Chapter Four: Pulling Punches

After witnessing Elsa run from me for a third time, I gave up trying to approach her. That wasn't to say my interest in her had dissipated—hell, if anything, it had increased ten-fold—but I had been trying to steer clear of the blonde. Obviously I was missing a big piece of the puzzle that was Elsa Arendelle, and every time I thought I had come close to finding a piece, it was torn away from me.

I had always hated puzzles.

Kristoff would say that I did continue to subtly stalk her, but I say I just continued to "check up" on her. I no longer engaged her if I saw her at the gym, but rather I was the one to take off before she could get a word in edgewise. Okay, so yeah, I may have been giving her a taste of her own bitter medicine, but obviously everything else wasn't working.

This isn't to say holding back was easy. Anyone who knows me knows I'm one hell of a stubborn gal; this was most certainly still the case with regards to Elsa. Some days, trying to be…well…un-stubborn—I refuse to use the word "submissive"—was literally physically painful. I was a boxer; I wasn't one to roll over and give up a fight, and boy was Elsa sure putting up one fight.

I would get her to talk.

I would befriend her.

"How" was still the million-dollar question.

XxXxX

"So you really haven't said anything to her since?" Kristoff asks me one day over another pair of burgers in our favorite spot in Brooklyn. "You've seen her though, right?"

"Yeah," I reply, waving a fry around as I speak. "I see her all the time now, but either she doesn't see me 'cause I slip out before she does, or she does see me, but doesn't say anything."

I pause and Kristoff just continues to stare me down.

Rolling my eyes, I add, "Fine; there was this one time she approached me in the locker room, but I just left before she could say anything."

"Why the fuck did you do that?!" Kristoff scolds so loud, everyone in the restaurant turns to look at us.

An older lady glares at him before glancing to her two children next to her and Kristoff blushes.

"But, really, Anna," he continues, his voice significantly quieter, "you blew her off! Isn't that the first time she's ever approached you?"

I shrug. "Now she knows how I've felt all those times she's basically done the same thing to me."

Kristoff rolls his eyes. "That's childish, Anna," he scoffs. "You're acting like this is a match and you're trying to match your opponent blow for blow or something. I know you adore boxing, but not everything is punch and duck."

"Since when did you become a philosopher?"

Okay, so maybe this whole thing with Elsa had made me kind of bitter. I had been a lot more "snippy" lately when I never was before, but, I mean, wouldn't anyone be kind of miffed that every time they tried to talk to someone, they were talking to a whole different personality? And then being blown off?

Okay, so maybe that time I asked her to work out with me she was scared more than anything, but she could have at least shouted a "no, thank you" over her shoulder or something as she departed.

And in case we're still unclear about the whole "multiple personality" thing?

Case 1; also known as the miss-bitch incident.

Case 2; also known as the shy-school-girl incident.

Case 3; also known as the almost-flirting-before-running incident.

We clear? Good.

So, for all I knew, the fourth time we "talked" could be an entirely new case; regardless of if she actually spoke to me first. I can't be blamed for being anxious, and therefore "bitchy"—as Kristoff would put it—of my own accord to speak to her again.

Anyway—gods, I keep getting sidetracked—Kristoff kept trying to convince me to give Elsa another chance. Of course, it was a given that she would get one, what with the intense mysterious aura emanating from the girl herself.

What can I say? She had me drawn to her; and mysteries plus a stubborn personality does not equal giving up.

Does that make sense?

"Well, you already know my stance on this," Kristoff says with a shrug of his shoulders.

I stare him down. "Yeah, but I'll either come out of this looking like a stalker, or a bitch," I grumble while basically drowning my fry in ketchup.

"At least you can't come out a stalking bitch!" Kristoff jokes. "You only get to be one."

I roll my eyes. "Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better."

XxXxX

Another week passed. I continued going to the gym on my normal, late schedule. I hadn't run into Elsa at all which I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Good because I hadn't had to run away from her again, but bad because it could mean any number of things.

As I walk into the boxing room and head to the far corner where the large sandbag I practiced on all the time hung, I begin going over what I know about Elsa.

Start with the most obvious: she's the Elsa. She obviously has some kind of "secret" that has kept her out of the spotlight. She always comes to the gym late at night, like me.

Okay, I think as I dish out several punch combos on the bag, maybe I could combine those two facts. Elsa comes to the gym so late because of this "secret." Maybe, whatever it is, she's afraid someone will find out, so she only works out when the chances the gym will be empty are highest?

It would explain her night-owl tendencies.

What else?

I duck an imaginary blow from the bag before sidestepping and landing a hard jab.

She has a hard time engaging people because of whatever she's hiding? She wants to be able to go about her life, but she also has to keep whatever it is hidden, so she's constantly going back and forth between moods?

That might explain the whole "multiple personality disorder."

Maybe the first night I saw her, she was pissed at whatever she's hiding. Then I come in, this complete stranger, so she snaps, fearing I saw something. Then, she goes home that night and realizes her behavior was uncalled for and wishes to apologize. The next time we interact, she's nice to me because she's trying to reach out. She knows I meant her no harm. Because of that, the third time, she attempts to come even further out of her shell and engages in subtle flirting.

Then…

With a spin and a double tap, the rest comes to me.

Then she sees Kristoff, another stranger. Seeing him frightens her, so she closes up and flees. Whatever this secret is, it makes her feel vulnerable.

She had been trying to open up to me and was making considerable process, but then Kristoff came into the equation and threw everything off.

I halt in my mock match, bending over and panting.

It makes complete sense, really. I'm proud of myself for putting together such a complex hypothetical situation.

"You were distracted."

The sudden intrusion has me startled, and I spin around, fists raised.

She's standing there, eyes wide again as she steps backwards.

I briefly notice she's wearing that brace again before she's talking to me.

"Sorry," she says, hands raised in apology. "Didn't mean to scare you."

I debate shrugging her off again, but take Kristoff's advice and give her another chance to open up.

After all, this is the first time she's spoken to me of her own accord. She may have even sought me out.

"Well, now we're even," I reply somewhat curtly, referring to the first night when I startled her.

She grins a little and says, "I suppose we are."

We stand there, and I'm just waiting for a tumbleweed to blow between us and old western music to kick in. I mean, with the way we're staring each other down, it would be perfectly suitable.

She looks away first, and I smirk internally, proud I held my ground.

"Um," she mumbles. "Were you practicing for anything particular, or just because you like it?"

"Well, I do plan on entering the tournament coming up in the fall," I tell her. "But I also work out to clear my head as well. I guess that's what I was mostly doing. Have a lot on my mind and all."

I don't fail to notice a look I can only describe as longing pass over her features as I mention the tournament, but it's gone once I bring up clearing my head.

"Well, as I remember you telling me, exercise is a great way to relieve stress."

I grant her a smile as she uses my words as her own. So, she's actually hung on to our conversations; that's good.

She smiles back—shyly again—and I only grin further.

Her eyes dart to the ground before me for a second before they're focused back on mine.

She's blushing.

I gulp.

"This may come off too forward, but…" she bites her lip and I have to contain my squeal at its utter adorability, "can I buy you dinner? Or…breakfast? Or whatever you want to call it?"

I become aware of the fact that it's most likely nearing one in the morning and I'm basically being asked out. I also don't fail to recognize the fact that I've been sweating and can't look at all like something someone would want to been seen in public with.

But with the way Elsa's blushing and looking everywhere but me, I can't help but think maybe this is real.

Or it could just be some cruel dream.

"Why?" is all I can get myself to utter.

"Because I realize I've been somewhat of a bitch to you lately, when you've been nothing but kind to me," Elsa replies. "Plus…" she looks away again, "you're the first person I've spoken to in a long time."

"Really?" I ask next.

She nods, but doesn't say anything.

I blink. Holy shit; she's opening up to me. Like, actually opening up to me; she wants to talk to me; she recognizes all the effort I've put in trying to talk to her. And now she's finally reciprocating.

I beam.

"Well, I am starving," I tell her cheekily.

She meets my gaze again and our smiles mirror each other.

"Great," she whispers.

Guys, I'm losing motivation to write… I literally had to fight myself to get this chapter done. Help.

I actually love writing, and I love this story so far, and I have big things planned for it, but my motivation is just sooooooo lacking. Someone come find me and kick my ass in gear.

Please?