11
I practically had dinner ready by the time I came through the door tonight. It wasn’t much. Just a beef-vegetable stew that I left simmering all day. Certainly nothing worth bragging about. Normally cooking gave me a lot of happiness in life, but lately, I just didn’t seem to care. Yeah, sometimes I put forth the effort and cooked up something worthy of my culinary skills, but it seemed neither one of us really ate it anyways. So really, what was the point?
It was already six-thirty, so Megan’s new class was already half way over. I still had at least an hour and a half before she finished and drove the hour home. I turned the oven to warm and placed a freshly baked roll of French bread in before heading off to shower. Man I hoped this class worked out for her. She needed something to give her a pick-me-up. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need one myself. We’d both seemed so miserable lately. Mine was just the stress of trying to remain strong for her, but what really dragged me down was going to a job every day that I utterly hated. I hated the square pen I had to work in, the stale recycled air and the over-fertilized plants all my adjacent neighbors seemed so keen on having, and the fact that I was miserably lonely because I couldn’t risk creating new friendships. I missed my real friends, who understood why I fell off the face of the earth, but who went on with life without me. I missed my job in a fast-paced environment surrounded by the scents I loved and the people I found a joy to work with.
But I didn’t regret any of it. Not for one second. Not if it meant I got to keep her here with me. Even if we were somewhat strangers these past two months.
Stepping into the shower, I switched the rainforest option that Megan liked to soak under back over to the regular shower head. Leaning my forearms against the ceramic, I let the hot downpour strike the back of my head and rush down my neck, leaving streaks of flushed skin in its wake. Megan was all I ever wanted. The one must amongst some maybes. I could change my career, live a somewhat solitary lifestyle, even hide away in some remote location so long as I had her here with me. But in order for that to work, I needed the real Megan to show up. The one I found several months ago, living all alone and working a simple waitressing job in Myrtle Creek. I had to have affection to come home to, to make it all worthwhile. I knew it would be, but I guess I never realized how hard it would be waiting for her to come back to me. Worse…she was right here, just inches from my touch, yet so far away.
Couldn’t she see that she wasn’t the only one damaged these past few years? That she wasn’t the only one who felt lost? Who felt miserable? I may not have been the one who was taken, but I was the one who had to watch it happen. Who was stuck on the ground, whose heart bled both literally and figuratively that night. I’d failed her, twice, and I was the one who had to live with that agony every day. It was a damn miracle I even had her right now. And to hardly be able to touch her while I had her…
She’d been doing better this past week, actually letting me hold her, even kiss her a little. But I wanted more. Needed more, if I was going to get out of this funk of a hole I’d wallowed myself into. I’d never be able to forgive myself for failing to protect her, but I could lessen the hold that horror had on me, if she’d just let me in again.
But I’d keep waiting. Because I had to. Because I couldn’t make her mend herself back together any faster than it was going to happen.
When Megan came through the laundry door that led to the garage where she stored her car every night, she looked utterly miserable. She winced as she pulled the bag off her shoulder. There was no control of it going down and it landed with a heavy thump. Glad her gun had a safety. “Oh, shit. You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, but even the word seem to pain her as she made her way to the bar with uncomfortable steps. “Advil. Stat.”
A single chuckle passed my lips as I went to our bathroom to grab the bottle. When I came back out, her hands were gripped around the edge of the island, leaning back awkwardly, like she was trying to stretch out her back out or something. “How much do you want?”
“Oh, my God, please, give me the full 800 mg.” She leaned her butt against the barstool cushion to help support herself. “And remind me to stretch before my next class.” I slid her the pills and watched her swallow them dry like a pro. “Seriously,” she added, almost annoyed with herself for being so sore.
I filled her a glass of water from the refrigerated filter. “So you’re going back then? You liked it?”
“Hell yeah I did,” she replied with a little more excitement. She took the glass I offered and took a few sips. “I mean, all I mostly did tonight was hit and kick on one of those punching bags. But I got to watch some of the other pairs working out and I liked what they were doing. Some of them were girls my age. I figure if they can fight like that, there’s no reason I can’t.”
“Sure you can.” I leaned over the opposite side and silently watched her. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail, but her hair was matted down with dried sweat. Several strands had fallen loose, which probably pained her too much to reach up and re-secure, and that was if she even took the time to notice. A few short hairs along her hairline had dried and curled, each and every one of them frizzy. And it made me smile, because I doubted she even cared.
She caught my grin, a soft smile turning her mouth up at one end. “What?”
What? She may’ve been sore as hell, but her face looked bright and dewy after her workout. There was just something sexy about the way she looked right now. I wanted to storm across this kitchen and crush my lips against hers and make her feel every damn emotion that was swarming inside me. The good and the bad.
But I didn’t. I simply said nothing, kissed her on the forehead and went to draw her a hot bath to soak in.
12
“Hit me.”
Aghast, I blurted, “What?”
“Hit. Me,” Jesse repeated more firmly, pointing to the side of his mouth.
“In the face.” It wasn’t a question. More like a way of saying Are you f**king crazy? without the verbal expletive.
“It’s cute that you’re worried, but I’m pretty sure I can take your punch. It’ll be like someone’s flicking my face with their finger.”
My jaw dropped and I huffed with slight annoyance. I knew he was joking, because that was how he kept the air light between us. I also knew he was baiting me. Making me want to hit him. I threw my left hand to my hip and tipped my head away from him. He was on the verge of mocking me even more when I let my right hand fly. There was only a soft smack as my glove nailed his face, but there was enough force and surprise behind it that his head actually spun to the side.
“Flick!” I sarcastically spat. I would’ve flicked the air with my fingers for effect had they not been stuffed inside these hot, black mitts.
His hand went to adjust his jaw. His laughter was silent, but I saw the way his chest rapidly bounced in and out for a minute. Soon his head was nodding up and down, because he had clearly asked for that. “Alright, Million Dollar Baby. Now that you’re ready to actually engage, I want you to keep doing that. Try to get a shot in wherever you can and I’m going to try to block what you do.”
“Can I kick?”
“No, not yet. Right now I just want to work on the punching.”
I did what he asked, but it wasn’t easy getting in a shot now that he knew it was coming. I may have sucker punched him before, but now he was ready for every jab, hook and upper cut I could dish out. He slapped most of them away. I got in a few shots, but only when I was fast enough to follow up one hit with the opposite arm. But in the end, I hardly put up much of a fight. It was a little demeaning, actually. Quite the kill joy.
“Don’t get discouraged. This is why you came to me in the first place. Soon you’ll learn to anticipate my moves and be quick enough to get some real shots in.”
I let out a frustrated groan and hung my head back. I knew he was right. People always talked about getting from point A to point B when achieving goals. What they failed to mention though was how much the distance between those two points totally sucked.
We kept sparring like that for the rest of my hour, eventually letting me kick. Personally, I thought he added kicking just to have the joy of sweeping my feet out from under me. Which he did – twice. With just fifteen minutes to go, he had me trade out the punching gloves for my normal pair, the one that protected my knuckles. I could see why he waited so long to make me switch over. We didn’t get much done those last few minutes because it was way harder on my hands, now that they had to absorb the impact of each punch. And suddenly, without all the excessive padding, it felt like I wasn’t punching correctly. Like I was nailing his skin at the wrong angle or something, so nothing I did was that effective.
One more thing to go over next time, he said – addressing my form.
I said thanks and goodnight and headed back to my bag, grabbing the second towel I’d learn to bring with me for after class. I dropped the saturated one onto the bleacher.
Maggie was finishing up too, heading my way with bulging eyes. “Oh, my God! What the hell did we sign up for?” she asked excitedly. It was followed quickly by a groan as she leaned over to touch her toes, stretching out her back muscles. “Fuck it hurts,” she whined, carefully extending her biceps now.
I laughed, and immediately regretted it. My body was aching something fierce, too. I was getting used to the exertion, but the impact of each hit could be felt not only in my arms, but my neck, shoulders and back as well. Especially once I traded out my gloves.
“Still want to get that coffee?” she asked wearily.
I grinned. Those muscles seemed the only ones that weren’t currently screaming at me. “Only if we dose it with a muscle relaxer.”
It was a twenty minute drive to the coffee shop we always went to, but it was en route to both our homes, so we kept using it. The nights were beginning to get cold and the unforgiving breeze made me wish I had brought more than just my flimsy hoodie. The shop was mostly empty, given the lateness. I was all for late night coffee, but I understood why most people didn’t want to drink it this late. I often wondered if Maggie didn’t like sleeping either, because she always ordered some kind of caffeinated beverage like me.
We sat down in the two intensely bright velvet chairs we always aimed for and sighed collectively, followed by a bout a laughter over our synchronicity. “So how do you like Jay?” I asked.
“Hot to look at.”
“I meant as a trainer, dork.”
“Oh,” she said amongst laughter, “yeah, he’s good in that department too. Jesse?”
“I like him. He makes me forget why I’m there in the first place.” Despite his similar looks… “He knows how to playfully get under my skin.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind playing with him either,” Maggie added dreamily.
“Not interested. But you’re welcome to him if he’s single.”
She threw her arm over the armrest, like she was too tired or sore to move it any other way, then pointed at me. “Find out for me. Be my winggirl.”
Her hand was close enough to smack away with my own. “Maggie!” A girl called out as she grabbed her drink from the barista. She stood in a rich burgundy wool jacket that hung open over her jeans and V-neck tee, a huge smile lighting up her eyes as her hand jerked back and forth with an intense wave.
As she made her way over, Maggie greeted her with, “Stanya, hey.” Motioning to me, she added, “This is Megan. Megan, Stanya. She works with me.”
We both smiled and said hello as she dragged a wooden dining chair next to Maggie. “So were you guys working out?”
“Yeah, we’re taking these…” she paused to look at me, eyes curious, “…I guess we can call them fighting classes now.”
“Extreme self-defense,” I joked over my mug, the soothing scent of coffee wafting through my nose.
“Extreme?” Stanya parroted. She blew the air over her mug, tiny wisps of steam curling with the breeze before breaking apart and dissipating.
“It means a real self-defense class and not those with basic moves and reading material crap they regurgitate for you.”
By the look on her face, Stanya had no idea what Maggie was talking about. Guess she’d been one of the lucky ones in life thus far. “You’ve been ziplining at one of those places around here, right?” Maggie asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
“It’s kind of like that. Sure, you get to do a few soft zips, but once they take you up there and start heading down, they’ve got you trapped and they go on and on and on about our impact on the environment and yada yada yada. Stuff you already know but they beat to death like a dead horse.”
Stanya softly giggled. “Yeah, that is annoying. Especially if you’re a repeat customer and just wanna zip. I sorta get what you mean now.” She took a sip of what looked like tea before asking, “So why are you two taking extreme self-defense and not just something like an aerobics class with kickboxing?”
Maggie looked at me and shrugged, but we both had our reasons why. I answered for her. “I guess we just want to be able to protect ourselves when we come across some jerk who doesn’t like to keep his hands to himself.”
Maggie caught my use of when, but Stanya was completely oblivious to it, her face beginning to cringe as she thought on it. “I don’t know. Doesn’t violence just encourage more violence? If the guy’s already bigger than me and I fight back, what’s going to keep him from killing me at that point?”
“But what if the guy is going to kill you either way?” Maggie argued. “If you knew that going in, you’d fight, right?”