On Riva’s face.
There are traces of her old self, but they are concealed by new stitches and bruises.
Quietly, Nazirah exits her room and tiptoes downstairs. She pauses, listening to the raucous sounds coming from the boys’ floor. She smiles a little, wishing she could join the fun.
There will be time for that later.
Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, Nazirah pulls open the door to the basement. She walks with determination down the hallway. Eventually, she turns into a room she has been in only once before, during the brief tour Nikolaus gave her first week here.
The workout room is old, musty, and reeks of sweat, but will suit Nazirah’s purpose just fine. There are the dummy she knows Cato likes to practice knife throwing on, the weights Taj has told her about, and even the mats that Lumi uses for stretching. Her friends have all made a concentrated effort to improve their combat skills. Now it’s Nazirah’s turn to catch up.
If she could find a way to actually hit something.
Nazirah walks past a rack of boxing gloves and some throwing knives. She sits down at a bench. She ties her sneakers and then reties them. No one else is here, because really, who would want to train on a Saturday night?
But solitude is exactly what Nazirah has been hoping for. She briefly considered asking Cato to help her train – she knows he would have eagerly volunteered. But this is one fear Nazirah must face alone.
“Animals.”
Nazirah wrinkles her nose at the sweaty rags and towels piled around her. She isn’t the tidiest person, but really, this is ridiculous. Nazirah has no idea how Lumi even walks through the door, the princess that she is.
Satisfied she won’t fall out of her shoes, Nazirah steps over a rag pile and stands under a small window high in the wall. She struggles with the latch, jumping a little and eventually reaching it on her tiptoes. Nazirah cracks the window open, hoping for wind or rain or hurricane to wash the rancid odors away.
Nazirah spots some protection tape lying on a nearby bench. She picks it up, attempts to tape her fingers like Cato has done for her countless times in class. Nazirah holds up one complete hand and scrutinizes it. It looks more like the hand of a mummy than anything else, but it will have to do.
Taping the other hand, Nazirah hums an Eridian melody. It’s off-beat and out of tune, but it fills the silence.
Nazirah does what she thinks is some preliminary stretching, trying to drag out warming up for as long as possible. Rolling her shoulders, Nazirah decides she’s as ready as she’s going to get.
Then the clapping starts, and her good mood flies right out the open window.
Adamek leans against the punching bag in the far corner of the room. He wears a white wife-beater that prominently displays both of his black tattoo sleeves in their entirety. His left shoulder is still bandaged. His face is slightly flushed from working out and a pair of boxing gloves hangs from his neck.
“That was quite the little show,” he says.
“I didn’t realize I had an audience.”
“I didn’t realize Grum was teaching recruits how to bandage opponents to death,” he shoots back. “It doesn’t seem very efficient.”
Nazirah flushes in anger, looking at her overly taped hands. Even from here she can see that his are done the right way. Her first instinct is to run and her eyes dart to the door. But she is no coward! Where is the Nazirah Nation who jumped off the cliffs of Rafu? Where is the Nazirah Nation who tried to beat up bullies twice her size? Where is that girl, who was once so fearless, and is now so scared and lost? And all because of this boy, who is probably expecting her to run anyway.
Nazirah is tired of running.
“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” she says. She meets his gaze evenly, cocking her head.
Adamek’s eyes darken. Two could play this game. “Yes, I would,” he says.
Adamek steps away from the punching bag, giving her full access to it. Nazirah straightens her shoulders in defiance and cautiously approaches it, keeping an eye on him the entire time. They haven’t been alone since the day she met him in the prison. She feels out of sorts in his presence, apart from the obvious reasons. He is always just there, just watching. Like he’s trying to figure out what makes her tick; like she’s his pet project.
Nazirah stands before the punching bag. She breathes deeply, zoning Adamek out, trying to remember the reason she came here in the first place. She can’t back down now. She can’t let Niko down. She has to figure out how to fight without freezing up. She has to figure out how to channel this guilt.
Hit it. Hit it. Hit it.
Her muscles lock. She sighs in frustration, resting her head against the bag and closing her eyes. She clenches her jaw, willing the images of Riva and Kasimir away. She opens her eyes, breathing hard. It’s just a bag, she thinks. It’s just a bag.
But suddenly, it’s not just a bag anymore. Nazirah imagines that it’s something entirely different … someone entirely different.
Just hit it.
And she does.
Her fist slams into the bag with a dull thud. It hurts her wrist and the bag barely moves an inch, but Nazirah wants to cry with joy. She hits it again, harder this time – and again and again. She feels a hand firmly grip her back, correcting her posture. And another, repositioning her arm. Nazirah whirls around, her heart pounding out of its ribcage.
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
Adamek is only a foot away. The gloves that were hanging around his neck are gone. He stares at the stitches above her eyebrow and at her bruised face. “I think you could use a few pointers,” he says.
“I don’t need your help!”
“I beg to differ,” he says. “The first rule, Nation, is to always know your enemy.”
“Oh, believe me, Morgen,” she says, laughing coldly, “that is not my problem.”
“So why have you been ballroom dancing with this bag for the past five minutes, when you know I’m standing right behind you?”
“You admit you’re my enemy?”
He shrugs. “You certainly seem to think so.”
“Yes, I certainly do!”
“You’re so tense, Nation.”
“Leave me alone.”
Adamek looks irate. He takes a determined step forward. Nazirah steps backward, past the bag, trying to put more space between them. “Why won’t you fight?” he asks.
Nazirah wasn’t expecting that. And she doesn’t want to go there. She takes another step backward, but he matches her.
“Why won’t you fight?” he asks again, more harshly. He is quickly becoming unhinged and Nazirah thinks she should have left when she had the chance. She takes another step backward, her back hitting the wall. There’s nowhere left to retreat. Adamek is just a few inches away now, eyes burning in anger. “Why won’t you fight?” he shouts. He slams his fists into the wall on both sides of her. She flinches, can see it written all over his face. He already knows why.
“Go away!” she yells.
“Fight back!” Adamek shoves her shoulders into the wall, lifting Nazirah up so he can look her in the eyes. Her feet dangle uselessly a foot off the ground. She struggles against him and he laughs. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that, princess.”
Nazirah slaps him with her left hand. Adamek growls, releases her shoulder and catching her hand in his. He pushes her entire arm back against the wall and Nazirah goes to slap him with her right hand. He anticipates the move this time, catching that one as well.
Nazirah seethes. She attempts to knee Adamek’s groin, but he presses his body up against hers, pinning her to the wall.
“I’m particularly fond of those,” he says, tracing the stitches above her eyebrow with his fingers. “So let’s not try that again.”
“Fuck off!”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“You’re a bastard!”