My fists were raw. My breath came in shallow, ragged pulls as I struck the leather bag again and again, knuckles stinging despite the wraps. Sweat burned my eyes, my arms screamed, and my lungs felt like they were collapsing.
"Again," Alana barked.
"I can't—"
The word barely left my lips before her hand shoved me forward. I stumbled, chest heaving, and punched weakly at the leather bag. My vision blurred. My body wasn't listening anymore. If Alana were to strike me now, I wouldn't be able to stop her.
Donna Carmela's voice rang out, smooth and sharp from her chair in the corner.
"Pathetic. If someone came for you right now, you'd already be dead."
The humiliation cut deeper than the ache in my muscles. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them away. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
She left soon after someone called for her attention. I thought I would be able to catch my breath but…
"Again," Alana ordered. "Or you'll take the sandbag's place."
