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Effie
Thevillainisaboutto kidnap the princess…or maybe the knight is about to save her from a dragon or…I have no fucking idea what has happened these last three chapters because while I’ve been trying to peacefully read in bed like a half normal person, Finn has been up boxing.
I slide out of bed and aggressively shove my feet in some slippers. I stomp down the steps and out the door, wrapping my arms around myself at the unexpected chill.It’s a perfectly reasonable request,I tell myself as I make my way to the garage.
There’s a bright flood light aimed directly on the bag, throwing the corners of the garage into shadows. Finn works his way around it with lithe agility, weaving and bobbing around an imaginary opponent. He notices me and stops, grabbing hold of the swinging bag.
“Hey, princess.” He’s slightly out of breath and lifts his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his forehead.
“Finn, it’s nearly ten at night, do you need to be doing this right now?” I look at him sideways.
“I didn’t know you were sleeping already,” he says, stretching and flexing his taped fingers.
“I wasn’t but—”
“Ten more minutes?” He gives me what I think is supposed to be a puppy dog look and while it’s not adorable in any traditional sense—more of a Belgian Malinois than a Golden Retriever—it still makes me crack.
“Fine, but you have to teach me. If we both have to be awake, I might as well get something out of it,” I throw back, thinking he’ll call it a night and head in rather than train with me.
He perks up. “You got yourself a deal.” He looks me up and down and shrugs. “That’ll work, but maybe lose the slippers.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, getting tinges of excitement and nervousness.
“Of course. Do you have one of those things for your hair?” He waves his hand in a circle above his head.
It takes me a second, but then I laugh. “Do you mean a hair tie?” I flick the elastic around my wrist.
“Yeah, sure. Put your hair up and then we can get started.”
As I wrap my hair into a ponytail he peppers me with questions about what training I have, what I already know, and I quickly get overwhelmed. Growing up with killers and fighters, I should at least understand half of the things he asks, but most of it is gibberish.
“Jesus, all I know is that punching you in the face right now sounds really good.”
“Okay.” He smirks with a confident chuckle. “I always say learn by doing. Go ahead, try to punch me.”
“What?You can’t be serious,” I balk.
“As a heart attack.” He clasps his hands behind his back and sticks his head forward. “Tick tock, princess,” he jeers.
God, he’s so annoying.I lunge, swinging my arm, and he dodges to the side, arms still behind him. I huff, peeved, and try again. And again. And again. Each time he dips or bobs, and my fist goes flying past his face, hitting nothing but air.
“Dammit, I thought you said I could hit you,” I grumble, and his lip twitches in amusement.
“I saidtryto punch me.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Well, Itried.Are you going to teach me anything or just point out how incredibly useless I am at defending myself?”
“You’re giving yourself away, keep your movements small and varied so I don’t see your punch coming from a mile away. Keep your hands like this.” He brings his fists to his face in a guard and moves them dynamically, bouncing on the soles of his feet.
I try to mirror his movements, and he circles around me, nudging my feet into proper position, pushing my shoulder to get me to bend my knees, tucking in my elbows.
“There ya go.” He comes back to my front and nods approvingly. “Now jab with your left, quick and fast, sharp and tight foot movements.” He does it once and then I mimic him.
“Good, good. Again, and this time add your right, drive through your hip.” His left fist snaps out and back and is immediately followed by a strong, powerful twist of his hips and right hand.
We go back and forth, working different combinations of these two punches. I know there are more punches, but he keeps me practicing just these two basics, tweaking my form or reminding me to bring my guard back up. After only ten minutes, my heart is pumping and I’m feeling encouraged.
He stands behind me. I can feel his breath on the side of my face as his left arm stretches out next to mine. “Your jab isn’t a power punch, it’s more like a pesky mosquito. You’re not trying to knock anyone out, so get it out there and snap it right back, okay?” He demonstrates, moving so fast if you blink, you’d miss it.
