"Do you ever feel like it's your mistake that something happened, but you don't think it's right for you to be blamed for it?" I ask my instructor while practicing my left upper hook, "Huh?"

I pause for a second and weaken my stance, waiting for his answer but I receive a sturdy jab to the side of my head instead. It's a sharp hit, meant more to garner my complete attention rather than to punish. It stings painfully nevertheless.

"Focus, girl. Protect your face!" My instructor grumbles, tone reprimanding, "This is no place for your worthless high school problems."

Swallowing a brazen remark, I shake my head and bring my bandaged fists up in front of my face and nod quickly.

After Nathaniel got into the car with the three agents who had accompanied us, without so much as a word, I'd driven straight to the training arena for my usual session of mixed martial arts training.

I'd already promised Dad to diligently go for training after coming back from the mall anyway, so it matters little that I'd come straight here after the incident at the mall.

The arena, or The Glade as it is more often called in the fighting circles around here is an informal gym built inside an abandoned shoe factory that had closed down in the last recession and it only allowed war veterans, serving members of the army or persons invited by either of the above.

"Ariya?" My now aggravated instructor calls out my name impatiently, "Are you trying to get into my nerves, girl?

"Uh, no." I breathe, knitting my brow, attempting to make my distracted mind concentrate on learning.

"Hmph." He grunts in response.

Naturally, Dad had managed to get one of their best men to train me in mixed martial arts four evenings a week. My instructor, a man of middling age and round features and who refuses to give me a proper name to address him by, is a hard man to please.

"Give me hundred upper hooks. Right and left each, alternately. Start!" he orders, "And it'll do you good to learn to look at your thoughts singularly. It'll help you increase clarity of mind and won't hinder with your ability to make quick decisions when the time comes. You only hold the power to make a decision and stand by it. The outcome might sometimes be one you may not expect but you must have the courage to think singularly and learn rather invest yourself in blame games."

"Is that advice for me, old man?" I ask, a smile tips up the edges of my mouth.

"A hundred and fifty upper hooks per hand now!" he barks with a galled exhale, "And you can show yourself out after that. I cannot deal with such unnecessarily chatty behaviour in the ring. I expect you to be more tolerable from the next session."

"Sure." I call out amusedly, gearing myself mentally for the enormous exertion that awaited me.

The first two weeks are the worst, Dad had warned. The adrenaline during the training sessions keeps the muscle burns and exhaustion at bay but my body feels like it had been pounded on by a hundred mullets barely an hour after. It physically hurts to even move my arm to adjust myself into a comfortable position while sleeping.

It's just my fourth day at The Glade and despite knowing very well what awaited me after three hundred punches, I go all out on the sand bag that hangs jarringly from a wrought iron hook on the ceiling.

The concentration I devote to perfectly place each and every one of my hits on the swinging sand bag, takes my mind off the unfortunate events that occurred at the mall.

'Nathaniel has no right to blame me!' I whisper in pants to no one in particular as my arms pummel repeatedly, 'If the three agents didn't notice the man stalking us, then I can't be expected to. And Dad's presence wouldn't have made a great difference any way.'

My mouth is bone dry by the time I complete my task, rivulets of perspiration running down the entirety of my body.

I feel light headed as I towel away my sweat and nod farewell to my old man in the ring who's preparing to train himself after I leave.

Utterly exhausted, I make my way out of the blistering heat inside The Glade- the telling smell of sweat, antiseptic and musky scents fading away. It feels like I don't have enough energy to even muster emotion but a wave of anxiety manages to wash over me when I say Dad's car waiting right outside through the tinted glass on the upper half of the door.

I was trying to avoid this very moment. Seeing Dad waiting in the car he lended to me today makes my heart hammer erratically inside my chest. It makes everything all the more real.

He honks at me when I step out of the door, rolling down the front window and impatiently nodding at me to get in.

Not having the courage to face him directly, I climb into the backseat right behind him.

The car is quiet for the first two minutes, I count nervously. My fingers tap the faded leather seats with the seconds I count inside my head to keep myself grounded.

"What happened today at the mall was utterly careless and the possible implications of it are alarming to the say the least." he starts, his voice eerily soft.

"I understand." I whisper quietly, careful not to meet his gaze.

"The boy is in shock. He refused to even come and give me his statement." Dad continues, "And his part of the story is imperative to devise better security measures. Get it for me before you step out of the house for school on Monday."

I chew my lip in silence.

"Aren't going to say I told you so?" I ask with a tentative sigh, unable to bear the tense civil banter that Dad seems so keen on holding with me.

Dad parks his car a little distance from the front porch, turning to face me. He studies me with his usual unyielding expression for a moment.

"It wouldn't change a thing of what's already occurred, so why should I waste my words?" he replies simply, "I hope that you understand that without your stubbornness the entire situation could have been prevented. Besides, getting Nathaniel to talk to you about today will be punishment enough."

"Okay."

"Okay? Is that all you have to say, Ariya?" the surprise on my father's face is almost wounding to see, "In your seventeen short years of existence, not once have you accepted your fault openly. But I'm glad to see you're growing up finally."

I smile tightly and hurry out of the car, not knowing what the right thing to say is. Opening the front door with my key, I quickly make my way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and heat a casserole of refrigerated baked vegetables to take up to my room. I'm too dead beat to come back down for dinner.

Besides, I've exhausted my social quota for the day and I need to be alone for a bit.

Gym bag, water bottle and insulated casserole balanced in both arms, I slowly drag myself up the stairs. My body hurts like it's been broken and soldered back together a hundred times, and my mind is reeling with the impossible dissonance of my thoughts.

Sometimes, I wonder if maturity is actually something to be as lauded as it generally is. Everyone has the good days and bad ones alike, when they show a phenomenal level of understanding and wisdom and when they just don't.

To me maturity sounds like a weighty word thrown around at whim by everyone older than us to make us conform to their belief of what the right and socially acceptable thing to do is. What on earth do you mean when you say that I've been mature in a certain situation?! Does that imply that I was not sensible enough before?

As I reach the last step of the stairwell opening onto the second floor, thoroughly invested in the stormy debate inside my head, the first bedroom door on the floor swings open in a flurry and Nathaniel steps out. His hair is looks a little out of place like he's been running his fingers through it repeatedly and his jaw clenches when he realizes it's me.

Startled by his sudden appearance in front of me, my gym bag slips of my shoulder and I struggle to make sure that I hold the casserole of heated food straight.

Despite my firm belief that I did nothing wrong, it's what I've been tell myself over and over again, an unprecedented wave of remorse washes over me- running up to the very tips of my fingers and toes. I feel like I should apologize to Nathaniel but I'm not sure what to say. I feel utterly confused to say the very least.

"I uh...I'm sorry about what happened today at the mall." I shift uncomfortably on my feet when Nathaniel looks away, grinding his teeth.

'This is pointless', I think to myself closing my eyes.

"If you're expecting a more eloquent apology, I'm not sure what to say." I breathe out, conceding, "I was a little selfish and I feel like fucking shit. There, I said that. And I think it's best for you put all this behind us because you still need me to cover for you in school and nothing can change what happened today."

Nathaniel regards me with a frigid gaze, standing wordlessly.

I curse myself inwardly. To think I started off so well with my apology but just had to go and finish it with such underlying hostility. It was a terrible habit.

"Right." I nod, staring at the floor, "I'll be on my way then."

I try to pick up gym bag from the floor while keeping the casserole upright in my hand.

"Let me take this." Nathaniel offers with a quiet sigh, plucking my gym bag off the floor.

"No, I can manage, don't worry." I protest loudly but he ignores me conveniently.

Nathaniel pauses for a moment on the first step going up to the next floor, mouth opening to say something but he shakes his head instead and continues going up. I've ticked him off.

The frustration is evident on his face and I wonder if he thinks of the manners drilled into him, a fucking pain in his ass that he can't help but not forego. I probably would have stalked into my room haughtily slammed the door on my face if I was in his shoes.

I feel the tension in the air closing in on us for the next few seconds as I follow him up to the attic where my room is and he drops my bag by my bedroom door and mumbles a quick goodnight without looking at me.

"Good night." I say with tight smile, watching the back of his head wistfully as he descends the stairs.

I can't help but feel that I have catalysed the death of this friendship because of my idiocy before it even had a chance to blossom.

Maybe I am just terrible at it.

With a humourless laugh, I think back to the day I taught Nathaniel the rules of friendship as I enter my room. Soon, I tiny tear runs down my cheek and I slam my door before anyone can see me turn into a blubbering mess.

•><•

Why is Ariya such a confused soul? Have you ever felt like what she's feeling right now?

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