Surviving the Odds (Sequel to DTO)

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Layla

Sweat trickles down the small of my back and my lungs gasp for more air as I move across the ring. Jack stands across from me, light bruises lining his arms. I can tell that he's barely hanging on: a few more hits and he'll be down. I wait for him to make his next move, slowly circling around the ring with my arms blocking my torso.

This morning is the first where the plague of fatigue doesn't weigh me down so harshly during training. I can finally focus on being in the ring without my subconscious threatening to pull me back under. The other mornings were harder, especially with the aftermath of Asher's departure. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since he's been gone.

Jack steps forward and lunges at me, his right fist coming to connect with my arm and his left protecting his chest. I duck and dodge it, kicking my leg out to catch his. He stumbles, caught off guard, and I take the opportunity to throw my body into his. It takes him seconds to hit the ground, and when he does, he stays there.

"Don't you ever get tired of beating me up?" he asks, after catching his breath.

"Of course not," I say, smile pulling onto my lips. My muscles are weak and sore, but I'm getting there. The pain is fading and turning into a dull throb. I haven't pushed my body this hard since I trained in the Capitol, since the – my – games.

Being a Victor here has earned me respect that I would have otherwise had to earn with experience. Grant lets me have free roam of my eleven students, allowing me to teach them as little or as much as I wish. I usually help them with knives, hand-to-hand, and some survival skills. When they need other assistance, I send them to different trainers. But in the end they are my graduates, my responsibility.

My students haven't done anything to catch my attention in the last four days. I can only remember three of their names, and even then nothing about them is distinguished from the rest. I have ten tall, bulky males, and one lanky female. I remember Myrena from my own class, her sharp, aggressive fighting style logically bound to outrank my own. But, she never did beat me. I fought her once when I was thirteen, and I beat her after a standstill hand-to-hand in the ring. It lasted eight minutes. I flipped her over my shoulder and threw her to the ground. I should be amused that I am the Victor, and she is my student, but I'm not. She lives under the protection of being a District Four citizen and I am left to the scrutiny of Panem.

I wipe the sweat from my body with a towel and take a swig from my bottle of water. Jack and I have been sparring daily before lessons begin, and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. I look forward to seeing him here every morning. He usually stays at the knot-tying station or the spear throwing station, whichever needs him more.

I offer a hand to Jack and he takes it graciously, my own body straining as I pull him to his feet. I stretch my arms out a little bit, let out a big yawn, and exit the ring to start for the day.

Yesterday, my students sat through hours of lectures. I had to oversee them, holding my tongue when the other trainers made idiotic comments about the "facts" of the Games. But today is Friday, and Fridays are running days.

I start the pace on the track with a slow jog, saving my energy for the last laps when I'll really need it. On most days, students will run anywhere from one to five laps around the two-mile path. Not today, though. I have been pushing my graduates.

"Seven laps!" I shout at them just as I begin the trek. "And if I see anyone walking it'll be eight!"

Everyone follows behind me and keeps my pace. I can hear the hushed groans of my students, but they do not speak out and stay quiet about their discontent. No one runs ahead of me, and I frequently look back to make sure no one falls behind.