exhausted: (adjective)
1. very tired.

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Nobody expects probation to be fun, especially in the peak of summer. The time where you're meant to be out with your friends, getting drunk and spending evenings watching the sun go down. Summer gives you unlimited options to go out and live your life, except for me. Because I am on tag and I need to be home by nine thirty or I can risk going to prison.

This summer is going to be perfect.

Carol, my probation officer, seems okay. Not that you're meant to have any kind of relationship with the person who is making sure that you are keeping in order, but she's manageable.

When my dad drops me off at the manor I'd be spending most of my summer at, I suck in a breath when I glance down at Carol and then shoot my eyes across to the guy standing beside her.

I study him for a moment and look back at Carol as she speaks. I remember that face, those eyes and that body. Instantly. It's like I couldn't forget but I don't make it obvious. His hair now dyed a bright blonde rather than a rich chocolate brown.

It looks good on him, more than I'd like to admit.

Neither of us speak for the majority of the placement but I can't let this silence eat away at us.

"You not going to talk to me, Cherry?" I say loudly.

Ash continues to look away from me before he drops the chair and turns towards me, his green eyes sparking with something that makes my heart thump. "I thought you didn't recognise me." His voice is soft but rough around the edges.

Making me remember that night a few months ago, how he shoved me over the edge of that desk and fucked my brains out.

I find myself smirking as I glance to the floor, trying to cover the sudden rush of blood to my cock. Having forced myself to forget about that night because thinking about it is dangerous and it's not like I want anyone to know. That would be a disaster.

"Almost didn't with that new hair." I comment.

His hand shoots to his head and he runs his fingers through the strands softly. He waits for a few moments before speaking, then he opens his mouth and mutters, "my names not Cherry."

"I know," I can't fight the smile off my face.

"It's Ash." He holds my stare.

"I know."

His green eyes flick between mine for a moment before I walk away, getting back to the work we have been set. I didn't want Carol on my back with everything else going on in my life.

When we're signed out by another probation officer, neither of us say goodbye to each other. Instead we head our separate ways, what is there to say to someone you've had a one night stand with?

It's a one night stand for a reason.

The walk from the manor back to my house takes thirty or so minutes, my dad will let me take the car most days but today he wanted to make sure I actually turned up. Not that I want to go to prison, but I guess he's paranoid.

When I reach my front door, my father, Joe, is already opening it on the other side. His dark, greying brows are pulling down into a tight frown, one hand on his hips as he watches me step into our house.

My father is a couple inches taller than me, making him just over six foot four. I'm blessed with height because of him and I'd never take that for granted.

"You said you'd be home an hour ago!" His rough voice exclaims.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes because I will never hear the end of it. "Officer wanted us to do two hours instead of one, I got it wrong. Sorry."

His brown eyes flick between mine, like he didn't believe what I said. I hate it when he looks at me like that because I have no idea what he's thinking. One minute he's fine and the next he switches, he's a closed book. Every second of the day.

"Then why didn't you drop me a message?"

I shut the door behind me and proceed to the living room, dumping my stuff down. "Because we're not really allowed to be on our phones, I didn't realise it would be a big deal." I shrug simply but I avoid his gaze.

"That's an hour's training lost," he grunts and I huff out a silent sigh. "You best get your gear on and meet me down in the basement in ten minutes. You want to make it professional but you're going to be an amateur for the rest of your life with an attitude like that."

My teeth clamp down on my tongue before I snap back, the last thing I need right now is a screaming match with my father.

I hear his footsteps walk away and I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with as much air as possible. Then I exhale and let my shoulders slump.

Boxing is my passion. I love it more than anything on this planet. It's been there for me when I've been struggling, when I've been frustrated, when I've felt lost. I adore the feeling of letting go, letting your mind take control and box your way through any shitty thoughts that might cloud your mind.

Only problem is, when I became obsessed with boxing, my dad did too. He became my new training partner, telling me what I'm doing wrong, how I can improve. In a way I appreciate him but sometimes he doesn't know when to quit, when I'm dripping with sweat, wheezing and wounded. He still wants me to carry on.

Ever since my probation order, I'm not allowed to compete in competitions. They don't allow 'criminals' to partake as it is seen as a bad influence which I understand but I wish I could get another chance.

My father's been pushing me since I got arrested, knowing that my career might be over before it's even started. He's trying to keep me in shape and up to standards so I can go back into competitions without missing a beat. I'd be ready for anything.

I haven't really shown my face at the boxing gym since, I didn't want people judging me from what they've heard. Tell me I don't belong because of one stupid mistake. So that's why I stay at home and train with my dad.

After I get dressed into my boxing gear, I head down to the basement where my father is already waiting. "Five minute skip and then you can warm up on the bag," he mumbles, his head motioning to the hanging punching bag.

I nod, not being bothered to argue with his set training. My hands pick up the plastic skip and I start to warm up, starting slow and then speeding up. When five minutes are complete, I've barely broken a sweat but my heart is definitely racing.

My father then holds out tape, bandage and my gloves and I put them on, securing my hands and wrapping them up well. He taps the bag and I move myself over. "Let's go," he says standing beside me.

I hold my fists up to my face and jab then recover, jab and then recover. He counts me in and I copy his orders, my brow now beading with sweat as the clock ticks by.

He stills the bag and I pull away. "Still need to work on your form," he comments before retrieving the pads and sliding them on his hands. "I'll count you in."

I nod and stand in front of him, catching my breath but ready to go.

Within ten minutes my dad is already shouting at me as I punch the pads, ducking when he instructs and blocking when he yells.

"You're weak," he bellows, my left fist extending to hit the right pad. "Where has all your goddamn training gone?"

I grit my teeth and punch twice as hard when he tells me to.

"You say you've been keeping up your fitness but you're already slacking!" His voice echoes off the wall.

A grunt falls from my lips and I tighten my muscles, hitting harder than before. Sweat dripping down my forehead and along the side of my face, I keep my eyes trained on the pads, maintaining focus.

"Is that all you've got?"

I almost snarl, switching. Hitting over and over but my dad barely moves, he keeps still as I hit the pads with all the power inside of my body. I'm going to show him everything I've got. I'm not weak. I haven't lost my fitness.

"Pathetic!" He roars.

My eyes flick to his once, feeling my heart rattle inside my chest a thousand beats a minute.

He pulls his pad back unexpectedly and lunges his hand forward, thumping my nose with his palm making me stumble. Blood drips into my mouth instantly and I blink back at the sudden shock of being hit.

My dad steps forward, eyes burning with fury. "Your defence is shit, Bodi! How do you expect to be a professional when you can't even defend yourself?"

I collect the blood inside my mouth and sit it onto the concrete floor. "We're not even fucking sparring! You just hit me out of nowhere, of course my defence is shit if that's not what I'm bloody focusing on!" I shout back, my chest puffing in and out quickly.

"You need to use your brain and think outside of the box," he tuts in disappointment. "You're still acting like a five year old. Grow up Bodi and fucking hit the pads like a man."

My head shakes and I take a step back. Blood drips from my nose over my lips, my teeth having almost pierced through my mouth at the force.

"Hands up and hit me, again," he snaps but I continue to shake my head.

"No," I grunt and wipe my mouth with the edge of my wrist. "I'm not doing this anymore tonight, dad."

His head recoils from my words, brows narrowing and eyes shooting me down. "Excuse me?"

"I'm done for tonight," I say louder, watching him carefully with my eyes. "I'm done."

"You are not a quitter!"

His voice almost shatters my ear drums as I pull the gloves from my hands and unwind my bandages. "I said I'm done," I give him one last glare, dumping my belongings down onto the nearest chair and taking myself upstairs.

"You are the biggest disappointment, Bodi! You will be a failure." He calls after me but I don't respond or turn back.

The anger in his voice makes me want to run away faster. I hate it when he's in this kind of mood, it's not even helpful or insightful, it's quite frankly scary and unprofessional.

There is only one person in the world who terrifies me and it's my father. Anyone else I can stand up to but when it comes to him, he makes me feel about three feet tall and I shrink down into my shoes. Trying to be invisible so he doesn't verbally attack me.

I didn't want to waste a single second more on him tonight. He's clearly got a stick up his ass and I didn't want to be here to entertain it, he needs the night to chill the out and take tomorrow as a new day.

Ever since I was arrested, he's been harsher with my training. Treating me like a criminal because apparently that's how criminals get treated, like shit.

I'm not even sure if he's a good father but since I don't have my mother, he's all I've got. Maybe I'd regret not trying harder in the future but right now all I want is my bed, to dive between my covers and push this part of my life away.

But I guess I've made my bed by stupidly getting arrested and making a mistake and now I have to lie in it.

I carry myself up the stairs and slip into the bathroom, taking one look at my face. Blood smeared across my lips, dripping off my chin and dried to my cheeks. On the left side of my nose, I could already see purple bruising along the crevice of my eye.

"Fuck," I curse as I study it in the mirror.

Just what I need to compliment the trendy bracelet on my ankle.

Branded as a criminal and now I look like one.

Society sure made a monster.

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Author's Note:
Read up to chapter 11 on Patreon. Link in bio!

Hello darlings! What did we think of Bodi's POV chapter?

Bodi is pronounced like Bo-dee, not Body hahah

Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed! It really helps me out💙

Bodi's father is an asshole and Ash's mother is equally as annoying. Do we think they can bond over their overwhelming parents?

Hope everyone is good!

See you all on the next one, love Savanna x

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