"Focus Emma!" Jerome barks as he throws a cross. Swiftly, I enter with a crash, jamming his attack. I then pull him into a knee, elbowing him wherever I gain quick access.

"Excellent." He nods. "Take five."

It is another Saturday afternoon and Jerome and I have been practicing for a little over an hour.

He doesn't seem particularly mad at me anymore but our conversations have been limited to necessary formalities and essential dialogue.

To be honest, I was a bit afraid that he would refuse to train me as punishment for last week but then again that would only prove counterproductive in the long run seeing as I do need to learn to protect myself.

Taking a swig of my water bottle, I head up the stairs towards the dark granite counter where Nessa sits as per usual. She smiles widely as I approach her, offering me a pack of skittles which I gracefully decline.

I take not of the fact that Nessa may have a little bit of an obsession for candy but make no outward comments on it.

"How's it going?" she asks good naturedly while typing idly away at the keyboard of her computer.

"It's alright." I shrug. "It's becoming sort of a routine now but I worry that I may be unable to actually apply this in the outside world."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well..." I twist the cap on my bottle grasping at straws. I know for certain that I cannot tell Nessa about what is happening. It is true that she knows what Jerome does on the side but it goes without saying that she stays out of his business.

"Well?" she quirks her eyebrows, urging me to speak.

"It's really just a feeling, you know?" I shrug, taking another swig of my water bottle as way of ending my statement.

"It is normal to feel that way sometimes." She muses. "But you should trust your teacher. He knows what he's doing, okay?"

"It's not that I don't trust Jerome Nessa." I explain. "It's just...

"Break's over!" his voice booms from below and I shoot Nessa an apologetic shrug before scooting down the hall, grateful for once at Jerome's impatience.

"We should work on your smack." He states, looking me squarely as I dump my water bottle in my bag.

After a brief pause to allow me catch my breath, Jerome gets ready to strike.

I step into his centre, smacking his right arm with my right one while making sure my head is lowered to prevent a rear hand attack.

He knees me in the thigh and I falter from the sheer force of the connection on impact. Jerome uses this opportunity to launch a rear attack, gaining hold of the back of my neck in seconds.

"Always remember." He begins. "The speed of your attack is only half the salad bowl. You must always consider the speed and direction of your target with equal importance."

His grip on my neck tightens and I try to release myself by pulling one of his old tricks on him. He is faster than I am though; blocking my attack before it even so much as leaves the drawing board.

"The destructive power of your punch increases based on how fast and direct your opponent is coming at you and the closer the strike is to a head-on collision between your fist and your opponent, the better."

As he speaks, I barely register the words, caught up in releasing myself and beating Jerome at his own game.

"Emma" he says.

I lower my head even more, attempting to loosen his grip through sudden movements. It works and I dance internally with glee while trying to elbow him in the temple. He blocks it, twisting my arm.

"Emma." He calls again.

However, I'm too caught up in our struggle now. I attempt a palm to his forehead and he blocks it yet again.

"Emma!" he yells loudly. He has both my arms gripped tightly to him.

"Yes?" I finally register his voice as though breaking through the surface in a river.

"Weren't you listening to a word I said?" He quirks a bushy brow. "Your attacks are too direct. That's why I've been able to block most of them."

"Oh" I squeak, letting my body sag as Jerome finally let's go of me. "Err...I'm sorry. I guess I got too enthusiastic."

Jerome chuckles and I welcome the sound which I have seldom heard in the past few days.

"I guess there's nothing really wrong with wanting to give it your all." He scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Just make sure to listen to me and be careful."

"Yes sir!" I do a mock salute and he shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. He beckons me back into position and we begin the process all over again with Jerome giving me clues every few steps.

"That's it." He gives his approval as I block a jab at my left hand side.

Jerome and I work meticulously for about an hour more before he feels satisfied with my progress for the day.

When we round up, I help him put the mats back in place and head up to chat Nessa up a bit before we leave.

"Everything okay?" she glances up from her computer.

"Yeah." I reply panting from my jog up the stairs. "I'm all sweaty though."

"Well, what do you expect? That's what happens when you exert yourself isn't it?"

"It is." I smile sheepishly, reaching absently for an almond from the bowl positioned atop the granite counter. It tastes wonderful so I reach for another.

"How's progress?"

"I think I'm doing okay..." I trail off. "My blocks have improved."

Nessa nods, smiling. She looks as though she is about to speak but just then, my mountain of a body guard makes an entrance form the basement below.

"Can I have a word?" he gestures to Nessa, tossing me the car keys as per usual.

Taking the hint, I say a quick goodbye to Nessa, throw my back over my shoulder and head outside to the waiting car.

After dumping my bag in the back seat, I turn on the air conditioning; dozing off as stream after stream of cold air hits my sweat coated body.

A series of vicious knocks on the window rudely awakens me as Jerome stands, signalling me to let him in.

I comply with as much speed as my disoriented senses allow and he gradually begins to back the car out of the parking lot.

The air, thick with tension, feels pregnant with unspoken possibilities as I run my tongue once across my chafed lips in an attempt to feed the cracks.

I slump in my chair, feeling my unyielding muscles relax after a hard day's work but while I feel exhausted, Jerome barely seems fazed at all.

"Are you still mad at me?" I ask weakly. "I really am sorry Jerome."

"I'm not upset with you Emma. It's just..." he rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "I'm not mad at you."

"Okay." I reply.

"Okay."

"How are things with Mia?" I ask cheekily, grinning with satisfaction as I watch his face redden with what I assume to be embarrassment.

"Mia?"

"Yes Mia." I reply. "Mia, my friend...she's a twin?"

"What about her?"

"You tell me." I smirk.

"Nothing," He replies, taking a left. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"If you say so." I shrug.

We drive on for a while and my mind begins to wander again. I sneak a quick side glance at Jerome.

He has his eyes trained directly on the road and his jaw is set in a hard line. The rest of him seems relaxed enough though.

"So...Brittany's hearing is in a few days."

"I know." He keeps his eyes on the road, not giving away even the slightest bit of emotion.

"I have to testify."

"So I heard. Are you holding up okay?"

"I'm trying to."

"I heard Edward has been trying to prepare you. I know it's difficult but I believe you will do just fine."

"It makes me feel weird you know. I don't know to feel about it and it's hard work too, especially with the whole suicide note issue. I just don't know what to believe anymore." I explain, intertwining my fingers before letting them loose again. 

"On the one hand I guess I am happy that we are finally getting justice for Travis but Brittany...she's my friend, my best friend. I just can't believe she would do something like this and if she didn't, why would Travis kill himself?"

"People do horrible things under the right amount of pressure."

"Yeah but why do you think she would do it? Brittany wouldn't even hurt a fly Jerome. I know her. I think I do. And Travis, I feel doubly horrible for how coldly I treated him in the months leading up to his death. What if I pushed him Jerome?"

"Suicide or not, you cannot blame yourself for his death Emma." He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes comfortingly. "You didn't kill him."

"Who did then?" I throw my hands up exasperatedly.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough." His tone carries an air of finality that discourages me from pursuing the matter any further.

I had thought bringing it up would help but now that we've talked about it for a bit, I feel even worse about everything.

I want justice for Travis but my every fibre in my body dreads that moment of truth when all will be revealed in court for all to see.

 I am hoping against hope that it will not be as abominable as to shatter what little shreds of hope I have left.

Hope is all I have left.