Possible Story: Zia Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Hiiiyah!

The chain gave a tortured scream as its links burst and shrapneled around the room, clanging off walls, machines and plates, and the heavy durty sandbag shot through the room, twisting like an out of control rocket until it embedded itself in the wall on the other end of the room. Before the dust had settled, the ever vigilant lunk alarm sirens howled out, lest anyone not be convinced their relaxing evening workout had just been turned into a war zone.

"Oh my god!"  

"What the fuck just happened?"

"Call the police!"

"Is anyone hurt?"

Zia cringed, as trouble stormed her way in form of several pink shirted, frantically gesticulating employees. One of them angrily blew a whistle. She didn't even know they had those. Thankfull the lunk alarm still wailed on and drowned out most of the complaints and yelling. Still, she knew she was about to get an earful - again.

The gym was a scene of destruction. Plaster rained from the ceiling, fragments of the chain link had scraped across the floor and a trail of sand led to the crumpled, contorted remains of the heavy duty bag embedded in the drywall.

"Zia, what on Earth are you doing?"

It was Chad, the day manager of the gym and the one guy who normally showed any kind of sympathy towards her. Perhaps he would listen to reason.

"Well I was just practicing some moves and the equipment must have malfunctioned." She stated matter of factly.

"...malfunctioned? THAT was not caused by a malfunction." he yelled and angrily pointed at the hole in the wall where the gym's logo had been until a few moments ago.

"It most certainly was. The chain must have been faulty"

"A faulty hain doesn't send a 100 pound bag flying 20 feet!"

"Sure it can. Haven't you heard of centrifugal force?"

She remained defiant. Maybe she could bluff her way out of this.

"Yes, and it develops around an axis. You ruined the axis as well."

Maybe not.

"This is not a dojo. We have the bags here for cardio. Not for you to practice death kicks and ways to kill someone."

"Let's not be dramatic, I'm not trying to kill anyo..."

"I know you're not. But you're out of control. Someone could have really gotten hurt."

Zia lowered her head, traps swelling to her ears, ironically making her look more menacing instead of less. 

He was right, on both accounts. She had gotten lost in the moment and let herself get carried away. It would have ended badly for anyone who had wandered between the bag and the wall.

"Find a dojo, Zia. This place is for people trying to get in shape."

"There are no good ones in this town. And I came here for the weights."

"Do I need to remind you of the lat pull and cable crossover machines you broke last month? This is just not the gym for you"

"But I have stuck to mostly free weights since..."

She didn't even know why she pleaded like this. She knew he was right. This was not a hardcore gym or dojo, and she had long outgrown the place before she had even moved to the city a year ago. 

"I'm sorry, but we can't have you coming here anymore. I like you, and I'll see what I can do so no one presses charges. We don't need that kind of publicity either. But you need to leave. Get your things and get out before you're all over social media."

Zia turned to see people emerging from the locker rooms with their phones and tweeting the wreckage already.

It was no use. With a heavy sigh she thanked him for not pressing charges and once more apologized for the trouble. "If you need me to pay for repairs...."

Chad cut her off "We have insurance.  Just go."

The door closed behind her, and she slowly made her way toward the tram station. She knew this day was long overdue. She had complained about Fit-Zone as much as they dealt with complaints about her. Some pairups just weren't meant to be.

She had intended to quit before an inevitable humiliation like today occurred. Against her better judgement, she had put off looking for a new place to train at, because she knew she wouldn't fit in anywhere. While she had gotten used to the perplexed, frightened, offended, disgusted or horny stares her physique earned her, fear of rejection remained very real. 

For all its commercial blandness, Fit-Zone with its disinterested minimujm wage staff  and corporate type, middle aged customers afforded the pleasant anonymity of a fast food restaurant. They didn't tolerate harassment or bullying, which was nice. But they had equally little tolerance for loud clanging of weights or - annoyingly - repeatedly destroyed gym equipment.

She lost count of how many times people had let her know she was unwelcome at various venues. These scenes played before her eyes as she sat in the tram and watched the buildings and shops go by. Since fulfilling her goal of moving to the city, she had barely taken the time to explore it. Not its night life, not its little artisanal - and overpriced shops and boutiques. She went between her work, gym and the supermarket. When she did break her routine, she usually left the city to go hiking in the woods, which she missed from back home or to do a day trip to the beach.

She silently scolded herself and asked herself why she paid triple in rent to live here if she didn't really desire the life. Maybe she just hadn't had the time to settle in yet, she lied to herself, but she that nagging voice in the back of her head would not be so easily silenced. The one that let her know her move had been motivated less by a desire to live in Cravone, but rather by a desire to leave her small home town, where here life had gone nowhere for years. And where she really didn't fit in at all. She was young, tanned, raven black hair, with a taste for heavy metal music and leather heels, not to mention a physique that would dwarfed a linebacker, and made her the the talk of the town - not in a good way. While the city made it easier here to hide in an anonymous mass of people, that wasn't what she had envisioned either. But what had been her plan in the first place? 

Today was a reminder that finding for her place in the world would require a more proactive approach.