“Hey,” I say, and his head whips towards me.
“Hey.” He answers, then goes back to what he was doing.
“Are you training with someone?” I ask.
“Gio was supposed to be here, but he’s late.”
I walk into the mat, removing my hoodie and my shoes.
“How’s the face?” I ask, reaching out to touch him, but he catches my wrist. Clearly, still upset with me.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
“I’m sorry—”
“C’mon, let’s work on grappling since you’re here,” he cuts me off and proceeds to walk in the middle of the mat.
I pause for a moment but follow him eventually, accepting that he doesn’t want to speak about it. I sink low, bending my knees to drop my center of gravity, and keep my weight balanced on the balls of my feet. I tuck my elbows tight against my ribs, refusing him any easy leverage, and raise my open hands. My gaze locks onto him, waiting for the exact second he decides to strike.
“If someone gets you on the ground, your strength won’t matter as much as your strategy.”
For the next hour, we grapple on the mat. I feel the power in my legs come back as I practice escapes, my body becoming more fluid and responsive.
Until Julian manages to sweep my legs and pin me to the mat, he locks my wrists above my head, his weight centered over my hips. I wait for him to release me as he usually does after a few seconds to show me my mistake, but he doesn’t reset.
He stays, his chest heaving.
I look up, waiting for the critique, but his eyes are dark, unfocused. His breathing suddenly turns ragged. He is no longer watching my technique. Instead, he’s just staring. At me. And how I lie powerless beneath him.
The intensity in his gaze makes my skin crawl.
“Julian,” I whisper, trying to wiggle my body away. “You’re heavy.”
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he leans down, his face inches from mine, andfearcuts through me. I freeze.
His gaze drags over my face slowly. My eyes. My cheek. My lips. Then lower, down to my neck, to the sleeves of my tank top. To the dark mark Damiano left above my collarbone. His jaw tightens when he sees it.
“Let go,” I say, my heart hammering against my chest.
He doesn’t hear me. His grip on my wrists tenses by degrees, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“Julian,” I yell, the careful composure finally breaking. “You’re making me uncomfortable. Move!”
“Kat.” He blinks and scrambles off me.
He stands and reaches for my arm before I can pull away, his grip tighter than it needs to be as he hauls me to my feet. When I’m up, he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s still holding my arm.
“I need to get you out of here,” he says, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the gym.
“Julian, stop.” I yank my arm back, but he holds on, his desperation bleeding into something physical and frightening. “Let go of me!”
“Listen,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “This place is no good for you.”
“I can’t just leave!” I snap.
“Don’t you understand? Everything I had before is gone.Everything!My life, my brother, all of it! There is nothing to go back to. Where would I even go, Julian?” I shout, my anger getting the best of me, making my eyes well up.
