_Okay. _

It’s my favorite word, especially during a fight or competition. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as it sends a fire through my body. But it’s okay. Everything’s always okay.

As a ball of fire flies past my head, the thought consumes me that I’m okay. I send a blade across the room flying into my new enemy’s chest. It’s okay.

Okay’s important. It always has been. I space out. A lot. It’s okay’s job to draw me back, to stabilize my mind and tell me I’ll be okay.

Nobody knows about okay. It’s mine. Not like they would care anyway. They never have. That’s why I fight. I need the adrenaline. The control. I need to swing the punch, throw the blade, and kick the crap out of these people to remember I’m okay.

Because in the end, everything’s always okay, even if you aren’t.