Free The Scars of Us by Nikki Narvaez Page B

make him angry, and he hurt me when he was angry—I didn’t want him to hurt me more than he already had.
    He walked toward me, leaning on the bed as he pressed a kiss to my forehead, causing me to cringe in response. “I love you, Kaiya.”
    As a tear escaped each of my lids, I quickly swiped them away before he pulled away and saw. “I love you, too,” I replied, avoiding his gaze.
    I didn’t move until I heard the door shut. Then, I bolted out of the bed and into my bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before throwing up.
    Once I finished vomiting, I hopped in the shower, turning on the water to the hottest I could stand it before scrubbing my skin until it was red, almost raw. Tears poured off my face, sobs wracking my body as I stayed there until the water ran cold.
     
    Sitting up in bed, my eyes snapped open to darkness, the only light coming from my alarm clock. Sweat clung to my skin as I threw the covers off me, feeling as though they were suffocating me.
    Much like my dream, I sprang out of bed to throw up in my bathroom. Disgust still permeated my body, my stomach still nauseated despite vomiting. Shakily, I stood, stripping my clothes before turning on the shower.
    Stepping in, I turned the handle almost all the way to the left before scouring my skin in the scalding hot water as I cried. My body burned as the heated drops pelted me, feeling like molten lava dripping down my flesh. Sobs shook my body as tears trailed down my face and mix with the spray falling over me from the shower head. Nothing I ever did could totally erase the dirtiness that still remained whenever I had a flashback. How could he do that to me? How could I let him? Why didn’t I make him stop? God, I was so weak! I’m still weak!
    Slumping to the tile floor, I set my forehead against my knees, wrapping my arms around my legs. I sat there until the shower ran cold, letting the frigid water numb my skin. If only I can get it to numb my brain and emotions, too.

 
     
     
    Kaiya was more uptight than usual during class on Tuesday night, if that was even possible. She angrily hit and kicked the bag aimlessly, and I could tell that something was bothering her.
    Sweat dripped down her face as I approached her. “Is everything okay?”
    “I’m fine,” she snapped, keeping her eyes trained on the bag, panting angrily as she continued to fiercely attack it. As I watched her, I noticed that she was holding her breath.
    “Breathe, Kaiya,” I urged, moving closer to her. “You need to breathe or you’re going to pass out.”
    Her hands fell to her sides as she stepped away from the bag and took deep breaths. She began to pace in a small circle in front of me as she steadied her breathing.
    “Are you sure everything is okay?” I asked again as I handed her water bottle.
    She took the bottle, greedily drinking before taking more deep breaths. “Yeah, I just… I had a bad night last night, and it carried over into today.”
    I furrowed my brow. I wonder what happened.
    “Well, take it easy, alright? I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”
    She nodded before focusing back on the bag and repeatedly kicking the shit out of it.
    There’s that warrior.
    After the kickboxing segment of class, I decided to work with Kaiya on different strikes since she was still so tense—she definitely needed to keep hitting something.
    “I’m going to teach you where you should target different hits. First thing I’m going to show you is strikes that are best for the face—avoid directly punching someone in the face because you’ll more than likely break your hand. Only use elbows, hammer-fists, and palm strikes when you are hitting the face.”
    I modeled a palm strike on one of our dummy bags, which had the upper body of a man, instead of the regular, cylindrical punching bag. I wanted Kaiya to target the specific areas of the body we were working on. I then repeated the same with elbows and hammer-fists, stopping for Kaiya to practice each