Page 77 of Breaking Emily's Rules
The article had suggested women often traded anger for depression because girls had been mostly raised to believe anger was unacceptable. I had dismissed it all as pop psychology. Eventually, the fog had lifted, but in a way, I’d never dealt with the anger. Others had for me. Molly. Grammy. Rachel.
“This is going to help me get my anger out?” I stared at the bag. Maybe if it had worked for Stone, it could work for me.
“Yeah.” To demonstrate, he gave the bag a punch.
“Like this?” I took a swing and missed.
He frowned. “Next time, try hitting the bag.”
“I’m trying.” I lifted up fists, feeling like a cross between Muhammad Ali and Cinderella. My right hook missed the bag.
Stone looked at the bag, then me. “How do you keep missing?”
“I told you. I don’t hit.” Although, this swinging felt pretty good. Freeing. Almost like hitting the horn accidentally and watching the stranger’s surprised expression. There was a fire in me, and I felt it now. I just needed to connect with this bag, but it kept moving out of reach.
“Not like that, you don’t.” He came up behind me to position my hands, and yeah, maybe I enjoyed the closeness a little too much.
I relaxed my body into his.
“Hold your fists like this.”
I held my fists in front of my chest and eyed him as he went behind the bag and held it in place. “You just need a little help to get the hang of it.”
It worked. I swung and swung again, hearty punches into the bag, my breaths coming hard and fast. I pictured Greg falling down. I pictured Nika thanking me for getting her the job, cleaning the apartment and laughing about dorky and cute Greg with his color-coordinated ties and pocket protectors. “Engineers are definitely not my type. I like them big and strong,” Nika had said with a wink. Nika telling me she wasn’t interested in ever having children. Too expensive, she’d said. I want a beamer instead.
Bang! You’re going down.
Nika lay flat on the ground.
Bad friend.Liar.“You’re right. This is fun.”
Relief flooded through me. I pictured Greg’s face as I pummeled it. Greg’s face, puzzled and questioning:What’s gotten into you, Emily? You’re always so kind and reasonable. You mean there’s a limit?
Heck yeah, there’s a limit. The nerve of you blindsiding me like that. I wanted you to be sorry. Instead, I wound up leaving that night a loser. Again. I hate your stupid face. I hate the way you make me feel. You were never right for me.
Oh.
“Are you okay?” Stone’s voice broke through the haze.
I stopped swinging, my breathing heavy and ragged. I wiped sweat from my forehead. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been at it for a few minutes. Thought I’d lost you there.” He grinned so wide both dimples appeared.
“Okay, you were right.” I backed up, worn out and sweaty. “I needed that. It felt good.”
He came around from the side of the bag. When his arms went around my waist, I leaned into him.
“You feel good.”
“So do you.” I kissed him then, thinking no one had ever cared enough to show me how to deal with my feelings in any real and tangible way.
Not talking it out, as I would have expected from any psychologist or girlfriend, but physically hashing it out. And it made sense. Stone was a man of action.
His arms slid up and back down my arms, and he seemed to study me. “Don’t let me hurt you. Don’t ever let anyone hurt you. Ever again.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. I—”
“Promise me.” His hands tightened around my arms.
