The Liverly

XVII

Asking Joffrey to train me may have been the single worst decision I ever made in my life. Can't use my left arm? That only discounts archery, not sword, daggers, or stakes (yes, I do mean sharpened, wooden stakes like from the movies). My aching body can attest to this insane level of training. I've been here less than a week, and he's already got me practicing every day for hours. I feel like I'm back in primary school. Except instead of having a kind teacher who helps you when you've stumbled and pushes you along, firmly, but gently, I have a madman. Joffrey seems determined to teach me how to fight with every known blade, how to be an expert with these, and how I do everything wrong. There is no "firm but gentle" with him; it's more like a drill sergeant.

"What are you doing?" Joffrey roars, stomping over to me and jerking the sword out of my hand. I immediately sag from the weightloss. "You don't wave the bloody sword like it's a lightsaber and hope it lops something off! You have to move your feet! Precision, Rose, precision!" He drops into a stance and proceeds to do a drill which he claims he's taught me, but I don't remember ever learning it.

"I'll precision you if you don't shut up," I grumble under my breath. Joffrey's head whips my way, and I step back to keep from being shadowed over.

"You want to repeat that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

I square my shoulders, wanting to take him on, but decide not to. I'd lose anyway, so what's the point? "Just stop yelling at me so much. And don't call me sweetheart!" I snap, snatching the sword out of his hand sending myself spinning around as I try to catch my balance. I spread my legs and hoist the sword then move slowly, trying to mimic how he was moving before.

"Good form," he grunts, grudgingly. I smirk.

"So why exactly are you having me learn all this? Seems pretty pointless. No one uses swords anymore––" with a glare I amend "––unless they're you. But seriously. People just use guns. Why use a sword and bow?"

He waves for me to stop, allowing me to take a breath of air and get a drink of water to cool me down. "Vampires heal abnormally fast, especially if they have just eaten. Blood fuels not only their healing process but their strength, though they are technically more powerful when they are starved than hungry. Anyway, that's not the point. Guns don't do what a sword can. Guns leave small bullet holes; swords chop off heads. There are two ways to kill a vampire: utter beheading or total destruction of their heart. Typically, that means ripping it out somehow or carving it out. The steak helps because it's such a large, blunt weapon that can damage so much at once. It's better for younger vampires that are sleeping than for the older ones."

He motions for me to begin again, and I lift the sword and shuffle around with it like I know what I'm doing (I totally don't). "So that's why you don't have any clubs? You can't just bash their brains in?"

"The head has to come completely off. There cannot be any connection with the brain."

"But why do I have to train with a sword? I'm not a hunter. I don't need to know how to do much other than stab the right spots."

"I figured it would be good to have you able to decently swing a blade, though I'm beginning to doubt you can."

"It weighs as much as I do! How do you expect me to swing this thing when it's this heavy?"

He strokes his stubbly chin. "We can swap to knives. Those shouldn't be too hard for you." He takes the sword from my hand again and hangs it up on the wall, bringing back two small knives (I think they're called daggers). "Try these."

I hold the two knives in my hands and shrug. I've seen people in movies and on TV throw knives before, and it looks easy, so I try to copy that. My target is desk. The first knife misses entirely and hits the fridge, clanging off of it and leaving a small dent. Before Joffrey can stop me, I fling the second one and narrowly miss hitting him in the head. He curses and ducks out of the way to avoid a knife in the face.

"Practice with sharp objects is over indefinitely," he says, collecting the knives. "We'll practice with hand-to-hand. Maybe you can learn that. Come over here," he says, pointing at the floor right in front of him.

I walk over and he positions himself in arms' reach of me. "Go for the eyes, nose, neck, and knee. Eyes will blind, neck will break, nose will bleed, and knees will cripple. If you can injure or remove any of those, you can get away." He beckons me forward and grabs my hand, placing it on his face. "Grab, scratch, or poke at the eyes with your knuckles or fingers. If you have nails, you can do more damage."

"Okay," I say, looking at my hands, my face twisting in disgust at the thought of clawing a person. That was not a mental image I wanted ever.

"Hit me," Joffrey says.

An eyebrow goes up. "You want me to actually hit you?"

He flashes a cocky grin. "I doubt you'll actually land a blow, but haven't you been wanting to punch me in the face for a few days now?"

"I think everyone would want to after spending a second with you." I frown but lash out at him anyway. He brushes my hand aside like it was a bug.

"Try again," he says.

I punch at him and he grabs my fist and holds it away before releasing it.

"Again."

"What about my arm? I thought I couldn't move too much or if re-injure myself."

Joffrey pauses. "That's a great point but I think it's better for you to learn to defend yourself than protect your shoulder at the moment. If it starts to hurt or of you get too into this, we'll stop. I definitely don't want you to permanently damage your shoulder."

I punch several more times, and he blocks. I grow frustrated, pissed even. I punch and try to claw at his face, and he blocks me with lottle effort with his arms. I punch his forearm, and he pushes me away.

"Again," he commands. "You're attacking like an animal."

"Why is this even important?" I yell, dropping my arm to my side. "I can't win against you. I can't win against any of you. You're stronger, faster, and smarter than me. I'm a wimpy little human. Nothing more than a sack of bones and meat. You're a trained hunter. Youcould probably crush me in a flipping second, and you want me to try and be able to hurt something supernaturally stronger than you? How is this even going to work?"

"Just do it, Rose," Joffrey yells back, getting in my space. "Do you want to get revenge or not? Do you care that a vampire killed your boyfriend? What about your sister? Do you give a crap about her? I guess not, because you're whining about how unfair life is—"

My hand leaps out and claw at him, my teeth gritted as I scream wordlessly at him. I kick him in the crotch and shove him down. "Don't you dare! Don't you ever dare say that!" I scream.

Joffrey winces and slowly gets to his feet. "That was good, Rose. Take five while I go sit for a bit." He limps over to the bed and falls on it face-first and grunts when he hits.

I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do. "Sorry?" I venture.

Joffrey gives me a thumbs up but doesn't roll over to look at me.