The Liverly

XVIII

"We're going to try this again, but a little differently." Joffrey now has a pillow taped to his body to avoid yet another "accident" like before. "I'm going to start slowly, and as your moves get better, I will speed up. Hopefully by augmenting your reflexes gradually, you might be able to take care of yourself against people like me a little better. Though if you pull a stunt like you did earlier you'll do fine," he mutters the last bit under his breath.

He positions me so I'm standing straight. "I'm going to grab your arm, and I want you to hit my nose." He reaches and grabs my arm in a vice grip, and I move to punch him in the face, but he grabs my fist and rolls his eyes. Letting go of my fist, he says, "Not like that at all. You just learned why not to punch people in the face. Never hit with your fist or knuckles. You'll cause more damage to yourself, and the point of this is to hurt me." He grabs my arm, palm facing forward and pulls my hand up so my palm is flat against the underside of his nose.

"Always hit with your palm out. Your wrist is stronger, and you'll have a greater impact and break or shatter a person's nose. Try it again, but this time like I just showed you." He reaches for my arm again as though to halt my progress, and I move as quickly as I can and slam the hardest part of my palm against arm that blocks his face. Dropping his arm, Joffrey smiles, a genuine smile. "Good," he says. His smile vanishes, replaced with determination. "Do it again."

Two hours later and one defensive move more, I'm sprawled out on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Who would have thought that moving around even that little bit would be so exhausting. I didn't jump around like a hooligan or do any kind of ninja or karate moves. I just practiced smacking Joffrey in the face and kneeing him in the groin. Hardly difficult, now that I think about it, but my arms and legs are sore.

An ice pack lands next to me, the coolness feels pleasant against my skin.

"Put that on your left shoulder," says Joffrey. "It'll help reduce any swelling."

"Why do you do this?" I ask while I lay on my back, ice pack laying on my shoulder. The shoulder doesn't hurt any, but I guess it can still swell without pain? Why knows. I'm not a doctor, and I highly doubt Joffrey is either.

"Someone has to," he says. "How's your neck?"

I touch that spot on my neck. It's been pain-free since everything happened. Pain clutches my heart and wrenches. Tears cluster in my eyes, and I blink them away. He's gone and he won't come back. I can't do anything to change that. I hope Ms. Husby and Tyrell are okay. "Hey, is there a way I can check to see if someone is safe?"

"You would want to write a letter. I would post it for you," he says, knowing exactly why I ask. "How is your neck?"

"Huh?" I didn't even realize I hadn't answered his question. "It's fine. No pain or weird sensations at all."

He grunts and pulls the chair out at the desk. "Come sit. I'll get you some paper." He crouches down and opens a few drawers until he finds the one with the writing paper in it. I come and sit down beside him and he SYNONYM FOR FEROCIOUS hands the paper to me along with an old pen. He groans as he stands up, knees popping, and leaves the room.

I stare at the blank paper in front of me, so full of possibilities. So full of emptiness. I start with a platitude. A simple, dear so-and-sl, how have you been? I scratch through the lines and try again. The paper shifts under my positioning, and I frown. I've never written without having my left hand steady the paper for me before. This would not be easy.

I start with an apology for leaving so quickly. I try to explain as easily and in the least-vampirery way I can about what happened to Caleb, that there was a horrible man who attacked us, and I was taken away but was safe now but not allowed to go back yet. I pause at that. Will I ever go back? Can I do that? I set the pen down and look out the window, hand holding up my chin.