Thirteen
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A few of the girls volunteer, raising their hands. I ignore them, staring Rocky down where she perches on the side of the ring. She narrows her eyes. The gesture practically screams “fuck you.”
“Can I talk to you real quick?” Joe asks. He cocks his head to the side, nodding to my office.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
He doesn’t answer me until we’re in the office with the door closed. I lean my hip against the side of the desk as he begins.
“It took a lot to get Rocky to come here tonight.” He runs his fingers across his forehead as if there’s pain there. “A few years ago, when she was in high school, she was attacked. Raped.” He stops there, sucking in a long breath.
I knew there was something there with her, some kind of story. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt it when I looked at her. Loss and pain. It doesn’t matter the how or the why. Scars like that are universal. We earn them differently, we wear them differently, but we all carry them the same.
“He walked and it fucked her up,” Joe adds. I close my eyes for a second, taking a breath. His words hit me right where it hurts most. She lives like a prisoner because her rapist is free. Free to do it again. I know that agony well.
“She has issues with people touching her.” Joe looks at me, his posture rigid. He looks exhausted. “I told her she didn’t have to do anything in this class. She just wants to watch.”
I nod slowly. “I get it, man. I do. But the best way for her to learn is by doing.”
“I know. She will. Later, when she’s comfortable being here.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. The best way for her to regain her power is by knowing she can take the fucker down if he ever comes near her again. We can help her achieve that here. That’s what these classes are all about. If she needs to sit out for a while, then we’ll accommodate. It’s better for her to observe than not come at all, right?”
He smiles weakly, relieved. “Yes. Definitely.”
I smack his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Let’s go get our asses kicked by a bunch of women.”
***
Rocky made it through an hour and fifteen minutes of class. We were discussing what to do when being attacked from behind. As I acted it out with one of the girls, teaching her to drop her center of gravity as I grabbed her around the waist, Rocky scooped up her purse and walked out the door.
That told me a lot.
Her experience was like mine in many ways. I can’t help the part of my brain that wants to compare them. Analyze them side-by-side. Or the part that wonders if the guy that raped Rocky could be one of the same men that raped Livie.
I find myself in my car, determined to find out. I pull in front of the apartment complex and stare up at the building. Somewhere inside are answers. Answers I’ve been seeking for years.
A motorcycle roars past, pulling into the parking lot. As the driver slides his helmet off, a shiver runs through my body. It’s a sign. It must be. A gift from the Fates, or God, or the devil. I don’t care. I seize the opportunity, opening my door quietly, and following the man Byer’s picked up five days ago. I stay back several feet, watching him sway and wobble drunkenly as he makes his way noisily to his door. The asshole drove this way. It doesn’t surprise me. Just makes me want to hurt him that much more.
It takes him four—five attempts before the key enters the lock. He opens the door. Wiggles the keys free and drops them on the ground. He bends to retrieve them and I make my move.
First thing I teach the girls at self-defense: People impaired from drugs or alcohol make easy targets.
I shove him through the doorway, knocking him to the floor. I pluck his keys off the ground, glance at the windows closest to me, and then step inside. I kick him as he tries to stand.
“What the fuck, man?” His words are slurred. Slow.
I close the door and turn the lock. Pocket his keys.
“I’m going to kick your fucking ass,” he spits.
My hand slides along the wall, looking for a light switch. The room lights up. I wait for recognition. For him to look at me and understand who I am. Why I’m here.
But he looks at me blankly. “What do you want?”
What do I want? I shake my head. I don’t know what I want. I want too much.
I step closer, staring at his face. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I punch him. And then again. Hard, solid hits to the face. I’m not used to striking someone skin to skin. My hands are usually wrapped, gloved. It feels good. Freeing. I do it one more time and his hands that had been holding him up slip out from under him. He lands face first on the carpet. A low groan echoes through the room. He coughs, the sound wet and wheezy.
He rolls to his side, staring up at me with fear in his eyes.
I kneel beside him, my hands dangling in between my bent knees. “Do you remember me?”
One eye is already swelling shut, but the other flicks over my face. He shakes his head. It makes me want to beat on him more, but I know he wouldn’t be able to take it. He’d pass out on me and I wouldn’t get my answers.
He flinches, trying to wiggle away as I move to tug my wallet from my back pocket. I pause. “What’s you name?” I ask. I need to know it. I need to know who was responsible for Liv’s brutal death. Who she spent her last seconds on earth with. He doesn’t respond so I stand up. He winces, preparing for another blow. I step over him and look around.
On the table in the corner is a stack of mail. I pick up the envelope on top. It’s a disconnect notice addressed to Aaron Woods. I pivot on my heel, turning myself deliberately to face him.
I pull him up and drag him to the couch. He falls back heavily. I take a seat on the coffee table, directly in front of him, and open my wallet. My fingers smooth over the picture of Livie I keep there. I notice my hand is steady. Sure.
I flip it around so Aaron can see. “Do you remember her?”
His one good eye leaves my face. For a second—one brief moment—he’s confused. His brow crinkles. And then I see it happen. I watch it sink in as it dawns on him.
My head tingles. The adrenaline pumps through my veins. My heart begins to pound. I never second-guessed myself. I never thought I had the wrong guy. But to see the confirmation on his face is such a sweet sensation.
“You have two choices,” I say. “Give me the names of the other guys involved that night and I’ll kill you quickly.”
“What’s the other choice?” he rasps as blood drips from his lip.
I close my wallet, squeezing it tightly in my hand. “I take my time, letting you relive that night from a different point of view.”
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