The Weight Of The Glove

The gym became my sanctuary. Thud. Thud. Thud. I hit the heavy bag until my knuckles bled.

"You're fighting like you want to die, not like you want to win," the Mullet Girl I learned her name was MG said, catching my shoulders after a particularly wild swing.

I couldn't tell her why I was really there. I couldn't tell J either. My love for J felt like a target on her back. The threats escalated. A letter at my door: "You aren't strong enough." I threw a glass against the wall, sobbing, screaming into the empty apartment.

And the letters... they kept coming.

"I took your family because they stood in our way. Don't make me take J too."

I had to move. I had to disappear.

I asked J to help me, but she was confused. "Why can't you do it yourself?"

"They know where I live, J! If I'm seen moving, they'll follow me."

So, I made a plan. J would help me pack, but MG would be the one to actually move the boxes while I was out in public, creating an alibi.

Two days later, the move was done. I sat in a booth with MG at a loud bar. "I can't believe we pulled it off," I said, the adrenaline turning into a buzz.

MG leaned in, her hand brushing my arm. "You're safe now. Relax."

Then, we kissed.

The next morning, the sun was shining in my new place. I picked up my phone.

A photo of me and MG kissing.

TEXT: Beautiful couple. Should I send this to J right now?

"No..." I texted.

Unknown: Then you have to do something for me. Meet me at this location.

I stood at the location, a cold, stone cold expression on my face. My hand was in my pocket, gripping my knife.

"You want to take what I need?" I whispered to the shadows. "Come and try."