Page 2 of Danger Close

Attack

Teri

I ducked, barely dodging Harrison’s punch. I pulled back, out of his reach.

“Get in there, Teri!” Ambrose, the combatives instructor, bellowed from the other side of the ropes.

He stared at me with his ebony skin, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling with his agitation.

Harrison jabbed again. I dodged, pulling back.

“Quit dancing around him and throw a punch!” Ambrose shook his head, and I felt the embarrassment in my bones. “Attack! Attack!”

Harrison tried again, sending a hook-cross combo. I blocked the first, and the other glanced off my shoulder. I lunged in, landing an uppercut to his ribs, and he gave a light grunt with the impact.

“That’s it!” Harrison gave me a wink from behind his gloves, his lips pulled back to smile through his mouth guard. “You’re doing great.”

Tension left my shoulders. I smiled to myself, even as sweat stung my eyes. I had landed a hit! Even if Harrison was holding back, I’d at least attacked.

“You should have closed in!” Ambrose scowled, his critique sobering me like an ice bath. “Harrison, quit going easier on her!”

“I’m not!” the young man protested.

Ambrose grumbled something, and pulled away from the ropes to watch another sparring duo.

“I’m not going easy on you,” Harrison reassured me. A sure sign that he was, in fact, going easy on me.

Maybe he was doing me a disservice, not letting me reach my full potential as a fighter… but that was fine. I would never step into the octagon. I would never compete in the amateur leagues. I came here, three days a week, for one reason, and one reason only–so no one could ever hurt me again.

If that was not in the cards, then at least I would go down with a fight.

I would not be the defenseless thing I had once been.

Not again.

Blood-soaked hands, the drop of sweat on the hardwood mixed with my tears. A rug. Groceries spilled across the kitchen floor…

“Look out!” Harrison’s fist slammed into the side of my head.

I groaned and fell back, my fingers covering my eye.

The bell rang, indicating that the bout was over. Class was done.

“Shit!” Harrison pulled his gloves off and threw them to the ground so he could touch my face with his bare fingers. “Christ, I’m sorry Teri.”

Harrison was in his thirties, gentle, with surfer-boy blond hair. He lightly grazed his fingers over the tender flesh in front of my temple, pulling back when I winced.

“I’m sorry. You’re gonna end up with a shiner.” He swore under his breath. “Go sit down. I’ll get your things and give you a bag of ice to put on it.”

He sauntered off, young and energetic, between the ropes.

Ambrose, the owner of this fighting gym, rested his elbows on ropes again and glared at me. “Instead of stumbling back, you should have leaned in.”

Class after class, I had still not learned how to go on the offensive.

“Maybe the black eye will knock some sense into you.” Ambrose pointed to his left eye, indicating where I was sure to bruise.

“You say such charming things.” I walked towards the end of the ring on shaky legs. We had sparred for an hour, in five minute bouts. My body was absolutely destroyed in the best way possible.