LET THE DEVIL OUT. he catalogued his father’s footwork in easy, practiced rhythms more soothing than a heartbeat. the sound of smooth sinew wrapping bones, expanding, contracting like breathing, ECHO in his ears in this place. there are hymnals in these walls ; there is an exorcism in the beating thumps of his knuckles against a bag. he takes communion in a thick swallow of spit & metallic adrenaline. energy lessens its grip in his breast ; the roaring pleas of the city DROWN in repetitive motion.
but it’s done now. he’s spent, every penny dropped into the offering plate & ready to be left behind.
matt plucks at a softened flap of exercise tape wagging from the outskirt of his palm. the fabric comes away easily, unwinding from his knuckles, damp & flimsy from the hours in the forgotten spaces of this gym where only the remnants of the day stay behind. unseeing eyes peer out into the flame-riddled darkness. broad shapes form beneath the rebound of a sturdy voice between the walls.
his intruder is BIGGER than him, inches stacked higher, chest stretched wider.
matt finishes peeling the strip from his skin & starts in on the other hand. brawler’s shoulders hunch in to cover his chest. he’s so much more exposed in a thick, mottled hoodie than in the neat corners of his attorney’s garb, than the heavy, lithe pelt of his devil’s suit.
❛ it’s habit, ❜ he attempts to explain himself. there are no words for the GUILT sticking to his innards, glued to his gut. ❛ my dad... he used to fight in the ring & so i picked up some training tips from him. go big or go home. ❜ a huffing cough approaches a chuckle against the bridge of his front teeth. his smile is half-birthed, tugging cheaply at the edge of a stubbled cheek. ❛ isn’t that what people say? ❜
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