Page 34 of Hate It with You

He walks me through the basics, bringing my attention to how little I know about self-defense. As we work through a few palm strikes, Alex stands by my side, keeping his hands to himself as he explains thoroughly how to perform each move. His professionalism is a welcoming surprise. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but after the first ten minutes, I lock in on what feels like a real self-defense training session.

It’s the most tolerable Alex has been in months.

“You’re picking up on the different moves quickly. That’s good. It’ll make teaching you more difficult moves easier,” he says as we work through a few different beginner moves. Some of them, like the palm-heel strike, I read about online, but Alex teaches me how to actually exert power behind the move.

The groin kick is probably my favorite move so far.

“Thanks,” I say, taking Alex’s compliment without attitude for once, “I played a lot of sports growing up, so I developed a good sense of bodily awareness.” Alex motions to our waters, indicating we should take a hydration break. I oblige, taking a long swig from mine.

“Which one was your favorite?” The question comes out of left field, catching me off guard.

I smile. “Reading. Reading was always my favorite. I never really had a choice in playing sports, though it wasn’t all bad, I guess…” I recall the parental pressure I faced growing up. My stomach churns when I remember why sports were so important to them.

After all, bruises are easier to hide when you have the excuse of athleticism to fall back on.

Alex winces. “Did your parents force you into it?”

I hesitate, unsure if I can trust Alex with the true answer. I’m still unsure of that trust when I answer anyway, “My stepdad.”

He nods his understanding, though his eye twitches with a follow-up question that is written all over his face.

Stopping him before he can ask it, I say, “Is this an interview or a training session? What’s next?”

Alex tosses up his hands, a smile returning to his face. “Alright, I have one more move to show you. It’s a bit more difficult, but if you’re open to it, it’s a valuable move to learn.”

I nod, waiting for his instruction. For the past forty minutes, I’ve felt more powerful and confident than I've ever been. I thought learning moves on the internet would be enough, but Alex has shown me more than I would’ve learned from any online video. The power may be going to my head because I find myself hoping that he’ll schedule another session with me soon.

“I have to touch you for this one, is that okay?” he asks, approaching me slowly.

“Yes, that’s fine.” When I give my consent, he moves behind me, his presence all-consuming as he wraps a large, muscular, tattooed arm around my neck, locking me into a loose chokehold.

His mouth brushes the tip of my ear as he begins to instruct me, “If an aggressor catches you like this, what would you do?”

“I-I don’t know.” I struggle to maintain focus as Alex’s scent invades my nostrils. His low-timbre, silky voice caresses my ears.

“Think, Beth. This is one of the most common ways an opponent can catch you off guard.”

I grab his arm, trying to ignore how large his muscles are beneath my fingers as I yank and pull. He doesn’t budge, instead tightening his hold slightly. My fingers begin to tighten on his bicep as my blood pulses through my veins rapidly.

“You won’t be able to pull my arm away. Most aggressors will be cutting off your airway. How do you get out of this?” He keeps asking the question that I clearly don’t know the answer to. His hold on me remains as tight as he can without cutting off my air supply.

Why won’t he just give me the answer?

I struggle again, doing everything I can to pull his arm off me. I shove my hips back, flailing my body like a fish out of water, and with each move he tightens his grip. Never cutting off my air supply but holding his grip tight enough to indicate that I’m doing this wrong.

My nails dig into his forearm and bicep that’s wrapped around my neck. My vision blurs as tears begin to pool in my eyes. I’d assume Alex is barely using 50 percent of his strength on me, and I still can’t get out of his hold. I can’t imagine what all of his strength would do to me.

He’s made his point. If he wanted to, he could easily overpower me.

Panic sets in deep within my bones, rattling through me as my lungs take in air, refusing to let any out.

Flashes of a folded-up leather belt blur my vision. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol invades my nose. In only a moment, I’m thrown back to my childhood. The freeze response wraps my body in an ice-cold hug as I stand, unmoving.

It’s only a shred of a whisper when I say, “Alex, let me go.” My voice cracks under the weight of my memories.

Before I can finish my sentence, Alex is already releasing me. My ears twitch at a faint rustling sound behind me before my water bottle appears in front of my face.

“Drink,” Alex says before he pushes the already opened cap against my lips.