Page 69 of The Quiet Witness

His answering smirk said it all.

But… she did miss it. Something had changed. Almost as if both of them waved a white flag during training. Choosing to sheathe the sharp swords that were their tongues in favor of education. And after, they sometimes forgot to sharpen those blades. While the occasional threat was still flung throughout the room. The tension had died down to embers.

He tilted his head, assessing her. “Let’s hop over to Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.”

So nonchalant. While he knew damn well it set her heart racing, and not for any good reasons. Such close contact on the floor, tangled in those positions. The perfect recipe for a full-blown panic attack.

Even the mere mention of it had fear creeping along her mind’s edge.

His voice dragged her out of the din of her racing thoughts. “I thought you wanted to learn how to defend yourself.” He spread his hands, offering it to her. “This is the way.”

“I did.”

“Then why the fuss?”

He knew why. But he just had to tempt it out of her.

“I wouldn’t be able to…” She trailed off. Her voice disappearing together with the last remnants of her confidence. Escape.

She couldn’t get the word out. Her breath hitched, her lungs constricting.

“Able to what?”

It wasn’t only the past. It was… Lucien. In each of their sessions it was hammered into her heart, her brain once more. It wasn’t just man against woman and the unfairness existing there. Her teacher was skilled, an expert. Every session pushed her to go harder, to bypass her comfort zones. In the silly, stupid hope that someday she could rise up to his level.

A laughable thought. But if she didn’t hold on to it…

And aside from that. Being pressed into the floor beneath him, what if… what if he didn’t stop, didn’t let go when she asked him.

He crossed his arms in front of him, taking to leaning against the rack of weights. “In real life, over ninety percent of fights end up on the cold cobblestones. Women end up in exactly the same positions that trigger your panic attacks.” She took a step back, shaking her head. “Kate, if you don’t work on the worst of your fears… what use does it even have?”

He was right, she knew he was right. And yet…

“Trust is earned, not given.” He tilted his head at her, no smirk to be found. Nothing but genuine earnest on his face. “Haven’t I deserved a little trust?”

Never let fear hold yourself back. On Christmas eve, she’d chosen to stand up to whoever stepped down those stairs. Had promised herself then and there. Not again, not ever. A tiny voice within her whispered that he would stop when asked. Again.

Kate punched her hands together, swallowing past the brick lodged in her throat. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

This should be fun.

***

They had gone through a range of different motions, the names of which flew right over her head. There were more important things at hand, like pushing down the panic that flared during every single touch. It wasn’t just knees brushing. No. Skin glided over skin, her ragged breath mingling with the calm of his as he guided her through each of the steps.

Kate could feel it, the coiling in her body, the stiffness in her shoulders. She knew Lucien felt it too.

“You good?” It was the third time he asked.

Her mind screamed at her to say no. Get off. But backing down… No.

So she nodded each time. Fine. She was fine.

Then it happened. As if on cue, during a move called the mount. Lucien sat on top of her, legs straddled across her abdomen, his weight pressing down on her. She knew he kept it to a minimum of pressure. But her heart did not believe it.

It was simply too much. Her breath hitched, every fiber within telling her to shove him off, to scream out. It drowned out his instructions, voice fading to a whisper until all she could hear was her own pulse. Ice-raw fingers squeezed around her neck. Tighter and tighter. The white walls vanished from view. In their stead, peeling yellow walls surrounded her. Smaller. She was so much smaller.

“Off.” She squeaked. Only one word. But it carried so much…