Learn to control it. I focused on his words, and braced my feet, holding one hand close and pivoted, planting my fist to the mat. The impact jolted up my arm and shook my core. The muscles pulled tighter and relaxed at the same time. I braced for more while letting it go all at once.
This was what I’d been missing. This was what barre couldn’t give me. This was the release I needed.
“Come on, Hanna. Picture it. Let it out.”
The faces blurred over the months. I stopped looking, praying they’d disappear from my mind. All but one.
Punch.
There’d been two men to capture Sofia and me. They’d snuck us out through the back, surprising us from behind, and the last thing I saw was Sofia’s wide eyes before a pinch in my arm took me down.
Punch.
I’d woken up, handcuffed to a hotel bed. My sister’s cries mixing with the slap of flesh from around the corner.
Punch. Punch.
He’d stood from the chair, a leer on his thin lips. Not even the dimples could soften the threat in his dark eyes. I’d never forget the way they looked at me as he strolled across the room, undoing his pants.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
“Good girl, Hanna. Harder.”
I’d never forget his hand ripping my dress—my underwear. I’d never forget the scream tearing from my throat or the slap of his hand against my cheek. I’d never forget the way his light hair fell over his forehead when he gripped my throat and licked my face.
“I like the way you scream,” he whispered, prying my legs apart and forcing himself inside.
Punch. Punch.
“Let it out, baby.”
I punched again. Harder and harder, screaming now like I had then.
I’d never forget the way the cuffs had dug into my wrists, almost as painful as the pain between my legs.
My vision blurred, and I kept punching. “I hate you. I hate you. I ha-hate y-you.”
I’d never forget his disgusting wink as he buckled his pants back up.
“The boss would be pissed to know I just took your sweet virginity, but I have to say, that tight pussy, bleeding all over my cock, was worth it. And what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right?”
I rolled over and threw up on the pillow beside me, forced to roll back when I was done, staring up at the blood trickling down my wrist, avoiding my sister crying in the bed next to me.
Punch, punch, punch, punch, punch.
An endless loop, each hit lifting the weight in the pit of my stomach. Each blow vibrated through me and relaxed a muscle that had been tight for almost a decade. My hits became sloppy, my body trembling from the sobs I hadn’t known I let out.
Before I stopped swinging, the mats dropped, and Daniel’s blue eyes swam before me. I hit his chest before he could wrap both arms around me and pull me down to his lap.
I dropped my head to his shoulder and let it out, shocked that I’d managed to shove so much into that box. I’d gone to therapy. I’d accepted what had happened. I’d done my best to move on, but Daniel was right. I had so much anger, and he’d been the only one to see it. The only one to let it free.
Clinging to him, I took deep breath after deep breath, calming down a little more each time. He gently pulled my head up off his shoulder and cradled my face in his palms, brushing my hair back that clung to my damp cheeks. I could only imagine what kind of mess I looked like. But it didn’t matter because Daniel looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.
“You’re wrong, Hanna. You are strong. The strongest woman I know. You may not have wanted to survive, but you did. Not only are you surviving, you’re thriving. You are so beautiful and strong, taking what life gave you and working with it. I’m so proud of you.” His thumb brushed away the stray tears still slipping free. “Sofia would be proud of you.”
In that moment, in his arms, in the safety only he could give me, nothing would stop the words from tumbling out.
“I love you.”
It was as if my words froze him. Nothing moved. Nothing changed. He stiffened, and after a moment, slowly lifted wary eyes to mine. No, not wary. Scared. Daniel looked more scared than I’d ever seen him, and it was so far from the look I’d ever imagined seeing. Dread sank like the Titanic to the pit of my stomach.
Hesitance, confusion, regret, a way out. Those were all things I’d imagined. On the best of times, I imagined my love returned. But never had I imagined he’d be scared.
Each muscle I’d just relaxed, tightened back up again, and I looked away, unable to take it anymore. “I’m sorry. Shit. I shouldn’t have—”