After my breakfast, he had handed me a little skin-tight combat outfit and a pair of sneakers, ordering me to change with a wordless gesture of his hand toward the hall. The only thing more difficult than forcing down all that food was then trying to squeeze my body into the glorified jumpsuit.
When I first put them on, the sneakers were perfectly comfortable, but now they're burning holes into the sides of my feet.
I've continued through the aches in my arms and shoulders, the pain in my side, and even the burning in my thighs. But I physically cannot move anymore; my body will not let me, mylungs are fighting for every bit of oxygen in the air, and sweat is dripping between my tits like a goddamn flood.
Eamon's humorously pleased face appears in my vision, blocking out the light from above. "Is that really all you've got, Isla?"
"Yes, fucker, it is."
A full, booming laugh escapes him and he throws his head to the sky, his massive paw of a hand landing on his chest as he chuckles at my expense.
"You're lucky I'm exhausted, or you'd be next."
"After seeing what you're capable of, I'm really not that scared," he chuckles again, reaching down to help me stand. I slap it away, attempting to get up on my own.
I barely manage to get onto my knees, pathetically scraping at the ground and trying to stand while still heaving in huge breaths. Instead of watching me struggle, Eamon slides both hands under my armpits, lifting me onto my feet like I weigh nothing at all.
Even with both feet under me, my legs shake with every half-step. I'm going to be stuck down here. "Just bring me my computer, I'll get through my workday from right here on the floor." I start to sink back down, ready to accept my fate.
"Sodramatic," he laughs again, holding me up with two massive hands on my shoulders. "I thought you worked out.
"I dopilates. Which is very difficult, but it uses a completely different set of muscles than allthis." God, I want to cry. Everything hurts. "And I haven't been to a class in weeks now."
"Right." He watches me, humor dancing in his eyes as he debates his next move. "Well, I guess I'll just have to carry you upstairs."
"No." I take a step back, barely stopping my legs from wobbling. "You're not carrying me."
"Don't let me catch you then," he taunts, raising one brow as he steps forward to close the gap between us.
I take another step back, and he follows, the challenge lighting a fire in his eyes as he watches me like a predator lying in wait. I raise a hand between us, trying to create distance with another, larger step toward the door.
Perfectly in time with me, he comes closer, his hard, hot chest coming in contact with my palm. I pull my hand away as if he's burned me, needing more space between us, not less. Every second of this makes him look more feral, more monstrous. The risk of running is that he is definitely faster than me, even on my best day. He can catch me the second I turn away from him.
But this eye contact and proximity are doing silly things to my head. I need to get out of here right now.
Instead of giving it another thought, I turn and bolt out the door, running as quickly as I can toward the stairs, even while my legs scream at me to stop. His footsteps pound behind me, just a few feet behind, as I run harder than I ever have. Every step up the stairs makes my heart pound and my body plead for mercy.
Reaching the top step, I see my finish line. Luckily, my bedroom door is wide open, and I sprint towards it, throwing myself inside and onto the floor just in time for Eamon to reach the threshold.
He looks down at me with triumph and humor in his expression, "Good job, Isla. Next time, I won't go so easy on you."
"Fuck you," I pant from the floor, closing my eyes and letting my head hit the ground beneath me.
His chuckle follows him as he turns and walks away, leaving me fighting for every breath on the cold ground, wondering what would happen if I let him catch me.
Easy
Isla
After two weeks of this nonsense, the daily hour of training finally stops hurting quite as badly. I still barely manage to get myself up the stairs, but at least afterwards, I don't need to lie on the floor and will my legs to stop burning.
"You're getting stronger," Eamon comments before I reach my bedroom door.
"Yeah?" I breathe out, not daring to stop walking in case I can't start again.
He mhmm's, continuing, "Your punches and kicks are landing a lot harder than they were even a few days ago. It's not surprising that you recover and build muscle a lot faster than most mortals, but itismaking this easier."
"Easier for who?" I laugh. "Not for me, definitely." Turning to face him, I find him standing far closer than I thought he was.
