13- Devi
13- Devi
“Throw it like you mean it, Devi!” Ry grunts, almost exasperated, as he dodges another of my wild punches. We’re currently situated in the back lot of the highland park. Every time we’re here, I always get the feeling we’re doing something wrong. This is Lightfleck territory, after all. The highrises and estates are only a few short blocks away. But Ry never seems concerned. He claims his job allows him certain liberties the rest of us can’t have.
Whatever.
For some reason, we’ve moved over to the gravel and away from the mats we set up. I stare longingly at the softness set up by his hoverscor. How did we get so far away? He shoves me back when I overcorrect.
It’s too late to tell him I don’t remember how I got here. The last few hours are foggier than they should be, and while I can’t prove it’s Selk’s fault, I can blame him anyway.
Shaking out my fists, I try to get back into position. I’m not a particularly good fighter, nor am I all that strong. But I know weak points. I know how to balance my weight. I know where to strike when I’m forced to. It only ever seems to work when I’m the aggressor, though. As soon as a man or a male attacks me first, my body shuts down, repeating the same learned helplessness again and again.
One of Ry’s hands curls around my hip to spin me out and throw off my balance. Today, I’m not sure I know anything. In all honesty, it’s the searing heat of his palm that distracts me this time. I manage to redirect and throw an elbow back, but his forearm is already there. Block.
I try a reverse sweep of his feet, and it doesn’t work—block—ending once I’ve made a full circle with my body. I curl and kick backward, aiming for the weak point between his legs, and he growls, catches my ankle, and then shoves me forward again. This time, I stumble.
Of course, I wasn’t ready for the move. Is it possible for a whole body to be two seconds too slow? That’s what today feels like. At the corner store an hour ago, there was a line by the time I was finished with the depository. I’ve never felt so off-balance as I do now that I’m with Ry, watching my life flash before my eyes as the ground rises to meet me. A ripping sound follows a sudden sharp tug at the back of my shirt, and at the end of that tug, I’m sure I’ll find his smug ass face.
I imagine those slightly pointed canines peeking out from the curled corner of his lips. I’ll notice his shapely nose next and the frustratingly handsome crinkles at each nostril. Then, the devilish glint in those light brown eyes. Maybe he’ll even have one of his full brows quirked enough to challenge me. Sometimes, I don’t dream about strange horrors at night or in the damp shower. Sometimes, I dream of that face with his expression pinched slightly in a tease, roughened around the edges from sparring, cheeks and lips a little flushed—sunburnt skin gleaming on his shoulders.
The rip sounds again, dragging me out of those useless fantasies and into the shitty reality. The one where I’m going to get my ass kicked.
“Are you kidding me?” I snarl, spinning around to examine the giant hole that gapes from collar to mid-back. I love this shirt. And despite the large deposit sitting in my account, I can’t help my normal instincts. My glare might be more lethal than my fighting today if Ry’s grimace holds true, but it’s gone before I can even enjoy it.
"Fight like you mean it, and your shit won’t get ripped,” he shrugs, tossing brassy blonde hair out of his eyes. It’s chin length already after his last cut, and fuck if it doesn’t do something to the parts of me that should be dead right now. They never are. Not when I’m sleeping or working or stressing, and least of all when I’m fighting. Nothing about it should make my chest ache, my body buzzing with unspent energy. How much time do I have before I have to isolate?
I blame the Thur from last night. I blame the feel of their power washing over me. The taste. It’s their fault that I haven’t been able to settle my libido.
“You owe me a shirt,” I gripe, ignoring every place my clothes stick to me. I’m too sensitized.
“What’s going on in your head? Did something happen?” The worry in his voice doesn’t match the harsh fighting stance he’s taking. “Something has you on edge. Are your classes not going well?”
Jack will be waiting at my doorstep when I get home, I think, barely remembering to guard. Ry moves so fast I can’t track it when he’s sweeping a leg behind my ankles while palming my clavicle. In a blink, I go from standing to falling again, this time back first.
Reducing me to a flailing mess, he snaps his fingers. “The fuck is your head at, Devi? Hit me! Something happened. Tell me what it is. If it’s funding for school, just tell me, and I’ll make it happen. If it’s work, then you need to be a big girl and explain.”
I can hardly feel the sting of gravel scratches over the exposed skin, too busy staring daggers at Ry. I thought we were friends. I mean, when this whole training situation started, he was a closed-off, elusive teacher, but I’d like to think we’ve warmed up to each other over the last few months. Still, he’s never been so pissed or so demanding. Not since I waltzed into his office asking for self-defense lessons. The look he wears now as he towers over me almost matches the old Ry.
The principle of the matter is why I jump to my feet, I tell myself. Not the embarrassment that swirls so heavily in my gut at the sight of him judging me. It stings in a way I hate, bringing water to the edges of my eyes. I’m so sick of reminders of how little I’m worth. Of how many times I did things just so I could belong. Of how many times Jack only thought I was worth something when I was half-crazed.
Those thoughts drag me down so fast I hardly feel myself leap forward with a spiral kick. Block. But this time, he at least makes a pained sound. I skid to a stop on the other side of him, kicking up the rough gravel that separates the empty lot from the road. The breeze fingers my hair, dragging my eyes toward the clouds for longer than it should.
When I return to Ry, I find him boring a hole in my head, his face cocked to the side like he doesn’t recognize me. Maybe that’s the problem, I don’t recognize myself anymore either.
“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?” I ask, gasping as my lungs scream. How long have we been sparring?
The sound of a boot on the gravel snaps me back into motion, but I’m a hair too slow, catching a slap to the back of the neck that sends lightning over my nipples and down to my core.
Not helpful, I remind myself.
“No. Now, move!” he shouts, only one of the handful of Thur words that have been woven into his vocabulary from work. On anyone else, I would swear he was emulating them. But this is Ry, a man who’s never minced words or pretended to be anyone he wasn’t. If he says he uses them at work, then I believe him. Though, I’m still not entirely sure what he does. I can’t blame him since he doesn’t know what I do either. Not really…
I shake that thought away, reaching back to strip off my gaping shirt. He barely spares me a glance. Down to a sports bra, I ready my stance once more and take a breath that’s not going to help. He’s pissed, and there’s nothing I can do against an angry man.
“What do you do every night at Mid, Devi?”
The question jars me enough for him to charge and put me on the defensive. Do I have enough money to cover the number of medi-patches I need? A knee to the thigh forces my mind off of it.
“Answer me!”
“You already know what I do, Ry, I don’t know why that’s suddenly crawled up your ass, but I don’t have a reason to lie.” Except I do. I am lying, and his expression says he already knows it.
Ry’s seen many versions of me, not all of them great, and I’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s never seen me selling myself like that—prostrating all my assets, hoping for good tips. The clients grab me, and they touch whatever’s available. They ask for private shows and dances, which, most of the time, I hate providing, but I do it anyway to survive. In my skimpy outfits. In underwear. It’s a version of myself that I don’t want him to witness because I know he’ll never understand. He’s never seen me be someone’s plaything, and he’s damn sure never seen me enjoy it.
It would change his perception of me, and based on how he’s looking at me now, somehow, I know it’s done just that.