LUKE
It has been two weeks since I have wrapped my arms around Kat. Every inch of my being calls out for her. My heart burns darker with each passing moment that we are apart. I watch her like a stalker each night from the shadows. I watch her as she dances, as she sits on her balcony, and cries for me. On the nights when I am not watching her, I am dreaming of her. Dreaming of her touch and her rejection. To say that I am consumed with her is an understatement.
I stare at the black punching bag hanging in front of me. Drawing my hand back, I strike the bag several times in a row. The sting of my knuckles against the bag only fuels my anger, causing me to hit the bag harder. The bag falls from the chains that suspended it from the ceiling and hits the floor with a loud bang.