James: Where r u now?
I wavered at the question because I didn’t want him turning up and chatting to me while I worked out, sweating. It’s weird thathe refused to apologize and seemed to blame me for not waiting for him.
Me: Busy. I’ll speak to you later.
That’s it. I switched my phone to silent with no interest in continuing the conversation, as his messages left a bitter taste in my mouth. Something was off, but I didn’t care enough to put more brain energy into it.
An unfamiliar face was behind the counter when I walked into the gym, which I was pleased about. I half expected Robbie to be there, but I guess he had classes to attend like the rest of us. I just wanted all of those annoying men away from me.
The sound of metal weights clanging and several men’s voices echoed down the hall as I walked toward the locker rooms and dithered a little on whether or not I wanted to go in. I know I was being unrealistic, but I was hoping it would be a slow day in the gym where I could make a dick out of myself without an audience.
Once changed, I step into the gym to find that there are several jocks in the weight section, spotting for each other while under the scrutinizing gaze of an older man in a white polo neck shirt, holding a clipboard, who I assumed was their trainer.
The warm-up area, where the exercise cycles, rowing machines, and treadmills were mostly empty. Robbie and two other jocks who hang out with the Warwicks were there, along with James’s older brother, whose name I didn’t know. Mila and the others were more educated on the jocks than I was, whereas my knowledge was based on who to stay away from.
I climbed on a spin cycle, but the seat was too high again, so I adjusted it, only to drop it too low, forcing me to get off and reset it. When I finally climbed back on for the third time, I saw a shadow creep past in my peripheral vision and made eye contact with the shadow.
A shiver ran down my spine as a penetrating gaze was stabbing me in the face, as if I had trespassed. My breath hitched as my heart pummeled against my ribcage, as I had never been looked at with so much loathing. I paid for my concession ticket. I had every right to be there, asshole.
When he finally turned away, I could breathe again, but it made me uneasy—as if I had crossed into the territory of my enemy. Well… he was my enemy—Nicolae Warwick, the oldest son, who was the spitting image of his murderous piece-of-shit father.
He strode up to the other jocks, part of their club, then took out his phone from my sweatpants pocket, messaged someone while Robbie and two other jocks turned to look at me briefly, wearing smirks. I was pleased when their trainer pulled their attention back to the task at hand, and I could relax a little.
I focused on working the pedals, pushing my thighs until they burned as my breath quickened and sweat dripped from my forehead, blurring into my eyes. I wiped the sweat away and kept going until I was completely exhausted, then got off the bike, but my thighs felt like rubber and almost gave out beneath me.
“You don’t seem like a gym type,” someone said, and I followed their voice to find Carrie the mean girl perched on a bike two away from me, slowly pedaling.
“What does a gym type look like?” I challenged her comment. Let’s not pretend we like each other when Mila and Erin weren’t around. There was an unspoken contract that we play nice, so we didn’t spoil our friendships. It’s how civil societies function after all, being tolerant for the greater cause.
“Well…” she began as I tried to walk normally, even though my ass hurt from that stupid little seat and the floor seemed to wave under my hot feet. “Not you.”
I walked away from her, uninterested in continuing this pointless conversation, and stepping onto a treadmill, I set it toa slow walking pace. Sweat poured down my forehead, and as I wiped it away with my forearm, I looked at Carrie to see her staring at the jocks with a flirty little smirk. God, get a grip. They don’t even notice she’s there. Why do women do this to themselves?
But it shows where her priorities were and probably the reason she was there. I mean... she was barely breaking a sweat on the bike, pedaling at such a slow pace, so she wasn’t in the gym to work out, even though she accused me of being ‘not a gym type’.
But enough about the mean girl and more about me transforming into a fighting, knife-wielding crusader who climbs walls like Spiderman and snaps a man in half like Thor. Okay, I was dreaming, and snapping Ezrah Warwick in half will take a lot of effort, let alone that evil-eye Nicolae Warwick.
What was his nickname, Sickfuck, no, Sicko, no, Sickle, like the corn cutting tool? So tough to be named after a crop cutter? Jeez, I wish I were named after a steak cutter or a branch cutter. Call me Secateurs, call me Shears, call me Loppers.
I’m named after wool-cutting scissors—Addie the Shears. No, Addie the Secateurs. Then I remembered what Ezrah Warwick called me: Stabby Addie. Huh, I liked that. The name given to me by my enemy felt the most fitting.
Evil-eye Warwick stabbed me with a look again in an attempt to intimidate me, I suspect. Under my newfound name, Stabby Addie, I shot him the middle finger while sticking my tongue out at him. Not a single flinch of animation on his stupidly handsome face, and he just refocused on his training, unimpressed with this bitch mocking him.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Carrie said as she stepped onto the treadmill next to me, uninvited. Most of the other treadmills were open, but she chose this one right here.
“Yes, I should,” I argued, refusing to back down.
“You don’t know how dangerous the Warwicks are,” she contended, making me scoff.
“Yes, I do. I know exactly who the Warwicks are, thank you very much. And maybe you should mind your own business,” I hissed as I started jogging to get away from her, even though it was a treadmill and I wasn’t going anywhere, but Iimaginedjogging away from her.
Carrie fell quiet and wondered if I had hurt her feelings. Unfortunately, she didn’t leave, which was what I wanted. I was here first, so she can leave first.
I couldn’t take the atmosphere created by our unfriendly clash, so I broke my code and added so she’ll understand, “My family and theirs have been enemies for years.”
She bowed her head gracefully, “Yes, I know. That’s common knowledge.”
I was surprised because I didn’t think people knew who I was, nor did I think they cared. But obviously, Mila had been talking to her. “Is it? Jeez, I didn’t think I was that interesting,” I sniggered, wishing she would leave me alone. My heart rate had gone up, I was puffing, sweating, and the last thing I wanted was a conversation with a mean girl who was telling me what I could and couldn’t say to my enemies.
