Chapter Seven

Joslyn

After my disastrous interaction with Nixon, I need to blow off a little steam. Normally, teaching a self-defense class makes me feel worn out for the day…or at least well-exercised. But today, I bristle with angry energy, and I don’t know what to do with it. I leave the city and drive out to my house, a little spread I bought just outside of Vegas. No one understands why I don’t want some luxury condo on the Strip…at least, not until they see my house. It’s not much, but the huge property houses my important hobby. I took advantage of the desert terrain and made an American Ninja Warrior obstacle course. When people see that, they usually shut up.

But I don’t feel like training at home today. I drive out into the desert, park my car, and strap on my Camelbak for a long run in the dry heat. The sun shines overhead, and it soothes me as I start to drain the negative emotions with a steady stream of sweat. By the time I’ve run fifteen miles, my anger disappears into the desert like a mirage. New blisters line my heels, and my hair plasters against my scalp, but I feel pure and clean, the way I always do right after a long workout. Nothing like sweating out the toxins.

After my run, I drive home and take a long shower. I know some people always complain about being sore and achy after arduous exercise, but I feel nothing but pride and happiness in my stiff body. I take a long time under the hot water, soaping my limbs and trying to push all thoughts of the incredibly annoying Troy Cass out of my head. I can’t believe he tried to weasel out of working with me.

Pussy. Boy.

And I can’t believe Nixon Caldwell, that rat bastard. I’ve always liked Nixon, but after today’s meeting, I’m still feeling a lot of resentment. I can’t believe he expects me to whip that pussy into shape…even I can’t work fucking miracles. Troy Cass has been nothing but a disappointment. When I first saw him, I thought he was incredible. Tall and hunky and muscular. But now that I’ve been around him for more than five minutes, I realize he’s as useless as a wobbling toddler.

By the late afternoon, exhaustion creeps into every bodily crevice. But I can’t call it a day, not just yet. My best friend, Melanie Sherman, runs a support group for female victims of violent crime. We started the group together, and I volunteer there as a counselor. Sometimes we have a small turnout – only one or two women. But it’s worth it. Just knowing that there’s a chance I could help someone is enough to make sure I’m there every week.

There’s nothing more important to me than women’s rights. Nothing.

The sun falls just beneath the hazy horizon by the time I change into jeans and a light sweater before driving back into Vegas and parking outside the hotel where Melanie and I rent the conference room every week. When Melanie sees me walk into the room, she grins and runs over for a hug.

“I swear, Jos, you look fitter every time I see you,” Melanie says, affectionately pinching my bicep. “What are you doing, lifting Chippendales for practice now? If that’s the case, I can think of things far more fun to do with them.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “I’m sure you could. Except you’d never be the one doing it with them.”

She puts a finger to her lips. “Gabby’s coming tonight. At least, she told me she was.”

“Ooh,” I say, pretending to dig my elbow into Melanie’s side. “The new girlfriend! I can’t wait to meet her.”

Melanie’s flush turns into a deep red. “She’s great. I have no idea what she’s doing with the likes of me.”

I pretend to groan. “Mel, you’re perfect, and you know that. You’re smart and hot, and compassionate. What more could a girl want? Shit, if I didn’t have an extraordinary love for cock, you’d trip my trigger.”

Melanie puts her hand to her forehead and fakes a swoon. “I do declare, Joslyn. Do you have a little girl crush on ‘lil ole me?”

We burst out laughing at the tired joke as a short, curvy brunette walks into the room. She grins when she sees Melanie.

“Gabby, I’d like you to meet Joslyn. My bestie.” She pulls Gabby into a side-hug and kisses her on the cheek.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Gabby lowers her eyes at the compliment, but still holds out her hand and we shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hopefully good things,” I say, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Melanie. After my performance today, I’m starting to think my naughty list overpowers my nice list. “Is this your first time?”

Gabby shakes her head. “No.” She blushes a rosy shade of pink. “Um, I’m sorry if this sounds weird, but Joslyn, I just wanted to tell you how much you inspire me.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“You’re just really strong,” Gabby says. “Melanie told me all about your self-defense class, and I’d really like to take part.”

“The more, the merrier.” I know I get animated when I talk about my defense classes. I just can’t help myself. “Our next class is on Thursday, you should definitely come. You’d be welcome.”

Gabby smiles. “Thank you.” She glances over her shoulder. “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

We nod, and Melanie watches as Gabby saunters away. As soon as she’s out of earshot, I give Melanie a thumb’s up and a grin.

“She’s great,” I say honestly. “I think you really knocked it out of the park this time.”

“God, I know.”

As we move about the room, pushing the chairs into a big circle and setting up long tables with coffee, donuts, and fruit, Melanie tells me all about Gabby and how they met at a Britney Spears show. By the time we’re almost ready to start the support group, a hint of jealousy creeps in over my best friend’s happiness. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever get my own happily ever after.

Maybe you need to be nicer.

I shake away my inner critic and tell her to shut the fuck up. Nice never got me very far in the past.

“You know, Jos, there are some great men in Vegas,” Melanie says as the women begin to filter in. “It wouldn’t hurt you to date every now and then. Shoot some fun into your life by recipe of a little hot beef injection.”

Unbidden, Troy’s visage floats across my mind. He’s huge, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s packing down south.

“I can’t. I’ve got the class to worry about, and this, and my dad. Did I tell you he’s going to retire? He’s so not happy about it, either. I think it’s going to become a problem between us.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Melanie pops a grape into her mouth and chews. “I’m so happy with Gabby, and well, I know you’re lonely. There are some great guys at my office, why not let me fix you up?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not the person I would allow to set me up on a blind date with a man,” I answer. “Can you imagine a guy working in a bank who would want to date me?”

Melanie taps her lips with her finger, and I realize she’s going to prove more challenging to throw off the scent of a blind date set up. “Don’t make assumptions. Everyone’s got hidden layers to them, Jos. Sometimes they’re just more hidden than others, that’s all.”

I think about Troy and his meathead personality…or lack thereof. He’s got a hot body, and he’s gorgeous as fuck. But that’s where it ends. So that’s where my fantasies starring him should end too.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Except for some people, who have absolutely no personality or drive at all.”

Melanie smirks at me. “Sounds like you’ve got someone very specific in mind. Is it a boy?”

“I don’t,” I lie. “Now come on – it’s time for us to get started.”

As Melanie makes the usual introductions and begins her speech about how everyone should feel comfortable, safe, and secure, my mind wanders back to Troy. It’s obvious that Nixon’s not going to give me another man to work with, so I guess I’m stuck with him. Now, how to make that work.

The thought isn’t an appealing one at all. I have no idea how I’m supposed to make someone like Troy understand a strong, independent woman like me. He’s already shown zero interest in my self-defense class, and while we were in Nixon’s office, I couldn’t help but feel like he talked down to me about the important work I do with women.

At the end of the meeting, I sit off to the side in a small room. The girls and women are welcome to come and talk with me, free of charge – it’s all part of the services that Melanie’s support group provides. Sometimes, I can tell women feel like they have to show up three or four times before coming to me and talking. It makes me feel horrible. I wish I could do something, or say something to all of the women to make them understand that nothing about being assaulted is their fault.

When you know better, you do better. And now they know better.

But tonight, I haven’t been in the small room for more than five minutes when a young woman steps inside and ducks her head.

“Hi there,” I say.

“Hi.” The girl sits down in taciturn silence, twisting her hands in her lap and glancing down at her fingers. Sadness radiates from every pore of her body. My hands itch to reach out and take hers in mine, but I know that’s not appropriate. All I want is to raise these women up into their power and take their pain away.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” I ask gently. “Would you like a bottle of water?”

The girl sniffs and nods and I pass her a bottle of Aquafina. She doesn’t open it, but rather spins and twists the bottle in her hands.

“Thanks,” she murmurs in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it.

“You know, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Even though she avoids eye contact, I hold space for her to share if she gathers the courage. “I know it’s hard. If it helps to just sit here with me in silent support, that’s fine.”

The girl’s head snaps up, and she locks her eyes with mine. “You don’t know hard. No one has been through what I have.”

If you only knew.

“That may be true,” I counter, keeping my voice low and calm. “But I know that talking about hard things takes a lot of strength. And I know you have that strength – I know we all do.” The girl’s eyes begin to water, and I pass her the box of tissues I keep in the small room. “It’s okay. Take as much time as you need.”

The girl cries for a few minutes before blowing her nose and sitting up straight. “I thought he cared about me.” She bites her lip so hard I fear she’ll draw blood. There’s a hard edge in her voice, and I sense a lot of pain buried within her. “But then, after what he did, he was just a selfish pig the whole time. All he cared about was getting laid. And then he posted a video on Facebook. My best friend saw, and now she won’t even talk to me. She keeps calling me a slut.” Her voice breaks and she reaches for another tissue, blowing her nose and looking miserable and upset.

I reach out and put a hand on her knee. “It’s okay.” I hope she’ll soften her rigid body underneath my touch. “You’re in a safe place, and nothing is going to hurt you here. That man – whoever he was – violated you, but he’s not going to harm you again, not here.”

The girl begins to cry again. I sit there, trying not to think of my own painful past experiences as I watch her shoulders quake and shiver with each sob. The truth is, being here in Melanie’s group isn’t always comfortable for me. But it’s important that I help other women as much as I can…in any way possible. It’s a huge part of my own healing process.

“Something bad happened to me when I was a little girl,” I say, without even thinking about it. “Really bad.”

The girl looks up at me. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and there’s a strange look in her eyes. “What happened?”

An unpleasant flash of thoughts cross my mind, and I shiver. “I was kidnapped. And I was assaulted. And it took me a long time – years – to get over it.”

The girl gnaws at her lip. “That’s gnarly.”

“But I did get over it. And I know you can too. Because we’re strong, and we’re fighters. We’re not victims. We’re survivors.”

We’re survivors, I repeat to myself. And we always will be.