pter 119
Chapter 119
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Elias pushed off the wall, “Your words are always on time, I’ll give you that. But taking action of your movement is another story. Warm up. Now.”
I dropped my bag, the sound echoing in the stark, high–ceilinged room. I started with jumping jacks, then high knees, feeling his eyes on me dragging on my every movement.
“Enough,” he said, five minutes later. I sigh and retie my loose hair. “Today is about learning how to defend against any attack from reaching the vital part of your body and we are going to start with your face. Now, imagine you are a reed, not a rock. You don’t stop the force; you simply redirect it.”
“Poetic,” I grunted, pulling on the gloves. “Get on with the order already.”
“It’s physics.” He moved a few inches ahead of me. “Assume your stance.”
I did. He eyed my feet, my hands, the angle of my hips. With a sigh, he came behind me, his hands firm on my shoulders. I stiffened at the warmth oozing from his strong hands.
“Relax,” he commanded, his voice close to my ear. It held no warmth, only coldly spat instruction. “Tension is a brake. It makes you slow.” His hands slid down my arms, adjusting their position. “You’re holding them like you’re carrying shopping bags. Fists up. Protect your face. It’s the only one you’ve got.”
I adjusted, my cheeks burning. “Better?”
“Slightly.” He moved to face me. “I’m going to throw a slow, straight punch at your face. I want you to slip to the outside and deflect with your lead hand. Not block it. Brush against it like you’re shooing a fly.”
He demonstrated in the air, his movement fluid and calculated. Then he settled into his own stance. “Ready?”
I nodded. His fist came forward in a slow, arcing motion. I jerked my head back.
“No.” He lowered his hand. “You moved your entire body three feet. A waste of energy. You only need to move your head a few inches. Again.”
This time, I tried to mimic his brushing motion. My hand slapped against his wrist clumsily,
“Too hard. You’re not hitting my arm, you’re guiding it past you. Think of redirecting a garden hose. Gentle, but firm. Again.”
We repeated the motion. Ten times. Twenty. My frustration growing with each repetition. On the thirty something attempt, I slipped smoothly, my glove just grazing his wrist as his fist passed harmlessly by my temple.
“There,” he said, a flicker of something–maybe approval–in his eyes. “Now you’ve felt it. Remember that feeling. That’s the groove. We’ll drill it until it’s muscle memory, then we’ll speed it up.”
For the next hour, it was a relentless cycle of slip, deflect and guard. Then slip and deflect with a counter- punch. Then incorporate footwork. He was a merciless conductor, treating my body like it’s an orchestra, continually playing it even though it’s out of tune.
19:17 Fri, Apr 10
Chapter 119
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“Act like your feet are stuck in mud! Move gently to avoid getting more stuck in it.” I move slowly, following his instructions.
“Not like that. You’re dropping your other hand when you counter! Do you want a knockout?”
“I slowly shake my head side to side..”
“Breathe! You’re holding your breath too much. Try to breathe softly.”
Sweat soaked through my shirt, and my muscles aches badly. The bruise on my forearm throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
“Take a break.”
“Finally,” I huff as he called a halt. I bent over, hands on my knees, breathing heavily.
“Water,” he said, tossing me a bottle. “Don’t gulp. Sip slowly as your breath intake are to fast and pressure might push the water elsewhere.”
I slowly opened the bottle cap and sip. He stood watching me, arms crossed again. “You’re thinking too much,” he stated. “In the face of danger, there’s no time for thought. There’s only action and reaction. Your body must know what to do before your brain does.”
“How does it get to know?” I asked, wiping my mouth.
“Repetition. And pain. Pain is a teacher. ” He said with a tired smirk. “The pain of getting it wrong teaches faster than the satisfaction of getting it right. Tomorrow, we spar. Light contact. To see if any of this stuck.”
A thrill of fear and anticipation shot through me. “Spar? With you?”
“Who else? The wall? Or grandmama? No doubt that she won’t swoop your ass.” He almost smiled. It looked strange on his severe face. “Don’t look so terrified. I won’t break you. Grandmama would rather have my head than fight with you. Clean up. You reek.”
He turned and walked out of the hall, a maid rushing behind to save him. Not sure he asked for her help though. I picked up my bag and covered the remaining water, my body aching, I realized that for the first time in days, the noise in my head–firstly about my monster family, then the designs, Jamal’s absence, and a lot more–had been completely silent.
Grandmama sat elegantly like a queen in the dining room. “Well she’s a queen, idiot” my subconscious mocked. I breath softly, taking in the scent of rosemary and roasted meat hung in the air, a sweet
combination.
“You move stiffly,” Grandmama spat, not looking up from her soup.
“Training,” I replied, spooning my own. “Elias is… thorough, my body feels sore.”
“Good. Thorough is what you need.” She took a delicate sip. “I have an engagement Thursday evening. The Sterling Foundation gala. I will not be attending.”
19:17 Fri, Apr 10
Chapter 119
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I paused. “Are you unwell?”
“Perfectly well. I am simply bored of seeing tho same faces saying the same empty things over overcooked salmon and trying to duck up to me.” She set her spoon down. “You will go in my stead. Asher will accompany you.”
I nearly choked. “Me? To the Sterling gala? Grandmama, that’s a room full of CEOs and philanthropists. I’d stick out like a… like a sore thumb in a designer gown.”
“Nonsense. You are my granddaughter. That is your introduction. It is time you began to understand this side of your life. The side that funds your… creative endeavors.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You will be respectful, you will smile, you will make polite conversation for precisely about two hours. Then you may leave. Consider it part of your training.”
“And Asher agreed to this?”
“He requires no persuasion. He understands duty. And the open bar.” A faint glimmer of amusement touched her eyes. “Wear the emerald gown from the fall collection. It suits you.” A car will pick you up at seven–thirty tomorrow, your mama wants you to have dinner together.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of her mild inquiries about my classes and my vague answers. My mind was already racing, dreading the sea of strangers, the pressure of representing her. I felt like a reed again, but this time, I had no idea how to bend against that kind of force.
AD
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
