I always wake up at 3 in the morning.
Not because I want to. Not because I set an alarm. My body just does it on its own, like it has been trained to never rest properly. At first, I used to fight it. I would close my eyes again and try to sleep, forcing myself to ignore the silence around me.
It never worked.
Now I don't even try.
I sit up slowly, feeling the cold air already creeping into the room. The walls are plain, almost empty, like whoever designed this place didn't care about comfort. Maybe that was the point.
I step onto the balcony.
The cold hits me instantly, sharp and unforgiving, but it helps. It clears my head in a way nothing else can. I place my hands on the metal railing and look down at the city below. Everything is quiet. No movement. No noise.
For a moment, it feels peaceful.
But peace never lasts long.
My mind starts replaying everything whether I want it to or not. The past doesn't stay in the past. It follows me, shows up when everything else is silent.
The fight.
The moment I stepped in when I wasn't supposed to.
The moment everything changed.
I inhale deeply, but the air feels heavier than usual, like it carries the weight of what I did. My chest tightens slightly, but I ignore it. I've learned how to ignore a lot of things.
After a while, I step back inside.
There's no point standing there forever.
The routine is always the same.
I drop to the floor and start my exercises. Push-ups first. Slow and controlled. My arms burn almost immediately, still sore from before. The pain spreads through my shoulders and down into my chest, but I don't stop.
Then planks.
Then pull-ups.
Each movement feels heavier than it should, like my body is reminding me that it hasn't fully recovered. But stopping isn't an option. It was never an option.
By the time I finish, my breathing is uneven, and sweat runs down my face despite the cold air. My muscles shake slightly, but I force them to stay steady.
Weakness shows.
And weakness gets noticed.
I stand up and walk over to the mirror nailed to the wall. It's slightly tilted, like it was put up quickly without care. Maybe that's exactly what happened.
For a moment, I just stare.
The person looking back at me doesn't feel familiar anymore.
I study every detail like I'm trying to recognise someone I used to know. The same eyes. The same face.
But something is different.
Something harder.
My gaze shifts slightly to the faint scar along my shoulder. It's not very visible unless you're looking for it, but I know it's there. I remember exactly how it got there.
That night.
That mistake.
"They shouldn't have been there…" I whisper under my breath, though I'm not even sure who I'm talking about anymore.
I place my hand against the mirror for a second, feeling the cold surface against my skin.
Then I pull it away.
There's no time to stand around thinking.
There never is.