His weakness

Wishes aren't always answered

John

Present time

“What are you doing here?” I ask Jena as soon as she walks into my gym. I used to love seeing her face, it was the best part of my day growing up, now I can’t stand to look at her, the pain she had caused me the day she walked away, constantly brewing on the surface. It was a shock, seeing her eight months ago when I went to visit Carina, a friend and ex fling. It was all supposed to be simple, go to Malawi, make Jaxon jealous so that he will realize what he has with Carina and then come back home and go on with my life, but that’s not exactly what happened. Instead of shit being simple, I found the girl I have grieved for the past eight years.

The day Jena disappeared was the worst day of my life. I tried finding her, worried that her father lost control and killed her or that one of his shady friends had done something to her. I had gone out of my way to try and find her, hired a private investigator and went to the police, even tried finding her myself, but it was like she and her family just dropped off the face of the earth. I stopped looking for her after two years and some part of me had believed that if she could, she would find her way back to me. I was so very, very wrong. I found her alright, happy and alive, working in the free clinic that Gwen, Carina’s best friend had started in Malawi. She never came for me, never tried to contact me, never did the effort to tell me why she left without saying a word and all that hurt had turn into anger, all the love I held onto all that time had turned into hate.

“We need to talk.” She says, looking uncomfortable and some sick part of me is finding joy in the fact that she feels intimidated standing here in front of me. She can’t even lift her head to look me in the eyes and if this was eight years ago, I would’ve been able to tell you exactly what is going on in her head, but that was when I knew her inside out, when she was still just a girl, now I don’t know a thing about the woman she has become, and I hate it.

“We said what we needed to say the day you walked back into my life and if my memory serves me well, then you had nothing to say. You are the one that told me to move the fuck on with my life and forget about you. I have done exactly that. So why, Jena, are you the one constantly trying to force your way into my life?” I ask her, pain and anger fighting for dominance.

“We are going to have to see each other a lot. I work for Carina’s best friend and that means that I will be around the same people you are around. Can we please just try and be civilized around people. You don’t have to pretend to like me, but can you at least try to pretend not to hate me?” She asks and I chuckle, shaking my head. She has some nerve.

“I don’t pretend. I don’t play games and if you have a problem with being in the same room as me, just walk the fuck out. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a class starting in about five minutes and I need to prepare.” I tell her, not waiting for her to say anything before I turn around and walk away.

“John wait!” She shouts, her heels clicking on the concrete floors as she tries to follow me.

“I did wait. I waited eight years for you, and I am done fucking waiting. Now leave me the fuck alone.” I tell her, not even bothered to look back when stop hearing her heels. The pain in my chest grows when I close my eyes, her face the only thing I see. Her eyes are still that brilliant emerald green, but they have dulled some, her hair nearly platinum blonde and her red fucking heart shaped lips that are begging to be kissed will forever be engraved in my memory. I hate the fact that she looks even better than what I remember, hate that my body still craves her touch. I hate that I can remember what it felt like to have her in my arms, and what I hate more is the fact that I lost that. That I lost her. That I wasn’t enough for her. That must be it right, the reason she never came back for me, the reason she didn’t even bother to try and contact me. The reason that after eight years, the only explanation she gave is that she didn’t want to come back. I hate that it still hurts, hate that I still had hope when she came back to New York. I hate every second since she walked back into my life.

The next hour passes quickly, and I am still burning with anger by the time my students leave. I turn my anger on the punching bag, hitting it with every bit of stored up anger in me. I throw out every combination I can think of, focusing my mind on the impact as my bare hands connect with the hard material. Jab, cross, roundhouse, hook, uppercut, knee. On and on I throw a few punches and then a kick, going for the face then the stomach, then the knees, switching it up every few punches. My knuckles are bleeding, my sweat dripping down my back, but I don’t stop. The bag moves from side to side, and I step with it, refusing to give it time to swing back for the next punch. “John, stop.” Carina’s voice meets my ears, but still I don’t stop. She doesn’t understand, this need I have to bleed, to feel the pain in any way that is not emotional. “I said stop!” She shouts, not far from me. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop I will have this baby right here in your gym.” She says and I stop. A month ago she came home, told everyone that she is pregnant. I know there is no way that she can have her baby now, not when she is only six months pregnant, but I don’t want to cause her any distress.

“Jena was here.” I say in explanation.

“Did you give any thought to what I said the other day?” She asks me. She told me to give Jena a chance to explain why she left, but what she doesn’t know is that I tried. The day I found out that Jena was back home, I went to her, begged her to tell me what happened and why she never came back to me. I got my answer and now I need to deal with that answer.

“Let’s just leave it, please.” I tell her as I walk to the medical kit we keep close by. I take out the antiseptic and apply it to my broken knuckles, the last thing I need is an infection. I don’t flinch as the liquid burns clean any bacteria that might be in the open wounds, only apply pressure for a few seconds and then move to the other hand.

“You can’t do this to yourself, John. Not over a woman that doesn’t deserve you.” She says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off, not needing her to comfort me. I see the hurt in her eyes and for a moment I feel guilty, but then I remember that she has Jaxon to comfort her and the guilt fades. “Look, I came here to talk to you about the self-defense classes I want to do in the shelter. I just want to go over a few things if you don’t mind.” Carina says, moving past the brush off.

“Yeah, I have time.” I tell her and we get right to it. For the next hour we go over our plans, and I must admit, I am impressed that Carina is opening up her own woman’s shelter. After her car crash and her heart transplant, she has been hell bent on opening this shelter and I am proud of her for doing it. I have offered to help her with the classes, to help the women stand a better chance of fighting the next time they are stuck with an abusive man and honestly, I am happy to help women fight against the men that try to break them done, I wish more women would do self-defense, give themselves a fighting chance. The numbers for women raped and killed are climbing everyday and more women should be made aware of it.

“Thank you for doing this.” Carina says before she leaves.

“You know I don’t mind helping in any way.” I tell her with a small smile before giving her a hug and watching her as she makes her way to her car. At times I wish that I could feel for her what I felt for Jena, wish she was able to feel for me what she felt for Jaxon, but wishes aren’t always answered, I have learned that years ago.