[center][h1][color=6ecff6]Jacob Farweight[/color][/h1]
[img]https://sideofawkward.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/alexander-ludwig-fitness-advice-rotator.jpg[/img]
[b]Location:[/b] LA Suburb Streets => 365 Combat Club => Beverly Hills High School[hr][/center]The streetlamps offered the occasional oasis of light in an otherwise completely dark morning. Jacob was running for almost half an hour now. Running into the light, then back into the invisible darkness and back into the light again. As if he only existed for the briefest of seconds before he vanished again. This early, there was nobody outside. Every time he went for an early morning run, Jacob rarely saw a car pass him. It was peaceful and quiet. But above all else, Jacob felt solitude. Even though he knew that behind every window he passed there were people sleeping. Behind every door was a family that would start living again in moments. Still, he pretended that for just now he was alone in a very empty world. He loved it. He loved the serene feeling he got as he passed iron wrought gates, carefully trimmed hedged and massive, columned mansions. In recent weeks, feeling at peace with himself became a commodity to Jacob.

After half an hour he reached home again. The first thing Jacob did was check his messages, his calls, his snapchat. Anything! Rather franticly he was swiping through everything. To no avail, Ceci hadn’t returned his call. She hadn’t texted. His friend didn’t even send a snap for five days straight now.

The one thing he loved about Ceci was that she was gone for all the time. There was no attachment, no strings, no traps. The distance was good. Through technology they could still talk day in, day out. She would tell him about those amazing places across the globe and he would tell her about the intriguing place that is Beverly Hills High School. But four days ago he send her a voicemail telling her about the party. Or rather what was going down. Trixie vanished. Hailey didn’t even go in. The only one who acted like herself was Ophelia. Though she got very, [i]very[/i] drunk. Jacob feared for his friend’s friends.

With a heavy sigh he dropped the phone back on his bed. Nothing. Not even a text. Two days, he told himself. Two more days. After that he would go to the Lovelace mansion and ask if they know where she is. Two days. That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself two days ago. He didn’t fear Mrs. Lovelace. But there was something off with her. Ceci once told him that she couldn’t stand the name of his father. Which struck him as odd. He tried to ask his father about it, but he kept mute about it all.

He picked up the phone again. Still nothing. For a moment he wanted to call her. Again and again until she picked up. But no, no he had to respect the distance. He couldn’t grow strings now. Everything was perfect. Everything was fine as it was. He would imperil that. Still, he went to her messages. Maybe she had send one and he didn’t see it? No, she hadn’t send anything. Maybe he should send a message? His fingers inched closer to the virtual keyboard. But he stopped himself again. That was stupid, sending another message. This all was stupid. Yet his thumb inched closer to the phone icon. Was his subconsciousness telling him to call her? Whatever spell he was under, it vanished when his phone started vibrating in his hands.

Seven o’clock had passed. Jacob rushed down, grabbed his gym back and jumped in his car. The Club never opened later than seven am. So on seven he would be there. The ride was short but a treat. The suburbs were waking up. Lights drove out the dark. Clarity replaced hidden mystique. Reality took over from fantasy. A daily transition had begun. Amid of it, Jacob drove to the Combat Club.

[center][i]At the 365 Combat club[/i][/center]
His trainer taught him much. But something she learned from his father. One of them was the bow when he took off his shoes and made a small bow when stepping on the matting. It was a sign of respect. Not to a person. Not yet at least. It was respect for the work. For the training. For yourself. Then the work-out began. Not many people came in as early as seven. Almost entirely alone he went through the routine. Jumping, push-ups, squads, set ups. Then it was time for the punching bag.

When Jacob came in for the first time, he railed into the punching bag like a madman. Trying to hit as often and as hard as he could. Trying to distract himself from everything and let go of it all. Instead he held it all close and tight. He wasn’t releasing it, he was seething. Troy put him straight one morning. Even now, many months after that, he still felt grateful for the lesson. He was different now, even though he needed a few more lessons after that. Now he was taking his time and controlled his breathing. The [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k92xyO2RNfA]music[/url] was sealing him off from the outside world now. Turning the exercise into a retreat from life. [color=6ecff6][b]“We get…what we… deserve.”[/b][/color] He sang along, but it was barely audible. His stance shifted. Jacob moved around the punching bag. Hitting another angle. [b]“And way down we go.”[/b] But something was breaking his focus. Some thought was with him, even here, even now. A nagging feeling of worry stayed with him. Ceci. It wasn’t like her to vanish like that. [b]“You let your feet run wild.”[/b] Three quick jabs. [color=6ecff6][b]“Time has come as we all go down.”[/b][/color] He moved to the music, hit with every beat. He would be dancing, if not for the punches he was throwing. [color=6ecff6][b]“And way down we goooo.”[/b][/color]

[center][i]At Beverly Hills High School[/i][/center]
Jacob did not entirely hate Beverly Hills High School. He just came to that conclusion as he sat in his car, enjoying the music. He didn’t hate the cheerleaders practicing. He didn’t hate football practice. He didn’t hate most of his teachers. Sure, things could be better. Some classes were just straight boring. Others, like Spanish, felt impossible. But that wasn’t what bugged Jacob. What bugged him was Damian being captain when he wanted the position. Yet he knew he couldn’t go up against Damian to get it. Nor would Damian just hand it over on a silver platter. He hated the candies spreading stupid love gossip like it was an STD. Though deep down he knew it might also be jealousy. But that was high school. You win some, you lose some. For now he just had to carry on for another six months. With a little bit of luck he would make a handful of vital tackles this semester. Who knows, maybe could get lucky this year. With hope in his heart he went inside and took a seat in his home room class.