A Billionaire's Bodyguard

Chapter 3: Dodging the Bulldozer

--------------Percy's POV ----------------

"Gods damn grocery bags" I grumbled, setting down the hole filled plastic bags, their porous being's falling out of their crumpled position I'd had them in in my desperate attempt to keep my food from spilling out and into a lying position the apples spilling out and rolling to a stop on my counter, the other contents staying inside the plastic barrier.

I let out a small sigh as I set down the rest of the bags from my other hand, the items hitting the floor gently before they too fell into a lying position. I combed my bandaged hands through my hair, the feeling bringing slight ease to me.

I truly hated shopping so early in the morning, that was when the crappy bags were out and no one had yet to take them but on mornings when my fights were so near the am hours, well, my schedule was a bit cramped.

As I released my hair, a chunk of white hair fell in front of my eyes, making its presence known as it swung momentarily before coming to a stop.

When I'd first gotten a look at myself, I was surprised, I mean it was absolutely not normal to have as many scars as I had, and the white hair? Well, I definitely thought it was a weird style choice but hey, it would grow out. My opinions and thoughts changed on these things though, as I came to see more of Gotham it was definitely normal to have scars, I mean it even helped in my job, it seemed to scare the competition, and the stylish white hair? Yeah that wasn't growing out, it was like the one patch was just eternally unpigmented, destined to be ominously white for the rest of my life.

It was easy to say that I'd had to adapt to a lot more than my surroundings.

I shook my head, snapping myself back to attention as I picked up the various foods, setting them in their proper cabinet or shelf in the fridge.

The sorting only took a few moments, allowing me time to unpackage a few of the items in order to make myself a meal.

The meal in itself was nothing fancy, an omelet with a side of apple slices and a glass of orange juice was enough to get me ready for the fight in two hours.

After finishing I had an hour and half to get to the gym and begin practicing so I rushed to my room, threw on a sleeveless shirt and some sweatpants and grabbed my gym bag before leaving my apartment, ignoring the raging screamo music from next door.

With a quick locking of the door I turned and left the building. As soon as the fresh air hit my face I took a deep breath before breaking out into a sprint, ignoring the startled gasps of people around me as I bounded down the sidewalks, only slowing down when there were elderly or kids around, I wouldn't want to hurt them.

By the time I reached the gym I could already pinpoint the incoming crowd. After being here a while it was easy to pick out the real gym bros versus the ones who were only here for the spectacle.

I felt a small smile come to my face as I walked in, waving to a couple of the familiar faces as I passed them. The gym seemed to be one of the few places I felt comfortable, some part of it felt nostalgic even but I couldn't quite pinpoint why.

I walked over to the punching bags, setting down my stuff as I checked over my hands once more, the bandages were wrapped firmly around my knuckles giving me some sort of barrier between oncoming flesh.

Once I had set up I backed up, getting into my fighting stance before picturing an opponent in the ring, the movies coming to my mind like a script. From there it was easy.

Kick, punch, dodge, repeat.

I'd do this combo with occasional new moves mixed in when I visualized my opponent trying to strike back.