Page 68 of Lightness In My Dark

FINN

Wren’s nightmares persisted with her, winding up in my bed. I had returned to work, calling Cole to check in. She remained in her room all day, every day, refusing food until I came home and made sure she ate. Her body sagged like a wet blanket, eyes void of emotion, while she scooped food into her mouth and then claimed to be full. Afterward, she would return to her bedroom. Over the weekend, I worked at home and tried to get Wren to join me for a movie, but she refused.

A week of her weakening from what Conner did to her. A week of Wren slipping away from life, burying deeper into oblivion, the only way she assumed would minimize the pain. I couldn’t deal with it anymore and allow her to hide her fears and pain in silence. She deserved better. A push to incite other emotions.

When I came home from work on Monday, I went straight to her room to find her lying on the bed. From her dresser, I took out a pair of sweats and tossed them on the bed.

“Put those on and meet me downstairs.”

Wren didn’t move, so I repeated it with the same response. I lifted her by the arms to get her out of bed as she tried to push me away.

“What’s wrong with you? Leave me alone.”

“No!” Our faces were a few inches apart. “You don’t get to lie around and feel sorry for yourself. You’re going to get your ass up, put the sweats on, and meet me downstairs. Do you understand?”

She scowled, trying to worm her way out of my arms, but I gripped tighter.

“Let me go, Finn!”

My lips settled by her ear as I whispered, “Not until you agree to get dressed and come with me.” She continued her battle. “Please.” This calmed her fight.

I let go and left, praying she would join me. As much as I wanted to force her downstairs, I waited for her to come on her own, which she did. In a warm coat and wearing a helmet, I cruised to the gym and parked in front of it.

Inside, the lights were on, but it was eerily quiet. Wren stood by the door, looking down at her feet. I nudged her over to the punching bag.

While I wrapped her hands and put on the gloves, I said, “We have the place to ourselves for an hour. I paid for today, Wednesday, and Friday to work out.”

Wren rested by the wall. “I’m tired. I don’t want to work out.”

“You don’t want to do anything.” I prodded her toward the bag and stood next to it. “Take a punch.”

Her arms hung at her sides, ignoring me. Behind her, I lifted her arm and punched into the bag. When I released, her arm fell to the side.

This time, I pushed her into the bag so she would have to protect herself or dodge a hit.

Wren spun and yelled, “Knock it off, Finn!”

Anger rose. With anger, there’s fight, and with fight, there’s no giving up. I know this. I lived it. This is how I dealt with my past. I hoped anger would work for Wren.

She stood in front of the bag with folded arms, so I shoved it toward her and knocked her off balance.

She recovered and yelled, “Stop!”

“Then fucking hit the bag.”

“No! I want to go home.”

I shoved the bag at her, and this time she moved to the side. I kept repeating by prodding her toward the bag, shoving, and using her arm to strike. Stubborn as all hell, she wouldn’t budge.

I slammed my fists into the bag. One, two, three, four, held it, and said in a low voice, “I can’t believe how weak you are.”

Her eyes shot to mine and her body tensed. “You don’t know me!”

My arm circled around, holding the bag close to me. “Obviously, otherwise you’d be punching this bag as if it’s Conner’s face. Fighting him as he grabbed your breasts—”

Her punch cut off my words.

“His hands trailing down your body, fingers,”—another smack to the bag. Her face was wet from tears. “His knife cutting into your skin.” Two more hits. My words hurt her, but I got the reaction I wanted, so I went on.

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