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“So aim up here.” Darien gestured. “And knock him the hell out. Go.”
Paxton hit again.
“You’re still holding back,” Darien said. He could see Paxton getting visibly frustrated.
Good. This was what he needed.
Darien said, “Do Zac and his friends call you names?” Paxton’s answering frown was telling. “Do they call you a pussy?”
Paxton sniffed. “Yeah.” He wiped at his nose.
“Come here—face me. Dominant foot back again.” Paxton did as he said. “Both fists up. Rest your right slightly against your cheek—like this.” Darien pressed his own against his cheek, showing Paxton, who was quick to copy. “It’ll help you keep it tight,” Darien explained. Paxton held his position as Darien lifted both of his own hands—open, this time—so they were at roughly the same height as Zac’s face. “This hand,” he tapped his right palm, “this is Zac’s mean fucking mug. Hit him.”
Paxton struck, but Darien barely felt it.
“Again. Put more power into your legs.”
Another punch.
“You’re still holding back. Are you a pussy, Pax?”
“No,” he said thickly. He struck again.
“You sure? Because I feel like a pussy is hitting me.”
Breathing heavily, he struck again, splotches of red blooming across his face.
“Pussy.”
Paxton hit—harder.
Darien reached out and shoved him in the shoulder, the surprise nearly knocking him on his ass. A brief spell of alarm lit Paxton’s eyes.
This was hard, but it had to be done.
Darien spat, “Fucking pussy.”
Paxton lunged forward and struck.
Darien shoved him in the shoulder again, pushing him back a couple feet. The kid stumbled on the mat, but didn’t fall. Good. “Coward,” Darien growled. This time, when Paxton’s eyes lit up, it wasn’t with fear or sadness—it was with anger. “You’re a pussy—”
Paxton hit harder—several times. More times than he could count, his knuckles smacking Darien’s hands—smack, smack, smack, smack—
And then he started punching him in the gut instead. Garbled, animalistic screams tore out of him, his raw, broken words echoing sharply against the walls. “I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!”
Darien pulled him into an embrace, knowing full well that Pax’s words weren’t for him, knowing Paxton had kept them bottled up inside for who knew how long. “It’s okay.”
Paxton sobbed, his fists resting against his stomach, “I hate them, I hate them! I hate them!”
“Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Paxton’s arms closed around his waist. “They all call me that,” he cried. “Zac and his stupid friends.” He sobbed harder, arms shaking. “And dad,” he added in a thick whisper.
Darien held him tighter, his own blood boiling.
He’d kill him.
“You are not a pussy,” Darien said. “I don’t care what they say, or how many times they say it, you are none of the things that they say you are. And I never want you to believe them—not for one second. They’re the pussies. Do you understand me?”
