Page 46 of Bittersweet

“Harder!”

Punch.

“Harder!”

Punch.

“Harder! You’re being a pussy!” heyells.

Something in meflips.

How dare he? This may be his place of work. That may be his training method—calling us out, pushing us for more—but calling me names when he’s supposed to care about me, when we’ve been on a date, for Christ’s sake? That’s going toofar.

Since I started training, I’ve lost a fair bit of weight, but I’ve gained pounds when it comes to self-esteem.

This time, I don’t step back to prepare for my nextattack.

I launch, like a rocket, straight at hisfist.

Glove connects with pad. A resounding thud fills the air. Marc staggers ever-so-slightly, andyes. It feels good. Taking out my pain feelsgood.

“Better, but you can keep it coming,” he growls, and Ido.

Because I am better thanthis.

Better thanhim.

Punch.

You push me toohard.

Punch.

I hate wheatgrass, and kale, and your stupid smoothies aren’t even as good as youthink.

Punch.

Why does Elio have awife?

Punch.

Punch.

Punch.

Punch.

Punch.

“Enough.” Marcnods.

But it’snot.

It’s notenough.

I punch at those stupid blue pads again and again. Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I let all the anger, all that rage inside of me loose. Because how dare Elio lead me on? How dare he make me think that maybe I was good enough just the way I was, then rip the rug out from under my feet with his surprise family reveal? And how dare he make me fall in love withhim?

How.

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