I bent my head and knelt by my bag to dig out my open palmed gloves before Michael turned back and caught me watching the guys leave. By the time the last guy was gone and Michael made his way to me, I was synching the last wrist wrap and had both my face and hormones under control. Although I didn’t really think it was my hormones so much as it was what Liam had teased me about. I shook my head and arms at the same time, looking for all the world like I was loosening up, trying to shake off the last of the lingering feelings, even though I felt much more energized than when I had first walked in.
“All right, let’s get started,” Michael said as soon as the door fell closed. “Horse stance.” I nodded; this was my punishment for missing class this morning. I turned my toes out, then turned my heels out and repeated the process until my legs were wider than hip-width apart and all of my weight was balanced on my quadriceps with my knees bent. It was a strength training tool for both balance and endurance, but if you had to stay like this for long, your legs would eventually start to give out on you.
Once I was in position, Michael walked up to me and tried to push me over, thrusting a hand on my back, but when I didn’t budge, he walked away. I thought he was just going to let me stand here until my legs began to shake, but in another moment, he was in front of me, a six foot bamboo staff in his hands. I tried to hide my irritation, but I don’t think I was very successful.
“Arms up, fingers out, and thumbs pointed to the ceiling,” he instructed and balanced the staff across my wrists. “Now roll,” he said and walked out of my field of vision again. Until he said stop, I had to roll the staff back and forth across my forearms, from elbow to wrists, without dropping it. Already my knees were beginning to quiver and the pricks of needles were biting at my heels.
Two minutes in and I could feel the beads of sweat on my lip and under my hair. Two more minutes and my stomach was starting to churn and my legs were shaking enough that I had to slow down how fast I rolled the staff. Two minutes after that and my shoulders burned and my whole body was shaking. I have no idea when I started to cry, but tears were mixing with the drops of sweat on my face. I was cursing Michael’s name.
“Enough,” he called out and I collapsed on the mat, not worried about dropping the staff. I sank into the cushion of the mats and struggled to keep my breathing under control. I’d hate to see what Michael would’ve made me do if I had decided to come in on a different day, those six minutes were the longest six minutes of my life. Michael loomed over me, holding out a bottle of water, but when I tried to lift my hand to take it, I couldn’t. My arm lay lamely at my side, muscles jumping under my skin. I closed my eyes against the sting of fresh tears.
“You gotta get up, Shay,” Michael said. I shook my head. “Yep, let’s go,” he insisted, grabbing my lame arm and pulling me into a sitting position. The room swam around me. I had to swallow against the bile that rose in my throat.
“Don’t you think that was a little overkill?” I finally asked. My voice was weak, but the anger was still there.
“Will you let that happen again?”
“No.”
“Then no.” He shook his head and held out the water to me again. This time I was able to grab it.
“So we’re not allowed to cancel on you?”
“You didn’t cancel on me; you were going to be a no-show.”
“But I came!”
“Only because I called you. You’re the student; you need to cancel or reschedule, you call me.”
“Fine.” I held my tongue against what I really wanted to say and took a large swallow of the cold water, feeling better almost immediately.
“Better?”
“Yeah, but I hate you a little bit right now.”
“Good, use that.” He had the nerve to smile at me as he stood back up. “Let’s get moving!” He clapped his hands loudly, gesturing for me to get up. With a groan, I pushed up to my knees before climbing to my feet. He took the water bottle from me and set it with the rest of our gear. He hit the button on the radio he brought with him. The angry lyrics of Breaking Benjamin filled the room, the cords and beat thrumming through the floor. It was entirely too loud to be heard over, so it was going to be a hands-on day.
I kept my body loose and my mind clear as Michael strode back over the mats in my direction. He looked completely calm, but he wasn’t meeting my eyes. He started walking straight for me. The muscles in my arms tensed. I clenched my jaw. He was only a few feet away now. He glanced to his left. I didn’t bite. His right hand shot up and slapped me hard in the chest. I stumbled backwards with the blow as he advanced on me. My hands flew up, grabbing the front of his shirt, almost tearing into the fabric. I kept my chin down, but my eyes were open. I planted my left foot and stopped us. He tried to push into me. I reared my head back and flung it forward as I pulled on his shirt, stopping just before I broke his nose on my forehead.
“Good,” he said, letting go of my shoulders, close enough to me that I could hear him over the music. “Now you know how you’ll react if that ever happens. Just don’t think about it.”
“Great,” I mumbled, rubbing my chest where he’d hit me. I shook out my arms, a little disappointed that I hadn’t been able to remain calm while waiting for the attack, but after the thugs of the other night, I couldn’t be too surprised. Michael went over and changed the music to something more instrumental and turned the volume down.
“Okay, we’re going to learn some classic Northern Shaolin today,” he said.
“Oh,” I perked up, “okay, cool.” I felt some tension in my shoulders ease. Michael paced off five feet from me and turned into the starting position of the first form. I mirrored him, both hands in fists, my left down at my hip and my right raised in the air behind my head. When I saw Michael nod, we began.
Chapter 13
I was tossing my gym bag in the trunk of my car when I heard gravel crunch behind me. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, in broad daylight and in a public place, I wasn’t naïve enough to think I was safe. After class, my nerves were snapping along my skin; now someone was trying to sneak up on me. Bad idea.
I could smell his cologne because I was upwind of him. Once I was enveloped in a cloud of the sickly sweet smell, I knew he was close enough to me for me to move. I dropped my hands from the trunk lid, leaving it open, and spun to my left, striking out with my left fist. My spinning back fist was strong, the side of my fist striking the man in the back of his head. A shock of pain went through my hand upon impact. He doubled over, falling half into my trunk. I reached up and slammed the lid down on his back. He screamed, loud and sharp.
He slid to the ground, crumpling to his knees, when I let go of the lid. I hadn’t broken anything; I would’ve felt it if I had. All I could feel was the sharp, shooting pain through his back. A glint caught my eye from the depths of my trunk. Leaning to my left, keeping my hands in front of me and my knees bent, I glanced inside and saw the knife he’d dropped when I downed him. Anger rippled over me. My jaw clenched and I started to shake.
“You dirty son of a bitch,” I snarled through my teeth. Common sense failed me and I struck out with my foot in a front kick, planting my shoe between his shoulder blades. He hit the chrome bumper with his face, blood bursting out of his broken nose in a very satisfying way.
“Fucking bruja!” he said from between his hands covering his mouth and nose. That stopped me cold. I looked at his face then and recognized him from the alley the other night. The same calm man that had called me that and walked away from the brawl. Now he was here with a knife meant for me. I took a slow breath in through my nose and blew it out through my mouth.
“That’s right,” I said. “Bruja, and you’re the stupid cabron that attacked me.”
Reaching into my front pocket, I pulled out my cell and dialed 911. As calmly as I could, I explained my location and situation to the dispatcher, assuring her that I was physically okay and had my attacker subdued. She told me that campus police would be
there momentarily. I was a little disappointed until I saw that campus police was part of Ventura PD.
The black and white cruiser ripped around the corner, racing towards us with its lights swirling frantically. I had a moment to worry that the overzealous officer was going to hit my car before he squealed to a stop just feet away. I let my hands fall and relaxed my stance when the two officers got out of the car, Taser guns drawn. I took a couple of slow steps backwards, keeping my hands in sight.
“Are you the one that called?” the officer that drove asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Yes,” I nodded. Both officers lowered their weapons, looking from the bloodied man and back to me. I understood; the guy had at least fifty pounds on me and a good six inches, but there wasn’t a scratch on me.
“You did this to him?” the other one asked as he turned my attacker around, reaching with one hand for the cuffs on his belt.
“Yes,” I said, “the knife he had is inside the trunk there.” I nodded towards my car. The officer who wasn’t handcuffing the man walked over, holstering his weapon. He leaned in, but didn’t reach for the knife.
“How’d it end up in there?” he asked, turning to look at me.
“I think he dropped it when I hit him.” That finally made the other officer laugh as he pulled the man to his feet. The man groaned and cursed in pain. Normally I would’ve flinched, feeling his pain as acutely as he did, but right now I enjoyed it. He was hobbling and bent at an awkward angle, trying to relieve some of the ache in his back. The officer walked him to the cruiser, putting him in the back on the opposite side from me. Then I had to explain exactly what happened while the other officer took notes on a little pad he’d pulled from his pocket. I hoped this would get me out of going down to the station and making a report. I was getting really tired of that place.
“Do you have any idea why he’d want to attack you?” the officer asked. I furrowed my brow at him, taking the time to look at his name tag then.
“No, Officer Ramirez, I have no idea.” I didn’t mean to sound as sarcastic as I did, but it did seem like a stupid question. “I’m a young woman, alone and seemingly defenseless, and he was carrying a weapon with him. I can’t imagine what he wanted.” I tilted my head to the side and blinked at him stupidly.
“Okay, okay,” Ramirez said, “I know what the obvious reason is, but what I meant was, do you know this man?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before.” The lie came out without a thought. I couldn’t tell him I’d been at the scene of that fire without incriminating myself.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact he did.”
“What was that?”
“After I broke his nose, he called me a witch.”
“I’m sorry?” The cool cop exterior cracked then as he blinked at me.
“Yep. Actually, he said ‘Fucking bruja,’ but that was it.”
“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked, looking a little too suspiciously at me.
“I heard it in a movie once.” I promise, that was true, but really I knew it because Steven’s grandmother called me that the first time I met her. Then she threw water on me after saying a prayer over it. I think she thought it would burn me. Luckily all it did was ruin my makeup.
“All right, well,” Ramirez clicked his pen and flipped his notebook closed, pocketing both, “we have to take him down to the station. Would you like to press charges?”
“Yes, I would.” I tilted my chin up and crossed my arms over my chest. Officer Ramirez smiled at me in relief; I took a couple of years off of my estimation of his age when I saw his eyes light up with that smile.
“Good, you’d be surprised how many women are afraid to press charges on men.”
“If I don’t, you’ll just let him out tomorrow or the next day, and if he doesn’t come after me again, it’ll be some other woman who may not be able to defend herself as well as I can.”
“Very true.” He glanced over his shoulder and made sure the other officer had the man secured in the vehicle. Ramirez walked over to his car and pulled out a large Ziploc bag and a pair of latex gloves. Once he had the gloves on and the other officer had taken a picture of my trunk and its contents, Ramirez reached in and retrieved the knife, dropping it into the bag.
“Now, I’m not going to make an ass out of myself and find your fingerprints on this, am I?” he asked as he pinched the bag closed, the plastic teeth clicking into place.
“No, you won’t,” I said.
“Good, you’ll be hearing from someone about the procedure for pressing charges, okay?”
“Sure.”
“You’ll probably have to stand trial.”
“No problem.” I slammed my trunk closed finally and looked in time to see another smile on Ramirez’s face.
“You have yourself a good day, miss.”
“Thanks, officers, you too.”
I slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and just shook. My hands trembled and my arms felt weak. A mild headache was forming behind my eyes. My stomach gurgled, half way between hungry and sick. I wasn’t surprised to realize I was on the verge of tears. The adrenaline rush had pounded through me and left me empty.
Reaching behind me, I pulled my seatbelt on and clicked it into place. I found the right key on the ring and slipped it into the ignition and turned on the car. The sound of the engine roaring to life startled me. Each movement took a little too much of my concentration. I gripped the wheel and took a deep breath. I had no idea what I had planned to do after class, but right now all I could do was go home. Maybe I should’ve called someone to come get me, but that would mean the attacker had gotten to me more than I cared to admit.
Officer Ramirez and his partner were impressed with the way I handled myself against a much larger foe. I liked the look in their faces. I could damn well drive myself home. I put the car into gear and eased my way out of the parking space. Once I was idling by the parking lot exit, I felt better about driving and managed to make the ten minute drive home without incident. Both of my parents’ cars were gone when I pulled up to the curb in front of my house. I was more than a little grateful for that.
Feeling pretty grimy after working out and then the excitement of the parking lot, I wanted a shower more than anything. I dropped my bag inside my room, grabbed my robe from the back of my door, and went into the bathroom to turn on the water. Taking the elastic hair tie out of my hair, I tossed it in the medicine cabinet after taking my brush out. Because I was an only child, the guest bathroom was really my bathroom. My parents mostly used the one off of the master bedroom, so I was given free rein in here. I’d picked the shower curtain and the matching towels and floor mat. All my hair products were in here, along with some of my makeup.
I stood in front of the mirror, pulling the brush through my sweaty hair, starting to relax being surrounded by only my things. Having a space all to myself was really nice. Yes, my room was mine too, but I knew most teenagers didn’t get a bathroom to themselves. Both Jodi and Steven envied me this little room. I set my brush down on the sink counter and I realized I wasn’t shaking anymore. I stripped out of my clothes and stepped into the steaming shower stall.
I let the hot water run over my back and beat against the tense muscles. I probably stood under the water for a good ten minutes before I did any washing or shampooing, but when I finally turned off the water and stepped out, my fair skin was red with heat and my muscles were a little looser. I could feel movement in the house as I towel dried my hair. Closing my eyes, I reached out with my senses until I picked up on my mother’s signature, vanilla and coconut swirling around me. I nodded to myself and continued to put myself together. I brushed out my hair again and twirled it up in a towel, pulled my robe on, and cinched it around my waist.
“Hey, honey,” my mom called as soon as I opened the bathroom door.
“Hey,” I answered, walking down the hall heading towards the kitche
n.
“How was class?” she asked over her shoulder, reaching into the cupboard.
“It was fine,” I mumbled, grabbing the kettle and filling it under the tap. The tone of my voice stopped her, making her look my way, her brows drawing together.
“What happened?” She stopped mid-motion, a glass in hand. I got the kettle going on the stove before I glanced at her. She was waiting. I reached up for my favorite cup and set it on the counter, opening a tea bag and plopping it inside to wait for the water to boil.
“Just don’t freak out, okay?” I started, probably not the best way, but after all, I was fine. She raised her eyebrows at me, waiting for me to continue, so I told her what happened in the parking lot after class. I left out the part about seeing him after the concert. I hadn’t told her or my dad about that altercation, so it would only make this sound much worse if I told her now.
“So you really broke his nose on the bumper?” she asked with a small laugh, surprising me. I blinked at her for a second before I laughed too.
“Yeah, I think I gave him a good bone bruise on his back too.”
“You could’ve permanently hurt him with that one,” she said sternly.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, reaching to turn off the burner as the kettle started to whistle.
“Better try harder next time,” she said, surprising a second laugh out of me.
“I will.”
“So he called you a witch, huh?” She leaned a hip against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest as she spoke.
“Yeah, in Spanish.”
“How’d you know what it meant?”
“Remember? Steven’s grandmother?”
“Oh, right, his birthday a few years ago, right?” she asked with a smile. At first, when she heard what happened, she’d been really angry at Steven’s family, but now that it had been a few years, she could see the humor in it. I nodded at her as I added sugar and cream to my pink-hued tea.
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