I shut the door to my loft behind me and slumped against it. My body slid to the floor and I ended up with my head in my hands.
That chance meeting with Chase Reynolds had driven my morale for the day into the pavement.
It's always when I think I'm getting better that something like this happens and I end up at rock bottom again. And people ask why I like to drink. I ran my hands over my head and stared at the ground.
Why hadn't the fucking cops told me everything? I mean, of course I was young at the time, but that shouldn't have stopped them from giving me all the information. Knowing there was a survivor out of the attack would've helped me just a bit. And I've known that it was a werewolf since the second I was told that Dom had been killed, but hearing about it again really fucked with me.
The only thing that ate at me was the fact that Chase was still alive. Humans don't survive werewolf bites or scratches unless they contract lycanthropy. Maybe he'd run while the son of a bitch was devouring Dom.
Thinking about it was driving me crazy. It was still early, so I couldn't go out and kill anything. I'll just take out my aggression with the only other physical way I know how.
I had broken a heavy sweat before I'd gone one mile. It was two miles to the beach, so I had another mile of sweating to go. My feet slapped the ground as I ran along the sidewalk. I was breathing steadily, but I had to slow my pace to keep from overheating. By the time I reached the sand, I was ready to collapse. I didn't have the mental energy to do anything but exercise, so I only stayed on the beach for a moment. I was back on the sidewalk sprinting for home before I'd stopped huffing.
I practically broke through my front door. I made a quick stop in my training room to grab some tape, and then I was on my patio. Since my loft was on the top floor of the building, I didn't have to worry about banging around much. I kept my heavy bag hanging outside so I could breathe easier when I worked out. Sometimes the training room made me claustrophobic.
I quickly wrapped my wrists and threw a few warm up punches to the bag. A few straight punches and jabs later, I was going at it as usual. 'Keep your fists tight, punch with your arm, not your hand...'
Everything I'd learned swarmed in my head as I tried to keep myself from getting too angry and hurting my wrists. I grunted as I threw punch after punch.
I couldn't get the images of Dom's mangled body out of my head. I'd been the only one around to identify him in the morgue, so I was forced to see him. Not five minutes after I'd identified him, I threw up. I'd never been one for human gore, especially if that gore belonged to someone I loved.
I'd only been boxing for 20 minutes when at a noise the door behind me scared me. I quickly turned with my hands in front of me, entirely ready to kick the shit out of whoever it was, but stopped when I recognized the face.
"Christ, Jaye," I said, lowering my fists.
Doesn't anybody knock these days?