Page 91 of Reckoning

“It’s not a miracle cure.” I reply. “It takes time. You can’t keep expecting to just wake up and it all be fixed.”

She scowls back at me but whatever curse she wants to say, she keeps it to herself, following behind me as we head to the gym.

She’s wearing a baggy jumper. It’s not really ideal for what I have in mind but it’s just tough. I jerk my head, motioning for her to follow me over to the ring. She’s used the equipment a number of times, mostly just the running machine and a few free weights, but today I want to try something different.

I pick up a set of gloves and toss them at her. They almost smack her in the face because her reflexes are shit – that’s another thing I want to work on.

“I’ve never boxed before.” She says.

“Today you’re going to learn.” I state.

She lets out a huff, pulls her gloves on and secures them.

I start off with the basics, showing her how to stand correctly, how to angle her punches for maximum impact.

It’s slow, methodical. I can tell she doesn’t have the patience, but she bites her tongue and she continues on, pushing herself.

It doesn’t take long before she’s sweating. She wipes her brow but, with that jumper on, it doesn’t make much difference.

“You could take it off.” I say.

She turns her head and narrows her eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I smirk. Yeah, I like her being a brat. Perhaps that’s how she was before all her trauma fucked her up. I’ll happily tease that side out of her more.

“You’re hot.” I state. “And not just to look at. Take your jumper off, maybe you’ll be able to hit better when you’re not constantly overheating.”

She glares at me, lifts her arm and delivers a perfect punch to the pad. “I’m not bad thank you very much.”

“You can be better.”

Clearly she ignores that comment, landing another punch, and then another before she stops, muttering under her breath.

“You can’t hide forever.” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“Those jumpers, all that material you wrap your body in.” I reply.

She snarls, pulling the gloves off and tosses one after another onto the ground. “You know why I’m wearing this.” She says, getting right up into my face, yanking on the collar as she does. “You saw.”

“I saw.” I confirm. “And like I said, what I see and what you see are two very different things.”

“I’m not a warrior.” She states. “I’m not.”

“You are, you just need to realise it.”

“Maybe you need to realise that somethings can’t be fixed. ThatIcan’t be fixed.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I reply. “No wonder you spend your time wallowing.”

I know I’m being a dickhead. I know I’m pushing her, probably beyond what she can take right now but I want her to snap out of this, to take that snarky little attitude and that fire inside herself and put it to something worthwhile.

“I don’t wallow.”

“No?”

“I was doing fine, I was…” She draws in a deep breath. “Can’t you just fuck off and leave me alone? Use me just for orgasms and pretend I don’t exist beyond that.”

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