The class was held in a gym which sat above a row of slightly run down shops comprised of a newsagent, a laundrette, and a grubby fast food shop that looked twenty years past its prime. While she wouldn't ever class herself as a snob, Betsy was willing to admit that it was not a place she would have chosen to come to on her own. She would not have even thought to look for this place if it had not come highly recommended by others in her therapy group. Appearances could be deceiving after all. While the entire area looked a little worn and in need of some TLC, after the first few sessions, she had never felt better about her decision.

Walking up the carpeted stairs, it was the smell that hit her first. The musky scent of stale sweat. It always lingered in the air and, while at one time it would have made her wrinkle her nose, it now brought with it a sense of peace. Next came the sound of pleasant chatter of the other class members. She recognised their voices even though they had yet to come into view.

As she clambered to the top step, a wall of humid heat which smacked her in the face which carried the musky scent of sweat. It was an after effect of the class which ran immediately before. Even so, it still made her nose itch. At least in the cooler weather it was tolerable. In the summer, the additional heat made it feel as if she was walking into a tropical rainforest with all of the heat and humidity and none of the natural beauty - unless you counted the instructor who had to be one of the most incredibly beautiful women Betsy had ever seen. It wasn't the overt classical beauty, though she had that too, but something within her that shined through. Strength. Kindness. Understanding.

Betsy always felt herself gravitating to her much like a moth to a flame.

Stepping into the room, she paused just inside the threshold to kick off her shoes and socks. As she bent down to pick up her shoes and place them within the shoe rack, she felt a presence behind her. Lifting her eyes, she offered a small smile at the timid woman standing just inside the door. Betsy recognised her instantly. Her features had stuck with her. How could she not have? While their stories could be drastically different, she had seen some of herself in this stranger.

"Hey, you can put your shoes here." Betsy said by way of greeting, waving to the shoe rack. "Your bag and water bottle can go on the bench over there. We've got a few minutes so just get yourself settled in."

When the woman nodded in response, Betsy moved over to said bench, deposited her own things before leaning one hand against the wall. Using it for balance, she kicked her leg backwards up to her bum and then grabbed hold before it could drop. Carefully, she stretched out the muscles, enjoying the sensation of the tight muscles finally releasing. It was the curse of the desk job. After spending most of her days either hunched at her desk or hunched at a tiny table with her charges, her muscles always felt tight and uncomfortable.

She moved through the stretches carefully yet with little thought. She had done them so often in recent months that they were almost muscle memory. Betsy enjoyed this part of the class. The routine helped to ground her. It helped all of the petty concerns to fall away, including the upcoming interview with a magazine that Betsy would rather avoid. Why had she agreed to spending more time in the limelight?

With a shake of her head, she finished the last of her stretches before making her way into the center of the room. The chatter, which had been present since she entered the room, fell away. The instructor entered the room alone. Her dark hair was braided back from her face, her smile wide and welcoming as she moved to the center of the room. While she had a business partner, a six foot three marine covered in scars, he always made himself scarce during this class.

"Good morning, folks." The instructor greeted with a clap, her dark eyes scanning over the gathered group, before her lips curled up into her usual smile. "If you can all spread out, if you hold out your arms, you should not be able to touch the person beside you."

Betsy rolled her head from side to side to remove the last of the kinks before moving to the back of the room. The newcomer also had the same thoughts as she drifted into the furthers corner of the room, her shoulders hunched but her eyes focused entirely on the instructed. Her hands absently fiddled with the hem of her jumper.

"Today, I can see we have a few new faces so welcome to the class. This class is usually a mixture of self defence, cardio, and we also throw in some kickboxing too. Why? Because as a woman, I feel better knowing I can not only escape a hold but I can throw a mean punch too if I need to. In addition, as some of the regulars will know, I have suffered from PTSD due to my time in the military. Kickboxing was my way of coping with that and I hope that it will help some of you too." She paced from side to side as she spoke, her posture relaxed and nonthreatening the entire time. "Before we start, I just wanted to remind you all that this class is to help not hurt you. If you have any injuries or an exercise is too much, please let me know. We can adapt most of the exercises so that you still feel the benefit but without further injury.I want you all to learn something, get stronger, but also I want you to have fun and want to come back." Her eyes found Betsy for a moment and she fought not to drop her head in shame. She knew she had overexerted herself more than once over the months. "As usual we'll start of with a ten minute warm up. Then, we'll move on to some exercises to build up your body strength. We'll work on some self defense. And then, as I know its your favourite part, we'll do some exercises with the bags. We'll go through everything step by step to introduce you to the technique and then we'll split you up. For now, lets get started with the warm up."

An hour later, sweat was clinging to Betsy's brow and her muscles ached in places she didn't know existed. It was a good type of ache - one that came from a good work out. Most importantly, the exercise had done its job. Since the accident, Betsy often found herself filled with restless energy. Betsy could never describe the sensation to Nick when he asked. It was just like everything within her was on high alert - there was all of this jittery energy flooding through her veins like she needed to do something. Anything. In the end she would always end up pacing or doing just about anything to distract her from the buzzing within her limbs. If she ignored it, it just continued to build until it made her snappy and not all that pleasant to be around. It also lead to her biting her nails right the way down.

Punching a bag seemed to be the cure she had needed. Though there was still the faintest hint of the energy, a background drone that never went away, it was no longer overwhelming. It would be bearable for the rest of the week until she could fit in another class. And that's how she had to focus on life now. She tried not to worry about the distant future and instead focused on the here and now. At least, as much as she could. A part of her would always worry about what was to come.

Swiping her sweaty brow off with a towel, Betsy took a seat and attempted to regain her breath. She was aware of the presence before the timid woman from her therapy class sat down beside her. Yet she was far from relaxed. She held herself rigidly, her muscles tensed and poised to flee at a moments notice.

"Hi," Betsy offered in greeting when the woman made no immediate attempt to speak. "How did you find the class? It can be a little intense to start off with but, if you stick with it, you will feel the benefit."

The other woman glanced down, her fingers picking at the label of her water bottle. However, after a few moments, she lifted her head and met Betsy's gaze. Without the woman even having to say it, Betsy knew that it was a big deal. The woman had always kept her gaze averted. Even during therapy sessions, when they sat in a circle and had not choice but to face someone, she did everything to avoid meeting other peoples stares.

"It was different," she began hesitantly, her voice just above a whisper. "In a good way. It feels good to do something different."

Nodding her head, Betsy agreed,"I felt exactly the same. The best part about this group is that there is zero judgment. Most of the people here are from our group. They've been through similar but different things so no one makes a big deal if I have a panic attack. We're a community." She waved a hand around the room. "And just because I'm sharing, don't feel pressured into feeling like you need to share everything about yourself. You can do as little or as much as you want to. But, if you ever want to share, the group is here."

The woman nodded her head, the light glinting off of a scar on her neck. It was the first time Betsy had seen it, the woman usually choosing to camouflage it with her hair. She understood. Betsy couldn't remember the last time she had worn shorts out on public. It didn't matter that the scar on her leg had faded to shades on pale pink and silver. The scar would always draw too many questions and far too much scrutiny.

Reaching into her bag, Betsy opened her purse and pulled out a business card. It felt ridiculous to have them but Nick had insisted. It was a necessity in business after all. For once, she conceded his point.

"I know talking in a group setting can be intimidating. This has my number on it. If you ever just want to have a cup of coffee and a chat with someone, then just give me a call."

The hand which took the card was shaky. The other woman looked down at the expensive card and stared at it for a few moment. When she lifted her eyes a few moments later, Betsy couldn't read anything on the other woman's face, her emotion hidden so deeply behind a facade. Still, she tucked the card into her pocket and gave a small nod.

"I may just take you up on the offer." She whispered after a pause.

"I'll look forward to it."

Not wanting to overwhelm the other woman, Betsy busied herself with her bag. Once it was packed away, she offered the other woman a smile.

"Well, I best head off. My lunch dates can be a tad impatient."

The other woman stood too before blurting, "You're different than I expected."

A furrow formed between Betsy's brows. "I'm sorry?"

The woman blushed and stared down at her feet. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just, I recognised you from the papers." She shook her head and offered a meek smile. "I never thought I would meet a celebrity and that you would be so-."

Betsy offered her a genuine smile. "I understand completely but here's the secret. I'm not a celebrity. I just happen to be dating one. And he's about a far from your stereotypical celebrity as you could get."

"Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise. The papers make a compelling argument - even if 99% of what they spout are complete fabrications." Betsy lead the woman over to the shoe rack and hastily busied herself with sliding her feet back into her trainers. "If we do go for that coffee, there is a chance they will be extremely interested so I would understand if you decide not to. Anyway, enough about them. I'll see you at next week's session?"

The other woman hesitated for a moment but finally gave a small nod. "Sure. Next week."

Even as she said the words, Betsy could detect a hint of hesitancy in the other woman. Yet she also felt a sliver of hope. They stepped out into the cool midday air together. Then, with a wave, Betsy watched the other woman scurry over to a beat up old Ford Fiesta. She gave another wave as she drove off.

It felt like a small victory. While there had been no formal commitment, the other woman hadn't completely rejected the offer. It was a step in the right direction. And while Betsy would not pressure her, a part of her hoped she would call. She had lost many of her friends when she split with her ex-husband. It would be good to have some adult age acquaintances again. And, a selfish part of Betsy recognised that in helping this woman, she was also helping herself.