Seventh Sense

s i x t e e n || move

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lets ignore the fact that it's currently one in the morning, i'm really tired, haven't done my homework and i'm updating this because holy shit it's been two months. full a/n at the bottom. just read this chapter. you meet a new character. picture of bellamy here.

"Truth is that you wanna move."
–Little Mix, Move

James runs a hand through his thick black hair. It's a quiet symbol of irritation at my sudden tenacity for training, forcing him to be here. I don't talk back; I don't make –many– snide remarks. We're on our twentieth session. In three weeks. Time passes like the melting of snow leaving the city with water at pedestrians' ankles. It's the middle of December, nearing the time people write annoying twitter statuses about how blessed they are for winter break. But I won't be seeing my family this Christmas. And somehow, that weighs on me like a trial by fire, begging for the gold to be revealed.

After a fascinating lesson on acting but not reacting, James tests my comprehension in the only way he knows how: by trying to smash my moral compass against a wall.

On a dark mat that contrasts against light grey floors, both of us stand, sinking slightly into the cushion. We circle each other like foes assessing weakness, wondering who will make the first move.

In the end, I snap forward, fist out. The only sounds heard are grunts of effort and the squeaking of our feet with the friction of the mat. James dodges my attacks with finesse. We're a perfect choreography of one step forward, two steps back. That is, until he reaches the end of the line and loses his balance. He must regret teaching me this trick because as soon as he's off his center of gravity, it's almost too easy.

I run a semi-circle around him and push with all my strength. He lands with a thud that almost makes me wince. I don't miss the way his right leg takes the most of the fall. In safety, I stand a reasonable distance away. Waiting. His chest rises and falls in rhythmic breathing that bounces off the windowless walls of the room. Eyes closed. His face gives about as many clues as a white sheet of paper.

However, the second I step forward, he bolts off the concrete with strength he's never displayed, tackling me to the ground. A sense of déjà vu washes over me as we've now switched roles.

While avoiding his attempts to suffocate me, I curse myself for not knocking him out while the wind blew in my favor. It wouldn't be hard; arms out like boa constrictors, heart shut off. But James knows my character; knows that no matter who he is, what his intentions are, I won't attack while he's down. And each time, he never fails to remind me that no matter what they look like, an enemy will always exploit mercy.

So show none.

His fist grazes my face, switching tactics from cutting off air supply to simply beating me senseless. Lovely. However, his still wounded right leg shakes and with a faulty foundation, the entire structure could come crashing down at any second. "Kindness is weakness." I don't hear anything else as he punches me in the lower jaw the same time I attack his unreliable leg.

It's pathetic how easy pain becomes my superior and with James's weight crushing me, I suffer double the damage. The floor is cold, offering no condolences.

He rubs his leg and I copy the motion for my jaw. My Energy climbs my palms like vines, searching for the wound in an attempt to begin its healing process.

"Don't hold back," he instructs. It passes as a signal for the end of our time out and with the half grin, he faces me, waiting for my call. I curl my toes, realizing that there's nothing else for me to pull out of my bag of tricks.