Page 30 of Encounter

The area wasn’t as tidy as the rest, even the smell was a bit unpleasant, but I clenched my teeth and searched in the large plastic box with a ton of clothes for something that was at least somewhat close to my size. The smallest t-shirt I found was pretty baggy on me, and I had to tie the sweats to keep them from falling off—but I managed.

Suppressing the cold tremors from the unheated room, I walked back into the main area, where Chast waited for me, leaning against the wall next to the area with the boxing bags.

“Have you ever done...anyphysical activity?” he asked me dubiously when I approached.

“I... used to go running, for a while,” I said. I used to enjoy it, too. Unfortunately, it was only one of my fruitless attempts at replacing myothercoping mechanism. And it helped for a while, it did. I hadn’t cut for a few months then. But after that, too many things came together, and I caved. I didn’t go for a run after that—it only reminded me of my failure, and that there was nothing else that could make me feel relieved other than the one thing I felt so guilty about.

“Sure, good.” Chast shrugged, though he didn’t seem too impressed. “Runnin’s good. Clears your head. Gets pretty easy fast, too. Have you ever been in a fight?”

A tug in my chest made me self-conscious about the fading bruise under my eye. I covered it with makeup, but I still worried Chast would somehowknow. People like him, men like him—like Blake—seemed to be able to find the weak one in the herd easily. Home in on the ones who they knew wouldn’t fight back. “No,” I finally answered, but the delay probably didn’t make it sound more believable.

“So, what you’re sayin’ is you don’t fight back. Why’s that?” Like I expected, he was reading me clearly, burning his eyes into me while I studied the traces of sand from the boxing bags on the floor.

What a stupid question. I mean, look at me.

“Wouldn’t that just irritate the attacker more...” I mumbled, more like a statement rather than a question. “Make it worse?”

The way he pursed his lips and arched one of his brows when he looked at me made me nervous. He must have been thinking how pathetic and sad I was. Maybe he even regretted giving me a chance.

“You never know what’ll happen till you try. Maybe you would get into the heat of the fight and... discover somethin’ in you.” He shrugged. I could clearly sense in his voice he knew that possibility wasn’t very likely. Relaxing his arms with a sigh, he made a step toward the bag. “C'mere. Get the gloves, and let’s try to give it a few blows.”

Even with my mood a little low and fluctuating motivation, I obliged, putting the thick boxing gloves on. They smelled funny. Not to mention they were kind of sticky on the inside.

Chast positioned himself behind the bag and held it for me.

Why is he doing this? What does he get in return? Amusement? A pretty pathetic one, at that.

“Alright. Try to give it a few good punches. I wanna see what we’re workin’ with.”

I had never punched anything in my life. With hesitance, I put my arms up into the typical punching position but only seconds later, Chast already spotted things I was doing wrong. “Straighten your back,” he ordered, pointing his fingers.

I must look hopeless.

“You need to hit the bag with the knuckles at a distance. Step away a little, get out of the punching range a bit. That's it.” Trying to follow his instructions, I seemed to be doing well, though I hadn’t really done anything yet. Even Chast sounded... surprisingly helpful and calm. “You wanna land your palm down, knuckles on the bag, otherwise you strain your wrist. Straight turn, straight knuckles in. Forget the footwork for now, just focus on hittin’ the thing.”

Don’t get overwhelmed. Don’t overthink it, Galen.

Throwing out a random punch, I got startled by the sound of my fist hitting the bag. Even I knew the attempt was pretty pathetic, and Chast’s mocking grimace showed it too, but it stung, nonetheless.

“That can’t be all you can do, come on,” he sounded frustrated as he said it.

Fighting to not let my doubts draw even more strength out of my arms, I tightened my muscles and took in a deep breath, narrowing my eyes before trying another punch.

When he stepped from behind the bag, I instinctively moved away. Chast ignored my startled reaction and got behind me, wrapping his arm around my wrist and lifting it.

“When you throw a punch, the opposite hand has to stay high. Like it's glued to your cheek.” I felt his breath in my hair and on my neck but tried to keep focused. “Try to get some movement,” he said as he walked back, holding the bag again while he peeked at me from behind.

“O-Okay.”

“Do a simple combo. Jab, cross. Nice and easy. Throw a punch with your right hand, then cross, then that'll set up the momentum for the left hook.”

Wow, he really knows what he’s talking about.

When the flashes of the way he took care of those men came to me, I briefly closed my eyes before giving it another shot. I had to imagine the bag was the man who was so quick to threaten and torture me. I tried to do the three seamless punches, but on the second one, my wrist wobbled, and my hand slipped to the side.

“Shit, do you wanna break your hand?!” Chast growled. “Knuckles on the bag. Keep control of your wrist, copy?”

There it is. He’s starting to get frustrated with me. I’m trying, but I can’t punch a damn thing.

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