Chapter 17 #2
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Creed says, his voice lower now, breath ghosting the shell of my ear.
My body ignites at the contact. I’m acutely aware how close he is, his chest flush with my back, his towering body crowding, cocooning me from behind and I’m suddenly lost in the feel of him.
My hands shake a little and abdomen cramps with desire.
“Ready?” he asks, still holding my fists. “Like this.” He steers my right hook, connects it with the punching bag then pulls it back into position. “Try it.”
He steps away and I shake off the needy lust he ignited before steering my first punch. It lands with a pathetic, dull thud. I haven’t put much force behind it, but a jolt sings up my shoulder.
“Harder,” Creed instructs.
I hit again, pushing more weight behind the swing. This time it’s not just a jolt but real pain screaming through my knuckles. An ounce of the pent-up emotions I’ve bottled up for months evaporates, making me smile.
I hit again, and again, and it hurts so good.
Evan’s face flashes before my eyes.
Sweat mists my hairline, my breath comes out in little pants, but I don’t stop.
Every punch lands harder, faster, and I start throwing both fists.
Pain, fear, and anger mix until my vision tunnels and the bag swinging back and forth is all I see.
All I hear is the thud. My chest heaves but I feel so fucking alive.
Evan’s crude words echo all around me. Every joke he made, every little thing he mocked, every comment I read under the videos... it all becomes fuel. I recall what it felt like to be seventeen, naked and hopeful, then ashamed and mocked everywhere. Online, in the halls, on the streets.
I throw one hook after another, lost in rage but no longer drowning in it.
The heavy weight sitting on my chest when I run from my past is still there, but it’s lighter, somehow.
I’m facing the demons head-on, and it’s glorious.
Pain no longer registers. Nothing registers save for the bag, and the purge it enables. ..
Until Creed’s hand returns, banding around my stomach once more, lifting me off the ground and away from the bag.
“Fuck, Millie. Snap out of it!”
He spins me to face him and I shove him back and charge at the bag, my fists flying, breath sawing in and out. The chain rattles with each hit but I barely land two punches before Creed grabs me in half, dragging me away.
I look up at him, eyes ablaze and he fucking smirks.
“Beneath that pretty face and cute eyes,” he says, tightening his grip on my wrists. “You’re surprisingly violent, aren’t you?”
Apparently, I am.
Nothing’s ever felt as good as hitting that bag and I’m not done, but Creed holds my hands in a firm grip, his hard stare burning into mine.
“You can’t zone out like that.” He lifts my hands higher, and I gasp at the blood staining the white wraps around my knuckles. “This is too much, Millie. You’re supposed to hurt whatever makes you feel so fucking defenseless, not yourself.”
Slowly, the vicious haze in my head clears. My breathing steadies as I anchor myself in Creed’s eyes and the silent satisfaction written all over his face.
“Sit,” he orders, jutting his chin at the wooden bench.
My muscles burn, sweat slicks the back of my neck, but I don’t feel any pain. Still, I hiss when Creed unwraps my knuckles and I see how bad they look. He lifts my hand to his lips, blowing gently over the torn, raw, bleeding skin.
“Next time, you’re wearing gloves,” he says, eyebrows drawn together as he peers up and finds me smiling. “You like it, huh?”
He pulls his gym bag closer, fishes out a first-aid kit and carefully disinfects and dresses my injuries.
“How about a thank you, Creed?”
I smile, but if his expression is anything to go by, it’s not enough for him.
“Pretty, feral, and fucking stubborn.” He drops his palms to my knees and drags them up, fingers pressing bruises into my flesh. “Say something.”
I shake my head, a sick thrill rushing through me when frustration flickers across his face. I shouldn’t enjoy this so much, but I do. I love how his voice drops when he’s balancing on the edge between command and plea.
“Anything,” he continues. He fills his hands with my thighs, yanking me to the edge of the bench, his face inches from mine. “Stop fucking torturing me and say something.”
I part my lips, sucking in a shaky breath, eyes never leaving his. The air between us roars with electric tension.
“Millie,” he warns, inching closer, his hot, minty breath on my lips. “You’re being a bad girl, baby.”
My cheeks heat, pressure swelling between us, and just when I’m about to close the distance and find out how he tastes, Creed jerks back. He gets to his feet, jaw working in tight circles.
The loss of his touch hits harder than I anticipated. My skin burns where his hands were, but my blood temperature plummets, stealing the pinkness from my cheeks.
He’s annoyed. He’s leaving and my throat closes.
What now? Will he teach me more tomorrow or tell me to leave if I come back? Is he done with me? I don’t want that.
Or maybe I do.
I don’t know.
My head buzzes with contradicting thoughts I can’t keep up with. Things are easier with Noah. He lulls while Creed wakes me up. He’s chaos and I can’t understand why it’s so captivating.
He refuses to look at me as he drags on his t-shirt, then his hoodie and I move before I think, jumping to my feet. He shoulders his bag, facing the door, ready to walk out.
I bite my lip, ignoring the cold sweat sleeking my back. Half of me is choking, half is fighting to speak.
Nausea curdles my stomach.
“Eli,” I whisper.
He freezes. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and I stand there, waiting, wringing my hands at my sides. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for... I don’t know.
It feels like stepping off a cliff. Like falling and flying.
My ears perk up, catching a soft rustle of fabric, two hastened steps, then his warm fingers sliding beneath my chin and tipping my head back.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I do, a gasp catching in my throat. He looks so... broken. Even as the gold flecks in his eyes catch the light, his expression is raw in a way I’ve never seen before. His Adam’s apple bobs as his thumb traces along my jaw.
“Fuck.” He leans in, his forehead pressing to mine. “That’s yours now. Never call me anything else.”