UNEDITED
Calla Henrik's family runs the best ATV business in town, and she's ready to take over the family business for the summer while her parents go on a much-needed vacation. She's ready to earn some money before she attends the University of A...
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Calla
Maddox looks exhausted; there are heavy purplish-blue half-moons under his eyes, and he's sluggish with each movement he makes. Luckily, we're only dealing with several six-year-olds today. It's a small number compared to the people at the session yesterday. They're also not as mature. Once they get going, they'll go around and around the same track for hours upon hours. They'll never become bored. The distracted minds of kids give me the benefit I didn't get last night: to talk to Maddox. He was asleep before I finished saying goodbye to the participants, and I never got a chance to talk to him.
When I saw the look on Maddox's face, an uneasy feeing spread through my stomach. I'm worried that punching Travis—who deserved a helluva lot more than a punch—has broken him. Scarred him. Maddox's actions were moral, but the act of violence traumatized him. If I was in his shoes, I would have shoved Travis into the pond and make him choke on mud. And then I would have shoved a stick up his ass and drained the gas from his dirt bike, leaving him to meander through the forest until he found his way back.
With my mind stuck on yesterday, I glance down at my bruised biceps. Five purplish-blue bruises sit just above my elbow on each arm. The most prominent ones are where his thumbs were. I've dealt with many shitty men in my life, but none of them have ever tried to pin me in place and force me to see reason like Travis did. And while the motion caught me off-guard, it wasn't what scared me. The look in his eyes scared me. The roughness of his voice. He sounded and looked like he had no soul, like he was hell-bent on forcing me to see reason. And, as much as I hate to admit it, he was too strong for me.
Shame bubbles up in my throat as I turn my back to the track. I stare out at the forest ahead of me, wondering why I feel any shame at all. Is it because I spoke up? Am I responsible for the way Travis reacted?
No.
I shake my head, and focus on a sudden influx of riders that have returned. Judging by the mud on their jerseys and dirt bikes, I'm guessing they rode Trail One around the base of Blue Grouse Mountain—it's known for its mud content. As I watch, I tell myself that I will not give in to the biased double standards of society; I will away the shame burning in my cheeks. Sometimes, I hate being a woman. If we stand up for ourselves or fight back, we're bitches. If we say or do nothing, we're submissive and weak. People judge every decision we make. Yesterday, I did nothing wrong. I stood up for Maddox because how people treat him is repulsive, and he deserves support. He's also a good, wholesome man.
It's difficult to erase the memory of what Travis did. My arms are sore. I can still feel the tingle from where he hit me. He was too strong for me to fight off. If the circumstances had been different... If I had been foolish enough to trust him to be a friend... I wonder what would have happened. I wonder what he'll do now that he knows where I stand with Maddox.
An unnerving shudder coaxes my spine.
My actions had good intentions. Yet things may be in jeopardy now. Travis fears Roman Kase, but that doesn't mean he won't tip someone off. If Roman finds out Maddox has been lying to him all summer... I can't imagine the consequences.
