“If you can avoid confrontation, you take it, but if you can’t, disentangle yourself from your attacker and run.” Matthew’s voice is grave. “If you can help it, you never let them take you to a different location.”
I swallow hard, the acid burning the back of my throat as Matthew’s words ring in my head.
He tilts his head toward my fist. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He extends his arms, and it takes me a heartbeat to realize he wants me to punch him.
I shake my head. “I’m not punching you!”
“And here I thought you’d gladly take a chance.” I cross my arms over my chest and give him my sternest look. “Fine.”
He moves to the punching bag and stands behind it, motioning for me to come forward. “You can punch the bag.”
I suck in a long breath as I step in front of the bag. Matthew’s fingers wrap around the leather. Why he thinks there is a need to hold it in place, I have no idea, but I don’t comment on it.
“Secure the thumb, and punch it as hard as you can,” he says softly. Focusing on his voice, I do as he said, my fist connecting with the cool leather.
“C’mon, Trouble, you can do better than that.”
Grinding my teeth, I pull my hand back and punch the bag again. My skin burns from the contact, the sound of my fist hitting the bag echoing in the room.
“That’s better. Lift your hand a little bit higher.”
I correct my stance and throw another punch, and another. My brain goes back to that moment—the darkness and the fear. A knot forms in my throat as I punch harder. My breathing is ragged, gaze blurry as I zero in on the bag. It’s black. Just like the shape of the person who broke into my home. Destroyed it.
So, I punch harder, imagining them in front of me.
A grunt slips from my lungs as I punch again. The hit is so strong, I stumble back, rocking on my heels. My chest is rising and falling rapidly as I fight for breath. I blink, Matthew’s face coming into view.
“Feeling better?” He lets go of the bag and comes to me.
“Maybe.”
“Good. Now we can get to the real work.”
“Real work?”
What was this, then?I flex and relax my fingers, feeling the burn from hitting the bag so hard.
“This was to get the steam out of you and see if you can punch if necessary. However, as we established, we don’t want that. I want you to disengage and r?—”
“Run,” I finish, that one word sounding ominous in the otherwise quiet room.
“Always.” Those serious brown eyes zero in on me. “You run back to me.”
My stomach tightens from the intensity in his gaze as he bores into me; the truth shining in his eyes. My life might be all fucked-up, but there is one place where I feel at peace, and that one place is with him.
“Now, to do that…”
Matthew walks me through different scenarios. Each one making my stomach twist into a tighter knot, but I listen intently to his instructions, storing the information away. And then he makes me try it all out on him. It takes me a bit. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not a fighter. I heal people, I don’t cause them harm, and attacking Matthew goes against every bone in my body, but he doesn’t let me half-ass it.
He tries to grab me from the front.
I step on his foot, raising my knee, as if I’m going for his groin, my elbow connecting with his jaw as I slip away from him.
He grabs my hair, tugging my head to the side.
My scalp burns slightly as I try to wiggle away and get to his neck.
