Taking Control

“I’ll see you after class, Percy.” Cali looks down at Percy with a sweet smile, tall and dressed in a sleeveless lavender turtleneck tucked into a similar colored plaid skirt that he wears. “By the tree?”

“Yeah… by the tree.” Percy, much shorter than Cali and dressed in a dark red sweater with faded black jeans, nods. “I’ll see you.”

He watches Cali walk away, a sort of longing in his eyes as he grips the strap of his messenger bag; should he say something? They always spend time together in private, for the most part. Cali has been really good about it; he doesn’t mind that Percy isn’t out yet and they’ve been more than understanding, but Percy can’t help but worry. 

Is it too much for them?

Percy sighs and keeps walking then, bag pressed tight to his side as he picks up his strides. There is only one thing that can pull Percy out of his head, and that’s punching something.

. x .

The young man sets his bag down in the training room, shutting the door behind him. He’s dressed in a muscle tee and shorts now, pulling wrap from his bag and wrapping it over his hands, getting ready for the day’s workout. 

His dark curly hair is untamed around his face, and Percy goes to one side of the room now to grab the boxing target, dragging it closer to the middle of the room and once done with that, he stops directly in front of it.

For a moment Percy just stares– hair hangs down in his face just over the scar above his eye and he releases a shaky breath, eyes catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wall across from him. He frowns; the man that stares back at him through this glass is nothing like the boy he once was, so young and naïve and full of hope.

Were things actually better for him then? Percy isn’t sure.

Instead of focusing on what could have been Percy tightens his hands into fists and throws the first punch at the target; he feels it reverberate all the way down his elbow and he hisses at the pain, swinging his arm back and then coming down on the practice target with ten times the force as the previous hit.

He lands punch after punch, up close and personal with the target until he is shoving it back with full force, sending it flying across the room and into the mirror, where the glass shatters around where the target made contact.

Percy stands in the middle of the room, breathing hard with blood staining through the white wrap at his knuckles. “Come on, Percy…”

He mumbles to himself, going to pick up the target and lifting it up, dragging it back to its spot in the center of the room with determination. There is something unreadable in his eyes; a swarm of emotions ranging from anger and hatred towards himself all the way to guilt and grief, mourning the loss of his younger self. That was never him, just what his father wanted him to be.

Strong, loyal, a man who could put up a fight.

Percy’s shoulders slouch, still looking in the mirror at his defeated posture.

Weak, coward, a man who can’t even stand up to his own father.

He crumples forward then, body shaking with sobs as he wraps around the target, needing something for balance, something solid to keep him upright as he suddenly falls apart right there in the middle of the training room.

Weakly punching at the target, Percy mumbles.

“Stupid… pathetic, coward… never good enough, not strong enough.” More punches, with more sobs. “You’ll never be what dad wants. What anyone wants. People pleaser, stupid, stupid…”

He breaks down further, clutching his hands at the side of the target as his body slowly begins to sink to the floor, knees connecting with the cool surface of the training room mat.

His whole life, Percy has tried to live up to the image of his father. He always wanted him to be strong, independent, capable. Percy always thought he was those things, always thought he was what his father wanted him to be but he isn’t, that's the truth.

Percy knows that, he just hasn’t accepted the fact that this… image of his younger self he has always had is nothing but a fake. A phony.

Percy is slouched forward, arms now wrapped around the base of the target as he sobs, trying to hold onto some semblance of that man he wanted to be. That he thought he was.

He’s queer… the last thing he ever wanted to admit but something that is getting easier now. Easier because of Cali, easier because finally Percy is surrounding himself with people who accept him as is, instead of people who are against everything Percy is, everything he stands for.

Finally the sobs subside and Percy begins to sit up, still sitting but now upright, wiping at his face and forcing himself to take deep breaths. He looks around the room, tries that grounding technique Cali had shown him, that one day in their dorm room after some old friends had teased him, mocked him… humiliated him. 

Eventually the crying does stop completely and he wipes his face again, taking a shy glance in the cracked mirror still a ways from him. His face is red and blotchy… but it’s him. This is who he is, and finally Percy is starting to accept that. It’s never been about what his father wants, Percy realizes that now– it’s about what he wants, who he is. Not what anyone wants him to be, but who he really is, deep down.

Percy sighs, messing with the end of his tee still a bit fidgety. 

Deep breath.

He’s got this.

Percy starts to stand now, moving everything back to where it was and unwrapping his hands. He’ll clean off the blood in the bathroom sink but for now he just takes a few more deep breaths, taking control of his breathing.

It’s a small step, but for the first time Percy feels at peace. For the first time he feels he finally has control over who he is.

No one can take that away from him.