Drawn (5 page)

I roll my eyes at him, just as my father comes over beaming, slapping Damien on the back like they’re buddies. Well, I’m glad he’s got someone to be proud of.

Fuck this. I get up and start to leave
. My pride is hurt and I’m angry that I’m probably not going out next Thursday. My father wanted proof that I could handle myself, not proof that I could hit the ground gracefully. Although, I didn’t even manage to do that.

As I head toward the door, I shake my head. Finally I was going to go out and behave like a normal uni student, and
Damien fucking… - I don’t even know his last name; is messing with my life.

I hear my father call after me, but I just keep going. I want out of here. 

“Hey Henrietta, wait up!” I hear from behind me as I start to walk home.

“Just go away
Damien, you’ve embarrassed me enough lately. I don’t need you to rub it in,” I call back.

“Come on. You can’t get the shits with me for dropping you. It was just training,” he points out, as he catches up to me.

“No. It wasn’t just training for me. I had to prove I could handle myself so he’d let me out next Thursday night. This is the first time that I’ve been invited out and have actually been old enough to go! Now, because of you, I get to be Nigel No Friends at home alone AGAIN! I’m sick of it. I just want to go and be normal. Doesn’t anyone get that?”

His brow furrows as he watches me rave on. “Hang on. Back up a bit. You were supposed to prove you could hold your own in an advanced class so you could go out
with your friends?” he clarifies.

“Yes. He doesn’t think I can take care of myself. He’s over protective
,” I explain.

“Yeah, but most guys aren’t going to be fourth dan, like I am. You’d beat a regular guy hands down.”

“Try telling him that.”

“Come with me,” he says, grabbing a hold of my hand and leading me back into the gym.

Admittedly, I notice the hand hold - a lot. I want to pull my hand away, the heat of his body is like an electrical charge racing up my arm. But I don’t want to make this any stranger than it already is, so I keep holding on, and when he releases my hand as we enter the dojo, my hand feels horribly empty.

“Wait here,” he instructs
, and I nod, interested in what he’s planning.

I stand by the door and watch as he jogs toward my father and has a quiet conversation with him. All I can see are a few glances in my direction as my father listens to
Damien, his hands folded over his chest.

The conversation ends with a nod from my father who then looks at me and beckons me with a tilt of his head.

As I approach, I look at Damien, hoping to see some sort of explanation on his face, but his features are completely impassive. So I’m left wondering what was said.

“You can go
next Thursday,” my father informs me.

“Really?” I squeal, feeling like a little girl
, who is finally allowed to go on a sleepover.

“On one condition. You continue to train.
Damien will be your Sensei. He’s obviously more capable of teaching you than I am.”

“What?!” I spit out. “No! That’s not ok Dad!”

“Take it or leave Henrietta. It’s all I have to offer.” With that he turns and strides off, but pauses, turning back to me and saying, “Oh, and Henrietta. I want you training indefinitely. If you want your mother and me to help support you until you finish uni, I suggest you fulfil this one wish for me.”

“But…” I start, but he’s moved off, leaving me with my mouth open and
Damien looking impressed with himself.

“Don’t look so happy with yourself.” I tell him.

“What?” he asks looking innocent.

“I’m really not sure…” I say, shaking my head as I wonder exactly what his role is in all this.

“Hey, at least you get to go out next week. In the meantime, I’ll be picking you up tomorrow morning at six. Be ready.”

“I’ll just meet you here,” I respond, trying to think of jobs I can apply for so I can support myself and get out of this.

“I’ll pick you up,” he insists, ensuring he has the last word by abruptly turning and walking off.

Mumbling under my breath, I pick up my bag and head outside to walk home. Even though it’s almost six o’clock, the sun is still shining brightly, the weather still warm.

Removing my water bottle from my bag, I take a cooling drink as I trudge along in the gravel along the side of the road. There’s no actual footpath here as it’s mainly an industrial area, but once I make it to the end of the road, it will all become residential again.

Kicking up a cloud of dirt, a brand new, dark grey metallic, Subaru XV stops in front of me.

“Why are you walking on the side of a busy road?” Damien asks through the passenger window as I approach.

“Going home,” I state obviously.

“Don’t you drive?”

“Well no, but I live two blocks away. It’s not far.”

“Get in.” I’d like to say he offered me a lift, but it was more of a command than anything which instantly gets my hackles up.

“I’ll be fine,” I state, continuing to walk ahead. He drives at a crawl alongside me.

“What does it hurt to get in? It’s hot, you just worked out, and now you’re breathing in car fumes while you walk through gravel that’s full of broken glass and probably a few used syringes.”

“Why would I get in your car? I hardly even know you.”

“You know me just fine. You even visited my house. We had lunch together – remember?” he grins, creeping the car forward just enough so that when he flings the door open, it’s blocking my path. “Come on, get in,” he says gently, his eyes pleading.

“This is pointless,” I huff as I get into the car, doing my best to seem unaffected by him, and whatever it is about him that makes me want to do anything he says, but at the same time, run like hell.

“Seatbelt,” he points out, indicating the silver buckle, still sitting against the side of the car.

Reaching for it, I stretch it across my body but slip as I try to click it in. I’m obviously more nervous around him than I thought.

“Here,” he almost murmurs, taking the buckle from my hands and deftly clicking it into place. All the while, my heart is hammering again, and I’m doing my best to make my breathing sound normal as my blood temperature starts to rise.

Reminding myself of his ability to embarrass me, I focus on that as he pulls into the stream of traffic.

“Why did you do it?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Let me into your apartment yesterday.”

“I wish I knew.” He pauses at the red light and looks over at me. Our eyes lock for a moment and that feeling I’ve been fighting starts to win over again, invading my mind like a gaseous cloud, making me dizzy.

We drive the rest of the way to my parent’s house in silence. I don’t question how he knows where it is.  I just assume he’s been here before for something to do with my dad – any other possibility seems a little farfetched and stalker-ish.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he confirms as he pulls up outside.

Nodding, I get out of the car and walk up to my front door, not looking back until I’m safely inside and can spy on him through the peephole for long enough to see him drive away.

“Who was that?” my mother asks from behind me.

“One of dad’s students,” I reply, leaning into the window next to the door as I watch his car disappear down the road.

“How was training? Did your dad agree to release you?” she jokes.

Turning away from the window, I lean against the door jamb to face her. “Yes, but with conditions,” I sigh.

“Oh no. What’s he going to do? Make you wear a GPS tracker?”

“No. Worse. He’s making me train again. He said that if I don’t, you guys won’t help me when I move out.”

“That man,” my mother grumbles. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. You don’t have to train if you don’t want to. I know it’s hard for you without Craig around.”

“It wasn’t horrible going there today. But it just reminds me that he’s gone. I’d prefer not to go there.”

“I know,” she coos, giving me a hug. “I know. I’ll sort him out.”

“Thanks mum,” I say, before heading into the bathroom for a shower, glad that my mum is going to talk to my dad.

I’ll admit, that once I got going today, I didn’t mind training. But the thought of constantly doing it, is a little hard to handle. All of my memories of training revolve around my brother. I quit for a reason, and I’m not keen on returning – regardless of who my teacher is.

Where are you?

It’s six-fifteen the next morning. I was trying to sleep. Instead, I’m staring at my phone, wondering exactly how Damien got my number. Deducing that he must have gotten it off my father at some point.

Why?
I type out in reply.

When I don’t get an answer after a few minutes, I return my phone to my bedside table and roll over, trying to return to my sleep.

Five minutes later, just as I start to drift off, my phone starts vibrating and dancing atop its wooden perch, startling me awake again.

“What?” I say, knowing it’s
Damien. “How the hell did you get my number?”

“Come outside,” he instructs.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I don’t think your father would be happy if I start beating on his door. Come outside,” he insists, hanging up.

For a moment, I stare at the phone, debating whether or not to do what he’s asking. Not really wanting him to wake my parents, I swing my legs out of the bed and go to the window, pulling aside the curtains to see him standing against his car waiting for me.

Holding my hand up, I signal that I need five minutes. He nods, tapping his watch to let me know he’s timing me.

Rolling my eyes, I step away from the window and open my wardrobe, pulling out a pair of tracksuit pants and an old band t-shirt. Pulling my thick hair into a high pony tail and pinning my fringe back, I move to the bathroom where I put on some deodorant and quickly brush my teeth before splashing some water on my face.

As I make my way toward the front door, I quickly scrawl a note to let my parents know I’ve gone out, grab my bag and shoes
, and attempt to quietly exit the house.

Leaning against the entry way of our avocado green, weatherboard house, I slide my feet into my runners, then trot down the concrete steps, pausing in the centre of the path to adjust the heel of my shoe where it’s digging painfully into my ankle.

“Glad you could make it,” Damien smiles as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Why are you even here? My mother spoke to my dad, and I don’t have to train anymore,” I respond.

“Is that a fact?” he asks, looking highly amused.

“Yes it is. But since you obviously weren’t informed, I’ll train with you – once.”

He grins and nods his head. “Just hop in,” he tells me.

I get into the car, grabbing a hold of the seatbelt and clicking it in place before he can do it for me again.

Closing my door, he walks around to his side and starts the engine, u-turning in front of my house to drive us toward the gym and dojo that my father owns.

While my father is primarily an Aikido Sensei, he has branched his business out to be an actual gym tha
t opens from midday to midnight, offering fitness classes and personal training. It was an ingenious decision really, as the dojo wasn’t making a huge amount of money on its own. But adding a gym that was more affordable than the big chain gyms, has been what’s kept him afloat and able to keep the dojo going.

“Why don’t you have a Gi?” he asks.

“I got rid of it,” I explain. “I haven’t had one since I was about twelve. Plus I hate those black skirty things.”

“Hakama,” he corrects.

“I know what they’re called. I’m not an idiot,” I state.

“Then call them what they are. Don’t dumb it down. You’re a smart woman Henrietta.”

“Would you please stop calling me ‘Henrietta’? I prefer ‘Etta’.”

He just looks at me briefly, not giving me an answer as he pulls into the car park at my dad’s gym.

“So you’re trusted enough to be given keys huh?” I ask as he unlocks the front door.

“Looks like it,” he responds, keying in the alarm’s code.

Standing back, I look him over, head to toe. He’s dressed in a pair of black gym pants with a double white stripe going down the side, a tight black ribbed singlet that shows off his well-defined arms and broad shoulders. On his feet are a pair of black runners.

“Where’s your gi?” I ask.

“In my bag,” he replies, raising his gym bag a little as he walks ahead of me, flicking lights on. When he pulls the sliding door open leading into the dojo, he stops and sweeps his arm in front of him to indicate that I should enter.

“Why were you willing to do this?” I ask as I walk in and watch him slide the door shut. “You know – train me. What’s in it for you? Is my dad paying you?”