Chapter Seven
Tempest
Fucking fuming is an understatement.
I got fired. FIRED. For laying that shit for brains out.
It was my second day. That has got to be a new record. I should sue him and shut that place down.
“I’m never eating there again!” I yell, punching the bag hanging from the ceiling. It’s heavy so it doesn’t sway. I bring my foot around and kick it and hit it with three more jabs. “I’m never even walking past there again!” I spin and kick but it’s clumsy and I fall onto my side.
Hopping back up using my shoulders, I launch some more controlled jabs on the bag.
“Who do they think they are? He grabbed my arse!”
So, screaming at a punching bag, alone, in a gym in the room behind the garage isn’t probably the best way to announce my sanity to the world. But it is how I cope. It’s how I deal. This, meditation, and a lot of breathing are how I stay in control of myself.
I don’t lose control, ever.
I didn’t lose control in the diner either.
“He deserved it, damn it!”