Teach Me How to Love You
On my way downstairs for water, music reached me, loud and aggressive, coming from somewhere off the main hall.
I followed it without quite deciding to, and it led me to the gym. The door hadn't been shut all the way.
Through the gap, Alan was throwing punches at a heavy bag, hard, relentless, each hit landing with a force that made the whole thing swing. Under the music, low and broken and repeating, came the words. "I'm sorry, Amy. I'm sorry.”