A Poisonous Soul. (editing)

Chapter 1 (complete)

 Chapter One

“Help, someone help me!” I scream as I try breaking out of my attacker’s grasp. I gouge my nails into his arms at the same time he covers my mouth. Right before I open my mouth to bite his hand he releases me. “That was okay, but not great,” he stands back and addresses the class. I try calming the adrenaline coursing through my veins and slow my breathing. I bend over to rest my hands on my knees and take deep breaths. Even though I volunteered to be the ‘victim’ in my first self-defense class my body reacted like it was real. He says, “Notice how she screamed for help? That’s perfect, that’s what you want to do. She also scratched the heck out of me,” he raises his arm up so everyone could see the two little puncture holes bleeding down onto the floor. The class is laughing with him and he throws me a wink. He leans over and grabs a towel from one of the side chairs to clean his wound with. I automatically wince at the possible bacteria in that dirty towel getting into his open wound. I can’t help my slight tendencies towards germophobia due to my line of work. I catch my breath enough to stand upright and pay better attention now.

“As a victim you can’t expect someone to rescue you. This class is designed to help you protect yourself against people that try to hurt you. Now, does anyone have any ideas on what she could have done differently?” he asks the group. I try to focus on their answers but the marks I made on his skin are starting to bleed again. I pull my eyes off his forearm and take a look around the room. The class is being taught in a martial arts gym across from the hospital that I work in. The space is about forty feet by forty feet with the front of the room completely made up of the windows into the building. The rest of the walls are ‘decorated’ with punching bags, gloves, and other torture devices I don’t want to think about.

The older lady next to me nudges me and I look at her. She smiles and nods her head towards the instructor. I must have missed something. “What?” I ask. Again the whole group laughs at me. The instructor, I think his name is Don, repeats his question. “Do you feel up to another demonstration or would you like me to grab someone else?” he smiles at me and I can tell he chose me for a reason. Probably because I clawed the hell out of him. Just about all the young ladies in the room raise their hands offering their services to him. I make my way through the group amidst a few scowling women. I can see why the girls are interested; he is a very attractive man. I just don’t feel anything when I look at him.

I stand in front of him and put my hands on my hips, “I’m up for whatever you’ve got.” That makes him laugh and for the next half hour he proceeds to kick the shit out of me. I remain a good sport through it and keep a smile on my face. We learn moves to use against an opponent, moves to counteract an aggressive move towards us, and how to avoid conflict altogether. I am impressed with his technique and make a mental note to tell all my co-workers. As the class wraps up I chug a complementary bottle of amazing water. Most of the girlies have vacated the premises leaving Don and I alone. He strolls up to me, “What was your name again?” I hold out my hand and reply, “Sydney Jones, but I go by Syd.” He smiles, “You did great today, Syd. You didn’t cry when I threw you on the ground like the others did.” He leans against the wall next to me.

I smirk, “Thanks. I only had friends of the male persuasion growing up because girls don’t like me. I spent more time playing football than house.” He leans a little closer, “Really? They didn’t want to teach you how to defend yourself? Not that I’m complaining but I figured they would have taught you over the years.” I took notice of the shrinking space between us but I don’t step back. I copy his stance and lean against the wall too. “We were too busy rough-housing and checking out hot chicks,” I say. His demeanor changes subtly as he understands what I am spelling out. Inside I smile at my cleverness but I keep a serious expression on my face. This is a technique I have used over the years that usually works well. I don’t particularly like a lot of male attention and acting like I am interested in the opposite sex works every time. “Oh,” he mutters, “that must have been fun.” Now he looks around trying to find an excuse to leave the conversation. I give it to him, “Today’s class was great and I will be back for the next one.” I give him my genuine smile because I really did learn a lot from the class. He stuffs his hands in his pocket, as the relief is evident on his face, “Great! I look forward to it.” I put my mini backpack on my shoulder and make my exit. Too bad I am not interested.