Piece by Piece

8. Not Good Enough

The annoying girl's good deed hadn't managed to keep him out of the gym, but it did have him turning the music down the slightest bit. For a while, he pondered on how he could be disturbing her since she was the only one that complained, but he didn't dwell on it too long because he didn't care.

His new week was a bit more difficult as the time he spent in detention had to be replaced with something else because he sure as hell didn't want to go home. Even if Freider had briefly shown a human face, he made it quite clear that he had no time to deal with Davyn or Ron, so the less he saw them, the better.

Davyn felt sorry for Ron, but he couldn't miss the chance of avoiding Freider, so he instructed his little brother to make arrangements for getting home, whether it was the bus, Freider picking him up, or one of his older friends taking him.

Ron wasn't talking to him anyway after he lay into his friends on Monday afternoon about his black eye. They'd scattered like frightened chickens leaving behind the stale smell of cigarette smoke, so he didn't get the chance to pull any information out of them. But the message was clear. Touch Ron again and he'd be breaking bones. So far, he'd only left bruises. Of course Ron resented him for it because an older brother threatening his friends was decidedly uncool.

Davyn didn't give a flying fuck. He was still trying to find some form of solace in his life. If was hard when he hadn't slept properly in ages and everything continued to spiral out of control. The only time he felt a bit more like himself was in the gym at night while he practiced his throws, music keeping him company and numbing his mind.

But before getting there, he had to survive school, especially since Nicholas Harkin had returned with a vengeance. Davyn had seen him at the end of the school day as he strode down the hallways, his crew even more aggressive. For a few moments, Davyn had considered getting in his way, mocking him, but he didn't feel like getting detention again for the same reason or turn the bastard even more aggressive. He wouldn't risk his privilege in the gym for anything.

So after classes, he headed to the library to get his homework done and then kill the rest of his time with random things. For instance, reading up on sound systems and how they worked should he have to fix it again at some point. Then, as darkness settled and everyone left, he'd make his way to the empty gym and start his training.

He'd improved it to give himself more of a challenge. Before shooting hoops, he'd run a few laps, then try to time his speed and see how fast he could go. Then he'd climb up and down the ropes, roll on the mattresses, do anything that could keep his focus for more than a few moments and get his muscles screaming. After all, his father had always stressed the importance of a good physical shape and proper reflexes. He'd drilled that into both him and Ron, building obstacle courses for them and encouraging them to race each other, even when Ron was much younger.

Of course, he'd completely slacked off since Sirius died, and his body wad begging to be challenged again. It was the only thing he could provide for now. Trying to return to his schedule without his father felt like betrayal. Everything burned in chaos. The only slight improvement was that he was no longer waiting for news about his mother. He'd gotten used to the fact that her breakdown was a long term thing by now and any news from her could only be good news.

Until anything good finally happened, he tried to numb his mind as much as possible by keeping it busy with stuff he could actually control. Like where he went and what he did and what he chose to focus on.

No more drama with Ron and Freider, a break from visiting his mother, not asking about anyone or anything... As February faded into March and the last remaining snow finally melted, he forced himself into a monotony that would've driven him insane in normal circumstances. The lack of proper sleep helped him control his impulses and fortunately, clam his migraines enough for him not to need medication. Sure, he still had them, but he rode them out, biting into his pillow until they went away. The more he exhausted his body, the less likely they were to show up.