"I'm not emo!" I growled and roundhouse kicked the punching bag. Poor thing fell and spewed sand on the floorboards.
I closed my eyes. The anger eating me up and darkening my ocean blue eyes. I opened them and stomped to the bathroom. I glared at my reflection. My hair was wet and plastered to my head. My face was red. My midnight blue orbs were narrowed. My black tank top was wet and clinging to my muscled torso. My knuckles were busted and blood trickled out like a brook.
"F*ck!" I opened the cabinet and picked up my first aid box. I cleaned my wounds. The alcohol stung. I peeled the shirt off and mopped the sweat with a beige towel. I returned to the gym to torture another punching bag. ALways imagining it was his face. The face of the bastard who claimed he was my father.