59. Rosy
FIFTY-NINE
ROSY
Every day is another day closer to being homeless, and after the truly shitty day at work, it is tempting to skip the gym and hibernate. But I like the routine of my walks, the calm they bring.
Then anger hits. I’m so tired of not standing up for myself every time they treat me like shit there. But I can’t do anything about it. I need the job, which means nothing changes. So all that anger’s trapped, battering around inside me with nowhere to go.
I’m clammy, worked up, and irritable.
Which perhaps isn’t the worst thing since I’m walking into the gym. People use it to let off steam all the time; except I come here to walk. Usually that works to ease my busy thoughts, but today, the emotions are deeper, darker.
Walking isn’t going to cut it.
Nate looks up from the far side of the room when I step through the door.
His gaze prickles against my already heated skin.
I weave around the different equipment, and his brows pinch as his eyes scan me.
Before I’ve even stopped in front of him, his mouth opens, most likely to demand what’s going on. But I don’t let him get that far.
“I need to punch something today. Can you teach me?” I point at the area with the hanging bags.
The crease between his brows disappears, as they raise up his forehead, his surprise evident.
Which is fine, as long as he agrees with my request. I need to get this feeling out. My whole body’s almost vibrating at this point, my weight shifting back and forth between my feet.
Nate grabs his towel, wipes his face, then slings it over his shoulder. I’d probably find it incredibly sexy if I weren’t so worked up. He stands, places a hand on my back, and guides me over to the bags.
“You got any gloves?”
I shake my head, shoulders dropping.
“I’ll grab you some.” He places a kiss on my forehead, then leaves me to face the huge bags hanging from the ceiling.
The lump in my throat’s thick despite my attempt to swallow, and my fists clench at my sides.
I don’t want to feel so weak anymore. To be anyone else’s punching bag.
Movement to my side has my head turning.
“Fuck off. She’s mine,” Nate growls, his back blocking my view.
A tiny smile tugs at my lips, and a flicker of warmth curls low in my belly. It lasts for a mere moment, then it’s snuffed out by my anger.
After ensuring the encroacher has gone, Nate turns and gently wraps my fists, then secures the borrowed gloves.
Large hands curl around my shoulders, and he turns me toward a bag.
I expect him to bark out directions, but he doesn’t say a word.
Instead, his hands guide my body, running down my legs and pulling them apart with my left one forward and the right behind.
Then he slides them down my arms, position in front of me.
What I don’t expect is for him to stand behind me, wrap his body around mine, and guide one hand to the bag, tapping it lightly so it barely moves.
“Jab.”
Moving that same hand, he guides me in another move.
“Hook.”
Another movement.
“Cross.”
His heat leaves my back, and I sway on my toes, feeling the loss. As he steps to my side, his smirk has me scowling. I’m too pissed to hold it in.
“Keep the balance on your toes to move, then plant and keep your knees bent to punch.”
Staring the bag down, I pause, waiting for him to continue.
“That’s it?”
He places my headphones in my ears and pulls out his phone. Wait, when did he get them from my bag, and how has he connected his device to them?
“Keep your thumbs on the outside of your fists. Then go for it, little tease. Get out what you need to,” he says.
The sound of a deep, angry beat blasts through my ears. It winds through my body, igniting the itching beneath my skin. I move. I don’t think; I follow his instructions.
I go for it.
Losing myself in the rhythm, I follow the bag as it moves.
Each time my fists connect with it, I feel every emotional punch I’ve been given reciprocated. Every time I’ve been made to feel worthless.
Jab.
Every time I’ve not been enough.
Jab.
Invisible.
Cross.
Disposable.
Jab.
Unwanted.
Jab. Hook. Cross.
Body sagging, I come to a swaying, exhausted stop.
My breaths are harsh and loud as I fight to suck in air.
It’s obviously not enough, though, because I stagger slightly as I step back.
Nate’s arms wrap around me, tugging my damp, spent body against his, and he holds me, giving me the support to centre myself.
I push my headphones down to my neck. “Gloves, I need them off. I can’t…” My voice breaks as I start panicking at their restrictive pressure. I need it off. Off.
The world blurs as he spins me, tugging them off and tossing them to the side.
“I got you,” he says, his deep voice familiar and grounding. He pulls me into his body, arms encircling me. One hand cups the back of my neck, his thumb covering my pulse. “Deep breaths with me, little tease.”
My hands shake, and I fist them into his T-shirt, trying to copy him. I’m not sure how long it takes, but he continues holding me, each inhale and exhale I make matching his.
Until I come back to my surroundings.
Until I realise my face is itchy with drying tears.
I’m mortified.
“I need to go home,” I mumble into his chest.
He kisses my hair and leads me out. The walk through the room, outside, and back to our building is a blur. I couldn’t even tell you what the weather’s like, if it’s light, dark, hot, or cold.
The rage has guttered out, and I’m curled up in the corner of my mind, feeling bruised and depleted.
I’m suddenly standing outside my front door with Nate’s hands cupped around my face, his features crinkled as he takes in every tiny detail of me. I can almost feel his mind probing against mine, desperate to get inside and fix things. Fix me.
“Tell me,” he demands, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks.
Softness isn’t natural for him, but it feels like he’s always trying for me. I’ve seen what he’s like with everyone else. I know he’s different with me. But even acknowledging that still doesn’t have me spilling everything out.
I don’t want all my tainted thoughts said out loud, to be given life.
“I’m sorry. I’ve not been great company. It’s been a long day at work, that’s all.”
His eyes narrow. “Something happen at work?”
“Nate, it’s been a long day. I’m tired and need an early night. Can we write off tonight, and tomorrow, I’ll do a better job of functioning as a human being?”
“If you need an early night, okay. But I’m not writing off anything. I want you just as you are, every day.”
“What if…what I am isn’t enough for you? What if you get bored and decide there’s something better out there?”
Any other words are silenced when his mouth meets mine, and his tongue plunges between my lips, probing and claiming. Our teeth clink, and my hands latch onto his shoulders as he crowds me against the wall.
“There’s nothing better than you. You’re it for me. Don’t make me have to keep reminding you,” he growls against my mouth. The terse anger in his words vibrates against me.
“What if I need you to remind me?” Chest heaving against his, I fight against the need to claw the insecurity back.
“Then I’ll do it, because there’s nothing you can say or do that will make me change my mind about us.”
His mouth covers mine again, silencing my insecurities and doubts.
It would be irritating if it weren’t for the fact that I crave the contact, the feel of him against me, inside me.
His kiss turns almost desperate, but I can feel myself retreating.
Pulling away and hiding from his strength and confidence in me, in us.
I’m so fractured, I can’t pull myself out of the recesses of my mind.
Can’t shrug off my self-pity and trust his words.
It’s not that I don’t believe them, but I need time to let everything feel raw and ugly before I gather the strength to shove it all back in a box and get back up again.
I’m not sure how to do all of that right now with him here.
Nate plants another hard kiss on my mouth, then pulls back. “Remember to message. If you need anything, I’ll do it.”
He gives me one last lingering look, then waits for me to go through the door.
It closes behind me, heavy, weighted, and full of inadequacy.