Once I was dressed, I set about washing our dishes from the night before. We’d been too tired to mess with them after dinner. It was amazing how chores piled up even in a 500 square-foot shoebox of a house.
The rhythmic thuds of Tamir’s ax continued while I cleaned. I wiped away the remnants of dust that had settled after our initial cleaning and made Tamir’s bed, mostly just to keep myself busy. When I reached to pull the sheets to the headboard, my foot bumped something under the bed. I squatted down and discovered that it was Tamir’s black duffel stuffed beneath the mattress.
It was hard and bulky, piquing my interest about what could be in it. He’d hardly touched the thing while I’d been around. But I wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t expect it to be clothes or something equally normal, especially knowing what I did about Tamir. That precise knowledge was exactly why I was so curious about what was in the bag.
I set aside all expectations and pulled back the main zipper. On top was a large first-aid kit, which was probably why I couldn’t find one in his bathroom back at his apartment. Below that was a laptop and what appeared to be two handgun cases, both with fingerprint locks. The bottom was lined with a heavy wool blanket and a plastic tarp along with a length of rope.
A part of me wanted to be upset because a normal, healthy individual wouldn’t carry around this type of gear. But after what he’d told me the night before, I didn’t think any of it was all that surprising. Not only that, but my own convoluted past blurred the lines of acceptable versus unacceptable. It wasn’t like he had torture devices or a severed head tucked away. If he needed to keep a stash of guns and a tarp in a go bag to feel prepared for any situation, I wouldn’t hold it against him. Then again, I was from Texas, and our views on firearms and personal property were a bit different than most.
I shoved the bag back under the bed and finished cleaning. As I did, I wondered what I was missing in civilization. It was odd to think that the world was continuing on, outside our little wooded bubble. Without my phone, a world war could have broken out, and I would have had no idea. Tamir had his phone with him, but now that we were beyond cell service, it did him little good.
I had to admit that there was something peaceful about knowing the real world couldn’t get to us. The reprieve wouldn’t be forever, but it was a relief while it lasted. The same was true for my struggles, though. They wouldn’t last forever. I had to remind myself, on occasion, that this was just a chapter in my life and not my entire story.
One day, I’d have my life back, and it would be up to me to do something worthwhile with it. I didn’t go through hell to wait tables and drink myself to sleep at night. It had taken a good amount of soul searching, but I had started to construct a plan. Now, I just had to live long enough to see it through.
“That should keep us in good shape for the next several days.” Tamir joined me inside, slumping into a kitchen chair while I continued to cook lunch at the stove.
“I noticed the clouds were heavy this morning. Is it going to snow?”
“Looks like it might. I figured I’d rather be prepared just in case.”
“I appreciate that. If you want to clean up before lunch, there’s time. This won’t be ready for another ten minutes.” I glanced over my shoulder when he didn’t respond.
Tamir’s painfully intense and equally fathomless gaze bore into me. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to bend me over the kitchen table or filet me like the deer out back. The latter, I was adamant against; the former, sounded more appealing each day I was with him.
He eventually stood and eased the sultry tension in the room. “After lunch, we can do some training if you’re interested.”
“I’d like that, thank you.” My words were rushed, making me feel like a rabbit in the presence of a wolf. I chided myself not to be so affected by him, but it was innate. My instincts told me to fear him, but I was starting to wonder if it wasn’t for the same reason I’d initially thought.
He was still dangerous to me but not in a lethal way. He had the power to derail my life. To turn on end everything I’d worked so hard for. Tamir wasn’t the type of man you had a crush on, dated, and married. A relationship with him would be life itself. He would become the air I breathed and my reason for waking each morning. That type of power was terrifying.
I didn’t know if I ever wanted to give that kind of control over me to another human being, but the longer I was around Tamir, the more I worried that I had no say in the matter. He was a force of nature. His effect on me wasn’t something I could moderate or filter. The only options were to prepare for the devastating effects or to run, and the latter no longer felt like an option. That was how I knew I’d already fallen into his orbit. The pull toward him was too great to resist. I didn’t want to run and risk never seeing him again. The only thing left to do was to prepare for the fall and pray it would be worth the long descent.
***
An hour later, we squared off outside the cabin, both layered in comfortable clothes that allowed movement but kept away the increasing chill in the air. We both did a round of warmup exercises, our breath puffing out in small clouds, and our footfalls echoing loudly beneath the canopy of trees.
“Our options are somewhat limited without the proper training pads, but we can still practice plenty of techniques. Let’s start with some simple punch defenses—just the motions with little force—more for muscle memory than simulation.”
Tamir rotated randomly through jabs, hooks, and uppercuts at a reasonable speed, allowing me to adjust to his attacks and produce the proper defense, whether it be a redirect of his strike or a block. Going through the motions was incredibly empowering even though it wouldn’t be the same as defending myself against a real attacker. I remembered all too well how hard it was to think clearly back in that alley when I’d been grabbed. The hope was that, if I practiced enough, the movements would become second nature, and I wouldn’t have to think about them. If a hand came toward my face, I would deflect it instinctually.
We segued into kick defenses, which often involved a built-in counterstrike. Feign to the side, block the kick, then flow directly into a punch to the face. Even practicing at a fraction of the speed, my muscles quickly grew tired from the exertion. A part of me wanted to call an end to the session, but I also hated to wimp out when Tamir was still going strong.
“Had enough for one day?” He smirked. Apparently, I hadn’t hidden my fatigue as well as I thought.
“It’s been a week since I’ve trained. I can tell I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t take long for the muscle to atrophy. If we practice a little each day, it’ll keep you from regressing in your training.”
“What about you? I hate for you to get soft while you’re out here with me,” I teased.
Tamir arched a brow. “Soft?”
“You know what I mean. Slow your reflexes or whatever.”
“At this point for me, it’s like riding a bike. Even a short absence doesn’t tend to affect me. But if you’re worried, you can always put me to the test. See if you can actually lay a finger on me in my softened state.” A challenge. He was suggesting we reversed our roles, and I attacked him for a change.