For a second we exchange mirrored toothy smiles, and then I’m wrapping my arms around her and feeling that sense of female camaraderie wash over me.
Like pretty much every single woman I’ve ever known or spoken to, I know exactly what it’s like to have low self-esteem, to not like what I see reflected back at me in the bedroom mirror, to critique the way I look, and focus on the flaws etched onto my skin.
I know what it’s like to asksomeone elsewhat my worth is, allowthemto define it, rather than turning to myself and asking the woman inside of me.
When I did eventually take back my worth, I realised how much I’d love to combine my passions for dance, spirituality and body confidence to see what I could create. I was already in thefortunate enough position to be a dance coach for teenagers in the musical theatre business, so I took the way I knew how to command a room and run dance classes and applied to rent out a studio room in this very gym.
It wasn’t easy, it’s still not, but when I hear women like Calla tell me how much they love my classes, how much I’ve helped their confidence, how much I’ve changed their life for the better that makes all the blood, sweat and tears I’ve shed along the past couple of years, worth it.
Giving Calla another squeeze on her upper arm and a smile, we part ways; her, heading in the direction of the exit, me, rounding the corner to the juice bar.
“Afternoon, Giselle,” purrs Freddie, the resident cafe assistant, from behind the counter, a washcloth draped over one of his broad shoulders. The slightly leering smile he sends my way, has shivers threatening to ripple down my spine, but I ignore looking directly at Freddie in favour of peering at the chalkboard behind him which displays today’s special smoothie creations.
“A berry blast? What’s in that exactly?”
“Cherries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries… if I can find them—”
“I’ll take one of those, and…” I glance down at the selection of fresh fruit in one of the metal baskets atop the counter and at the heap of different flavoured protein and oat bars thrown into the other basket. Picking an energy bar at random, I place it down beside the card reader. “I’ll take a protein bar too.”
“Good choice,” Freddie remarks, holding out his hand for my staff ID card which, once swiped, will grant me my smoothie and bar for a discounted price.
It’s impossible to miss the way he purposefully touches the skin of my hand as he places the card back into my grasp and smiles at me again, his eyes bouncing to my face, then to mysports bra cladded chest for a beat and then back to my face again. “I’ll get on making your smoothie for you.”
Ducking my head, I fish my mobile out of my leggings pocket and open a popular social media app at random. Anything to stop Freddie from trying to make conversation with me. Believe me, he’s made his advances towards me quite clear in the past; I’m aware of just how attractive he finds me.
The feeling isn’t mutual, however. He isn’t really my type – too lean and long and lanky with not a single tattoo in sight. Unless he’s got some hidden away somewhere. I don’t really care to find out.
I like my men on the taller side, someone to still tower over me even when I’m in my platform heels, with a decent smattering of ink and, typically, a shock of brunette hair.
At least, that’s how my ex looked, and it had never been his looks which had caused the problem in our relationship. It had been his penchant for other women, at the same time we’d been sleeping together, but…
I stop myself before I can go down that trail of thought.
The smoothie machine grinds alive nosily, I double tap a blurry photograph posted by an old school classmate and ignore the swoop in my stomach which always happens when I think about the past.
I’m a completely different person compared to who I was back then, abetterperson, and I don’t doubt for a second that the people I once thought I knew like the back of my hand, would even recognise me if they passed me in the street.
It’s the way I like it, but it’s no less jarring to see ghosts of my past come back to haunt me.
I make the mistake of glancing upwards to see how the smoothie making is coming along, my eyes clashing with Freddie’s as he watches me and not the thick sludge of mixedberries sliding out of the smoothie maker spout and landing in a biodegradable cup.
Shit.
I look back down and switch social media apps.
No, Freddie isn’t my type, and even if he was, I still don’t think I’d be accepting his advances.
He’s a well-known playboy. One who’s often heard bragging about his conquests in the staff room, and that’s exactly the type of man I stay away. Not because he’s my co-worker, but because sleeping with, or getting into a relationship with someone with a reputation like Freddie’s can only end one way.
Painfully.
And I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.
I wouldn’t be celibate by choice for the past three years, if that wasn’t the case.
Sure, there’s been dates and kisses exchanged but nothing has ever gone any further than that before I’ve put a stop to it.
No, a man like Freddie isn’t going to be careful with my heart and that’s what I need, something, after many years of soul searching, I know I deserve.
