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“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be so damn nice to me.”
I nuzzled at his shoulder. “Do you really want me to stop?”
He pulled back until he could look at my face. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me to back off. You can tell me what you want. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me things, either.” Isn’t that what he was just complaining about? The drugs had let slip some things that he was keeping to himself, things I didn’t realize he’d been feeling. While the way he’d said it was crude, at least he told me something. He’d said everything I wondered they were thinking and confirmed my fears.
I’m not sharing. I don’t want to share her.
He felt he was sharing me with the others. Did Nathan and Silas feel the same way last night, despite what Nathan said that it was okay? Did Kota feel like he had to share me with Nathan? Did it require drugs for North to be honest with me?
His mouth opened and his lips twisted for words but nothing came out. He shook his head, sighing heavily. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” He collected my other hand and kissed the palm. He inhaled deeply, kissed it again and started to nudge me away. “Do me a favor. Try to ignore me for the next couple of days.”
I stepped onto the floor, moving away from him so he could stand up. “Why?”
“If this was Ecstasy, there might be some side effects. I might get a little grumpy.”
“You mean more than usual?”
The touch of a smirk caught the side of his mouth. “Very funny.”
SELF DEFENSE
After breakfast, Silas and North left for the diner. They were a little late, and North looked like he’d been run over by a truck, but he claimed he could get through a couple of shifts.
Kota insisted I get dressed, despite my pleas to be a sludge for the day. He’d promised self-defense training and wanted to get started. I was tired and not sure I was ready for this. I took a long bath and changed into a pair of shorts, stuffed myself into a sports bra and a T-shirt. I twisted my hair, clipping it back, but a couple of locks of hair fell against my face. I tried shoving them behind my ear but they remained defiant, slipping back across my cheek.
When I was done stalling, I padded back into the house, calling for Kota and Nathan but didn’t hear any of them. I was about to call them on my phone but caught the sliding glass doors in the living room hanging open, letting in a gentle breeze. I stepped out.
The pool gleamed, sparkling and full of alluring promises. Beyond it, the shed doors were open wide. Kota and Nathan stood together inside, their heads tucked together as they talked. They wore identical black pants and top robes resembling karate uniforms I’d seen on television.
I circled the pool. Kota turned his head as I approached, his lips portraying that calm smile. He stepped forward, offering a hand out. Instinctively, I dropped my hand into his. He grasped it, and tugged me into the shed.
I felt the polish against the grain of the wood on my bare feet. My finger betrayed me, shoving itself against my bottom lip.
Nathan pushed my hand from my mouth. “Stop being nervous,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
It wasn’t really what I was nervous about. It was just new-to-me stuff and I wasn’t sure if I could do it.
“She’ll be fine,” Kota said. He swept a finger across my cheek, catching one of the locks of hair and shifting it back behind my ear. When he did it, the lock stayed, as if afraid to defy him. “Ready to get started?”
“What do I do?” I asked, feeling strangely out of place. They looked professional in their gear.
“Let’s see what you can do,” he said. He jerked his head at Nathan, doing that wordless communication.
Nathan took a few steps back, kneeling on the floor by the wall. He planted his palms on his thighs, waiting and watching.
Kota tugged me by the arm until we were in the middle of the wide space. The karate posters and displays of colored belts along the walls, plus the open doors with the drift of pool chlorine were distracting.
“Okay,” Kota said, nudging his glasses up. He stood by, his hands by his sides and his feet shoulder width apart. “Pretend I’m not a nice guy and try to hit me.”
My face radiated. I knew he meant well, but I felt really awkward striking out at him. “I don’t know ...”
“Sure you do,” he said. “Do what you did in those fights.”
I chewed my lip, wanting to push my finger to my mouth but knowing Nathan would probably say something about it so I forced my hand back.
“Peanut,” Nathan said, “while you’re waiting, he could have hit you a bunch of times.”
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Kota said, although he hadn’t moved, still standing still without even a hand up in defense. “Try punching me.”
I swallowed, made a loose fist and swung it toward his chest.
His hand shot up, cupping my knuckles before I made contact. “That’s not a punch. Throw another one.”
I pulled my hand back, turned my body a little to swing my fist stronger at his chest.
His hand shot up again, stopping me before I struck. “Better, but stop aiming for my chest. Try somewhere else.”
I chuffed, still feeling weird about hitting Kota. I knew under his almost nerdy persona he was actually muscular, almost as much as Nathan. I wasn’t worried about hurting him, but the act itself felt bizarre.
I pulled my arm back, aiming this time for his stomach.
He slipped a grin, stopping my fist again. “Stop doing it so softly. I’m not a china doll. You’re not going to break me.”
“It’s awkward to hit someone.”
“It didn’t stop you during the fights.”
“It’s easier when someone is swinging back.”
“Practice will make it easier to swing first before they get a chance to hit you.” He pushed my fist back. “Now pick up both hands and swing at me.”
I picked up both hands, unsure of what to do with my left hand. I swung out at Kota’s stomach again, trying to do it quickly.
He caught it again. “Aim for different spots. Don’t throw punches all in the same way or it becomes instinct to do it that way and it might not be the best place to hit every time.” He let go of me, putting his own fists up in front of his face. “Try this.” He demonstrated by punching the air to the side. He jabbed with his right, and did a hook follow up with his left. He did it two more times before he backed up and put his hands down. “You do it.”
I did, although with loose fists and slowly, aiming at his chest.
“You’ve got the hang of it, but stop trying to hit center mass.” He captured my hands and pressed my palms to his chest. “What do you feel here?”
I blushed, not really sure what he meant. “Muscles?”
Kota’s mouth tripped with a smile. “There’s ribs. Bones. Bones are bad. You want to avoid hitting them. You’ll do a lot of damage to your hand. You don’t want to hurt yourself, you want to take down your opponent.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Sweetie, if you get to the point where you’re having to throw punches, you aren’t looking to hurt. You’re looking to incapacitate.”
My eyes widened.
He seemed to recognized my surprise and nodded, his face turning solemn again. “This isn’t for fun. If there’s trouble, your first job is to run. If you can’t get away, you strike out at them until you can get away. You do that by knocking them out, getting them from standing to on the floor in the shortest amount of time possible. You hit hard, hit fast and don’t stop until they’re down.”
“Can’t I just push them? Trip them up or something?”
“No,” he said, his mouth tightening. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t get to give warnings. If someone’s close enough that you can’t run, and they won’t let you get away, you’re done
. Kick, swing, whatever you have to do.”
“It sounds mean.”
“Ugh,” Nathan groaned behind us. I glanced back at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor. His elbow was on his knee, his head propped up on his hand. “Peanut, will you just listen? If someone isn’t letting you run away, he’s not a nice person. Beat the shit out of him.”
Kota let go of me and took a step back. “Try again.”
I sucked in a breath, holding up fists and aiming at his stomach.
“Better,” he said, “but don’t aim for all the same spots.”
“Where am I supposed to aim?”
“Anywhere there aren’t bones.”
I paused, recalling the fight and how I’d struck out at Greg in the throat and how quickly he went down. I slowly swung out, aiming for Kota’s throat so he knew it was coming.
