DISCIPLINE
Sara
Iwant to throw things,” I say when Cash opens a hard case full of stabbing weapons on the porch.
They line up targets across the yard. Logs, a dangling tin can, and three small sandbags swinging from a low branch almost resemble a parkour course, if those involved sharp objects.
Cash marks distances by placing rocks from the lakeside on the ground, each one farther from the targets.
“Start the timer,” he calls to Chris, who gives a thumbs-up, then picks up the first knife.
A clean throw results in a center hit on the log.
He moves on to the next. Fast, but never rushed.
Pick up, aim, release. Another hit. He misses one, but I’m sure it’s on purpose so he doesn’t discourage me.
That “whoops” and his grin pretty much give it away.
“Forty-six seconds,” Chris says.
“Beat me,” Cash grins.
“Oh, come on. Don’t I get a handicap or something?” I bargain.
“Fifteen extra seconds and one more miss.” He collects the knives, then stops beside me, resting a hand briefly on my back. “Show me what you’ve got, sparkplug.”
I smirk at the nickname and take my stance.
“Remember, slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”
Then I’m in it. Every knife lands with a crisp, perfect thunk, speaking of control. Metal on wood becomes music. Cash hypes me up with every throw, and I soak it in. For once, I’m not just trying to be good. I am good. I know it down to my bones. No one can take this from me. Not today.
“Damn,” Cash says when I finish the course with two misses and exactly sixty seconds. “Now you’re showing off.”
“Piece of cake,” I say, laughter laced with provocation.
He glances at Chris, who leans on the porch railing, arms crossed, observing me with that same strange look he did this morning. They trade a glance lasting a beat too long, and it breaks the vibe.
Cash gives me a thin smile. “All right then. No knives or targets. Only you and us.”
I blink, confused. “What do you mean?”
“You trust me?” he asks.
I want to say yes, but we both know that would be a lie. “Not really,” I mutter.
“Good.”
Then everything changes.
His face barely moves. The smile lingers, but the light behind it dies. Warmth drains from his voice, replaced by a more calculated tone. The air tightens around us, dense with a tension I don’t yet understand. “Time to get real.”
I freeze. Instinct flares before thought can catch up.
He moves faster than someone his size should be capable of, and suddenly he’s behind me, arms closing around my chest. The hold mirrors yesterday’s position, but this time, there’s no blade against my neck.
My arms are pinned against my sides. One of his hands locks around my throat, making it hard to breathe.
The other presses into my ribs, pulling me against him.
I can feel his heartbeat. It’s slow, almost calm, a stark contrast to mine.
Panic punches through my chest like a flare lit beneath my ribs.
It burns bright and brutal, taking me back to how I felt right before I was pushed into Chris’s van.
I jerk against him, muscles screaming for escape, but he’s so much stronger.
I twist my torso, trying to slip from his grip.
His hold tightens. I shove with my shoulder, kick at his shin, but he doesn’t budge.
The more I thrash, the more trapped I become.
“Let me go,” I gasp.
He does not.
Chris steps into view, a fresh wave of terror hitting me as he paces around us. His eyes are cold when he speaks. “Anger kills. Frustration blinds. Impulse ends you. Act before you assess, and you’re already behind. You lose before the fight begins.”
I’m unable to process his words. My palms go slick.
My legs turn to jelly. Behind me, a van door slams, or does it?
I can’t tell. My nails find the fleshy part of my palms and scratch, desperate to ground myself.
It doesn’t help. My heart pounds louder than their voices.
I’m not here. I’m back in that van with the floor vibrating and no way out.
I keep thrashing. My feet dig into the wet grass. I try to elbow him. I want to scream and punch and get away.
How stupid was I to trust them? They’re killers. Is this it? Are they ending me?
With each move, Cash intensifies his hold. He doesn’t speak.
Chris keeps circling.
“You panic, you lose. You react without thinking, you die.” There’s an edge in his tone now, a roughness that makes every syllable hit harder.
You die!
I shake my head, jaw clenched, trying to shut out his voice. My heart thunders. They’re killers, what did you expect? They made me forget. They got to me. And I let them. I’ve been foolish, so foolish. The game’s over, and now they’re going to kill me.
“Stay in it. Own your body. Command the air flowing through you.” His words cut through my garbled thoughts.
For the first time, I hear my own breath. It’s hollow and ragged, utterly useless.
Cash holds me firm without causing pain. He gives me a brief squeeze, reminding me he’s there.
There’s a shift within me. The resistance drains away. My fight falters. I manage slow inhales and concentrate on longer exhales until both even out.
Chris steps into my space. His voice softens. “Now think. You’re in it. Keep your head clear. How do you get out?”
I don’t rush. Cash’s arm is locked across my middle, his wrist at my ribs.
My right arm is trapped, the left one less so.
I’m not strong enough to break his grip.
So I don’t try. I go limp, letting my dead weight sag against him.
His balance shifts just enough to force an adjustment.
I tuck my chin and twist my head to the side, loosening his fingers at my throat.
Using that tiny bit of leverage, I pivot my hips and shove my elbow back into the softer spot beneath his rib cage. With a grunt, he releases me.
I stumble forward, bracing on my knees. My hair falls over my face and hides it. I’m drained, as if a piece of me has been wrung out. My hands are still trembling; a metallic taste invades my mouth. I focus on the ground and on the slow rhythm returning to my chest.
Chris crouches beside me and lays a hand on my back. “You did good,” he praises.
My legs are leaden and my throat constricted, but I stand anyway. There’s no point pretending I’m fine. They already know I’m not.
I turn toward the cabin, choosing solitude, wanting solitude so I can fall apart without anyone watching. The tears blur my vision, close to falling.
I don’t get far.
Three steps in, boots hit the ground behind me. They’re close, moving in sync with mine.
They won’t let me walk this off alone.
They won’t let me pretend this didn’t crack me open.