<b>Chapter 369 </b>
He throws another, hitting the pad with barely a sound. I switch directions causing him to <b>follow</b><b>. </b>At least I know he’s focused on me and nothing else but his stance is defensive, not where I need <b>him </b>
to be for this use.
I strike his left fist gently with my right trying to bring his attention to the task he’s been instructed toplete.
“Hit me, Cole.”
I increase the force in my voice trying to get him toply. He manages two hits this time, one right after the other, one to each hand. His breathing is erratic, his eyes frantically trying to find <b>a </b>way out but in such an unfamiliar area it’s proving difficult for him to spot the doors that lead outside.
I hit his left hand again, this time with a little more force. Enough that he responds with a small, surprised yelp and pulls back. This time I follow him. His eyes widen even more, his fear is slowly
turning into anger.
I do it again. This time hitting his right with my left. I know with the pads it’s not hard enough to hurt, even with his sensory issues. He responds the same.
A small, fearful yelp only this time he has a few small whimpers following behind.
‘Are you certain you can do this without putting him into a ckout?‘
I can hear Patrick’s concern in my head as I continue my tease. Every step away from me he takes<b>, </b>I take two towards him. For every weak, hesitant hit he makes I hit back. It’s not a punch of any kind considering my hands are strapped into two inch thick memory foam bricks that are two inches wide by four inches long but I do have the ability toe in from the side or bottom. I’m not confined to straight hits but I am keeping my strikes confined to his hands.
“Hit me!”
Imand him the loudest I’ve been all night while meeting his hand the hardest I dare to hit him. He yelps hard, jumping back a foot but I stay close, tapping his hands softly but persistently with the pads. I know my strength and I know I’m not hurting him but his fear and panic are getting to him bad<b>. </b>Looking into his eyes, I can see him struggling and I’m starting to doubt that I’ll be able to get him to relent to this.
His fear is high enough that his whimpers are persistent, I continue my gentle teasing against <b><i>his </i></b>hands, hard enough that he flinches with every strike but light enough that his yelps are fearful <b>not </b>painful. I slow my movements enough that he manages to look into my <b>eyes</b><b>, </b>once again searching.
<b>1/3 </b>
Chapter <b>369 </b>
“Come on, Cole. Let go. I promise you this will help but you need to let yourself <b>go</b><b>. </b><b>Hit </b><b>me</b>, Cole I will not hurt <b>you </b>and you can not hurt me. Even if you miss my hands <b>you </b><b>can </b>not hurt me
I gently encourage as I can tell he’s dangerously close to the edge. I just don’t know which edge hes going to fall from first.
It’s with a strangled growl that he strikes. For the first time I feel his strength through the pad. I’m caught off guard when he hits again but quickly recover as he hits again.
“That’s it Cole. Give into the anger, the frustration and fear.”
I now encourage his continuance as he gets into a rapid sequence.
‘I’m going to encourage him to talk. It’s important that you just let him ramble.“‘
I hear Julie through the link as I concentrate on countering Cole’s offensive strategy.
“Now that you’ve let go physically, I need you to let go verbally. Let everything go.”
Julie’s voice is calm yet assertive in her instructions but his continued silence concerns me<b>. </b>
“I’m tired.”
His statement shocks me as I wasn’t expecting him to speak.
“I’m tired of living in fear. I’m tired of living in pain. I’m tired of fighting.”
His hits are getting stronger as he caves further into his anger.
“Every day I wake up asking why? What did I do to deserve this life? Why won’t she wee me back? I don’t understand how the Goddess Diana, creator of all werewolves could sentence anyone to the life I live. I have to fight for everything. I fight to eat. I fight to take care of my basic needs. I fight just to breathe. Just to wake up every morning and fight again. My only peace is istion and I have to fight for that too. I’m not an alpha. I don’t want to be one if it means bing my father. He is no father. Not to me. I don’t want to be there. I have no home but no freedom
eave<b>.</b>”
As suddenly as he started his rant he stops. Breathing hard, he simply stands two feet away from me, his cheeks wet with tears.
“I don’t want to leave but I have no freedom to stay.<b>” </b>
He copses gently to his knees inplete exhaustion and defeat, assuming the hard submission position as his anger dissolves into grief.