Luna: Thank you. I’m glad you’re there with him.
Since I’m not sure how to reply to that, I put the phone away and leave the bedroom in search of a certain someone.
The noises coming from the basement lead me down the stairs to find a shirtless Matteo in the gym.
He doesn’t stop when he sees me, but the corner of his mouth lifts.
With his hands in gloves and positioned by his face, he’s in a fighting stance in front of the heavy bag.
I sit on the workout bench, my pulse speeding up as I watch him. Every time he makes contact with the bag, a thundering crack fills the room. Sweat pours down his tense muscles, and right now, he strikes me as someone who’d be capable of taking out every single one of his enemies bare-handed.
I want that.
Badly.
I want to know what it feels like to be strong and powerful.
To be able to defend myself.
This need I feel isn’t based on fear, it’s built on a hunger to build a stronger me. It’s a gut feeling inside that believes it will somehow help me escape my gilded cage, or at the very least, make my life easier.
Once Matteo’s done hitting the bag, he kicks it. Low kick, high kick. Low kick, high kick. He does that several times before taking a short break, just to do it over again and again.
To say I’m mesmerized is an understatement.
I’ve always worked out, something my father insisted on to keep me healthy—his way of making sure I stay in shape to be marriageable—but I’ve never done anything as intense as this.
Watching Matteo now, and him and Zeno the other day, has started this fire, this hunger in me that hasn’t dissipated. I want to feel like that: invincible, powerful, knowing that no one could ever force me to do anything against my will.
When he’s finally finished, he takes off his gloves and tosses them to the floor before grabbing his towel to wipe off the sweat. Then he picks up his water bottle and drains half of it, his Adam’s apple moving in a way that shouldn’t be appealing, yet it is. The whole time his eyes are on me, like he’s quietly trying to figure out what my deal is. I probably look like I’m high on something with how inexplicably excited I am.
He straddles the workout bench opposite me and glances at me with such a heated expression, I feel its warmth humming throughout my body.
Before he can get a word out, I open my mouth. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”
Both of his eyebrows draw up as he takes another swig of his water. “Do you now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I hold up my hands as if that explains it all.
“That’s not good enough.” He brushes his hand through his damp hair, making sure to get it all out of his face.
Leaning forward, I scowl at him, trying to appear fierce. I need to convince him since there’s no one else I can ask, no one else I’d feel comfortable enough to ask. Considering I do feel secure enough with Matteo is something to revisit at another time. “Do I really need a reason?”
“Normally not, no, but I’m curious.”
I wrinkle my nose, some of the earlier excitement fading. “If you must know, I’ve wanted to learn how to fight ever since the incident with my mom, but my dad thought I was being ridiculous. Now all this crap happened, and I hate feeling like I can’t protect myself. Watching you and Zeno fight reawakened that desire of wanting to learn, I guess.”
What I don’t tell him is that I want to feel more confident, capable of doing things for myself, something that might help me escape not only my metaphorical cage at home, but also the cage in my brain. With each passing day away from my dad, one thing becomes crystal clear: he’s brainwashed me, to the point I didn’t even notice it anymore. Or maybe it was just easier to ignore. Did I know he was grooming me to marry me off for his own gain? Yes. But there was this little part of me that was still hoping he was doing it because he cared about me, and because he wanted to pick a man, a husband, who’d take good care of me.
Matteo stares at me without saying a word. If it wasn’t for him blinking every once in a while, I’d have said he’s a robot.
Getting up, he nods and says, “Okay.”
I shoot up too, my brain taking a minute to switch back to our conversation. “Okay?”