“I can’t change the past; I can only change the future.”
He didn’t realize it but he was whispering the words over and over again like a prayer as he ran through his defensive patterns in a rapid succession of hand blocks to his training post with it’s arms thrust out at every conceivable angle of attack.
And even as his focus grew more and more centered, away from the spacious empty gym to the outstretched pieces of wood, his hands moving in a blurring flurry, the sweat wetting his dark hair black and glistening down his bare chest, it still wasn’t enough. It never was enough, no matter how hard he worked to get her out of his system, whether it be with weights, or calisthenics, or even drunken boxing—Sami was always there to torment his mind and soul. He hated her; he loved her, the mother of his son.
Like always she’d been a bitch today, flaunting Austin in his face, rewriting history to suit her own warped tunnel vision, pretending that she never thought of him as a friend, never knew him better than anyone else. And for what, so that she could lie to herself that he wasn’t a good father and justify every shitty thing she tried to do to steal Will away from him?
If he was a bastard—f**ck she drove him to it. God the nerve of that woman, starting another custody war, hiring a new lawyer to spew her spin that he was an unfit parent because of his new school and its violent, debauched nature. It just proved she didn’t know a thing about him or the martial arts. He trained his students self-control, first and foremost, to always avoid a confrontation if possible, to only use their skills in defense. Control and harmony of the body, spirit, and mind were the goals of his instructions, not self-aggrandizement; rather, his tenets were almost religious.
And so what if his specialty was drunken boxing? The use of alcohol was meant to provide desensitization to pain and in truth wasn’t even necessary to practice the moves, maintaining the perfect unwavering imbalance that does not fall. Hell, drunken boxing required an even greater level of control than the other forms of martial arts since he had to always be aware of how much to drink and how much not to-- for as his master taught, ‘a boat can float in water, but a boat can sink in water as well’.
But like everything else important to him, she had to twist it and make it appear ugly.
Consequently, he’d been pretty vicious this afternoon, had Victor kick her out of the guest house when he’d gotten the court order to attend the preliminary hearing, told her coldly that maybe she could visit Will on the weekend. And now even though he shouldn’t, he regretted it.
And like always the pain brought him to the gym, but this time it wasn’t helping much. His hands were starting to bruise, his knuckles starting to bleed, the image of her beautiful angry face was seared into his mind, like the mantra he couldn’t stop repeating.
“I can’t change the past; I can only change the future.”
Sighing, he finally stopped his patterns, leaned his head against the post, and gave up on not thinking about his throbbing hands or her, when suddenly through the open windows of the gym he heard a car pull up, its doors slam, and a voice he’d recognize anywhere.
“John, I’m not going in there! I won’t do it! You Can't make me! Not for anything in the world! I’d rather eat glass than ask him for anything, be indebted to him for anything! After everything he's done to me, why can't you understand that?"
“Because not only is he in the best position to protect you and Will, he Is the best and that’s a fact.. . Sami, there simply isn’t another option. Think of Will.”
And she must of because after that all Lucas could hear other than silence was approaching footsteps. And his heart sped with the thought that something must be seriously wrong for Sami to seek his help.
Note: The boat proverb was taken pretty much verbatim from ‘The Legend of the Drunken Master’.