Vulnerable § Klaus Mikaelson

ARROW

MIX EMOTIONS played across my girls’ faces; exhaustion, satisfaction, motivation, and joy after an hour an half of exercise. It was a great fulfillment on my part to see them participating in this program. 

Since I joined my best buddy teaching self-defense classes two years, I wasn't sure if I made the right decision over choosing a personal details job for a self-made billionaire, but so far, I have loved my job.

My fucking ass comrade, Kian chose to train male trainees, while I handled classes for women. I didn’t have a problem though—if I was trained to protect my country, how could I not teach women to protect themselves?

“Okay, girls. We’re done with the hammer strike. Tomorrow, I will show you how to knee a groin.” I faked a grimace. The room quickly filled with laughers from sixteen women--battered wives, divorced, victims of physical assaults by thugs, and others just wanted to protect themselves. 

“Thanks, Arrow,” they chorused and scattered to dismiss except for a young woman. She was tense, distant, and distracted since I started the training earlier.

“Caitriona?”

She startled and flicked her gaze at me. “Y-yes?” She was the newest member of the group—started last week. Judging by her reaction, she didn’t have to tell me what she'd been going through. I’d seen many people like her. It fucking hurt me that as young as nineteen, she had to go through that experience. She was still one of the luckiest people who chose to fight other than hid it in the darkness until it swallowed them whole.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” She smiled timidly. 

I was not entirely convinced. Her eyes said otherwise—the pain and horror are so deep. But I made a promise a long time ago that I wouldn’t just stand here and do nothing.

“You know, if you need someone to talk to, I am here, not only as your instructor but as a friend, okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. Really. But thanks. Appreciate it.”

“Okay then. Take care. See you tomorrow.” I walked out of the studio, queasy. I felt that I fail her. To be able to help them, I needed to gain their trust. That was one of my goals. I wanted to help them, but there was always someone who would not easily open up something painful, terrible to someone like me, even to a psychologist.

For fuck's sake. I sounded like a shrink, which was not part of my job, by the way. I just couldn't help it. It was in my nature. There was just a part of me that if I could get to know them, it would be easy for me to teach them how to protect themselves.

From the moment my mother and my sister died in that collision, I was bound to that one purpose—it was to protect. At twelve, my grandmother took care of me, then a year after, she died—all the women in my life just died and left me helpless, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Even if it was a part of the cycle of life. It twisted my gut to see someone as helpless as I was.

I hit the shower and let the water into almost freezing cold. Bullets of water hit my skin which made my whole body shiver. It works. It made me numb and forgot the memory of how I left the job that I loved.

After I did my shower, I slipped into my old ripped jeans and black tees. I scrubbed my unshaven cheeks to find two missed calls from Imogen. We grew up together as we passed from foster to foster homes. She didn’t call me often, but we never missed at least a message or a meetup in a month. Now, she worried me.

I dialed her number and she picked up as if she was waiting for my call.

“About damn time!”

“’sup, bigfoot?” I could feel her rolling her eyes from the other line. She hated that name, but I thought it fit her. She had ten-size shoes and stood five feet and eleven inches tall—a taller for a woman of my liking. Good thing she was like a sister to me.

“I saw her, Arrow! But I think she didn’t recognize me anymore.” There was an urgent and panic in her voice.

“Who?”

“I didn’t even get a chance to introduce myself because I was about to leave, and I just stood there like an idiot. She was early for her appointment.”

“Can you stop for a sec, emoji? Who’s her?”