Page 132 of Your Last First Kiss

He still doesn’t move.

“That rage sitting in your chest? That thing that makes you pop off at your brother? That thing that beats inside you like a spiteful, hurtful entity will rot you from the inside out if you let it. But what you haven’t figured out is that it’s not your weight to carry.”

He watches me with wary eyes.

“Hit the bag.”

Finally, he moves forward slowly, gives it a half-hearted punch, and then drops his arms to his sides.

“When that anger coils in your stomach, who are you mad at? Picture this bag as their face, then hit it.”

His eyes widen, then his eyebrows droop into a frown. “So, if I’m most mad at you, you want me to pretend it’s your face I’m hitting?”

“If I’m truly the one you’re—”

He hits the bag with his entire weight behind it. Kai steps back and a flash of shame flickers in his eyes that are so much like his mother’s.

“Again,” I say. “Whoever is causing you pain, get it out here. If it’s me, fine. But the longer you hit, the more you’ll know who you’re really upset with. Don’t lie to yourself when that happens just to spite me. Again.”

He hits the bag. Left then right. Right then left. He never takes his eyes off me. We go at it for close to thirty minutes before he clings to the bag, gasping for breath.

I return to the utility table and grab the water I placed there earlier. I raise it in the air to squirt it into his mouth, but he rips off one glove and does it himself.

When his breathing returns to normal, I grab the bag. “Again.”

“I just…”

“Again,” I bite out.

Kai narrows his eyes, adjusts his gloves, and attacks the bag with as much vigor as before.

“Every hit. Every jab. Think about that thing that sits in the back of your mind that you’re too scared to acknowledge. You are stronger than your fears.”

His eyes drop from mine, but I don’t miss the tears pooling in the corners of his.

For the next hour, we’re silent as he hits the bag. Sometimes consecutively, sometimes with a brief pause in between, and sometimes he kicks it. It’s like I can see the wheels turning behind his sad gaze each time he makes contact.

I’m not naïve enough to think this will solve everything, but I do think it’s going to break past the barriers he’s built so high they’ve been impenetrable—until now.

He drops his hands and gasps, “Water?”

Reaching down, I pick up another bottle and hold it out to him.

He tentatively opens his mouth, and I nod. The goal isn’t to break him down more than he already is, so I squeeze the water into his mouth. I need him to realize I’m not the enemy.

He backs off when he’s had enough. “Thank you,” he mutters under his breath.

I set the water down and hold the bag. “Again.”

This time when he steps up to the bag, his punches have less fire behind them. He hits, and hits, and hits until the tears fall free. When he collapses into the bag, I grab him by the elbow. Leading him to the back wall, we both slide down it to the floor.

Kai’s head lolls to the side. The kid has to be fucking tired. He exorcised a lot of demons tonight.

“I’m afraid people will always think I’m like him,” he finally admits, so quietly I have to strain to hear him.

“I used to worry about the same thing. My dad was a violent drunk, Kai. I left home as soon as I could. My mom loved who he once was and took him back over and over again, but I couldn’t live like that.”

He angles his body to rest his cheek against the cool cement wall and watches me.