Chin down in determination, I throw another punch.Harder this time.
Then another.
And another.
Each blow becomes a word.Each word a strike against the chains binding me.
“Heartless,” I mutter.
Punch.
“Manipulative.”
The bag swings.
“Liar.”
My breath comes in irregular gasps.
The words spill out faster, louder, fueled by my rising tide of rage.
“Cheat,” I snarl, slamming my fist into the bag.
“Bastard!”I rain down a series of blows, each one punctuated by a guttural cry.“Controlling bastard!!”I scream.The sound echoes through the basement.
“Hey!”I barely register Matthew’s voice, his words lost in the roaring in my ears.“Amy!”
“This is for all the lies!”I yell, throwing a powerful right hook.
Matthew moves with sudden speed, stepping in front of me.“Not so hard.You’ll hurt yourself.”
“For all the empty promises!”I answer with a left jab.
Hot tears blur my vision, but I keep punching.My focus is solely on the bag, channeling all my pain into each blow.
“Woah!”He tries to block me, his hands hovering near my arms.“Your hands aren’t wrapped.Amy!”
I try to slide around him, my anger blinding me to everything but the need to unleash this torrent of emotions.
Matthew’s arms wrap around my waist from behind, a hold so firm I can’t break free.“Stop!”He lifts me, carrying me away from the bag.I kick empty air, my fists still trying to find their target.“Please stop,” he repeats close to my ear, his voice low and urgent.
He sets me down on the edge of the flat weight bench, keeping his arms around me effectively pinning mine to my sides.I struggle, twisting and pulling, but his grip is too strong.
“It’s okay.You’re okay,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.“Breathe.”
He holds me tighter, a solid, unyielding presence, until the fight drains out of me.My head falls back against his shoulder.My body goes limp.
He comes around to kneel before me, green eyes filled with concern.He reaches for my hands, his touch gentle as he works my fingers free.Slowly, deliberately, he undoes the Velcro straps.First the right glove, then the left.He peels them off and sets them aside.I sit motionless.My body numb, mind blank.The only movement is the rise and fall of my chest as I struggle to catch my breath.
He lifts my hands, cradling them in his.He turns them over to examine my knuckles, thumbs tracing the delicate bones.
I wince as he presses a tender spot.
“Damn him,” he mutters, standing.“Come with me.”He grasps my hand and pulls me gently to my feet.
He leads me past the weight rack to a half-bath I hadn’t noticed.The air inside is warm, carrying the faint scent of cedarwood.Legs still shaky from the adrenaline, I sway, bumping against his side.He catches me easily, wrapping his arm around my waist to steer me to the sink.He turns on the faucet, and cold water rushes out.Taking my hands, he holds them firmly under the icy stream.I hiss at the shock, trying to pull away, but he holds them in place.His gaze meets mine in the mirror.
“I know,” he says, apology in his eyes.“But it’ll prevent swelling.Let it run over your knuckles for a minute.Especially your right hand.”
