You are currently reading from the Prompt #2 Series.
Devin’s father joined us a few moments later at which point Devin rose from the bed. Devin’s father gave me the slightest of nods and excused the pair of them to the corner, where I could hear whispers of a serious nature. And then, in one, swift motion, Devin’s father’s hand made its way across Devin’s face.
“You do it, you fucking pussy!” his father screamed, “That girl ain’t got a prayer if you don’t and I ain’t gon’ be the one to clean up that mess. She’s too pretty for you to be beatin’ on her like that anyhow.”
Devin returned moments later, an embarrassed look on his face. “Listen, uh,” he mumbled, stroking his reddening cheek, “I, uh…I know I can be violent sometimes. And I know it’s not fair to you because you don’t deserve that…I fucking love you, Lauren. But I just lose it sometimes…so,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I think it would be a good idea if I taught you how to…to, uh, protect yourself when I’m…inconsolable.”
“Should I really need protection, Devin?” I asked, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“No,” he said, “no you shouldn’t.”
Devin had been fascinated with martial arts from a very young age. He had studied under a Shaolin monk until the age of thirteen when his mother sent him to military school. He knew how to make someone sorry.
Amazingly, Devin’s instruction brought us closer together. Devin was a brilliant teacher – patient in a way I never thought he could be. We started with basic hand-to-hand combat – blocking, punching, evasive maneuvers. And while these tactics wouldn’t save me from one of his drunken beatings, they would cause him to tire easily and minimize the damage.
As my skills improved, Devin thought it would be a fun idea to do some light weapons training…starting with knife work.
Previous * Next