Authors: K Larsen
“Alright.” I nod my head once. His lips softly brush under my ear before I relax back into his chest. I let the tiny niggling of doubt fall away and close my eyes. Everything in this moment feels right and I decide to enjoy it.
Jenny, this is ok, right? God I wish you were here. What am I doing?
DAY 5
I’m cocooned in warmth and safety. Strong arms hold me tight. I’m nestled between long lean legs and resting against a broad chest that rises and falls steadily. Colin. I bolt upright wide eyed looking over my shoulder where his eyes have now snapped open narrowing in on mine.
“Everything alright?” His voice is hoarse with sleep still.
“I... I just didn't know where I was for a second.” I scoot a little further down the couch. He jackknifes up snagging my waist and pulling me back to him. The sudden movement makes me flinch. His arms immediately let go and he positions me gently so we’re facing each other.
“Elle, what was that? You cringed.” He looks defeated. Hurt even. I let out a sigh wondering what to tell him.
“I’m sorry.” I murmur.
“I’d never hurt you.”
“I know that.” I say disbelievingly.
“Do you?” He pushes.
“Colin...” My voice trails off.
“Yeah.”
“I want to learn to fight. Will you train me?” I ask changing the subject. He looks disgruntled for a moment and I wonder if this is it. This is the moment he says or does something nasty.
“Is that on your list Elle?” He probes.
“Yes.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Ok. Every morning, nine am, we train. Starting today.” He says.
“Yeah? Really?” I clap my hands together in excitement and watch as his face goes soft and warm at my enthusiasm.
“Really. On one condition.” He counters.
“What’s that?” I ask skeptically.
“You have to trust me.” He states firmly.
“Trust you how?”
“Completely.” his tone is low and serious. “I want to know you Elle, all of you.” Desire burns bright in his hazel eyes but it’s not just want that he’s referring to. I pull in a deep breath to try and steady myself.
“I’ll try. There’s just... so much...” I don't finish my thought. I can’t yet. His arms pull me snugly into his chest while his fingers trace small circles on my back. It’s soothing.
“Ok.” He whispers into my ear.
After stopping for coffees and bringing me home to change he takes me to his gym. It’s no Planet Fitness that’s for sure. It’s a
boxer’s gym. When we arrive there is only one other female in there and she's covered in tattoos. I definitely wouldn't mess with her. His friend John from the restaurant is behind the desk and I can see the other guy Ben in the ring beating the ever living crap out of someone else.
“Nice to see you again Elle.” John greets me with a warm smile.
“Hi. Thanks.”
“Elle needs to fill out paperwork. I’m going to train her.” Colin informs him.
“Oh yeah? Gonna learn to box a little?” He teases.
“I hope so.” I suddenly feel nervous and reserved, like all eyes are on me.
John shuffles some stuff around under the desk before pulling out a clipboard with an information and waiver form on it and handing it to me. “Fill this out and just leave it on the desk when you’re done.”
“Ok.”
“Elle, I’m going to hit the locker room, I’ll meet you over at the bag whenever you’re ready.” Colin says pointing to a punching bag in the back corner. I nod my head and find a chair to start filling out the paperwork.
Name, Address, Occupation, Marital status, Previous Injuries. Panic flares low in my belly. I don't want to lie but I’m not sure what to put on the form that won't spark questions. He asked me to trust him. I decide to just put the truth down, well almost, I check single under marital status. He probably won't look it over anyways. When I finish I set the clipboard down on the desk and walk over to the bag.
A few moments later Colin comes out of the locker room, hits the desk tagging the clipboard and then meets me at the bag. I watch as his eyes scan the answers written on the page, his brows furrowing when he gets to the injuries section. His eyes come to mine.
“Jesus Elle, it looks like the left side of your body was crushed. What happened?” He face shows genuine concern.
“Um, me versus tree. Tree one, me zero.” I jest. His concern doesn't lift.
“How much physical therapy?”
“I had enough I promise. I have pins and plates too. I’m bionic.” I’m trying like hell to keep this lighthearted but I’m not sure it’s working.
“How long ago was the accident? I don’t want to push you too hard and cause any injuries.”
“Eight months ago.”
“That’s not a lot of time even with physical therapy.” I look to him feeling deflated but hoping it doesn't show in my eyes.
“So, can I not learn?” I ask.
“We can, I just want to take it slow and I want you to tell me if
anything
at all bothers you.” He instructs firmly.
“I promise!”
For the next fifteen minutes we stretch and warm up. He keeps babbling on about how important it will be for me to really stretch before and after workouts because of my injuries. I’ve heard it all before from the PT at the hospital but I keep that to myself. I’m more focused on watching him. The way his muscles flex, contract and relax as he stretches and moves. His arms are massive and the plain white tank clings to his chest and stomach leaving little to the imagination. I already feel a light sheen of sweat coating me as he reaches for the tape. “Take off your sweatshirt before I tape your
hands.” He says. I glance down at my lightweight zip up sweatshirt. All I have under it is my sports bra. It’s a full coverage sports bra but still.
“Ah. Do I have too?”
“The sleeves will get in the way. I want to be able to see your form and correct it if needed.” He explains. I hesitantly start to unzip my sweatshirt. When the zipper gets halfway down I hear a sharp intake of breath and my eyes dart to his face just as his hand comes to rest on mine stopping me from unzipping further.
“Elle, don’t you have a tank top or something?” His eyes hazel eyes are ablaze and trained on my stomach. Heat flares low in my belly.
“It’s too hot for both.” I shrug. He quickly looks away mumbling something under his breath before disappearing into the locker room. When he comes back he places a wife beater in my hands.
“Change into this.” He nods to the locker room door. I do a
s I’m told and quickly throw on his tank top. It’s fitted in the chest but runs long hitting me mid-thigh.
“Better?” I ask as I approach him. His eyes scan me top to toe not bothering to conceal the desire behind them.
“Mostly.” He smirks. He reaches out tagging my hand and starts taping it. I watch his hands move efficiently over mine. Skin grazing skin, fingers skimming mine. When he finishes he moves to my other hand and repeats the process.
“Have you ever hit a bag before?” He questions. I shake my head no. He takes my right hand turning it palm up.
“Alright, first tuck your four fingers, not including your thumb, into the first crease of your hand.” He moves my fingers into position. “Bring your hand into a tighter fist, so your nails touch your palm.” I nod doing as I’m told. “Good. Now tuck your thumb over the front of your fingers, right under the joint. That’s it. Now when you strike the bag try to hit with the first two knuckles only. Don’t change your fist position only your elbow and shoulders should move.”
He moves behind the bag and instructs me to hit it. When I do it barely moves and I feel like my hand exploded on impact. I wince in pain. Not what I expected. I wanted to feel powerful but all I feel is stupid.
“It’s alright Elle. Here let’s try something else.” He moves behind me. “
Put your left foot forward and your right foot back.” He says as his hands come to my hips and he positions me. I can’t focus with his fingers grazing my waist and I’m suddenly thankful for the thin fabric of the tank top. “Keep your knees bent and put your fists up, leading with your left.” He murmurs low in my ear making me tremble. He smells delicious. His hands leave my waist and come to my wrists. He tucks his front into my back and moves us as one guiding me through the punch as he instructs. “Push off a bit with your back leg. As you extend your arm and fist, swivel your torso so that your fist isn’t leading and your torso is driving your arm.” My right fist connects with the bag again with his arm on top of mine as he controls the motion. The bag sways slightly under the force of my hit. “Feel the difference?” He asks. A finger trails down the scar on the back of my left arm as he steps back but he says nothing.
I can’t seem to concentrate with him touching me.
“Yeah I think so.” I say. He moves behind the bag again and tells me to try it again, on my own. Once I’ve got the hang of it we move on to jabs, crosses and hooks. I’m sweating like a pig by the end of our forty five minute session together. He’s encouraging the whole time. Always positive and helpful. I actually feel a sense of accomplishment by the time we’re done. I feel proud.
“Nice job today!” John calls over to me.
“Yeah Elle,
lookin
’ good!” Ben laughs.
“Gee thanks guys.” I laugh along with them. “I had fun. Thanks Colin.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads us to the entrance. “Will you come back tomorrow for more?” He prompts.
“Definitely!”
“Ok then. I’ll see you tomorrow, at nine.” He smiles.
“Nine then.” Our eyes lock for an awkward moment as we wonder how to say goodbye. “Well. See ya.” I say turning on my heel. I push out the doors onto the busy sidewalk and want to kick myself.
That was really lame wasn't it Jenny? What am I doing?
The walk home is peaceful and quiet and gives me plenty of time to think. I can’t figure out the draw I feel to Colin. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I find myself wondering what he’s doing right now and if he’s thinking about me too. I have the most ridiculous urge to call him just to hear his voice. Even before Ryan I never experienced something like this. When he looks at me I feel beautiful, I feel safe. I can’t really afford to trust anyone but my lawyer or to get involved with anyone but Colin makes me forget all that. He makes me want a life I’m not sure I can have.
Jenny, please give me a sign, something, anything. Am I allowed to have this?
2011
I hate it when he’s home with me because I never know how the d
ay will go. If I’ll make him angry. I live for work hours when I can happily pursue my life without ridicule or teasing or destruction of property meant to make me feel inferior. I don’t know what will set him off. If I make the wrong breakfast it could end up dumped all over me. If lunch isn't to his liking plates could be thrown and smashed. If I’m not dressed right I will be screamed at and degraded.
My sister, thank god, is my lifeline. She’s been asking me to leave him for years but the disgrace, stigma and obligation that comes with marriage and divorce keeps me where I am. My soul rots and degrades more each passing day. She begged me not to marry him in the first place. She said something was off. He wasn’t quite right. She said he had mean eyes.
I used to be a happy person. A person with a sparkle in her eye. I was carefree, easy going, fun, and knew joy on a regular basis. I’m smart. I have a college degree from a good school. I’ve built a career from my degree and I’m good at it. I had friends. Lots of good friends. I used to go out. I was passionate about life and love and myself.
None of that person exists anymore. She’s been stripped of all redeeming qualities. My friends still occasionally try but they just don't like the way he treats me or that I put up with it. They don't understand why I don't just leave. They don’t understand because they only hear him, but they’ve never seen the hot chili thrown at me because it was not his liking, they’ve never seen him pick up my plate and hurl it across the room screaming. They’ve never seen me scared and cowering from him. If I left would he take it further?
I daydream about leaving him all the time, but don't, because what would I tell people? He’s not
really
done anything wrong. He’s never hit me directly. He’s not cheated on me that I know of, although I have my suspicions. He’s a hard worker. He just tells me with actions and words at least twice a day how pathetic and disappointing I am.
His touch makes me cringe and I harbor so much resentment towards him that I don't like looking at him anymore. He sits on his couch, eyes glued to the TV ignoring me, beer in hand from the time he arrives home until we go to bed. There is no partnership between us, I am responsible entirely, for our household and he gets to live in it. It’s odd really, six years ago I never would have put up with this kind of behavior. I would have been appalled. I certainly wouldn't have rolled over and just taken the shit he dishes out. I honestly don't know when or why or what it is about him that makes me take it.