Seth

“Again,” I order, and Brooke shifts her gaze from the punching bag to me before repeating the exercise.

Her dedication to our training sessions is invigorating; she hasn’t requested a day off, even when she complained of sore muscles. She strives for perfection in every punch, every move. Repeating it as many times as necessary, asking me to demonstrate again whenever she feels she’s not quite there and could improve.

“Now alternate: two punches, a right hook, and a kick,” I instruct while continuing to observe her progress. She does as I ask, and I notice a thin layer of sweat already forming on her temples.

I thought that due to her nighttime activities with Raffi and Kyle, she might skip today’s class, but as soon as she got off work, she changed and quickly found me at the gym, at the same time every day.

There was no way I wouldn’t know what happened between them. Besides all of us sharing the same house, when all the noises finally quieted and I thought it was safe to leave my room to run off the tension in my limbs, I checked my phone and saw that the name of the house group had been changed once again. I didn’t even need to open it to know who couldn’t wait until morning to start bothering me. It could only have been Rafael, as the new name is: Seth and the ones who slept with B.

I didn’t resent them, not even the jokes. If I were in their positions, I’d probably do the same, maybe even be more unbearable.

My gaze returns to the blonde, who continues to attack the punching bag as if it were an opponent. She’s beautiful, inside and out. Brooke has a huge heart, always ready to help others and welcome those in need. Even though she didn’t know the circumstances of my upbringing, she never judged why I spent my free time in Palo Alto with Kyle instead of going back to Nevada whenever I was on leave from the Marines.

During each mission in the Middle East, the only letters I received were hers, and they are still kept in a metal box in my closet. The content of the letters wasn’t the most important part, but the fact that she remembered me was priceless.

I could never corrupt her light with my darkness. That was one of the few certainties I had in life.

“It’s no fun hitting the punching bag; in real life, my opponent wouldn’t just stand there,” she complains, turning to me. Her deep breaths from the exercise make her chest rise and fall more than usual.

“Is that your way of asking to practice with me?”

Her response is a shrug, accompanied by a smile.

“Only if you’re going to tell me yes.”

“The only day you’ll beat me is the day I let you, Little Bee.” I position myself in front of her. “Ready?”

She doesn’t waste any time answering with words and charges at me, delivering two punches to my face before crouching down to try to hit my abdomen. I dodge all of them but appreciate her strategy.

I let her attack me for a few more moves, waiting for her to give me an opening to counterattack. After two kicks and a punch, there it is. She continues to drop her guard as she gets lost in her strikes. I turn my face, twist my body, and grab the wrist that was aimed at me. My grip is firm, not to hurt her, of course, but to restrict her movements and get behind her, with her arm immobilized between us.

She freezes, her muscles tensing, hesitating, just like she has done the last few times.

“You always do this,” she complains, breathing heavily.

“And I’ll keep doing it until it becomes natural for you to find a way out,” I respond.

“I can only give you slaps that wouldn’t even tickle,” she says, demonstrating by slapping my shoulder.

“Stop thinking about what you don’t have,” I instruct. “I’m holding one arm; you still have the rest of your body.”

“I can’t get out, Seth.”

She tries to pull her arm, but every time she moves it, it hurts more, which is the point of this move.

“You can. I’ve already taught you how to do it, which is why it’s so important that we practice. It has to be an automatic response. In a risky situation.” I block the images my brain conjures of the blonde being attacked by some random man; it makes my blood boil. “You have moments to react; you need to adapt what you’ve learned to the moment.”

“You talk as if it’s easy.”

She tries to turn her face to look at me, but the position she’s in prevents it.

“Stop trying to make me give you the answer; use that head of yours.”

Apparently, my words give her an idea, as she does exactly what I said. Brooke throws her head back forcefully, making me take a step back. It might have worked if I had been surprised and let go of her arm, but that wasn’t the case.

When she hisses in pain, I almost let go, but she’s moving, taking advantage of the space created to spin around and face me. Her arm is still twisted, but now she can face her opponent, which gives her back some of the advantage. She fully takes advantage of this when, with her other hand, she grabs mine and quickly pushes both arms down, freeing herself.

“Not what I had in mind, but you earned points for creativity,” I praise.

“I adapted,” she shrugs with a mischievous smile.

“Let’s go again, then.”

After showing her once more how to get out, we reenact that scenario three more times until her response is immediate and the one that causes the most damage to the opponent while keeping her safe. I know that in real life, her adrenaline might paralyze her, and I really hope she never has to use any of what she’s learned, but the more she practices, the more her brain will associate the fight response with moments of danger.

“Well done, but there’s no point in spending the whole day on this. We have one more hour, and I want to teach you how to get free when someone is trying to choke you. This might be one of the biggest dangers because once the person is unconscious, they’re vulnerable,” I say, trying my best to keep my voice steady, but I see Brooke shiver before nodding.

“Alright, let’s go,” she says, shaking her arms as if trying to push away whatever her mind conjured up upon hearing my words. I have a similar feeling, but my desire is to take a hot bath to wash away the oily sensation that seems to cover my skin while trying to keep my childhood memories locked away in a corner of my mind.

“Brooke,” I call her attention as I approach. “In a scenario like this, you can’t hesitate; every second counts, since if someone is choking you, you have about ten seconds before losing consciousness.”

Her eyes widen.

“That quickly?”

“Unfortunately.” I crack my neck from side to side. “Now, Abelhinha, try to strangle me,” I say with a smile.

The difference of nearly 20 centimeters between us gives me an advantage when her delicate hands wrap around my neck. Her touch is like an electric current, awakening my senses and erasing the bad feeling that threatened to overwhelm me minutes ago.

“Always look for the weak spot and exploit it,” I explain, moving my dominant leg back before lowering my head in a fluid motion, freeing myself from her grip by passing through her thumbs and slipping under one of her arms.

“I’m all weak spots,” she complains with a grimace, and she has no idea how right she is, but not in the way she imagines.

“Don’t start, you’ll see that even I can’t hold you. What’s stronger, a body or two thumbs?”

She smiles.

“A body.”

“Exactly, the idea is for you to use your whole body in the movement against the opponent’s weakest part.”

“Why can’t I just kick them in the groin if it’s a man?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Because that’s not a guarantee. You have ten seconds. If you miss or they’re under the influence of something, you waste precious time and make them even more angry.”

“Your rationality annoys me.”

“I know,” I reply before showing her the movements again until she feels confident she knows what to do.

I close my hands around her slender neck, the soft and warm skin under my fingers is a trigger for my imagination, replacing the gym around us with my room and a much more pleasurable moment than a class. Brooke’s mouth opens in a sigh that turns into a smile; her reaction lasts only an instant, and I’m not sure if it was real or still part of the illusion created by my mind, but the next second, she’s out of my grip.

“I did it,” she celebrates.

“Let’s go again,” she requests, coming closer.

We train various scenarios: an attacker from behind, from the front, or against a wall, countless times.

“If your opponent manages to knock you down and is trying to choke you on the ground...”

“I’m screwed and dead,” she interrupts.

“No, there’s always a way to get free. They will have an advantage, but it’s not that difficult,” I explain as I approach, holding her shoulders, swinging my leg behind hers, and bringing her down onto the mat.

I end up sitting on top of her, one leg on each side, and place my hands back on her neck. I try not to think about and acknowledge all the points where our bodies touch; instead, I focus on instructing her.

“Your instinct right now is to push me away, but what you need to do is: bring your elbows close to your body to prevent me from getting further on top of you. Your right hand should go under my left arm and grab my right wrist.” As I instruct her, she follows my directions. “Your left arm should hold my right, preventing me from pulling it back. Now, your left leg goes over my right leg while you lift the other leg. That’s it. Now, without letting go of my arm, push your hips up.”

She performs the move and reverses our positions, ending up on top and between my legs.

“It’s a lot to remember, but it’s easier than it seems,” she says, with clear satisfaction and pride in her voice.

I reverse our positions to the starting point.

“And how much do you remember?” I ask, placing my hands at the base of her neck. Our eyes meet, and I get lost in the green of her eyes. Many would probably describe them as precious stones, perhaps emeralds, but they always remind me of spring when all nature blooms and is reborn.

I don’t know how long we stare at each other, but I feel my senses becoming increasingly aware of our proximity, her floral perfume mixed with the salty scent of sweat, the warmth of her skin. “I need to pull away,” I mentally scold myself.

“Are you tired, or don’t you remember anything?” Brooke blinks and performs the move with little difficulty.

“You seemed distracted; I didn’t think it was right to interrupt your musings, Seth.”

“You’re mistaken; I was giving you the opportunity to act in your own time,” I lie. I cross my legs over her butt and turn my body, putting her back on the mat. “Try not to take too long this time, Brooke.”

She repeats the move with even more ease and sits on my abdomen, leaning in until her face is inches from mine.

“Better now?” she asks, cheekily.

“Much better,” my voice comes out rougher than usual. Her eyes drop from mine to my mouth, and she wets her lips with her tongue. I follow the movement with my full attention.

“What else do you have to teach me?” The blonde meets my gaze again and moves our faces closer.

“NO!” shouts the voice in my head, just in time for me to turn my face away. For a moment, I forgot who I am, what I am. The certainty I have is that if I give in to my desires, I’ll never be able to stop, to turn away. All I need is to taste her once to throw all my convictions out the window and break the promise I made to never corrupt her.

Brooke pulls back and lifts her gaze.

“Sorry, I… it doesn’t matter…” she stammers. “Seth, I misunderstood, I thought…”

“It’s my fault,” I say, standing up. “You didn’t misunderstand, Brooke; we just can’t. I can’t,” I emphasize.

The rejection in her eyes turns to hurt, and if she had stabbed me in the stomach, it would hurt less, I know from experience. I’m hurting her, and that’s everything I didn’t want.

“Is it because of what happened between me, Kyle, and Raffi? Because I’m with them too? Do you think I’m…” Her voice hardens, along with her posture, but the hurt in her expression intensifies.

I raise my hand, stopping her from finishing that sentence and referring to herself in a derogatory way, as I think she’s about to do.

“No, that would never be a problem. You need to believe me; not in a million years could I think anything bad about you, Abelhinha.”

“So, you just don’t like me that way; it’s okay. It won’t happen again,” she says, heading toward the door.

“You’re not the problem; I am.” I hold her wrist; she needs to hear me, to understand. “I’m not good for you,” I declare, resigned.

“That’s not true, Seth,” she says.

I can’t focus on what she’s saying as the memory of the day she moved in fills my mind, as if I needed a reminder of my reasons.

“I was sitting on the sand, with the sun warming my skin, while my eyes never left her, Brooke braving the waves, and I was completely mesmerized by her. The last 48 hours had completely turned her life upside down.

Her relationship had ended, she had to move, and all her future plans had changed without warning, but there she was: free, determined, and smiling. Her lightness was captivating.

After four waves, she came out of the water, walking with firm steps and an exuberant smile towards me, until she sat beside me and asked if it was time to go back, but all her body language indicated that she wanted nothing more than to stay in the sea, so I answered:

“We’ll stay as long as you want.”

Her cold arms, due to the time in the water, wrapped around my shoulders quickly as she thanked me and ran back to the sea.”

“I’m not saying this to hurt you, but I really can’t, Brooke,” I say, releasing her arm, and she quickly leaves the gym.

How could I explain that she’s the beacon in the stormy sea that is my existence?

I walk to the shelf in the corner of the room and grab my headphones. Agitation courses through my muscles, my heart seems to pump rage instead of blood. I return to the punching bag Brooke was using and throw the first punch as “Monster” by Skillet starts playing. “Very fitting,” I think.

“My secret side, I’ll never let you see
I keep it hidden, but I can’t control it”

I pound the canvas continuously, feeling the impact reverberate through my arms.

“So stay away from me, the beast is horrid
I feel the rage and I can’t bear it”

I feel the skin tearing, blood dripping from the knuckles of my hands, and realize I didn’t put on the gloves. I try to find the part of me that cares, but all I can see is Brooke’s hurt expression. The rejection on her face.

“I must confess that I feel like a monster
I hate what I’ve become, the nightmare’s just begun”

I hate having hurt her, but it’s temporary; Brooke will get over it. She has Kyle and Raffi to play that role, and there are no people more deserving of her affection and care than my brothers.

***
I’m sitting in the living room, staring at the paused video game screen for a while, sipping my second dose of whiskey, which seems to be the only way to calm the beast inside me today, when Kyle and Raffi join me.

I haven’t seen Brooke for the rest of the day. I’m not sure which one of us is avoiding the other, but I plan to give her all the space she needs.

“Are you going to play or just sulk in the corner?” Martinez asks, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m not sulking.”

“Then tell that to your face,” he retorts.

“In case you missed it, brother, I’m drinking. You can’t do both at the same time.”

“There’s controversy there,” he says, sitting down and grabbing one of the controllers from the coffee table.

“Brooke said she has work stuff to handle because of the final piece next week, so she’s not coming down,” Kyle comments.

“It’s funny how things have changed recently, even though the only change is that Brooke lives here now,” Raffi says, not taking his eyes off the screen as he sets up the game.

“That’s not the only change,” I add.

“Seth is right. We’re all drawn to her, like planets orbiting the sun. Even the dogs haven’t escaped it,” Kyle says, indicating the floor where the three pets used to be sleeping but are now missing, meaning they’re in her room.

“Everyone except the youngest, right?” Raffi teases.

“I’d never touch her,” I admit, standing up and finishing my drink in one gulp.

“Why not?” Kyle asks.

“Don’t like her?” Raffi inquires at the same time.

“Because I love her,” I confess, leaving the room and closing the door.