After drying off and changing into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, I headed out of the shower room. I was four strides into the gym when I spotted Sophie in the corner, her body angled slightly toward the wall. She was on the phone, and from the slump of her shoulders and the quickened way her chest rose and fell, something was wrong. Against my better judgment, I took a few steps closer.
“No. I won’t. Not anymore. You can’t—” Her voice fluctuated as she spoke, frustration and defeat battling for the win.
I should’ve minded my own business and walked away, but I couldn’t move from my spot, my legs refusing to follow my brain’s instructions to not get involved.
She pulled the phone from her ear a moment later, her shoulders trembling. I stared at her, berating myself for caring about what might possibly be wrong. I had no idea who she’d been talking to, and I didn’t want to know, but that didn’t stop me from advancing toward her, stopping to stand directly behind her.
Sophie turned around before I could say anything, smashing into my chest because of my proximity. When she retreated, she kept her head down, mumbling an apology when I should’ve been the one to apologize for startling her. Again, I mentally berated myself for not hightailing it out of there. But when she swiped at her eyes, the urge to find out what was going on was too strong for me to head in the opposite direction.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked.
The palpable weight of her silence pricked my skin, and before I could dissect my odd reaction, she sucked in a breath and released it on a hiccup, a single tear falling down her cheek. Again, she swiped at her face, picking her head up to look at me only when I took another step closer. I repeated my question, peering deep into her entrancing blue eyes.
“No one,” she answered.
“No one?”
“I don’t want to get into it.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, licking her lips and fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
“Was it bad news?” Why did I find it necessary to press her for information? Especially when moments ago, I prayed notto run into her today, which would’ve been impossible, as she worked here.
Her response was to shrug and to switch between shaking her head and nodding, resulting in a very confusing silent answer.
“Is someone bothering you?”
Her eyes widened a fraction, telling me I’d asked the right question.
“Do you want me to get involved?”
“What? N-no,” she stuttered, as shocked as I was at having made the offer.
“Is it your ex-husband?”
Seconds after I asked the question, I’d suddenly become bombarded with a memory that had etched itself into my brain. One I wished I didn’t possess.
A memory of a woman who’d once feared her abusive husband.
A memory of the fateful day she was stolen from this world.
A memory of the anguish that had wrapped itself around me and still hadn’t released me even to this day.
“How do you know about him?” she asked, pulling me away from my thoughts. She was seemingly more interested in how I found out about her situation than answering me.
“Lance mentioned him.”
“Why were you talking about me? I thought you didn’t like me.” The smallest hint of a smile drifted over her mouth but was gone before fully lifting the corners of her lips.
“I don’t know you enough to form a proper opinion on how I feel about you.” That was a blatant lie. Sure, the part about me not knowing her was true, but I’d already formed my opinion on her, one that was quickly morphing into something else altogether.
Instead of delving further into our odd and distracting conversation, Sophie took a step to the side, keeping her attention on the ground.
“I should get back to work.” She took another step away from me, but I moved with her, an action I didn’t expect to make.
“If someone is bothering you or threatening you, do you at least know how to defend yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know how to throw a punch? Escape if someone has their hands wrapped around your throat. Defend. Yourself?” I emphasized the last two words.
