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“Me too.”
—
After eating and taking some time to digest, I take her to the gym.
“What are we doing?” she asks as I toss her some loose shorts and a plain t-shirt.
“A little hand-to-hand training. Just a little; your stitches are still healing. Get changed and we’ll start with the punching bag.”
She does as she’s told, not minding getting partially undressed in front of everyone. She’s spent so much time nude as a prisoner that this must not even faze her. Normally I wouldn’t expect my people to pay her any mind, but I’ve seen them glancing at us throughout the day.
Their curiosity is understandable; she’s the reason I brought this small army together, and now she’s here.
“Let’s see your punch,” I say, tossing her a pair of boxing gloves.
Her self-defense training taught her a more than adequate technique; she makes solid contact, with good arm extension.
“Good. Keep going.”
I hold the bag steady, watching her take swing after swing. Neither of us speak as she wails on the bag, pounding it harder and harder. Her face twists in pain, but I don’t think it’s from the training.
“Kate, be careful. You don’t want to bust a stitch.”
She doesn’t listen. She keeps punching.
Fuck it. If she needs to have a stitch redone, she will.
I make eye contact with one of the other instructors and gesture for him to go. Quietly, he clears the room, leaving me and Kate alone.
She doesn’t notice. Tears drip down her face. Teeth bared, she cries as she punches faster and harder. Sweating heavily, she doesn’t stop the barrage until she’s out of breath from both fatigue and grief.
This is a year’s worth of swallowed aggression and misery pouring out — likely just a fraction of what simmers below the surface.
“Hey,” I say, taking her in my arms and lowering us both to the mat. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Cradled in my embrace, she weeps. I can’t even imagine the pain she’s endured, the fear and outrage. I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead until she’s done. Every second makes me wish I could have Anton’s severed head in my hands right this second.
“Come on,” I say, picking her up. I inspect her implant sites; the stitches look to have held. “We’re going back to our room, okay?”
She nods.
“Make me forget,” she says as I lift her in my arms. “Just for a while. Make me forget.”
“I will, Kate. I promise.”
