Heather London: The Hardest Part

I gritted my teeth and tried to control my anger, knowing that no matter what, I would find her. She could run. She could try to forget me and hope to move on, but I would never give up on us. I would never stop looking for her.

EMILY

Two months later...

BEING CHOKED to death had to be one of the most terrifying ways to die. Gasping, trying your hardest to get air into your lungs to no avail was a horrifying feeling. But knowing you'd never take another breath and this was the way you'd die had to be enough to send anyone into a full-on panic.

I didn't know how many times I'd pictured Jake standing over me, his dark eyes boring into mine, both of his hands wrapped firmly around my neck, squeezing down as hard as he could.

When Jake first started to hurt me, the fear, the desperation to breathe again, and the will to live gave me the strength to fight back. However, after a while, when the fighting back only made him angrier, I realized there was nothing I could do but hope that he would let me breathe again. It was his decision if I lived or died. He was in charge because I wasn't strong enough to save myself.

Or that's how I used to think.

Today, it wasn't Jake's hands wrapped around my neck. The man who stood in front of me now didn't have dark eyes full of hate. He didn't smell like musky cologne and cigars. He wasn't calling me a worthless nothing as he squeezed the life out of me, and he wasn't trying to kill me. Nevertheless, the memories of my past and the feeling of not being able to breathe were all too much. I could feel the panic spreading throughout my body.

Bringing up my arms, I pulled and tugged at my attacker’s hands, but he wouldn't budge. I wiggled and jerked, trying to escape, yet his hands remained tight around my neck. I tried to scream, but no sounds left my mouth.

Jake's voice echoed in my head, telling me I was weak. Telling me I was nothing. Telling me I was too pathetic to fight back.

Then something other than fear took over and I snapped. Raising my left foot, I brought it down hard on my attacker's foot. Reeling back my left arm, I punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. He choked and gasped for air, releasing me and giving me an opportunity to get away, but I didn't run. The anger that had been buried deep inside me wouldn't allow it. I brought up the heel of my right hand in a swift movement, shoving it upward and striking him in the nose. He moaned, hunched over in pain, and then fell to the ground.

"Emily!" a man shouted at me. "Emily, stop!"

I froze and blinked hard. Whatever daze I had been in, I snapped out of it when I heard the terror in the man's voice as he called my name.

I looked around and saw a room full of women staring at me, wide-eyed. It was at that moment when I remembered where I was and who was attacking me. Looking down, I saw Chad lying on the floor in front of me, holding his nose, blood all over his shirt. Brandon, my other self-defense instructor, was kneeling next to him.

"Oh my God, Chad." I fell to the ground beside him, realizing what I'd done. "I'm so sorry. I—I thought—"

"Hey, it's okay," he mumbled through his hand covering his nose and mouth. "I'll be fine."

With some help from Brandon, Chad stood and then did something I didn't expect. He laughed. How could he be laughing? I was pretty sure I just broke his nose. My face felt like it was a thousand degrees and getting hotter.

"Damn, girl, you've got some power. Just don't forget to use it when you really need to." Chad laughed again and shook his head before walking away, leaving me standing there with my face as red as the blood on his shirt.

Brandon smiled at me reassuringly and patted me on the back. "Hey, don't worry about it. He'll be fine." He turned away from me to address the class full of women who were all still staring at me like I was some sort of freak. "Great class, ladies. Remember, your attacker only wins when you give up the fight. There's always a way out of every situation."

The women clapped and then we all scattered off the mats. Keeping my head down, I walked back to my towel, using it to wipe away a layer of sweat. I couldn't believe I did that again. That was even worse than the last time. Last time I didn't break my instructor’s nose.

I’d been scared to death to have anyone touch me, especially a man, even if he was trying to show me how to protect myself. In the back of my mind, I knew this was what I’d signed up for. I knew I wasn’t really being hurt or attacked, but the feeling of arms wrapped around me brought back too many memories. In the first few classes, I didn’t fight back. I didn’t use any of the moves I’d been taught. Instead, I screamed, cried, and sank down to my knees… just like I had when Jake would start to hurt me. I’d brought on a lot of attention and was used to the strange stares. But now, going back to that dark place brought out a new feeling inside me. It wasn’t fear taking over and causing me to cower down and wait for it to be over; it was the need and desire to fight back. To protect myself. That had to be a good thing, right?

"Hey, you up for some coffee?" A voice came from behind, startling me.

Swallowing hard, I turned around and found Lexi standing there, smiling apologetically. "Sorry. I should know better than to sneak up on people, especially ones that can put me on the ground in a second." She had really worked up a sweat in class today. Her blond hair was up in a high ponytail on the top of her head and the sweat caused wispy curls to stick to her neck.

"It's fine. Coffee sounds good," I said, throwing my bag over my shoulder.

"Let me just go tell Brandon bye," Lexi said and then made her way across the room to kiss Brandon on the cheek. As I watched her, I couldn't help but smile. I was happy for her—happy she’d taken a risk and given him a chance. He’d been asking her out for weeks now. For the first few weeks, Lexi had come into the class but didn’t participate in any of the exercises. She would sit in the back of the room and watch all the other women. It wasn’t until Brandon paired up the two of us that she finally began to come out of her shell a little. My smile grew as I watched her small frame run across the room. She couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds or been taller than five foot three. To most, she may have looked weak, but I could see something in her, a fire that had maybe once been burned out starting to light again.

Not wanting to be rude, I turned back around toward the small mirror on the wall and pulled my hair up into a tight bun on the top of my head. After wiping away the sweat from my neck and chest, I stared at my reflection. Large brown eyes stared back at me. I almost didn't recognize the girl staring back at me. Not sure why in that moment I thought of her, but I cracked a smile, thinking of my mom.

I had her button nose and full pouty lips. She used to always say I looked like Natalie Wood, that my large brown eyes were going to break a lot of hearts one day. I always thought she was just trying to build my confidence.

My mother loved the role Natalie Wood played in West Side Story —her favorite musical. She would dance around our apartment, sing at the top of her lungs, and grab my arms, twirling me around with her. She was a brilliant dancer and performed on the stages in Vegas. It was a tough career and we were always just scraping by, but it was her passion and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Through my innocent childhood eyes, my mother was like a movie star. She would sit in the makeup chair before each show and put on fancy, glittery costumes. I’d just sit there and look up at her, thinking she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. When she got sick, I wasn’t sure how I’d go on without her, and then after she died, the world just didn’t feel right without her in it.