Medicine

VERONICA

~“Pick it up, pick it all up,”~

~And start again,”~

~You’ve got a second chance,”~

~You could go home,”~

~Escape it all,”~

~It’s just irrelevant,”~

~It’s just a medicine…”~

~– Daughter~

***

I was a mess when I showed up at Frey’s dojo the day after the dinner disaster. I felt sick, and after yesterday’s unexpected bout of vomiting, I was starting to worry. But I pushed those thoughts aside for now.

Frey greeted me with a playful whistle when he opened the door.

“Lookin’ sporty today,” he said, smirking at my new outfit.

I hadn’t worked out in a while, so I’d done some shopping before coming over. I was wearing black Aladdin-style pants, a matching black tank top, and Nike sneakers. I felt like a total badass, but next to him, I was just a beginner.

He was dressed in sweatpants, a loose tee, and professional sneakers. His thick, dark mohawk was styled so it wouldn’t fall into his face, and his muscles seemed more pronounced than usual, as if he was reminding me who was in charge. He was one hot bastard.

“Thanks,” I replied, grinning at him as I walked in. “I do try, after all.”

“And I do appreciate it,” he grinned back and closed the door.

“Have you called the therapist?” he asked me.

I nodded. “I made an appointment a couple of hours ago. I’ll be seeing her on Tuesdays.”

That was his condition, after all.

“Good,” Frey smiled, his light eyes twinkling. “Then we should start.”

He led me to the edge of the dojo, where a heavy sandbag was hanging from the ceiling, ready to be punched.

“We’ll start with kickboxing,” he said, handing me training gloves. I felt pretty cool wearing them.

“Before we begin with the basic routines,” Frey said, “we should discuss a few things first.”

I sighed.

“Seriously, Frey,” I said, shaking my head, “I’m itching to punch something today, and you want to have another heart-to-heart like some old lady?”

His lips twitched.

“It’s vital for this training,” he said, “besides, it won’t be long.”

Sighing again, I put my hands on my waist and waited for him to talk. He didn’t keep me waiting.

“First,” he said, walking toward the punching bag and putting his hand on it, “I need you to close your eyes and loosen your stance.”

“Is it really necessary?” I asked impatiently. I was really in the mood for punching. Especially if I imagined Jax’s stupid handsome face on the bag.

“Veronica,” my mentor said in a chastising tone, “you asked me to mentor you. That’s what I’m trying to do, so please just listen to my instructions.”

He had a point.

“Fine,” I said, letting my hands fall to my sides and closing my eyes.

“Good,” he said, “now think about everyone who’d ever wronged you.”

Okay, that wasn’t too hard, but still… “What kind of wrongs should I be referring to?”

“Anyone who disappointed you,” he explained, “anyone who let you down, who stabbed you in the back, who made you feel worthless, and while you’re at it, speak up, tell me what everyone did to you.”

It shouldn’t be that hard. I’d just have to think about people, that’s all.

But when I started recalling some memories of the past, a flash of fear tore through me.

Fear of remembering everything. Fear that if I let it all out in the open, it would haunt me again.

“Frey,” I said, my voice shaky all of a sudden, “I don’t think I can do that.”

Two warm, big hands landed on my shoulders, and I blinked my eyes open to see Frey’s solemn face.

“Sit with me,” he said, and then guided me into an eastern-style sitting position, also known as a Yoga pose. Frey sat in front of me in the same manner.

“Close your eyes again,” he told me, and I did so.

“Now take a deep inhale, and exhale slowly.” I inhaled, letting the oxygen fill me, and then exhaled as slowly as possible.

“Good,” he said, “now continue breathing like this.”

After a few minutes of simply breathing in the silence, Frey’s voice rang out again. “Now that you’ve calmed down, I want you to try and think about the unpleasant memories again.”

As he said that, he took my hands in his, and held on as I delved into the depths of my psyche in search of the buried memories.

When I remembered one, it made my whole body shake. Frey’s hold on my hands tightened.

“Tell me, Veronica,” he said softly, “let it out.”

“My mother,” I somehow blurted.

“My mother… She…” I flinched, seeing the memory clearly in my mind.

“Take a deep breath,” Frey’s voice said, and I took a deep breath. “Good, now try again.”

It took a few more deep breaths before I could form any words.

“I was ten,” I said quietly, my hands shaking. “My parents had just gotten divorced.”

Frey said nothing, letting me tell everything at my own pace.

“Mom hurt my father,” I whispered, “she turned him into a shell. She never loved him like he loved her. She used him.”

“She stabbed him even harder when she started going out with Stephen mere months after their divorce. I hate her for that.”

I took a deep breath, trying to push down the memory that was searing through my mind.

“I was ten,” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper, “Mom was on the phone with one of her friends. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. That’s when I overheard her conversation.”

~“Oh yes, Carol,” Mom said, her laughter tinged with mockery, “he was such a loser. Honestly, I can’t figure out what I saw in him in the first place.”~

~“He’s so unrealistic and silly. No wonder Veronica has some issues, because let me tell you, she didn’t get that from me.”~

The memory brought tears to my eyes.

“She thought I was as useless as my father,” I whispered, my voice filled with hurt and anger. “She thought he was a loser. I hate her for thinking such terrible things about my dad, who was nothing but pure-hearted.”

“You didn’t care that she talked shit about you too,” Frey’s voice was low, thick with anger. “You cared that she tarnished your father’s name to her friends.”

~“I’m so glad I left him,” Mom’s voice echoed in my mind. “Such a worthless, wimpy man is below any woman’s standards.”~

~“Honestly, I thought he would grow up once we had the kids, but he only became more foolish. He’s a weakling, and it seems Veronica is following in his footsteps…”~

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I forgave her for thinking badly of me,” my voice was barely audible.

“But talking like that about my father…it’s unforgivable. He was good, too good for someone like her. He was honest, straightforward, kind, sweet, and warm…”

The tears flowed harder, and I was sobbing now.

Frey’s thumbs gently stroked my palms.

“I know,” he said softly, “I understand.”

For a few minutes, I cried silently, letting the memory retreat back inside, where I didn’t have to face the ugliness that was my mother.

When I was done, I opened my eyes to find Frey watching me with a smile.

“Feel better now?” he asked.

And surprisingly, I did feel better.

“Yeah,” I said, not hiding my surprise.

“I bet you’ve never told that to anyone, right?” he asked, and I nodded in confirmation.

“It’s good that you let it out,” he said, “because Veronica, you can’t keep everything bottled up forever. You have to confide in people, tell them about your past demons, let them help you.”

I stiffened a little.

“I don’t think I can do that, Frey,” I told him, my voice strained.

“But you just did with me,” he pointed out wisely.

“Because that’s you,” I said, and blushed a little when he raised an eyebrow. “There’s something about you that makes it easier to share things.”

Now he grinned cheekily. “It’s my bartender aura.”

I rolled my eyes and found myself chuckling. How could he make me feel any sort of amusement after sharing something so painful?

It was just like that time at the pub when I told him about Hailey and Parker, and then he just joked around, and I laughed.

This Frey was something special.

“Seriously, Frey,” I said, still smiling a little, “you’re the only person I’ve met who I could share this stuff with. You just create this calm, open atmosphere that even the most closed-off person could spill all their secrets to you.”

Frey chuckled.

“I think that’s part of being a mentor,” he said, and then all the amusement left his face and he turned serious again.

“And we’re not done. Close your eyes again. You need to recall a few more people who wronged you before you let out all of your pent-up anger on the eagerly-waiting sandbag.”

My amusement vanished and I closed my eyes again.

“Think of another person,” Frey instructed quietly, “think of another person who did you wrong.”

After letting that old memory surface, I found it was easier to dredge up another painful memory.

“I was sixteen,” I said, wincing at the sudden pain that slashed through me. “And Hailey was calling me a selfish cow in front of the whole school…”

***

After an hour and a half, I had a list of people who've wronged me. My mother, Hailey fucking Pritchard, weak, pathetic Parker, Stephen, and even Oliver and Jax made that list, along with Erin.

I was a mess of rage by the time I finished recalling all these terrible memories.

Frey had me stand up and face the punching bag.

“Think about all these memories,” he told me as he began instructing me how to punch the bag correctly. “Let it all out. Let everything out.”

For another hour and a half, I kicked and punched the bag, releasing all my anger and frustration, venting all the unfairness I’d been through on the poor punching bag.

I kicked and punched, and it turned out that being a dancer for about ten years had made my body more flexible than average, so it worked to my advantage.

All while I was crying, swearing, picturing each person who’d done me wrong on the punching bag in turns, and thinking how satisfying it would be to actually slap them or kick them in the nuts.

When I finished, I was sweating and panting, and my body ached from the sudden physical exertion, but I felt a grim satisfaction. I let it all out, and it felt strangely good.

It felt great.

“How’re you doing there?” Frey asked, smiling slightly at me.

“I’m slightly nauseous,” I said, which was the truth, “but it’s worth it.”

Frey’s smile was as grim as I felt. “I know. That’s how I felt when I first kicked a sandbag.”

I nodded, and then felt sick.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked, feeling my face turn green.

Noticing that too, Frey quickly led me to the bathroom where I entered one of the stalls and emptied my stomach.

Frey’s worried eyes scanned my face as soon as I stepped out. Instead of the typical, “Are you okay?”—which would have earned him a punch—he asked, “Does this happen a lot?”

I pulled a face.

“Started yesterday,” I admitted, a wave of nausea washing over me at the mere thought of what it could mean. “And again this morning…”

Frey’s eyes widened in alarm.

“You need to get that checked,” he insisted.

The mere suggestion turned my face ashen, and I instinctively hugged my stomach.

“No.” The word came out firm, laced with fear.

“Veronica,” he said, his voice stern as he gripped my shoulders, “you have to. When was the last time you had sex?”

My face drained of color. “About a week and a half ago.”

With that idiot Vadim.

“You need to check then,” Frey’s face was set in determination. “Get a pregnancy test today.”

“No,” I whispered, my eyes wide with terror as I looked up at my mentor. “I can’t. I just can’t, Frey.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” his voice was hard, “it was an order. You’re going to buy that test and take it.”

“Please,” I pleaded, clutching his shirt. “Don’t make me. Please, I don’t want to know.”

But he stood his ground. “We’ll go buy a pregnancy test together then, and I’ll be with you when you take it.”

***

Before I knew it, Frey was dragging me to the nearest convenience store and buying a pregnancy test.

I pleaded with him the entire time, my heart pounding with fear, but he didn’t listen.

Then we were back at the dojo’s bathroom and, like a bodyguard, Frey stood outside my stall while he ordered me to take the test.

My hands were trembling. My whole body was trembling.

I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. Deep down, I knew that if the result was positive…

I wasn’t Laura. I couldn’t handle this, couldn’t make such a life-altering decision. Not now, not by a long shot.

I couldn’t be pregnant.