Page 17 of Shadows Within
I turn the temperature knob to cold, and I splash icy water on my face, hoping it will wake me up. Although researchers aren't fully sure if there are any scientific benefits to cold plunges or freezing showers, it sure will get me ready quickly.
When I step out of the shower, I wipe the steam off the mirror and look at myself. Some days I don’t recognize the person staring back. Would I feel the same if that night didn’t happen? I try not to let it consume me, even though I have so many questions left unanswered.
I get dressed, grab my gym stuff, and make my way downstairs. Dad isn’t at the table reading the paper yet, so I leave him a little note telling him that I love him and to have a great day. I make a to-go coffee, grab my bag, and leave for the day.
Our house gets smaller in my rear-view mirror as I pull out of the driveway. The wooden exterior of Dad’s shop adds to our home’s rustic feel. I was young when Dad built it—after him and Mom bought the house over twenty years ago. The inside of the garage feels like an extension of my dad. Everything is wellorganized on the walls. There’s a place for every tool on his work bench and small old car parts line the walls. He fell in love with it and knew that he’d be here forever. With his long work hours, he didn't want to miss a moment, so staying close to home was important to him. Every day, he still looks forward to when I pop into the shop after school and tell him how it was.
As I pull into the parking lot at Langford, I notice it’s not as busy as a usual Tuesday. I guess we’re far enough into the semester that people have started skipping classes and dropping out. I walk toward my Early Developmental Psych class and notice a shift in the air. It’s cooler outside, and the leaves have mostly fallen off the trees. I need to bring a jacket tomorrow.
Someone brushes up against me in the hall. I flinch.You’re safe. On days like these, where my anxiety is already heightened, my triggers seem so accentuated.
I pull some Sour Patch Kids gummies out from my bag and eat them in a colour coded way most would think is strange.
The first two lectures go by slowly. Usually, I am fully focused and engaged, but today the end of my last class can’t come fast enough. I look around at the students, spread throughout the room. They smile and nod and follow along like it’s just another day. I wonder if I fit into their normal.
Professor Elliot looks to me for the next answer. My eyes shift away instead of raising my hand like I usually do. I can sense his disappointment.
“Okay, that concludes today’s lesson. Paper grades will be out by Friday. As always, come talk to me if you have any issues with your mark.”
I shove my laptop in my bag, eager to leave the classroom and avoid conversation. My hands tremble as I do up my backpack’s zipper.You’re safe. Maybe if I repeat this enough, I’ll start to believe it.
I reach for the door handle without realizing that it’s already being held open. Callum’s eyes land on mine as I walk by. They stare back at me like they want to understand the depth of my sadness. I don’t say anything and break our eye contact.
“Thanks.” I mumble, looking forward.
My heart pounds. I feel something different for a split second, something that makes me want to stay in that moment longer as I pass through the doors. I feel his bright-eyed gaze burning onto my back without having to turn around.
I get to my car and head across town to the gym. It feels like home when I get there, the smell of sweat and the lemon cleaner welcoming me back.My safe place.
I open my locker and stop to notice the hanging photos. I smile thinking of the good times.
I wrap my hands extra tight, like the fabric is holding me together, one stitch at a time.
Today, the bag fights back, but I don’t care. I’m trying to forget, not win. Ironically, I can’t remember the one thing that I’ve desperately wanted to—that night. Even years later, it all remains a blur.
Punch. Jab. Punch. Punch. Hook. Jab.
Slowly, I can finally control my breath again.
“‘What, does that bag owe you money, Scar?” Ricco yells from across the room.
I can’t hold back my smile, the first real one all day.
“Wouldn’t you know,” I yell back. He comes over and watches me for a minute.
For once, he doesn’t critique my form. “Save some of that for the real fights. You’re better than this.” He lightly punches my shoulder.
There’s an unspoken bond between Ricco and I. He knows that I fight demons, yet never asks about them. In return, I neversulk for long. He might not know it, but he’s helped me through some of my worst days.
I throw one more hard punch at the bag and laugh to myself. Somewhere under all this wreckage, I still have some fight left in me.
The Boxer
Callum
I’m not a stalker. Even though I listened to Scarlett and Sophia as they walked up the path to that party four years ago. Even though I know about her one drink limit. Even though I can’t stop thinking about her. As long as I can remember, no one has piqued my interest enough to pay much attention to them. But running into Scarlett was intentional, and talking to her at the party was not a coincidence. For the first time, I’ve wanted to know more about someone—that alone makes Scarlett Voss dangerous.
Since last night, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. She isn’t the type of girl you mold into the perfect housewife. She fights back. Although I barely know her, I’m damn proud of her for that.
