CHAPTER 12

DAY 20

Saturday

AN: Thanks to everyone that left a review. I appreciate them so much. For now, we'll continue with daily posting.

Some reviewers mentioned that Steph needed therapy and I agree, but she's not ready to accept that yet. She does seek out a therapist on her own later in the series, though.

My third week of training passed quickly and uneventfully. Each morning before my run, I put food out for Billy and Judy. By the end of the week, they were coming close to the cabin to see what treats I had for them that day.

In my downtime, I hiked in the woods, soaked my sore muscles in the hot tub, and read books from Finn's collection. The reading material was enlightening yet thoroughly depressing. Learning how someone can get away with lying to you was hitting a little too close to home. I was ready to move away from that topic.

As I perused Finn's bookshelves this morning, I found a book called Guide to Living on The Run. Images of my nightmare a few days ago flashed through my mind. I felt like I needed to know everything about the subject. I picked up the book and snuggled onto the couch to read while my stomach digested breakfast.

An hour later, I saw Finn head out onto the deck. I closed the book and followed. Since it was Saturday, we focussed our half day of training on sparring. In the past few days, Finn had moved to a more hands-on approach, which meant he was now hitting back instead of landing his strikes and kicks into protective pads. Our gloves minimized the impact, but some of those hits hurt. I looked like a warning poster for domestic violence.

We were standing barefoot on the mats when Finn asked, "What's the first thing you do when you walk into a bar?"

"Look around to see who's there."

"And?"

"Decide who might be a threat?"

"Everyone is a potential threat until proven otherwise. Your first impressions are usually spot on. But you have an important tool in your arsenal—the element of surprise."

"You mean they'll assume I'm a helpless female?" I rolled my eyes. Obviously, he hadn't encountered the girls I grew up with. Burg girls were tough.

"Underestimating you will be their fatal mistake, so make your first strike count."

"Say a guy gets up in my space in a way that sets off warning bells, but he's not threatening or touching me. I can't just hit him because he might want to harm me. How do I make him back up without starting a fight I probably can't win?"

"They are already showing disrespect if their actions make you feel uneasy. Worrying about hurting their feelings can get you hurt or killed. Learn to set boundaries."

"How?"

"If they advance on you, put up your hand and clearly say, 'Stop. Don't come any closer.' That's their first warning. There is no second warning. If they continue coming toward you, they have bad intentions."

"Okay, I set the boundaries, and then what?"

"You back your words up with actions."

"You make it sound easy."

"That's why we're training. Doing these combination drills over and over will help you develop muscle memory. You won't need to think about what to do in an emergency. You'll just do it. But the chances of you taking down someone my size are next to zero. The best you can hope for is to distract or hurt them long enough for help to arrive or for you to get away. Focus on their weak points: nose, throat, eyes, sternum, knees, feet, and especially the groin."

After sparring for an hour, I was soaked in sweat and dying of thirst. Finn wasn't faring much better. While we were taking a break to hydrate, he lifted his shirt to wipe away the rivers of sweat dripping down his forehead. My eyes were drawn to his low-slung shorts and glistening abs. I couldn't help but stare. He exuded power and quiet dependability that I found both frightening and alluring. Thinking about Finn in a sexual way was alarming. I shook my head to break the spell and drained my bottle of water.

"Let's go," he said.

Reluctantly, I assumed my fighting stance on the mats.

"Defend your position." He threw a punch, and I dodged on instinct. "You're not even trying." He came at me harder. I struck out with a right jab, and he deflected it like I was a toddler having its hand slapped. I tried again, and not only did he block me, but he also took a jab at me. I couldn't keep up. He was using fake outs that made me think he would do one thing when he did another. How was I supposed to defend myself against that?

My frustration hit its limit after taking the seventh hit in a row to my shoulder. "You're coming at me too fast," I complained.

"Your opponent won't go easy on you. Hit me back and make it hard."

I punched as soon as I saw an opening, but it barely landed.

"That was pathetic." He kicked my leg out from under me, and I landed on my back. And then he was on top of me. I froze.

The basement faded and was replaced by the cellar. Durant was on top of me. This couldn't be happening. I began to fight, clawing and kicking anywhere I could reach. Suddenly, I couldn't move my arms. Had he zip-tied me again? I tried moving my legs, but I couldn't. Summoning strength deep inside, I bucked and twisted with everything I had. "Get off me," I yelled. "Get the fuck off me." The weight was gone, and I sat up, breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" I recognized Finn's voice through the haze. He sounded worried and confused.

I still felt the pressure of Finn's body even though he was off me. He was speaking, but I couldn't process his words. I was working too hard to just breathe. I made it to the patio before my legs gave out. Falling into a chair, I hung my head between my knees, feeling like an idiot. I'd completely overreacted and made a fool out of myself. I kept waiting to hear his footsteps, fearing he'd want to talk about why I freaked out—or worse—make commiserating comments about how he understood how I felt. He didn't. No one could, not unless they'd been through it.

I remembered the technique he'd taught me on my first day of training when I freaked out over the basement stairs and peanut butter. I closed my eyes and rubbed my index fingers and thumbs together, feeling the soothing motion while thinking of a calm place. For me, that was the beach. Several minutes passed before my heart rate returned to normal. This had been a temporary setback. I wasn't a quitter. I never have been, and I wouldn't start now. I vowed to conquer my fear because I couldn't afford to panic like that in a real-life situation.

Finn was drinking water at the bar when I went back inside. He came over but didn't ask how I was or what had happened. It was obvious. "I'm sorry. That was an asshole thing for me to do. I should have warned you we were moving into the next phase of training." His apology was sincere, but he had nothing to be sorry for.

With renewed purpose, I got into fighting stance. "I'm sorry I overreacted. I'd like to say it won't happen again, but it might. I came here to learn. Please teach me."

He looked at me for a minute, probably evaluating my state of mind. I'm sure he had doubts about whether I was ready to proceed. Coming to a decision, he nodded and laid on his back with his legs bent. He pointed between his parted knees. "Take a position on your knees as if you're trying to attack me."

I appreciated that he was putting himself in a vulnerable position and making himself the victim to put me at ease. I breathed a sigh of relief and did what he asked.

"As the victim, my primary concern is to keep the attacker from getting closer, especially their fists. To prevent that, I'm going to do two things at once. I'll pretend to gouge your eyeballs with my thumbs and draw my knees up, putting my heels on each of your hip bones, toes facing out to the side." I watched his every move, wanting to get it right when our roles were reversed. "This is the guard position. Do you see how my feet are keeping you from getting closer?"

"Yeah." I'd meant my voice to come out strong. I took another breath and said it with more force. "Yes."

"This technique is perfect for women because, as you already know, your lower body is stronger than your upper body. Now, try to hit me."

I swung at his face without making contact because his feet kept me more than arm's length away. "What do I do if I can't get my feet in the guard position?"

"Scoot back," he said, closing and straightening his legs after I moved. "Put your knees on either side of my midsection."

I did as instructed. "Now what?"

He placed his hands on my shoulder, locking his elbows. "I've established enough space between us to rotate my shoulders and twist my hips. This is a technique from Jiu-jitsu called shrimping out. My right foot is the only thing pushing you back. Now that my left foot is free, I can begin a series of kicks to your vulnerable places—face, chest, and groin. That will be a quick judgment call on your part."

"Show me again."

He put his hands on my face, thumbs close to my eyes as if he could easily gouge them. On instinct, I reared back to get his thumbs away from my eyes. "Now that I've forced you back, I can get my feet in the guard position on your hip bones." He lowered his left leg and twisted to the side, pushing his butt out from under me while still holding me off with his right leg. "Now that I'm out of your control, I'll start kicking you. While you're in pain, I'll get into fighting position or run."

"What if he's laying on me, and I can't get my feet in the guard position?"

"In that case, you'd close your legs because having them remain open puts you in a vulnerable position. Your attacker can basically hug you tightly with his body while you struggle and tire yourself out. That's what he wants. He can continue with his objective once you have no fight left." I did not like the thought of that happening to me.

"What do I do if he tries to strangle me?"

Finn moved my hands to his neck as if I was choking him. "When someone's hands are around your neck, your natural reaction is to panic. Instead of wasting my energy clawing at my attacker's hands, I'm going to put my right hand on their knee and my left hand on their shoulder and shrimp out of their hold. Once free, I'll kick them in their vulnerable spots several times and get to my feet to assess the situation."

"What happens if I can't get him off me enough to twist my hips and shrimp out?"

"That's when you relax your body and pretend to give up. Expending all your energy on moves that don't advance your escape can be a fatal mistake. As soon as your attacker relaxes his hold on you to continue his assault, you shrimp out and kick. The basic execution is the same."

We went through the steps for each scenario several times, with Finn being the victim. Being in the position of attacker allowed me to see things from a different perspective. I was about to suggest I was ready to be in the victim role when Finn called it a day.

"We'll pick back up on Monday." He scrutinized me, probably feeling bad about unintentionally causing my freak-out earlier. I had made him feel like a predator instead of someone trying to help me. "Spend some time getting into the mindset of the victim, okay?"

"I'll be fine. I promise." I only hoped that were true.