all the students mulling around the yard.

"Alex, are you okay?" It takes me a moment to realize we've both come to a stop in front of the front entrance to the school, and that she's speaking to me. "Because if you don't feel like going today, I'm sure the principle will understand."

I peel my eyes from the glass window to look at her. "No. I'm fine." I pop the door open before she can argue anymore, and I reach back to grab my backpack before placing my unsteady feet on the paved ground.

I don't want, or need, special treatment.

"Alright...." Lucy hesitates. "Have a good day, and call me if you need anything." I swing my backpack up on my right shoulder, giving her a nod. "Bye," I tell her before shutting the door.

I breathe in a shaky breath of cool, morning air, letting it sooth some of the nausea building up in my stomach.

Looks like I may be hitting the bag again today. Unfortunately, it seems, its aftereffects wear off within the hour. They should put a warning tag on it; Warning; sudden feelings of peace may dissipate within sixty minutes of use.

"Alex!"

I force a smile on my mouth as Polly and Mack break through the crowd. So, apparently, whenever Mack's parents' are around, they pick up Polly on their way to drop Mack off at school, and vise-versa if his parents aren't home, unless, of course he's staying with the Browns.'

Lucy waves one last time, and I wave back before she's carefully pulling out of the parking lot. Polly and Mack walk up to me, each with large smiles on their faces like they're at some amusement park instead of school.

"Alex, my man." Mack wraps an arm around my shoulders, but not before examining me warily. I'm sure he'd appreciate not getting judo-flipped again, especially right out in front of school.

Polly stands on my other side, hugging a few books to her chest as she smiles up at me. "You ready to tackle another day?"

As ready as I'll ever be.

~*~

"Alex, come on. You'll be fine."

I'm suddenly not so sure of that. My heart beats rapidly in my ears and I can feel my palms growing sweaty as I stare at the crowd of maybe fifteen people gathered in the center of the soccer field in the distance.

My stomach rolls, then rolls again, and I suddenly think I'm about to hurl. My breathing comes out faster than is necessary, and I can't seem to stop scanning the surroundings as my anxiety abruptly explodes outwards from my stomach, causing the rest of me to feel extremely jittery and nervous.

Never mind I'm just making more of a fool of myself by standing stone-still at the edge of the field while Mack patiently waits for me to either, A; book it off the field, or B; collapse on the spot, or C, what he wants; me to finally get myself together.

I'm not really even sure myself what happened. One minute I was walking with Mack to join the rest of the team after having lagged behind due to me changing in the locker room after they left, then, the next, I was standing still, finding it hard to focus on anything as that anxiety brewing in my stomach had multiplied by two hundred, my mind suddenly overcome with irrational thoughts.

And, all things considering, I thought I'd been having a rather decent day actually. No one witnessed me freaking out at all, I took my medication without a hassle in the restroom after lunch, I got through most of my classes without completely spacing out, and no one tried to bother me unless you call Chase's little kindergarten drama, bumping into me whenever he had the chance, in the halls bothersome.

I knew it was just a matter of time before something happened. And right in front of the soccer team too....Not that they've even really noticed me yet.

"Mack! Alex!"

I look up at the sound of my name, finding coach Harrison staring across the field at us with his hands on his hips. My stomach rolls again, and my chest tightens even tighter as practically the whole team turns to look at us, revealing Chase staring at us with a very pleased expression on his arrogant face.

I spoke too soon.

"Are we going to try this, Alex? Or do you want me to tell coach Harrison that today isn't a good day?" Mack doesn't question it like he's annoyed at me for possibly messing with his practice, something I'm annoyed at myself for, but questions me with honest serenity.

I almost open my mouth to say that any day isn't a good day, but quickly refrain from doing so. I'm not going to let this keep from participating in something I think I'll enjoy again.

"N-No-" I clear my throat in hope it'll make the tremble leave. "No. I can do it." I swallow the bile in my throat, rubbing the tender area on the knuckles of my right hand in a way to bring myself back to planet earth.

Mack nods, a gleam of pride in his eyes. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, literally forcing my leg to lift from the ground. Walking up to the group, I keep my eyes on the ground, shoving my shaky hands into the pockets of my sweats as my shoulders unconsciously scrunch together.

"Nice to see you again, Alex," coach Harrison says as we come to a stop on the outer rim of the circle the students had made around the coach, quickly switching his voice to a more commanding one as he claps his hands together.

"Alright ninnies, I wanna see some real team effort out there. We've got our first game of the season coming up next Saturday and I don't want any lallygagging. Now get out there and give me five laps! The first one back to me gets to miss out on the first two minutes of warm-up!"

And just like that, everyone takes off, leaving Mack, coach Harrison, and I behind. Coach Harrison raises an eyebrow at us, and Mack smiles sheepishly back before heading off in a slow jog, apparently not even considering trying to win.

I jog up next to him, my legs already feeling like noodles from my workout this morning, and, not to mention, still unsteady from the clutches of my anxiety. I push through it, regardless of how crappy I feel at the moment.

As we come to a stop after the last lap around the field, I focus on taking even breaths to calm my sporadic heaving, Mack not sounding, or looking, much better. He bends down to place his hands on his knees, sucking in large gulps of air before exhaling just as big.

Looking around, I find a few of the guys on the team are reacting similar to us, while most just look upset they had to run in the first place. Chase being one of those, also coming in first.

His smug smirk just adds to his arrogant charm, his eyes boring into me from a few yards away. I look away, tugging on the sleeve of my long-sleeve Nike shirt. And once again, I feel like the odd ball being the only one wearing long sleeves while everyone wears either short sleeves, or no shirt at all despite the chill in the air.

  I catch Mack waving from the corner of my eye, only to turn and see Polly taking a seat on the bleachers a few feet away from a group of girls bent over their phones. She waves back, and I can just make out her smile.

"Alright, make two lines, we're going to do some drills before I make you cry over the amount of sit-ups we'll be doing!"

I shake my sore shoulders out, vaguely wishing I'd have reminded myself not to push myself so hard earlier this morning with the bag.

Too late now.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
A/N

Hey! So I know we didn't reach my criteria of votes on the last chapter, but I was feeling generous and already had this chapter written up.

Did any thoughts stick out when you were reading this chapter?

ALSO!

I'm now holding another cover contest in my Wing Awards book! If you, or you know someone who is interested, please head on over, join up and tag some people!! It would be greatly appreciated!

Prizes, rules, and information are in the book! Don't miss out!

https://www.wattpad.com/story/99917266-the-wing-awards-2017-contest-open-cover-contest

P.S. I need 25 votes before I update again!

Maggy