"Get up," he said softly, though his voice sounded like a deadly command. He slowly circled the girl on the floor. She pushed herself shakily onto her hands and knees, spiting blood from her mouth onto the matted floor, then glared up at him. He wasn't fazed; he continued to circle her like a hungry shark. "Get up, kid." His voice was still quiet, but it was more forceful this time.
She pushed her hands off the floor and sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back her hand, breathing heavily. Eden thought he would have gone easy on her during her first training session, but she was very much mistaken. She'd wound up on the floor over thirty times—though she'd stopped counting her failed attempts— in the last hour, and she still had another two hours of this tortuous training to go.
She stood on shaking legs and faced the man in the mask, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn't wearing his leather suit; just a black T-shirt, sweatpants, and his mask. But he didn't need the leather, all he really needed was the mask; she would never be able to figure out his identity with it on.
"What are you supposed to be aiming for?" he asked.
She swallowed. "W-weak spots." She swallowed again, more forcefully this time. It didn't help. "The eyes, knees, balls, neck." She sucked in a deep, rattling breath that made her wince.
"Then why," he began in a lethally quiet voice that made her shiver, "are you not aiming for the weak spots?" He continued to circle her, eyeing the exhausted woman. She offered no explication. "Because you're not thinking. Think, Eden, think. You can't just swing a pipe and hope it lands a hit. You've got to be smart."
Eden hung her head and let out a breath. She was too exhausted to think, let alone keep up this maddening training. He grabbed her face gently, tilting it upwards and only inches from his. She stared miserably into those soft brown eyes, only now noticing their color. "Think. I know you're tired, but think." He pulled her back against his chest and clasped his large hands around her wrists. "Again," he whispered against her ear. She shuddered. "Throw your arms out to the side, bring your hips back with as much force as you can, distance yourself, and then think. Ready?"
She gritted her teeth and nodded. "Ready."
All at once she threw her hands to the side, her hips back into his, and herself forward. His grip on her wrists ceased, though that was the easy part. She spun around fast, coming face to face with him as her foot connected hard with his kneecap. He growled and staggered backwards, though a smirk was on his lips.
"Better."
She smiled and wiped at the hair sticking to her sweaty face, and though she was exhausted and sore, Eden was proud she'd made some sort of accomplishment today.
She was covered in sweat while he'd hardly even worked one up. She thought she'd been in good shape, what with her working as a pole dancer for over two years, but she could hardly breathe within twenty minutes of the training session. Just the fact that she hadn't had a heart attack yet was an achievement of its own.
He handed her his water bottle. "Drink."
She grabbed at it without hesitating, but she fumbled with the lid in her sweaty hands.
He held out his hand. "Here."
She pulled the bottle to her chest and drew her brows together, frowning slightly. She stuck the cold water bottle under her damp shirt; it grazed against her stomach making her skin breakout in goosebumps before finally twisting the cap off with her shirt. "I'm not some defenseless weakling, you know. I can open a water bottle without help," she said quietly.
His eyes bored into hers from behind his mask. Her already flushed cheeks reddened further and she looked down, suddenly very interested in the uncapped water bottle. "I'm just... I can take care of myself," she said in a tiny voice.
"I know you can."
The silence that followed was deafening. She looked everywhere but him as she brought the bottle to her lips and drank, while he, however, was only looking at her and the movements of her throat as she drank the water greedily. He wanted to kiss her there.
He cleared his throat and forced his eyes to move somewhere else.
"How much longer?" she asked.
"An hour and a half."
"What else are we doing tonight?" she asked, handing him the water.
He took it and downed the rest.
"Today's just covering weak spots. I want you to know you can make an attacker go from offence to defense really fast."
"Okay," she said.
"We're going to try that last move again."
She stared at him for a long second, let out defeated sort of groan and walked back over to him. They practiced the move again and again. Eden expected she'd get better, but she seemed to be getting worse. She wouldn't be quick enough, or there wouldn't be enough power behind her movements, or he'd simply grab her ankle and twist so she'd fall back onto the ground with a loud groan.
"Are we—are we done?" she moaned from the cold floor. Every inch of her body was on fire and covered in sweat. She rolled over on her back and stared up at him. The bastard was smirking at her. She tilted her head sideways and looked around the cold, dark room. Her eyes locked on the dark red punching bag, and wondered when she'd get to use that.
"No. One more." He held out his large hand, she took it and he pulled her up effortlessly. She swayed on her feet slightly, she felt boneless. "Come here," he said quietly. When she was within reach he spun her around quickly, her back once again on his chest, but this time he held her in a loose headlock, her hand instinctively went to his forearm, to claw at his skin, to pry him off, but she stopped and waited for instruction. "It's useless to try and pry someone's arm off your throat, but that's why you stopped, right? Because it didn't work last time?"
She nodded.
"Good. You learn from your mistakes," he said. "What do you think you should do?"
She thought for a moment, but an idea didn't surface. "I don't know," she admitted. "I can't flip you over my back."
"That's a problem." He tightened his arm around her. She winced at the increased pressure on her already bruised neck. "Use your head."
"I'm try-ing," she panted, "but you're about to pop it off with your arm."
His warm breath fanned in her ear as he laughed quietly. "No. Where's my nose right now?"
She didn't say anything for a moment, not quite sure if it was a trick question. "You want me to head-butt you?" she asked flatly.
He loosened his hold around her neck. "Yes. Not hard. I'm not actually attacking you, but bring your head back... slowly... like that." The back of her head slowly connected with the bridge of his nose and he smiled against her ponytail. "Good. Now what are your elbows doing? Where should they be?" Eden shuddered at the warmth of his breath contrasting against her sweaty neck, but she managed to bring her elbows back to connect softly with his ribs. He released his hold on her, though that was the last thing he wanted to do, and stepped back a few feet. "Then what?"
"Weak spots."
"Good girl."
Even though Eden had worked until well past midnight for the majority of her high school career, she had yet to fall asleep in class. It didn't matter how tired she was, she stayed awake and scribbled down notes and took part in boring class debates. But today was different.
Eden liked her history teacher, she really did. She was Eden's favorite. But her teacher went off on a lot of tangents and tended to continue to talk until the bell rang. Eden was sore and exhausted and the white noise of Mrs. Whitney's one-sided discussion only made Eden think her hard desk was the most comfortable place to sleep in the world.
"Eden?" Small hands were shaking her awake gently.
Eden jerked awake, lifting her head from the desk and looking up with blurry eyes and a bemused look. Mrs. Whitney was kneeling next to Eden's desk with a sad smile. Eden glanced around the empty classroom, then wiped her hair out from her mouth. "I'm sorry I—"
"Eden, are you okay?" Mrs. Whitney asked softly, her eyes lingering a little too long on Eden's bruised neck and arms. But that's what Eden and Mrs. Whitney did. They saw each other's bruises and kept quiet. Neither was going to ask or report what they'd seen. It wouldn't help anyways.
Eden nodded. "I'm just tired. Really," she added when Mrs. Whitney still gazed at her sadly.
Mrs. Whitney averted her eyes and focused them on something behind Eden. "Eden, if it's getting tougher... you can talk to me. I'll listen."
"I'm tired," Eden repeated quietly. "But thank you."
Mrs. Whitney sighed and got back to her feet. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Uh. I—you don't have to do that," Eden said.
"How do you take your coffee, Eden?" Mrs. Whitney said again, shooting a half-hearted glare at Eden.
"Black."
Mrs. Whitney stared. "How do you really take your coffee?"
She opened her mouth to say black, but she knew Mrs. Whitney would only ask again. "With a little milk or sugar." Eden's voice was small and defeated, but Mrs. Whitney smiled and headed out of the class. Eden sat and looked around the empty classroom waiting for Mrs. Whitney to come back. She was the only teacher—besides her pervy math teacher—to show interest in her. Eden had always liked Mrs. Whitney; she was a petite woman with short blonde hair, and warm, light blue eyes, and even more bruises than Eden. Eden assumed they were from Mr. Whitney.
Teachers were supposed to report anything alarming where students were concerned, they were supposed to keep kids safe, but they couldn't even keep Mrs. Whitney safe.
Mrs. Whitney walked back in a few minutes later and set a Styrofoam cup and a slice of pizza on Eden's desk. "I'm—I'm fine. You didn't need to buy me piz—"
"Just eat, Eden."
"You just... you don't need to treat me any differently," Eden said, exasperated. "I don't want your pity."
"I am not pitying you," she said, taking a bite of her own pizza.
"What do you call it then? You don't buy other students coffee and lunch. And why did you let me fall asleep? You gave Allie detention for doing the same thing last week."
She smiled and Eden couldn't understand why a woman as kind and beautiful as Mrs. Whitney would still be with a man like Mr. Whitney and why no one seemed to care that she showed up with fresh bruises almost every day. "It's called favoritism, Eden."
Eden smile too, if only briefly. "Well... thank you for the pizza and coffee. You really didn't need to do that."
"I wanted to," Mrs. Whitney said. "And, Eden, if you ever do want to talk, you know I'm here, right?"
Eden nodded and picked at the pepperoni on her pizza. "And if you ever want to talk, you know I'm here, right?"
Mrs. Whitney gave a watery smile, but didn't say anything.