Chapter 12: Self-Defense
The black garbage bag glistened in the afternoon sun that trickled into the alleyway. I lifted the knife at a forty-five-degree angle and brought it down like Thor summoning a lightning bolt. The aluminum cans inside the bag rattled unceremoniously.
"Not bad," James said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He was sitting on a large AC unit nearby. "Move your right foot closer."
I inched my boot forward on the snowy pavement until it tapped the stack of cardboard boxes supporting the bag. "Ahh."
"Better?"
"Yeah," I said, dropping out of the stance. I lifted the knife and strafed forward again, leading with my right foot. "Much more stable."
Seemingly satisfied, James slid down from his perch. "Time for some defense."
Since I was still holding the knife, I got a little nervous as he approached me. He gestured for me to raise it, and I did so hesitantly. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist in an iron grip; I gasped.
"What are you gonna do?" he mumbled around his cigarette.
I took a deep breath to carefully analyze the situation. Wiggling my arm only caused me pain. The blade of the knife was nowhere close to being able to hurt him.
I sighed tightly. "I can't do anything."
James casually took his cigarette with his other hand. "Wrong."
I shook my head. He's twice as strong as me.
"Bring those elbows in," he repeated for the tenth time that morning. "Now, rotate your arm." I turned my hand until my palm was facing me, and then he instructed, "Grab the inside of my wrist."
I awkwardly reached around to grasp his wrist. My eyes snapped to his face uncertainly, and he nodded as if to encourage me.
"Now, twist and pull."
Pivoting my hips, I peeled his hand off my arm while turning away. I smiled. I did it! When I whirled around, I realized that he had pulled his knife on me.
"But don't turn your back," he said with a smirk.
"Whoops," I laughed nervously.
He flicked his cigarette away and then lifted his knife, causing me to flinch. "Here," he said, "I'll show you."
Setting my weapon down on the boxes, I reached up and grabbed his wrist. My fingers barely wrapped around it. "As if this would ever happen," I mumbled, glancing up at his face.
He didn't react to my comment. Instead, he slowly rotated the hand holding the knife, and I noticed how the motion itself loosened my grip.
"Then…"
His gloved hand closed around my wrist with his index finger anchored on my palm. He slowly twisted his lower body and easily slid my hand off his arm.
"Like that," he said, looking down at me.
When he lingered a moment too long, I noticed just how cold his hand was. I slowly pulled my hand back and shivered.
"I think I got it…," I mumbled.
Stepping back, he rotated his wrists restlessly. "Ready for the next one?"
When I nodded, he did the absolute last thing I expected: he put both his hands around my throat. I dropped my knife in shock; it clattered to the pavement below.
"What you gonna do?" he asked.
I laughed nervously, feeling the vibration of my larynx in his loose grip. My heavy breathing clouded between us. "P—Panic…"
A laugh rumbled in his chest.
Hesitantly, I put my hands on his wrists and pulled outwards. He won't budge. I tried to turn my head, but his fingers were locked on either side of my jaw. I started to freak out.
"I don't know," I breathed.
He made a noise of disappointment. Since we were so close, I focused on the scruff along his jawline to avoid eye contact. "Duck low, and bring your arms up under mine."
I attempted both with little success.
"Harder," he said, "and faster."
"Okay," I sighed, trying to stay calm.
Putting some real effort into it, I lunged downward while delivering a powerful blow to his forearms. The force weakened his grip enough for me to slip right out of his hands. I felt a huge smile on my face when I looked back at him.
He looked genuinely impressed. "Good job."
"Thanks," I said, tucking my hair behind my ear.
James reached for his backpack, signaling the end of our session. The last thing I wanted to do was go home. I awkwardly looked down at the red spots on my palms, hoping they wouldn't turn into blisters.
"Can I buy you lunch?" I asked, scooping up my knife.
I heard him zipping up his backpack. "Lunch?"
I checked my phone as I slid the knife into my purse. "Yeah, it's already one."
"Fuck." I turned around to find a cross look on his face. Then, he gave me a half-smile. "Sure."
Nino's Subs was right around the corner. It was a common lunch stop for hospital staff, and I silently hoped that we wouldn't bump into any of my coworkers as we ordered and sat down. Glancing around, I unwrapped copious amounts of paper from my club sandwich.
James sat on a too-small chair across from me, biting into his meatball sub. As the silence stretched on, his lack of conversational skills became uncomfortably apparent.
"I appreciate you taking the time to…teach me," I finally said.
"Not a problem," he said around a bite of food.
I watched him chew his food, his eyes darting around like a caged animal. It was strange that I felt so safe in his presence. "I'm going to give the knife back," I blurted out.
He froze and looked at me. "Why?"
I moved my lips to one side. "I just feel like someone's going to take it and…stab me."
"Nonsense."
Sighing, I looked down at the fallen lettuce on my wrapper. "Easy for you to say," I muttered.
"Kate." Since it was the first time he had used my name, my eyes darted up to his face. He wore a genuinely serious expression. "You have no defensive instincts."
"Um…" I gestured in exasperation. "Thanks?"
"You need every advantage you can get," he stated in a deadpan tone.
I couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. "What about that move I did the other night?" I asked, tapping my knuckles and pointing.
He wordlessly reached for my fist and maneuvered it towards his face. When I realized what he was implying, I grimaced.
"Ew."
He dropped my hand and shrugged. "It's your life or their eye."
I could never do that in a million years. "I have pepper spray at home." I looked down at my sandwich before taking a bite. "I could do that all day," I mumbled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me. "What did you say?"
"Pepper spray," I said, chewing behind my hand.
He shook his head, once. "Not that."
I frowned in confusion. "I…"
Suddenly, James grabbed his backpack and swung it onto the table between us. I grabbed my soda when it tipped over and shot him a glare. What the hell?
He produced a composition notebook and a pen. Without acknowledging me, he wrote something down and then shoved the notebook back into his bag. I instinctively reached for it before he could zip the bag up.
"Hey," I breathed, leveling my gaze on him. "What was that?"
Reluctantly, he lowered the bag back to the table. His expression was guarded when he finally spoke. "A, uh…memory."
I slowly reached inside the backpack. "Can I look?"
He sighed tersely, but he nodded.
The notebook was fairly new—only a few pages had been used. I flipped to the last page and read what he had just written down.
In the alley. "I can do this all day." Little punk.
"Who's this about?" I asked.
James roughly took it out of my hands. "I'm not sure."
I felt a swell of sympathy. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to pry."
"S'alright."
When he didn't elaborate, I dropped it. Though I knew it would take a while, I wanted to earn his trust. I wanted to support his recovery, to be his friend. We sat in silence until it was time to part ways and take separate trains home.
As I sat on the train with my earbuds in, I skipped every song that reminded me of Steve.
Sorry for the short chapter y'all. The next few are on the shorter side so I wrote ahead a little. The next chapter will be up in the next few days! THANK YOU for all the follows and reviews! -Scarlet
