Can't Hurt Me David Goggins Novels & Stories

A clean, merciless strike. “Ugh…” The Boxing King let out a choked groan as the blow connected. His massive frame lifted off the canvas and slammed hard into the mat. He blinked, dazed, and tried to rise, but the pain ripped through his body like lightning, rooting him to the floor. Every nerve screamed. He couldn't move. “She dropped the Boxing King! She dropped him!" Someone shouted, disbelief thick in their voice. "With one punch! That was insane!" “Get up, damn it! Fight back! I put everything on you! I knew it! Rigged match! No way that was real!"

He guided me through warm-up exercises. His hands pressed against my arms, forcing me to stretch deeper than I thought I could. Pain flared in my muscles, sharp and immediate. I gasped. “It hurts.” “It’s supposed to hurt,” Flint said firmly. “That’s the only way to grow stronger. Pain means you’re pushing past your limits.” His hands were steady but unyielding. I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t. The firmness in his tone pressed me into obedience, even as I clenched my jaw against the discomfort.

If I went home, I’d be trapped with nothing but my thoughts and the image of her standing beside him, looking at me like I was nothing more than a fleeting mistake. So I went to the gym instead. On the way there, I shot Eddy a quick text. Headed to the gym. I didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. If anyone knew how I dealt with shit, it was him. Running on nothing but exhaustion and frustration, I threw everything I had into my workout. The pounding of my feet against the treadmill wasn’t enough. The rhythmic clang of weights against metal wasn’t enough. I needed pain—something to ground me, to remind me that I was still here, still breathing, still fighting against the storm inside my head.

It hurts alot. ************

Yet I couldn’t think of anybody who would try to make this happen just to hurt me. Except maybe for one person. My mother and I were going to have to have a talk. Instead of pouring myself another drink, I went to the large room in the back of my penthouse that I’d converted into a state-of-the-art gym. I ran on the treadmill until I could barely take it anymore. Then I lifted weights until I was dripping with sweat, and my muscles were sore and shaking. It helped some. Usually, nothing bothered me. After the teenage experiences I had, I think of myself as pretty hardened.

He would never be hurt. "And that's an accomplishment for you that you're so closed off from life, from feeling", I taunted him, knowing nothing I could say would hurt him, he didn't care about my thoughts about him. He was becoming antsy, madness roared through him. "Why don't we talk about your accomplishments? Your friends hate you, your a sad wimp crying over your ex, and you hate every single person, you won't even let people help you", he angrily spoke, shooting daggers at me every chance he got. And after everything that sounded so true, I let the daggers ripple against my skin, breaking me down slowly. He was a sick man, he was sick and ruthless he didn't care who he would hurt, as l

But it did offer pain. Burpees at 5 a.m. Drills that made your lungs burn. Sergeants who screamed in your face like they wanted to tear the flesh from your bones. Guns. Grenades. The low hum of danger always pulsing beneath your feet. But Daniel thrived in it. He didn’t have to talk. He didn’t have to think. He just had to run, lift, shoot, and obey. For the first time since Mia, he could breathe without hating himself. He didn’t forget her, he never would, but she stopped haunting every second of his day. The silence of long marches gave him room to build himself from the ground up. Not the boy who broke her heart. Not the son of a murdered criminal.

It made me feel like I was finally becoming who I was supposed to be. I pushed myself harder than I had ever pushed anything. I trained until my muscles screamed and my lungs burned. I trained until I collapsed, and then I got back up and trained some more. I refused to give up. I refused to stop. I refused to let my fear control me. I refused to let my grief define me. I refused to let the past hold me back. I refused to let anything stand in my way. I refused to let anyone tell me I couldn't do it. I refused to let anyone dim my light. I refused to let anyone stop me from becoming who I was meant to be.

"You are not going to hurt me. I know you won't." The certainty in his voice does something. It doesn't stop the pain and it doesn't stop the shift but it creates just enough space between me and the thing inside me that I grab onto it with everything I have. I breathe. I breathe again. The wave peaks and crashes and I am on the floor and I don't remember deciding to be on the floor.

I appreciated the silence and the tranquility, but I was no fool to believe that the storm had passed just like that. All the same, I took these two weeks to take care of my injuries and, more so, my baby and my sanity. I never told anyone, but I read all the articles there were about overcoming small traumas and how to prevent yourself from relapsing again. Aldrich and Nurse Dorian were there by my side. As doctors, they understood me without even asking me, and they offered support and help even when I never needed it. Yoga has turned out to be my favorite exercise. I loved the relaxation it brought. Also, I had refrained from thinking about my nightmares, but I had also braced myself well