Post by bubble on Aug 1, 2010 23:25:04 GMT -5
Jeanie may have been reasonably new to the school; But she knew the rules, knew how things worked, and unquestionably knew how to break them. It’s just how she is.
She was a very ' I know the boundaries now watch as I blow them the fuck up ' kind of gal.
Narrowing her dark eyes, she squinted through the darkness of the hallway, her bare feet colliding with the cold floor and her fingers skirting the wall. As she reached the workout room she paused, her ears straining for any noise, any other footsteps. Hearing none she cracked open the door and peered in, looked around once more, and entered the room.
She took a deep breath as she realized she was alone, relieved she wouldn’t have to make up some idiotic excuse. For now "oh I got lost" worked for her. However, she was good on her feet, and fleeing the scene (without being seen) was usually easy.
Her hobbies made her skittish and wary, she usually never got caught.
Well at least she thinks that.
The room was showered with bland moonlight, seeing as the windows hadn’t been cleaned and the grime made it so light had trouble getting in the small room. Deciding she didn’t want to attract any attention she kept all the lights off, her tall frame cautiously moving across the room. One last check, and then it was just her and the bag,
Her and the bag…
She always explained to her younger sister that the boxing was just for safety reasons, not emotional trauma. Her sister was the only one that knew, and it wasn’t that hard to keep the secret from her drunken fool of a mother. But it obviously wasn’t just for safety reasons… When she was boxing everything was droned out, and everything melted away.
She was like a snake shedding its skin, revealing the new flesh underneath, only for it to harden again.
She could breathe when her fist collided with the bag, she could see even as sweat blurred her vision. She was unstoppable, you could say. But when her punching or footwork gets sloppy, all her emotions came rushing back, all the hurt, all the pain, all the scars,
fresh wounds
But tonight she was more relaxed, her wavy brown hair sloppily tied on her head, strands of it falling in front of her eyes, the satisfying Thwomp of fist and bag, and the delicate moonlight laying on her skin.
She was a very ' I know the boundaries now watch as I blow them the fuck up ' kind of gal.
Narrowing her dark eyes, she squinted through the darkness of the hallway, her bare feet colliding with the cold floor and her fingers skirting the wall. As she reached the workout room she paused, her ears straining for any noise, any other footsteps. Hearing none she cracked open the door and peered in, looked around once more, and entered the room.
She took a deep breath as she realized she was alone, relieved she wouldn’t have to make up some idiotic excuse. For now "oh I got lost" worked for her. However, she was good on her feet, and fleeing the scene (without being seen) was usually easy.
Her hobbies made her skittish and wary, she usually never got caught.
Well at least she thinks that.
The room was showered with bland moonlight, seeing as the windows hadn’t been cleaned and the grime made it so light had trouble getting in the small room. Deciding she didn’t want to attract any attention she kept all the lights off, her tall frame cautiously moving across the room. One last check, and then it was just her and the bag,
Her and the bag…
She always explained to her younger sister that the boxing was just for safety reasons, not emotional trauma. Her sister was the only one that knew, and it wasn’t that hard to keep the secret from her drunken fool of a mother. But it obviously wasn’t just for safety reasons… When she was boxing everything was droned out, and everything melted away.
She was like a snake shedding its skin, revealing the new flesh underneath, only for it to harden again.
She could breathe when her fist collided with the bag, she could see even as sweat blurred her vision. She was unstoppable, you could say. But when her punching or footwork gets sloppy, all her emotions came rushing back, all the hurt, all the pain, all the scars,
fresh wounds
But tonight she was more relaxed, her wavy brown hair sloppily tied on her head, strands of it falling in front of her eyes, the satisfying Thwomp of fist and bag, and the delicate moonlight laying on her skin.
