Torn (10 page)

When I was younger, I had a small crush on Lucas. I mean, how could I not? However, my feelings for Lucas changed until eventually I no longer minded that he saw me as his kid sister. We had so much in common and understood each other so
well,
we were often mistaken for twins. No matter what happened, I’d always love him. He was my best friend after all. Doesn’t everyone love their best friend? Mine just happened to be a guy.

While Lucas and I were best friends, I’ve never felt as close to Ethan. He was older and always acted like the proper big brother. But not long ago, this strange heated tension had developed between us. The love I felt for Lucas was tame and innocent compared to the unadulterated, R-rated lust I began to feel for Ethan. Although Lord knew I’d never act on it. But for some reason, whenever he got close, it felt like we were two magnets bouncing off each other. Two negatives or two positives wanting, on some raw, primal level to connect, but we couldn’t. Neither of us had shown any obvious interest for each other so it felt like a stalemate. But I was okay with that. I needed time to figure Ethan out because my feelings had me confused.

After my father’s death, Ethan had grown more protective, whereas Lucas had become standoffish and authoritative. Ethan was never interested in being “in charge” and he gladly passed off that responsibility to Lucas. And that completely embarrassing want that I felt when Ethan was around began to grow exponentially. Especially when I saw how he would look at me sometimes. And though it was a little disarming, curiosity set up residence in my belly. I couldn’t count the number of times he looked as though he was going to say something or act on whatever was brewing between us but he always walked away. I knew Lucas had noticed it, too, because since then he had become my shadow. It was odd the way he seemed to not fully trust Ethan, especially since we moved to the cabin.

***

The morning after my heavy training session with Ethan, I woke up still feeling tired and shaken. Nightmares had me tossing and turning all night, while visions of darkness and blood floated around like balloons in my mind. The clock beside my bed smiled wickedly, taunting me. It had only been four hours since I went to bed. Figuring that was all the sleep I was going to manage for the night, I threw off my comforter and swung myself into a sitting position. Rubbing my hands over my face, I willed the visions to find a new host, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen. As I stretched the sleep and exhaustion from my body, I walked over to the window and pressed my face to the cool glass. It was still too early yet for the sun to start peeking through the trees and the darkness that surrounded the cabin mimicked the dread I couldn’t seem to shake. From deep inside, I had this feeling that something was happening. Something was coming.
Something bad.

I kept thinking back to the voices I heard whenever I trained. In the beginning, I would only hear the one taunting voice, but now I could swear my dad was trying to break through too. Sometimes it would seem I could hear my dad while I trained and other times, more frequently, I heard a strange mocking whisper that grew louder each time.

I wanted to believe it was my dad who’d helped me yesterday, when the forest began to feel like it was closing in on us, warning me to run. But, the taunts and the warnings, could they both be him? The mocking whisper had always been nondescript and I couldn’t recognize it, but could it be? Why would Dad want to taunt me in the first place?

But if it wasn’t him, then who was it? Was it the one my dad was warning me about? What exactly was it I was running from? Did Dad know what I was about to face and he didn’t want me to face it? If I understood Lucas and Ethan, I was training for precisely the opposite reason. I was training so I didn’t have to run.

Thinking about my father brought an all too familiar ache to my chest.
An immense, incredible ache that forced me to take several deep breaths.
I’d never really known my dad like I thought I did. Lucas and Ethan seemed to know more than I had, yet wasn’t I his daughter, his only child? More than that, it hurt that I was never able to say goodbye. The loss had eaten a hole in my heart, a hole that had refused to heal over.

My only solace was that with every part of me I knew he was the reason I was alive. My dad and Lucas and Ethan had kept me alive. I couldn’t let them down. For six months I lived by the mantra,
If
it’s training they want, it’s training they’re going to get
.

With my favorite sweatpants in tatters from yesterday’s training session, I pulled on my favorite track pants instead, along with my black DMB Fire Dancer tee. After throwing my hair into a messy ponytail, I dropped to the floor. I started every morning with push-ups and crunches, but today I really needed to push myself. Making my muscles beg for mercy was the best way I knew to keep my mind off everything else.

After a grueling half-hour, my arms felt like Jell-o but I wasn’t done yet. I rolled over and began a forty-five-minute crunch routine that had me feeling like I was going to hurl. By the end, my abs screamed a litany of curses but I didn’t care. My arms, shoulders, and abs shook uncontrollably but I ignored the pain. Still feeling the need for a little push, I grabbed my iPod and made my way down to the training room. I needed to hit something.

Lucas and Ethan had set up a training room in the basement my father had put in when he built the cabin, complete with mat covered floors, a full set of weights, and a heavy punching bag. I’d been down there many times over the past few months, but never impressed anyone with either my hand-eye coordination or the power behind my punches.

Today, however, I felt like I wanted to beat the hell out of something, so I stepped in front of the heavy bag. Squaring my stance, I visualized the swirling darkness and winged creatures from my dream and began pounding the bag with everything I had. Jabs, uppercuts, backhands, roundhouse kicks...I was destroying this bag. I allowed Rage
Against
the Machine to dictate my rhythm and it felt amazing. I was Rocky freakin’ Balboa, annihilating that Russian dude.

I was amazed at my fluid grace. It was like my body suddenly knew what to do. More pumped up than ever, I pictured the bag fighting back as I jumped, spun, and dove. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I saw a warrior, not some weak little girl. My skin was slick with sweat and my hair, coming loose from my band, looked darker than normal. I saw muscles I never knew I had gleam in the dim of the overhead light.

I stood for a moment, staring at my reflection, amazed and at the same time confused that I could barely recognize myself. I was cocooned in light and shadow which seemed to push against each other as if trying to overpower the other. Anger and pride swelled inside me and I became hell bent on destruction. I allowed the darkness to take over as I sent a frenzied flurry of blows at the bag before slumping to the ground with shaky, bloodied hands.

Gone from the mirror was the reflection of the warrior. As I began to cry, I could feel a part of me lifting up and out, until I stood outside myself. From there, I watched the sweat and blood mix and
slip down
my arms as I sobbed into my hands.

The first time I had an out of body experience was when I was a little girl. I’d been terrified. I didn’t understanding what was happening to me. How was it there
were
two of me? Was I dreaming? Was I dead? When I finally worked up the courage to tell my dad about it, he’d told me not to worry, that lots of people could do it. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he’d been wrong, that it wasn’t something everyone could do. And it was only recently that I realized I only did it when something bad, or wrong, was happening.

It was strange. I could still feel everything my body felt and knew the thoughts my other self was thinking, but I couldn’t say or do anything to interfere. I felt helpless. That was the hardest part, only being able to watch as my other self did or said things I knew I shouldn’t or wouldn’t.

As I watched, a shallow light began glittering in one corner of the room. In between the pulses of light, I could see the box from my dreams, just as beautiful as I remembered. My other self had noticed it too. The sobbing had stopped and my body was struggling to get across the room to the box. As my body got closer, I was overwhelmed by the odd sense of accomplishment my other self felt, and I heard myself begin laughing this weird high-pitched laugh that I knew wasn’t my own.

The light coming from the box was so beautiful. A strange awareness of dirty shame overcame me next and I stared blankly as I almost fell to the ground. I wanted to look away. Just as quickly a feeling of point blank defiance surfaced. I could see this defiance as if it had solid form. My thinking shifted.
They aren’t better than me. Who are they to think so
?
The box is rightfully mine.
My body grabbed maniacally for the box, only to pull instantly away, my hands singed.

Just as quickly as I had separated, I sank into myself again. I lifted my head and realized the box was no longer there. It never was
,
I’d been imagining it. My knuckles were bloody. I turned my hands over to see that my palms were covered with bright red blisters. A scream of failure and shame erupted from my throat. I fell to my knees as the room shook and the walls closed in.

It was in this state that Ethan found me. I barely heard him come down the stairs. Without speaking, he crossed the room, sat down beside me and pulled me onto his lap. His warmth eased my shaking, and he stroked my hair until my moaning became only silently flowing tears. We sat this way, slowly rocking back and forth while he whispered happy thoughts into my ear.

With a flutter, I felt him surround me, pulling me in tighter, and my hands began to heal, the ache in my muscles faded. I snuggled in closer just to listen to the beating of his heart. He tipped my chin and as our eyes met, I could’ve sworn he was going to kiss me. His blue eyes were narrowed with intensity, and I felt warmth spread throughout my body. I closed my eyes in anticipation but the kiss never came. Instead, he slowly placed his hands on my eyes and murmured something I couldn’t understand.

I awoke in my bed. The sun was peaking through the closed curtains and I rolled away from the light. When I looked at the clock, I bolted upright. Three o’clock. How long had I been out? I didn’t remember going back to bed. The last thing I remembered was sitting in the basement with Ethan.

An uncomfortable sensation knotted my belly at the thought. He must’ve thought I was insane. Did I really try to kiss him? More importantly, did he notice and decide not to kiss me back? Mortified, I pulled the covers over my head and counted backwards from one hundred, willing myself not to die from humiliation. What had I been thinking? That Ethan would kiss me? That he would want to kiss me? Hadn’t I decided I didn’t want him to kiss me anyway? I must have lost my mind. He’d never shown me anything other than friendly affection and the occasional, harmless flirty comment. What would make me think otherwise? Dumb, dumb, dumb.

I wallowed for a few minutes before I realized I couldn’t hide up in my room all day, so I reluctantly forced myself out of bed and into the shower. I got dressed quickly and headed downstairs. Lucas was in the kitchen eating a sandwich.

“Hey, sleepy head!
Hungry?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.
I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Whatever he was having turned out to be the most delicious sandwich I ever tasted. Perfectly made, with just the right amount of mayo, juicy tomatoes, crispy bacon, and soft white bread, not toasted. My stomach was singing a symphony. I guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was until he put the sandwich in front of me.

“So, how’re your hands?”

Mouth full of food, I stopped and looked at him. “I think they’re fine.” Now self-conscious, I tried to turn my body so he couldn’t see as I snuck a glance at my unmarred hands. My brain started turning as I took another bite.

What did Ethan tell him? If he told him about the non-kiss, I was going to slip right under this table and hide out for, well, forever. For some reason, other than my own embarrassment, I didn’t want Lucas to know. Something about the way I unconsciously pictured Ethan naked at the most inopportune times might explain it. Or the culprit could be the low vibration of want for him that churned in my belly. Regardless, I needed to stop thinking about Ethan that way.

“Ethan told me you were hitting the bags downstairs. He said you were quite a sight. Next time wear gloves.”

“Huh?”

“If you wear gloves, you won’t beat up your hands. You must’ve worked out hard ’cause he said you were so tired, you went back to bed. That was hours ago.”

So he didn’t tell him.

“Ah, yeah.
I don’t know what I did but I was exhausted.
Must’ve overdone it.”

Silently eating my sandwich, I watched as Lucas walked over to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water and placed one in front of me.

“Look, Samantha...” My eyes rolled involuntarily as I figured he was about to lecture me, yet again, on the importance of training safely. “I know that everything that’s been going on the past six months is a lot to take in. If you want, we can just sit on it for a while and revisit any questions you have when you’re ready. The history is important but so is the training. So, for now, we’ll just amp up the training and go from there. We’ll see what we have to work with and we’ll talk about what you want to know as we go.
Just, no secrets this time.
No holding out.
Deal?”

“Deal,” I said and took a long swallow of water. “Speaking of training, where’s Ethan?”

“Oh, he said he had to clear his head so he went running. He left a few hours ago. He’ll probably be back soon.”

I hadn’t realized I had finished the first one, when he placed another sandwich in front of me and told me to eat up. He sat down across from me and watched me for a bit. I knew he wanted to say something else that wouldn’t come out. The way he looked at me made me sad. He must have decided that whatever he’d wanted to say wasn’t that important because he silently brought his plate to the sink.