Page 36

Willow

I sat in front of the mirror, legs bent, leaning my elbows against them. Between my knees, I fiddled with the cap of my water bottle, staring absent-mindedly at my reflection.

I was beetroot red. Sweat dripped down my face and back and settled in an uncomfortable layer on my scalp.

“Cheer up buttercup, you’re doing great,” Mack called from behind me, and I glanced at his reflection, standing by the door turning the volume down on the intense playlist that had been booming through the speakers. He looked like he’d barely broken a sweat, which I supposed he hadn’t.

As much as I hated to admit it, it felt good, the burn in my muscles and blood pumping under my skin was a satisfying punishment.

My vulnerability was a strength. The fact I could confidently open up to anyone now was a strength. The fact I was building myself from the ground up was a strength.

It was exhausting, but I was worth it.

“What are you doing to me?” I groaned.

“Nobody said it would be easy. Come on, we’re nearly done.” He chuckled, walking towards me, holding eye contact in the mirror as he held a hand out over my shoulder. I took it, letting him pull me up. Setting myself on my wobbly, burning legs, my phone rang from the corner of the room.

“Saved by the bell. Take it,” Mack laughed, ushering me towards it.

On weary legs, I stumbled to the corner of the room, collecting my phone and swiping the answer.

“Hello?”

A female, automated voice replied. “Willow Thornton?” I frowned, unfamiliar with the voice.

“Speaking?”

“Perfect,” they laughed. Gradually, the automated voice crackled, fading until it formed into a familiar sound that I feared would haunt me for the rest of my life. “So that’s all it takes, little Willow? To call from an unknown number? ”

Cain.

The air from my lungs was sucked dry, the room spun around me. I stumbled, and my back thumped against the wall. None of it mattered.

Little Willow. The patronising nickname rung in my ears.

“Willow?” Mack’s echoed through the building panic.

“I told you, little Willow…” I slid down the wall, my legs meeting my chest as goosebumps covered my skin, and I gasped for air. “You’ll never be rid of me—”

The phone was snatched from my ear. Through fat tears, the blur of Mack kneeling in front of me barely registered.

One big, comforting hand on my knee grounded me, despite the overwhelming need to run and never look back.

He barked down the phone, demanding to know who was speaking, but my focus was gone.

I clawed at skin on my neck, desperate for oxygen as fear and panic.

Thoughts reeled a mile a minute. How did he get my new number? What did he want from me? Was he following me?

As a victim, I wasn’t a priority. I wasn’t safe. My needs hadn’t been taken seriously enough to keep this monster away.

My gaze absent-mindedly travelled across the room. Nothing mattered more than the realisation that Cain had found me.

The boxing gloves I’d used fifteen minutes prior called to me.

I gravitated towards them and knelt down, gently grazing the tips of my fingers over the shiny leather material.

The reflection of the spotlights above me glowed in the mottled material, overshadowed when Mack knelt beside me, taking the remaining glove from the floor and holding his hand out to take the one in mine.

I shifted my glove onto my left hand, tightening the strap around my wrist, before holding my right arm out, a silent instruction for the other glove. Once firmly on my wrist, he collected the target mitts.

Mack was already in the middle of the room by the time I stood, holding the mitts and ready to take whatever I needed to give.

His unspoken understanding warmed my frozen heart and my eyes watered.

Pulling my hands up until they rested just in front of my mouth, I reared my right elbow back and punched a mitt.

I started off slowly but fiercely, putting as much force as I could into each hit.

My focus drifted from the room we were in, to the memory of that night.

I recalled every slap and punch to my face and ribs, every single sting in my scalp when my hair was pulled, I recalled the burn around my wrists where his black leather belt pulled taught and nipped at my skin.

My ring finger stung with every punch, but instead of a deterrent, it spurred me on.

I roared as I hit harder, and the image in my mind began to shift .

I was no longer the recipient of every assault. I envisioned Cain, his greasy hair, toxic eyes and silver chain mocking me.

With every hit, his head snapped back.

He accepted every single one, just like I had to stay safe. Soon, his face blurred until I could only see the outline of a figure before me.

My swings became heavy and sloppy, barely meeting the mitts in front of me, until I couldn’t swing anymore.

Loud sobs wracked my body, my breathing strained as I was heaved into a human wall, arms wrapping round me, keeping me upright.

Mack’s comforting whispers and hushes broke through my heartbroken sobs. Eventually, my bawling turned into whimpers and my tears slowed, though I was sure that was less to do with the heartbreak easing and more exhaustion.

Mack pulled back. “Willow, look at me.”

I peered through damp lashes and found us on the floor, his hulking body sheltering me.

“You need to drink something, then we’ll get you home.”

I pushed out from his embrace and propelled myself on wobbly legs towards my bottle of water, my head throbbing.

“It’s fine,” I croaked. “I’ll get myself home in a minute.” I couldn’t handle anyone else’s concern, focused on escaping my reality.

“You’re a fool if you think I’m letting you walk home alone after that news. I’m pretty sure Jack will have my life, too. Drink up.” He palmed the top of my head, like a big brother would.