I could definitely use this in a book, though.
Luna
Two weeks later
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The microwave alarm pulls me from my morning daze. I press Stop to turn off the alarm, then take out my egg bites.
Binx meows at my feet, waiting impatiently for his food to be served. “Oh, sorry, Binxy. Mama’s head's in the clouds.” I say apologetically. I pull one of his cans of wet food from my cabinet and mash it with a fork in his food bowl.
Over the last few weeks, I've learned that if I give it to him straight out of the can, he will eat it too fast and puke all over my carpets. So, I’ll be a good owner and mash it up for him.
With Binx situated, I sit down at the table and devour my egg bites. I’m running late this morning and don't have a set schedule yet; I just like to keep a routine going once I’ve started one, so it’s back to the gym this morning, and a few other errands.
I run down the stairs of my apartment building, hop in my car, and drive to the gym. The sight of my fire escape in my rear-view window brings me back to two weeks ago.
The Peeping Tom incident was just that, a single incident. I haven’t had any more run-ins with eyeballs staring back at me in my bathroom. No more strange sounds coming from my bedroom window, and no more haunting feeling like someone’s watching me.
I’ve convinced myself that the shadow I saw was a trick of light, or a car passing by on the street below. Nothing more than an illusion.
I’m hoping the incident will spark some creativity, but Ihaven't written anything substantial yet. I’m starting to worry that I won’t meet my publishing date.
Why can’t I write anything? The first two came out of me like lava erupting from an overactive volcano, but this? This writer's block is pure torture for me. The first two are about Vera and how she became a serial killer. About halfway through the second book, she meets Detective Liam Moore, who becomes her love interest. I have many ideas for the third book, butnonehave stuck. I did the one thing an author should avoid to save their sanity: I looked at the reviews. The main complaint in most negative reviews is that the relationship between Vera and Liam feels robotic, and readers feel there's a lack of passion between them.
I can’t say I blame them. How can I write about people falling in love when I have never been in love? I thought I loved Greg, but that illusion was quickly shattered, and I’ve never had a serious relationship—would that help? Can I even be interested in another person after what he did to me? I want to be in love, but can I love in return? I sigh deeply, gripping my steering wheel a bit harder.
I’m not sure if I even believe in love anymore. Perhaps it’s a myth, meant only for storytelling.
I pull into the gym parking lot and make my way inside. The air outside is chilly for early October, and I can tell my first winter in Boston would be brutal.
The gym is packed, so I quickly put on my headphones, choose the lone treadmill, and start my workout, leaving the love part of my life to be sorted out through a spicy audiobook.
Forty-five minutes later, a spot at the weightlifting station finally opens, and I wipe down my treadmill, nab the open weight rack, and grab two ten-pound weights. I set them beside my seat and take a moment to drink water.
I pause my audiobook, switch to my gym playlist, and my favorite gym song comes on after I shuffle it. I hold my two ten-pound dumbbells and do simple arm curls as a warm-up. I do three sets, replace the dumbbells, and move on to the bar.
I bend down to grab thebar off the rack, but stop when I feel the sensation of eyes burning into me.
The gym’s packed, Luna. Of course, people are looking at you.
But I can’t help being alert when I remember the last person who had been staring at me.
Watching me.
I shake that blush-inducing thought away and continue with my workout. I pick up the bar, and when I look in the mirror across from me on the gym wall, a man with the most breathtaking smile is staring back at me.
I lose my grip and drop the bar, sending the weights clattering to the ground. I’ve forgotten to secure them. I take my headphones off and start to pick up the weights from the ground when the stranger from the mirror reaches for the same weight I’m reaching for, and suddenly, we are face-to-face.
“Oh, sorry. Hi, I kind of made a mess of things, " the man says.
“No, it’s my fault. I was too into my music and wasn’t paying attention.” I laugh and pick up the other weight, sliding it on the bar.
The man slides the other weight to the opposite side of the bar, and I finally get a good look at his face. He has dark hair, long enough to push back on the top and tapered on the sides. He has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen on a person, and they remind me of lush green pastures—the kind you’d see in Ireland that would make you believe fairies and magic are real.
“I’m Dante, by the way.” He holds out his hand for me to take, and smiles.
Hello, hottie.
