A Desperate Need

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Blake's POV

"Hit it," I whisper into her ear, hoping my presence can offer her some solace. She hesitates for a moment, her breath catching in her throat, before finally unleashing her pent-up frustration on the bag.

"Blake," she says, her voice barely a whisper, filled with vulnerability and longing. I can sense the pain in her words, the rawness of her emotions, and it breaks my heart to witness her in this state.

"Let it out, Em," I encourage her gently, my grip on her tights tightening in reassurance. And as if a dam has burst, she starts to punch the bag relentlessly, tears streaming down her face like a river.

With each strike, her voice grows louder, her screams piercing through the air. The fear and pain multiply, and her emotions take over completely. It's as if she's battling not just the bag, but the demons that haunt her every waking moment.

"Why? Why did you leave me, mother?" she cries out, her voice filled with anguish. "How am I supposed to take on the monster? You left me!" Her fists collide with the bag, over and over, as if trying to physically destroy the pain that resides within her.

I can see the desperation in her eyes, and the need to make sense of the chaos that rages inside her. She wants to confront her past, to confront the monster that has haunted her for so long. But I know that revenge won't heal her wounds, won't bring her the closure she seeks.

"No, leave me," she pleads, her voice strained with determination. "I need to defeat him. I need him to feel the way I feel." She continues to strike out, this time at me, her fists hitting my chest with all her might. But I refuse to let her spiral further into darkness.

With a firm grip, I manage to grab her hands, halting her assault, and pull her closer to me. I can feel her trembling against my body, her tears soaking into my shirt. I hold her tightly, providing a sense of safety amidst the storm that rages within her.

"Em, it's me," I whisper, my voice filled with compassion. "Calm down, please. Breathe." I guide her through deep breaths, trying to bring her back to the present, back to reality. And slowly, she begins to regain control, her breaths steadying as she concentrates on matching mine.

As I stared into her eyes, inches away from her face, I could feel the weight of her emotions pressing against me. It was as if the air around us had become thick with tension, and I knew that I had to handle this situation delicately, just like she had handled the punching bag at the club.

Her question echoed in my mind, "Why did you do this?" The truth was, I did it because I wanted her to understand that emotions were just fleeting moments, and it was our reaction to them that truly mattered. But now, as she challenged me with her fiery gaze, I realized that my intentions may have been misunderstood.

I tightened my grip on her, pulling her even closer to me, hoping that my touch would offer some comfort amidst the chaos of emotions swirling around us. "I needed you to realize that an emotion is just a feeling," I murmured softly, my voice barely audible. "It's how you handle the emotion that will determine your feelings."

Her glare intensified, and I could see the anger and hurt bubbling beneath the surface. "The way you handle your emotions at the club," she spat out, her words laced with bitterness. The ball was now in my court, and I knew it was time to address the elephant in the room.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my own emotions that threatened to spill over. "Why did you come here if you're still holding it against me?" I asked, my voice filled with genuine curiosity. I needed to understand her perspective, to comprehend why she had sought me out despite the pain I had caused.

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