Training

Their doorbell rang as soon as Bram was sleeping. I opened the door and there stood Sledge. I grinned at her.

"Hi, Sledge. What can I do for my new neighbor?"

"Do you have any old rags you don't mind getting rid of? We're painting and we aren't as good as we used to be. We're spilling more than I expected." She laughed.

"Sure, come with me."

I led Sledge outside to our garage. I used the code and the electric doors floated upward. Along the shelving away from the weight set, there were materials Bram had sorted in various separated buckets. I pointed to the one labeled "paint rags."

Sledge smiled at me and said, "You're quite organized. Maybe you can stop by once we're moved in. We could have some wine, tidy up a few junk drawers, eat some bad food, you know, have a good girls' night."

"Sounds great," I said beaming, knowing Bram would never let me, especially with someone as good-looking as Richie living there.

Sledge thanked me and then left. I closed the garage door and walked back inside the house. I checked on Bram in the bedroom. He was still asleep.

Was he drinking so much purely to celebrate or was something else on his mind? I gently touched his back and could feel a significant layer of sweat. Unexpectedly, he lifted his head and turned to look at me.

"Don't touch me."

"I was just checking on you," I said. He sat up little by little and looked at me. I could see his chest was sweating. I watched as he studied every single micro expression on my face. I had gotten pretty good at masking my feelings from him. If I didn't feel, then my body wouldn't betray me.

"I don't like to be touched."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you understand?" he asked.

"I do," I said, needing to change the subject. "I've never shot any gun before. Do I get my own?"

"Yes, Miss Typical Woman. You get your own scary gun. Are you wondering if your nails will get broken, too?" He tilted his head with a smirk.

"No, but maybe you are," I said. He glared at me. "What? You said you liked–"

"Never mind what I said," he began. "Just listen to me. Tomorrow we'll drive to a section of the woods where we can target practice. I'll also show you some other tactics for stealth. It's off base."

"Okay, I'm with you," I said softly.

"Now, let me shhleep."

***

We trained at a solitary firing range. Though it was make-shift, safety walls were up, and targets were nailed on trees at various distances.

He had me start with a 9mm pistol and then moved on. There were various weapons he wanted me to train with. The shotgun's kickback was the worst out of the bunch, which was strong enough to leave a bruise. Bram was able to help me handle it a little better, but it only improved marginally.

With the Colt M4, I liked how light weight it was but my accuracy wasn't the greatest. It was my favorite out of the three that he had me try, but with his constant cutting comments, it didn't make learning easy.

Oftentimes, I watched him demonstrate how to use them for me. When he'd go prone, I'd stare at how rigid and still he held himself. He was ever so slightly propped up as he looked through the sights. No doubt, he was the ideal soldier.

I admired how developed and extended his lats were, making his shape look like a triangle into his lower back. His traps were thick roving into his deltoid muscles, which were also significant enough that I could see the striations through his Army-green T-shirt.

Then, up to his midnight hair, so thick that it didn't need anything to style it. It was flipped back out of his eyes, the longer mohawk stylish but not very militaristic. He cared about looking good for somebody, I figured. In a way, I hoped it was me.

When we'd switch, he'd crouch beside me giving me instructions. Sometimes, his hand would graze my back while acting as my spotter, using the scope. I felt so proud when he would tell me I had done well. I had visible confirmation with the targets to reference but hearing it from him meant more.

Could it be that this was the way to get closer to him?

***

I trained with Bram for weeks on proper firearms use, to shoot from various positions, how to use my environment, and other essential army skills and tactics. It wasn't even close to the ability he had but I was improving each day.

One particularly gloomy afternoon, it was pouring out and Bram was already agitated, for some unknown reason. I could barely see the targets through the rain, coming down as hard as it was. Bram was bent over me, telling me what to do with impatience in his voice. When my hand kept slipping due to the rain and the kick back of the M4, I became more discouraged, and in turn Bram became more inflamed.

"Bram, I can barely see in this!" I exclaimed, pushing the black raincoat hood out of my eyes.

"No, it's just that you're a horrible shot and want to leave so you can get out of it."

"You know that's bullshit. With this firearm, I'm a better shot than you at this point!" I shouted. Bram stepped up to me.

"You could never be better than me. You're a worthless human being that will never amount to anything. How could you be so stupid, Bram?!" I stared at him in bewilderment.

"I'm not–"

"I meant, Alexandra!" he blurted out. "Ugh! You know what I meant!

He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. At first, I wasn't sure if I should respond at all but he was flustered. I didn't see him like this often. And I was going to take advantage of it.

"Rusty? Is that you?"

Bram's eyes widened in surprise as he stared into mine. It wasn't like me to use sarcasm when he was angry, and I never confronted him with anything real. Apparently, the training and his emotionality had provided me with more confidence.

"Don't speak to me that way," he said through gritted teeth. "He's taught me more than you could know!" He pointed his finger at me.

"So, I was right," I said. He scowled at me. "Bram, your father had to put you down to keep you under his thumb. At least see it for what it is."

"Which is?" he asked, glowering.

"He only wants to control you because he knows you're better than he ever could be. Even with his riches and multiple wives, he is empty. As much as he wants you to be like him, you aren't."

The brim of his hat was pouring rain upon me in a stream. He bent down to me, his lips only centimeters from mine.

"What makes you think you have any idea about what I'm going through? You ... with your barely graduated associate degree, sitting home all day doing nothing but– " Surprisingly, he stopped himself short.

I stepped back, glaring at him. I dropped my eyes to the muddy ground watching my boots become suctioned to it. I hoped the rain would hide my tears.

It didn't matter that I knew he could have a few bright moments. He was nasty and emotionally stunted whenever he was insecure. Yet, just now, I had to give him credit for withdrawing his final comments. It was the first time I'd ever seen him do that.

When I lifted my head, he was looking at me, his head tilted. Perhaps it was in curiosity to see the result of his belittling words. When he caught my eye, he snapped his fingers in his soaked black gloves and pointed to my gear.

When he unlocked the car, I loaded all of my equipment into the trunk, then I sat down in the passenger seat. After he got in and shut the door, he wouldn't start the engine. I didn't care enough to ask why. All I knew was that I was grateful to be out of the sopping mess and that training session.

I dropped my head back and closed my eyes, listening to the rain patter on the hood. When I opened them a few minutes later, he was staring at me. I waited for him to speak. I could tell he wanted to.

"Alexandra," he said softly. I glanced at him. "Did you mean what you said about me?"

"About how Rusty feels about you? Yes, Bram."

"Even with …" he trailed off.

"Yes. I still think those things about you, even when you treat me horribly," I said, looking at the fogged-up windows. "That's how I know it's real."

I wasn't sure if I had ever voiced to him how awful he made me feel. I could sense his eyes on me, and I wondered if he wished to hear more but I was done with his abuse for the day. Eventually, he started the car and we left.

***

When we got home, Bram was quiet. I took a shower and then got dressed in some black shorts and a red tank top. When I found him, he was sitting at the island, snapping open a beer, the foam going everywhere. Immediately, I was on my hands and knees wiping the floor and then him of the suds.

As I was down there cleaning, I stared between his legs. My mind flashed to my dream for a second. I felt repulsed. As I rose, he was studying me.

"We're training for something real, not just doing this for fun, you know."

"Okay. Then what is it for?" I asked. He had barely sipped the beer, but he was already dizzy. He slid off the stool and nearly fell to the floor. "Bram?"

I reached toward him, and he gripped my shoulder. I helped him to the couch, hoping he'd not mind that I'd touched him. When he dropped into the cushions it was like a wet bag of cement. I watched him with anxious concern.

"Nimble," he said. I crouched down in front of him.

"What?" I whispered.

"It's called the Nimble Virus."

"Yes. The virus. I've heard of it," I whispered. "The one that people get when injected, right?" I wanted him to confirm it and keep me abreast. I was tired of being in the dark.

He blinked slowly at me, staring into my eyes. I waited for him to respond but before he could, he swiftly passed out.

***

Later that night when I finally went to bed, I fell asleep beside him instantly. When I woke it was from the heat he was radiating. He was drenched in sweat and the sheets had soaked it up.

Because of the thick humidity, we kept our air conditioning at a reasonable temperature, and we'd never had this happen before. I sat up, observing him. This was strange.

When he opened his eyes and saw me looking at him, he didn't like it.

"What are you gawking at?"

"You're soaked. Do you have a fever?"

"If you don't like it, go!" he shouted, pointing. I shuddered in fear. He could be hair-trigger angry, but this was the worst I'd seen. I needed to get to the bottom of it. I couldn't keep living like this.

Nevertheless, instead of prying, I stood up and got out of bed. Even as I was leaving, I could hear his teeth chattering. I went downstairs to the spare bed.

It wasn't more than an hour later that I felt him climb into bed with me. It wasn't big enough for both of us and after how mean he was earlier, I wanted nothing to do with being close to him. I slipped out of bed, intent on leaving him alone. He sat up and was staring at me, his face red and sweating.

My phone randomly rang. It was almost 3 am. I checked out the caller ID and recognized the number, though I hadn't received a call from it in a very long time. I answered it.

"Dad?" I answered.

"Yes, it's me sweetheart! Good news. Your dad is rich!"

"What?"

"The money has been wired to the Darlings. You no longer have to be in the marriage with Bram!"

My heart was pounding as I heard the news. Understandably, I couldn't speak. Only a croaking sound came out for a split second.

"Dad?" I asked again. "Is this real?"

"Of course, it's real!"

"But how?"

"I won the Powerball!"

As happy as I was about this turn of events, I realized that whatever money he had left over was going to be pissed down the drain at the casinos. I enthusiastically congratulated and thanked him, though. At least he had thought of me and that's more than I expected.

"I miss you, Dad."

"What's that, honey?"

"I said, I miss you, Dad."

"Oh, not you, Alex. I'm talking to my girlfriend, Windy."

"Windy, Dad? What happened to Kerry? I really liked her."

"Kerry went back to Ireland."

"And I'm sure that just randomly happened, right? She just up and left you one day?"

"Ugh, can't you just be happy for me for once?"

"Sure. I'm happy for you. Go enjoy."

I hung up on my dad and then set the phone down. The house seemed starkly quiet. The only light was from various electronic appliances and streetlights.

I wanted to share the good news with someone, but it turned out the only person I had was Bram. When I glanced at him in the bedroom, he was asleep.

I walked back in and whispered in his ear, "The contract is over. We're done."