Same one, sharper

The sub-floor at Apex has a soft seam where the panels meet. I knew about it. I planted my lead foot on it anyway because Danny's script needed the symmetry — round four to mirror round one. The ankle folded like a cheap hinge. Same one. Sharper.

Jules taped it tighter than Danny would have. I noticed her hands more than I should have. Small thing. She works with fighters all day. Probably nothing.

Lachie. Three in the morning. The window I didn't check. The forum caption sat on the screen for four seconds before I scrolled past. Voss corner was right. I read it three times. Carly was beside me eating toast and I wanted to cover the screen so she wouldn't see it, but she already had. She didn't say anything. That's the worst part — her not saying anything, because it means there's nothing to say that would help.

I told Danny to file the complaint. Boxing Victoria. It felt like ringing my mum to ask for money. I'm a grown man asking a state body to protect a phone handle. Lock the gym. Fine. Then I'm training in a hallway by myself, which is basically where I started when I came back from swimming.

Twenty-two and I was in a pool in Brisbane with a stress fracture nobody told me about until the scan. Now I'm on a kitchen counter writing a complaint number on the back of an envelope because a man with a phone beat me at three in the morning. I am tired of being a story about what went wrong with my body. I want one round where nothing rolls, nothing tears. One round.