Page 31 of Cara
I don’t even want to be here.
Even now that I’ve made it through the doors, the noises around me trigger a fight-or-flight response I used to be able to suppress. A grunt. Heavy breathing. The sound of bodies colliding in training. A heavyweight slammed into a mat. I wouldn’t be here at all… if it weren’t for the nightmares.
Horrors that bring me out of sleep to distort my reality.
At night, my mind deceives me. Shadows dance around the room. Strange sounds shuffle in from the patio. It’s always the same, and that kind of dread is paralyzing.
Months ago, I was on the steps leading to my apartment when I heard two men talking over café con leches. Their conversation led me three blocks down to a dry cleaner’s shop. My mouth opened, revealing that I wasn’t there to turn in any clothes, and within moments, I was shown an array of illegal weapons at my disposal.
Just like that, I felt like myself.
I felt the heavy weight of a gun in my hand, remembering the moment my husband armed me for the first time. In the short time we shared as one, he made sure to teach me everything I needed to know to make that moment happen. I selected a pistol I could hold and fire with weak arms. I handled the weapons effortlessly enough that the man didn’t think twice about selling them to me, even instructing me on how to acquire a government permit under the table.
But my nightmares have worsened. The gun doesn’t help.
Every night, I'm running from a hell I’ve already lived.
It’s why I’m here now, my eyes fixed on the gym owner, surrounded by unsuspecting souls who’ve swapped their desks for a chance to sweat.
This is something different for me.
The man is perceptive enough to catch onto how unamused I am by his approach and leans into the bag, crossing his arms. Curiosity touches his gaze.
“Tell me why you’re here, Cara.”
WhyamI here? That’s the question.
What led me through the crowded streets into this dingy corner gym?
Was it that I needed a change?
Or was it that I’d run out of options… That if I didn’t do something, these demons would spool and unravel what remains of me until there’s nothing left.
Maybe I just want to hurt myself. Maybe it’s as sick as that.
“I want to fight,” I say. Either way, that’s the truth.
“What are you interested in?”
My eyes dart to the two men wailing upon each other in the corner of the room. Following my gaze, Enrique blows out a long whistle. “It’ll take a long time to get there, girl.”
“I have time. Plenty of it.”
The body remembers.
My instincts are still there.
When my arms rise to intercept Enrique, predicting his next moves, I feel pride. My feet shuffle on the mat, and when I kick him, regaining the form I’d been taught years ago, he grins with intrigue. “You’ve been taught before.”
It isn’t a question, although it’s shaped like one.
Others near us are becoming interested in the naive, vulnerable woman with the hollow eyes, and because of that, Enrique isn’t as cautious as he was when we started.
He approaches me again, now with an audience gathered around the mat.
For a moment, I hear Xavier.
He is faster than you. You have to be smarter.
