She still wasn't in his class, but she felt more capable than ever before.After three more bouts on the central mat, the class split up into pairs for...sparring and donned the extra gear needed to insure the students didn't injure each other. Unlike sparring with the instructor, student against student bouts could, and sometimes did, go horribly wrong.Kat paired off with Anders, a bulldog of a man from one of the heavy gravity worlds. He was her height, but almost as wide as he was tall. His. She was told how to find her way there to meet him. Just as she got there though, he was coming out the door. His torn shirt had a bandage underneath. ‘What did they do to it?’ Em asked. ‘Just some cream antiseptic and a couple butterfly bandages,’ John explained. ‘The doc feels it will be okay without stitches. It was too wide to stitch anyway.’ ‘Are you going to have a scar?’ Em questioned. ‘Probably … why … you dislike scars?’ John queried chuckling. ‘Oh, scars don’t really bother me,. What happened after that, what Amber meant by us being “at home” that night “later”, what I’d say if Cindy came fully awake and breathed me in, I didn’t know. First things, first, I thought. Get to the car. Get to the car. Get to the car.That thought, however, was interrupted by another. It was a thought of Amber, straddling my right leg, looking up at me from her thin, freckled, flat-footed five-foot-one-inch frame, and pissing. Then a thought of her adding my last name to her first name. Alive at least. With nothing. This hadn't worried Sharon before. Her very life had been her chief concern. But now she was sure. Her blouse was removed, thrown aside no doubt in the rape. Her sandals that she'd bought in the high street when she and Tracey were happily planning the holiday: gone forever, trampled into the dusty fields outside. And her bag, with her passport, money and possessions, gone also. Never to be seen again. Along with her last hopes of ever leaving Buggery by the normal.
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