Something inside me snapped. I pulled back and slammed my fist into the bag with everything I had. The impact shot up my arm and the bag swung violently on its chain.
"Again," Julian said, stepping back.
I hit it again, harder, feeling the satisfaction of the impact, the release of tension in my shoulders.
"Again."
I kept hitting, over and over, not thinking about technique or form or anything except the feeling of my fist connecting with the bag, the physical release of everything I'd been holding inside for weeks, months, years.
I thought about Ethan's hand cracking across my face, about Vanessa's satisfied smile as I bled on her kitchen floor, about my father's cold eyes when he called me names I'd never forget.
I hit the bag until my arms burned and my breathing came in ragged ga
