Touch Her And Bleed

I crept into the gym, trying not to let the door announce me.

The first thing that hit me was the smell of sweat, leather, and bleach. Weights clanked together and men grunted like their lives were on the line.

I flinched when the door clicked shut behind me.

"You lost?" A booming voice asked from behind a desk and I cleared my throat.

He was a little older than me, grey scraggly beard hung from his face.

"Uh, no, actually-" I twisted the hem of my shirt in my hands.

"Women's yoga is next door." He dismissed me and I gulped back embarrassment.

How do I tell him I'm here to box?

I breathed in once and marched my way up to the desk he was sitting behind.

"Actually I wanted to sign up."

My voice came out choppier than I wanted it to but I was still proud of myself stepping in here in the first place.

The guy let out a loud noise, somewhere between a snort and a scoff. "Your scrawny ass? Right."

I frowned, the lump in my throat getting worse instead of disappearing.

I could feel myself freeze up.

"Enough, Eddie." A sharp voice snapped me to attention.

I saw was his dark stare first, holding something I couldn't place.

His bicep strained from the weighted plate in his hand. He extended his arm smoothly, motioning for Eddie to take it away. The white towel hung loosely down his shoulder, but he didn't seem to care or notice. Eddie grunted and left his seat, taking the weights reluctantly.

I stared at him confused for a second.

He stared back, occupying every inch on Eddie's chair like he owned it.

Dripping with confidence, he didn't waver the eye contact like it cost him nothing.

Fire suddenly rose from my neck and I knew I was getting myself into some type of trouble.

He oozed controlled calm.

"Need anything?" He finally broke the silence and I was grateful until his blunt words hit me.

"Uh," I cleared my throat, "I wanted to sign up."

I was expecting something other than the raised eyebrow he offered me.

He deliberately went through drawers under the desk and came up with a clipboard with a couple pages tucked inside it.

"Here." When he slammed it down in front of me, I almost jumped out of my skin.

I frowned at him, shooting daggers.

He just seemed half amused.

I flipped through the papers in front of me, reading them over carefully.

I felt a presence studying me while I wrote my name at the top of the page. I had a pretty good idea who it was.

I convinced myself to steal a glance, trying not to move my head and give myself away.

Of course he was staring.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. He looked at me so intensely that my body started to vibrate. His stare was encouraging my feet to kick up and run.

I quickly shot back to my paper and held my hand up to cover my face.

Oh god.

My palms were so sweaty I couldn't hold the pen correctly. I refused to look up and turned to the questions on the paper instead.

I filled out most of the questionnaire, feeling calmer and more relaxed now that I had something to do with my hands.

I scribbled the last answer.

Immediately it was swiped from my hands.

"Hey!" I blurted out before I could think about it.

The look he gave me made me choke on my next words. I sat stunned by the closeness and a sharp green staring back at me.

It felt like he was quietly daring me to challenge him.

His eyes scanned the paper and landed on something intently. I felt like I was a rat in a science lab.

What could he be reading?

What if he judged me?

Did I write anything personal?

"Self-defense, huh?" He raised a brow, noticing my twiddling fingers.

I tried to stifle the action. I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

"Yeah, a common reason for women to join, I think."

"Common for people who flinch at loud noises."

I sucked in a breath, not realizing he had heard me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're in luck." He turned, tossing the clipboard behind the counter.

He leaned over and took some black boxing gloves out from under the table, then tossed them to me.

I fumbled the worn leather, almost dropping them.

"You'll be training with me," he said.

"Isn't there a beginner class?"

"I teach beginners."

His build told me that was a lie, but I decided to wait and see if it was really true.

He motioned me to sit down on the bench and I slowly did. I had to resist the urge to bite my nails, settling on bouncing my leg instead.

"First time?"

A horrified look crossed my face first.

Maybe I was the one with the dirty mind because he said it so flatly there shouldn't be a double meaning hidden behind it.

His mouth lifted slightly, almost smirking at me. I rushed to look away.

"Yeah." My voice betrayed me, weak and cracked.

He nodded, almost like he was amused.

"I could tell."

He confidently took a new hand wrap and unrolled it. I watched him as he knelt in front of me. It felt like I was absorbing his warmth

He held out the hand wrap and I looked at it, then to him, then back to the wrap.

"Hands," he said when my confusion didn't fade.

I reluctantly held them out.

My eyes drifted away from him, hoping the awkward feeling subsided.

He wrapped my hand deliberately, crossing the blue wrap around my wrist and fingers. His hands felt rough against mine, covered in scars from what I could only assume was years of violence.

As he switched to doing my other hand, I noticed that his forearm was resting on my knee. I tensed up, growing clammy again.

It wasn't a big deal to him so I was definitely not going to make it one.

I examined my hands, admiring how the wrap looked around my fingers. I was beaming with excitement.

He looked sideways, grabbing boxing pads and putting them on his hands.

"I'm not punching you, am I?"

Looking at the pads on his hands, something told me I was wrong.

"Hopefully not, the goal is to hit these."

He slapped them together once and held them up for me to punch.

"No tips and tricks for my first time?"

"You got this," he said matter-of-factly.

I was starting to think this was a mistake, feeling eyes linger on me from every direction. I knew it was just the atmosphere of the gym, but I couldn't help feel exposed here.

I decided to concentrate on the punch instead, jabbing my fist out.

"Absolutely not." He slid the pads off and dropped them to the ground carefully.

He moved me in front of a mirror a few steps away from where we were training. His breath traced the back of my neck, making the rest of my body icy. He shifted my hips into a staggered stance.

I stiffened under his hands and he of course noticed, slowly moving his hands from my hips to my elbows. He positioned me exactly how he wanted and said, "This will be your stance every time."

"I told you I needed tips and tricks."

"Obviously. Have you ever fought before?"

"I used to fight with my brother all the time." I shrugged, bringing up my brother for the first time in ages, like it wasn't a huge deal.

"Now you know your stance," he continued, "Land a punch."

He moved himself in his own stance beside me. He showed me how to extend my arm and turn my wrist at the end.

I was so focused on his velvety voice, everything else seemed to melt away.

He picked up the pads again and held them out to me.

"Now, again."

I hit the pad with very little force.

He didn't even wobble backward.

My confidence staggered and he seemed to pick up on it.

I couldn't believe that I was actually doing this, let alone standing in this gym.

The loud noises started to creep up on me again, until his voice snapped me out of it. "Again."

I glared at him, but hit the pads faster like he wanted.

"Elbows too far out."

"Feet too wide."

"Use both hands."

His constant criticism was getting on my nerves.

Every correction felt like proof that I was failing.

A permanent reminder of why I should just quit right then and there.

I was huffing at this point, frustration growing in my chest with every critique he gave me. I couldn't do this. I kept doubting myself further each time I swung.

"Stance."

"Elbows."

"Now try and move your feet."

I had about enough of his barking and suddenly let out a low growl, punching with pure rage and zero coordination.

He wanted me to move my feet? Fine.

I moved forward, forcing him to take steps away. I hadn't realized my eyes squeezed shut and I was standing there, repeatedly punching his pads as hard as I could before I even knew his name.

He was hunched with his elbows tight to his chest, pads hiding his face. I admired how his body seemed so in control.

Mine wasn't, and the realization snapped me out of my trance.

I shot backwards. My hands cupped my mouth instinctively.

"I'm so sorry," I blurted out between fingers.

There was a long pause as he straightened out and shook his shoulders, suddenly seeming more alive.

"There she is." He bounced lightly on his feet.

I hated the way his voice pulled a reaction from the pit of my stomach.

I frowned, refusing to name the feeling.

Exhausted, I trudged over to the bench after sliding the gloves off and shook my hands out. It slimy against the leather already.

Then a wave of satisfaction washed through me for finally following through with this.

I grabbed my water and started to chug it.

My wrists strained from the practice and I realized now why he wrapped them so far up my wrists.

Here I was thinking I was wasting my time, but ended up feeling like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I couldn't believe someone was actually taking me seriously.

"Time's up." His voice made me almost spit my water all over me.

I screwed the lid back on and caught his gaze.

He was looking at me with such pride in his eyes.

I hated that he thought my outburst was a moment to boast over.

I took my wraps off, shaking still from the adrenaline. I grabbed my bag, shoved my water bottle in there and hooked it over my shoulder.

"See you tomorrow." He said it like more of a statement, shooting a hand toward me.

"What makes you think I'll come back?" I started walking backward so I could give him my shit eating grin.

"To finish the job." He winked.

I rolled my eyes at him, flinging the door open with a new confident force.