by J.J. Bonds
**********
Our first session is getting off to a rough start. There are other students practicing in the training center this morning, but it still feels different from our regular classes. I’m very aware of Nikolai’s presence; more so than usual. And then there’s Blaine. Apparently he’s decided to babysit us. Maybe he thinks we can’t be trusted alone. Maybe Jade put him up to it. Or maybe, like me, he thinks we might kill each other.
Whatever the reason, he’s here. And even though it’s weird to have him monitoring us I don’t say anything. I don’t want my trainer to bail on me. Blaine’s a creep, but Nikolai seems to think he’s got some redeeming qualities. I’ll just have to ignore him. It can’t be that hard.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, anxious to get started.
“We’ll start simple. I’ll show you a series of moves and you repeat them. Watch carefully.” He performs the moves slowly, stringing together some very simple punches with more complex kicks. I realize he’s blended together several different martial arts techniques. While I don’t know all of the moves, I do my best to replicate the pattern. The sequence is awkward, and it shows in my performance.
“Again.”
I repeat the pattern, taking greater pains this time to ensure my moves are sharp and clean. My arms and legs cut through the air like a knife through warm butter. The whistle of displaced air is music to my ears and a testament to the improvement of my form. It’s not as good as Nik, but it’s definitely better this time.
“Again,” he tells me.
So much for positive reinforcement. As I begin the sequence for the third time, Nikolai steps in front of me throwing out counter moves to block my attack. He catches me off guard, but I find the challenge interesting. Given one more attempt, I feel confident that I could perform the pattern adequately and land a couple of blows.
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he tells me stepping back. “As I said before, your problem isn’t lack of skill. You’ve got good form and you’re a quick study. The problem is your textbook approach.”
“I do not have a textbook approach!” Do I?
He continues, ignoring my protests. “It’s fine if you’re satisfied with adequate. If you want to be elite, you’ve got to feel it. You’re too controlled. There’s no imagination. No real passion.”
I stare at him dubiously, wondering if he’s right and if it’s something I can overcome with practice. I sigh resignedly accepting his assessment. I am here to learn after all. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Let go,” he says simply. “You’ve got to let your instincts guide you. Learn to read your opponent and react intuitively.”
“Like you do?” I ask.
“Katia, I know practically every move you’re going to make even before you do.”
He’s being serious for once. Not teasing me, not laughing. He’s telling me that I’ll never beat him if I don’t change my approach. I’m good enough to best the beginners in my class, but that isn’t enough for me.
“What a colossal waste of time!” Blaine interjects with a sneer, reminding us of his presence. What I wouldn’t give to knock that look off his face.
“Sorry. Are you feeling left out? You’re welcome to join us. I can always use another punching bag,” I reply, shooting him a smile laced with sarcasm.
“Two-on-one. Now there’s an interesting idea,” Nik smirks huskily in my ear. His closeness is unnerving. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to rattle me on purpose.
“Again.” This time I give the order. I’ve resolved to block out Blaine’s unsolicited commentary and Nikolai’s innuendos.
Nikolai shows me a dozen different patterns that he wants me to work on. We practice each of the moves together at first. He gives me guidance, straightening my limbs when needed and pointing out the best combinations and strike zones for each. I pick up the pace as we go, increasing the momentum of our session.
To the human eye our incredible speed would be just a blur. It’s odd to think how easily I could crush a human bone or snap a neck. Humans are so fragile by comparison. I can hit Nikolai with the full force of my muscles, and, while I may break the skin occasionally, his body repairs itself almost immediately. We don’t suffer the indignity of bruises and broken limbs long. Fortunately.
When I catch a glimpse of the clock I realize we’ve been at it for hours. I don’t have anywhere else to be today, but maybe Nikolai does. I hate to leave. In here it’s easy to forget the rest of the world. He catches me eyeing the clock.
“Want to grab a drink and call it a day?”
“Sure.” I hope he can’t sense my disappointment. We head for the cooler and I realize that Blaine is gone. He must’ve slipped out while we were sparring. It’s just as well. I’m in no danger of missing him.
Nik takes the liberty of pouring drinks for both of us. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I have the cup in my hand. The smell of the blood arouses my senses. It’s not human. It’s definitely from a wild animal. A bear maybe? Perhaps a wolf? There are plenty in the mountains surrounding the school. I hear them howling at the night sky regularly. I take a big gulp and savor the taste, wishing I could hunt on my own.
“So what do you think?” I ask, curious about his assessment of my skills.
“You’re not entirely hopeless,” he teases, running a hand through his dark hair.
I stick my tongue out at him and drain my glass. The training center is clearing out. Only a handful of students remain. I refill my cup and take a seat on the nearby bench. Nik joins me, turning to watch the stragglers who remain.
I don’t recognize most of them. Another glaring reminder of my anti-social behavior and self-imposed isolation. There is one girl that looks familiar. I think she’s in my Sociology class. She’s throwing knives, something I’d love to learn. I study her form, as she hits the bull’s-eye time and again. I wonder fleetingly if this is something Nikolai can teach me.
“So? How’s Crossroads treating you so far?”
Really? That’s what he wants to talk about? Why does everyone keep asking me that? It’s hard to believe any of them really care. Especially Nik.
“I think we both know the answer to that question,” I reply sourly. My pleasant mood takes a dive at this unwanted turn in the conversation, frustration welling up to take its place.
“Well, you’re not giving it much of a chance, are you?”
His assumptions grate on my nerves. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re only here because I can give you something you want. Otherwise you wouldn’t give me the time of day.” I’d like to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t.
“Good thing you don’t have a fragile ego then, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. Seven o’clock on Tuesday?” he asks. I admire his profile as he stands and stretches casually. He’s tall and well-muscled without being bulky. Like Anya he’s got nice bone structure: prominent cheekbones, straight nose, dimple on his left cheek. His dark hair is a mess, though, from training. It suits him and adds to his reckless appearance.
“Works for me,” I reply, hesitating. “And Nik… thanks.”