came to the shore. I realized then what she thought I was going to enjoy. It wasn’t
as if I hadn’t ever seen a sunset before. Whoopty-fucking-doo. And then I saw the
yoga mats laid out in the sand. I rolled my eyes. How original.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Holly beamed as we stopped in front of the two mats, and
she looked out at the sunrise. The same old light pinks, purples, yellows, and
oranges blurred with the sky while the sun fought its way up through the horizon to
greet us.
“It’s great,” I said dismissively and moved to sit down on my mat. Holly joined
me a moment later.
A small white porcelain bowl with a lid and spoon sat on both our mats, along
with bottles of water with lemon, cucumber, and mint. I lifted the lid to the bowl to
find oatmeal with sliced bananas, strawberries, and blueberries.
“I had our breakfast brought out for us,” Holly said like it was the best idea
she’d ever had.
“Thanks,” I said as I picked up my spoon and started digging in. The oatmeal
was soft enough to chew without bothering my jaw, and the water was actually
pretty refreshing.
“I thought we might start out with some beginner’s yoga,” she said cheerily as
we set our bowls aside. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Beginners? Seriously?” I was an advanced practitioner, for fuck’s sakes, not
some goddamn beginner.
“Yes, since you’re still healing from your injuries, I didn’t want to push you too
hard.”
How nice of her.
“Thanks for your concern, but I’ll decide my limits.” And with that, I
immediately pushed myself up into a downward dog position and began to stretch
out my calves. Holly sighed in defeat and followed my position.
For the next hour, Holly and I practiced semi-advanced yoga. Much to my
frustration, my wrist and torso ached whenever I experienced too much pressure.
My wrist was mostly healed, but my ribs were still on the mend. Hank and Blondie
stood off about twenty feet away, their eyes ever watchful as I tried to pretend they
weren’t there.
I was beyond pissed off that I was seriously lacking in my yoga skills. My
muscles were tense from their little hibernation, and with every change in position,
my joints cracked in protest. Sunrise yoga didn’t relax me as Holly had planned. If
anything, it just made me angrier at Darren for weakening me. I wanted to crush
him, feel the bones in his neck snap like he had done to me, but I had to get better
first.
It didn’t take long for Holly to feel the heated rage coming off me, so she
suggested we meditate to clear our minds of all negativity. I tried. I tried really
fucking hard to focus on the sound of the rolling waves crashing against the shore,
the feel of the warm breeze on my skin as the loose strands of my hair tickled my
face, and the smell of the salt in the air; but all I could concentrate on was how my
heart beat with a rage so intense I thought my chest would burst.
I wanted to murder Darren. I wanted to violently rip him from limb to limb until
he was nothing but a bloody puzzle of human remains. But that wasn’t going to
happen … at least not with my bare hands.
After pretending to calm down for a half hour, Holly decided we should get up
and move on to the next stupid activity she had planned for me. We walked back
into the house, heading toward the sunroom at the south end of the house. The
room was all windows, giving everyone another perfect view of the ocean.
Set up in front of the windows were two easels holding large blank white
canvases. Trays of colorful paint and brushes were laid out on tables next to the
easels. I immediately crossed my arms and turned to Holly.
“What the fuck is this?”
She flinched again but recovered quickly. “Have you ever painted before,
Jaden?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “No. I have no interest in painting.”
“I thought it would be fun. You can paint whatever you want. Whatever is on
your mind. Just let the colors speak for themselves,” she beamed at me.
The only color that had any influence at the moment was the red I saw in my
vision. What the fuck was this? Some kind of therapy attempt? Fuck off with that
shit.
“So, what, you’re suddenly my therapist now? This is supposed to be some
bullshit form of therapeutic relaxation?”
“Well, no,” she said, her voice becoming small. “I just thought—”
“You just thought what? That I’d paint you a little picture of the fucked-up shit
inside my head so you can see what it looks like?”
“Jaden,” she said, taken aback at my abrasiveness. “I’m
