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With one tightly bound fist, she punched my arm. When I didn’t flinch, she punched me again. And again.
I didn’t try to stop her. Making a fist with her other hand, she punched my chest and then my leg. Within seconds, her hands were flying, striking my arms, chest, and thighs at random.
This wasn’t about causing pain. If she wanted to hurt me, a jab in the eye or straight into the nose would have been more effective. Her continued pummeling was her way of saying with actions what she wasn’t able to say with words.
I sat still, taking every blow, prepared to stop her if she crossed a line, but knowing she had a lot to get off her chest.
Minutes. I lost track of how many times she struck me. When she landed one well-placed slap to my cheek, instinct made me reach out for her, wrapping my arms around her, forcing her arms behind her back and putting an end to her tirade.
She was breathing heavily and leaned forward to rest her forehead against my shoulder.
“I know, Princess. I know,” I whispered in her ear.
I pissed her off again.
Her head flew up, her ponytail slapping me in the face.
“You don’t,” she bit out. “You know nothing. You. Weren’t. There.”
“I know I wasn’t,” I ground out. I didn’t need the reminders of my failings.
“You let me go. You didn’t fight for me.” Her voice broke as she choked on the words.
I fought for her. I hadn’t stopped fighting, but in ways she’d never know or understand. Our world was complicated, and she had been sheltered from it all. I teetered on the edge, constantly warring with myself over how far to bring her into my world. Women were protected for a reason, but the lies that accompanied my reality had become claustrophobic. I had to figure it out... soon... or I’d die trying.
