The moment I wake up, I know everyone is going to suffer. I get through the school day by being as unnoticeable as possible. It's not exactly hard–I've perfected the art of being present but invisible, and today it feels easier than usual.
At lunch, I hide away in the library and listen to music, desperate to block out my dreams from last night. The whole point of convincing Hayden to train me was that I wanted to learn to defend myself, but so far all he's made me do is run and jump rope. It's no wonder the dreams are back to haunt me–I haven't done anything yet to lessen the fear.
Jamie calls me as soon as I get home, but for the first time ever, I ignore him. It's not that I don't want to talk to him, it's more that I don't know what to say. I've never told him about my issues with my dad, or the real reason my mom and I moved. And if I answer his call, he'll ask me what's wrong.
I'm sick of having to say everything's fine.
I get to the gym at exactly seven-thirty and wait outside, counting down the minutes on my watch. As soon as the number flickers to eight, I'm running up those stairs and flinging open the door before making my way across the gym.
For a second, I hesitate. Hayden stands shirtless by one of the punching bags, in the process of taking off his gloves. Without meaning to, my eyes fall directly to his rippled, tanned torso. On the left side of his chest is a serpent tattoo: its head is etched directly over his heart, while the rest of its body coils around his upper arm. It's both beautiful and terrifying–a lot like Hayden himself.
As though he can feel my presence, Hayden tears his eyes from his hands and locks them on mine. I stare back for a moment, recalling my vivid dream from last night.
"Teach me something already," I demand, walking straight up to him. "Teach me something I can use. Because if you ask me to jump rope one more time, I'm probably going to hang myself with it."
His pale eyes darken, and they search my face with a ferocity that makes me step back. I don't mean to take it out on him, but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
If he's shocked by my outburst, he doesn't show it. Instead, he reaches down and grabs some tape before walking towards me. "Okay. Put your hands out."
I look at him in irritation before doing as I'm told. He begins to wrap the tape around my knuckles, his fingers gently brushing my skin. They're hard and calloused like a typical fighter, but there's a warmth and softness to them that I didn't expect. He keeps his eyes on mine as he does it, and the whole thing feels strangely intimate.
He finishes wrapping up the other knuckle, and I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. He picks up a boxing glove, gently sliding it over my hand before doing the same to the other. Then he steps back, nods towards one of the punching bags, and says, "Start hitting."
I only look at him for a second before I follow his order, moving towards the punching bag before hitting it as hard as I can. After a few minutes without any kind of direction from him, I stop and catch my breath. "Are you going to show me how I'm supposed to be hitting this thing?" I ask.
Hayden's face remains indifferent as he leans against the wall, his eyes burning holes through mine. "Stop when I tell you to stop."
I let out a sigh and begin punching again, this time much softer. I thought I was relatively fit, but a couple of minutes on the punching bag has me questioning my health.
"Harder," Hayden orders.
The word comes out in a low, husky growl. I narrow my eyes but begin punching harder, letting my anger get the best of me. I imagine it is my father's face I am pummeling into, and my punches come faster. Before much longer, I am punching so hard that I'm struggling to breathe.
Hayden grabs the punching bag to stop it from moving. "That's enough."
I collapse against the heavy bag, leaning on it for support. After a few minutes of silence to catch my breath, I wipe away beads of sweat from my forehead. Once I feel brave enough, I risk meeting his gaze.
He picks up the water bottle and passes it to me, allowing our fingers to brush. "You ready?"
I pull the bottle away from my lips. "For what?"
He folds his arms, a movement that makes them seem three times their size. "To start the lesson."
I continue to stare at him, both confused and exhausted. "If that wasn't part of the lesson, what was the point?" I ask. He's already tired me out and our training hasn't even begun.
"Emotions don't belong here," he says, his expression dangerous. "They make you weak. Take away your ability to make rational decisions. Whatever it is, let it go."
My cheeks burn with warmth as he continues to stare at me. Whatever it is, let it go. I hate him for saying that. I hate him for the lack of sympathy in his tone. For dismissing my feelings without knowing why I feel them. I can tell he's not exactly the talkative type, but I at least thought he'd be human enough to ask me what's wrong.
I straighten up slightly and narrow my eyes. "I'm not even fighting yet," I point out angrily. "Why does it matter if I'm angry now?"
His gaze is unfaltering. "Same rules apply."
I let out a humorless laugh in return. "I'm starting to think you don't know the first thing about boxing. I guess it really is true. Those who can't do, teach."
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. But I can see by his face that it is too late for that.
He closes the distance between us in a second, putting his face in mine. When he speaks, his voice is dangerously low. "You don't know what you're talking about."
I meet his gaze with feigned defiance. "Neither do you, it seems."
Hayden doesn't move an inch. Being at such close proximity to him is making me nervous, but from the look in his eyes, that's exactly what he wants. He leans in closer, positioning his mouth so that it's close to my ear. "Get your shit and get out of my gym." The soft growl in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
"What about my money?" I ask hotly.
His mouth hovers somewhere near my jaw. "Call it compensation for wasting my time."
I want to scream, or punch him, or do something to release this anger inside of me, but instead, I grab my backpack and storm out in silence.