Ican feel my heartbeat lodged in my throat. Steady, desperate, alive.
The music blasts through my new earphones, so loud it drowns out the slap of my feet against the treadmill. But it can’t mute the rush in my veins, the steady surge of blood, wild and pulsing like my body is trying to outrun itself.
Despite the burn in my muscles and the ache in my lungs, I feel lighter than I have in… longer than I can remember. Maybe ever. I press the button to raise the speed, thumb flicking over to the next song. My stride adjusts, finding a new rhythm, something between punishment and release.
I drag in a few deep breaths, trying to focus on anything other than Asher. But of course, that’s pointless. His name lives somewhere behind every thought now, haunting the corners of my mind like a shadow I can’t shake. Especially after yesterday.
The way he peeled me open, piece by piece, until the truth just… fell out. I’d like to think I could’ve fought harder to stay closed, to keep the words buried where they belonged. But my ridiculous craving for connection and my constant, traitorous need tobe seen, made me spill everything. I sang like a canary, soft and foolish, as I melted right there in his hands.
His big, thick masculine hands. Hands that felt like they were made for me as he held my thighs in the bath…
“Arghhh,” I take my frustration out on myself by pressing the speedometer even higher.
Even after we said our goodbyes, after dinner, after the easy conversation and the not-so-subtle daggers Darcy kept throwing my way, I couldn’t shake him.
The night stretched endlessly, all tangled sheets and restless thoughts. I kept replaying his face, the quiet way he listened, the strange sense of safety I felt when I let the words slip free.
It shouldn’t have felt good to talk about my past, especiallythatpart of it, but it did. It was like exhaling after years of holding my breath. I kept wondering why he does that to me. Why everything else blurs when he’s nearby. Why, despite every instinct screaming at me to stay closed, I want to hand him every piece of myself and watch him fit them together.
That’s why I am in the gym, taking out my frustrations on my body and hopefully exhaust myself so much that I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow tonight. I woke up extra early so I could get done before the rest of the students start piling in like they usually do on a weekend. And so, I didn’t run into Asher. I’m not avoiding him like I have been trying to do, but I need a second to refocus on why I am really here. Marlowe.
The song ends.
A split second of silence hums between tracks, and in that small pause, something shifts. Or maybecloses.It isn’t loud, not a bang or a slam. More like the soft scrape of a shoe against the floor.
My chest tightens. I rip the earphones out, the sudden quiet pressing against my skull. My hands grip the treadmill handles, and I lift my feet off the moving belt, settling them on the plastic rests at the sides.
Then I scan behind me.
The treadmills sit off to the side of the gym, facing the massive glass windows that overlook the grounds, gravelled paths and the dark silhouette of the main building beyond. The entrance, however, is behind me, across the entire room. Too far. Too exposed.
And too quiet.
Maybe itwasstupid, coming here alone after everything that’s happened. But anyone entering would have had to pass in front of those windows first, their reflection cutting through the glass. I would’ve seen them.
Except… I didn’t.
My eyes sweep the room again. Nothing. The lights hum faintly overhead, sterile and cold.
I hit the emergency stop. The treadmill lets out a soft hiss as it slows, then stills. The silence after is thicker. Heavier. I listen. Every small creak, every settling echo feels deliberate, like the room itself is breathing with me.
Nothing.
Not a single sound.
Still, the hairs on my neck rise, that primal instinct scratching beneath my skin.Someone’s here.I can’t see them, but I know. The air feels occupied.
I move slowly toward the far wall, every step soft and measured. My gaze darts beneath the benches, between the racks of weights, behind the mirrored columns. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.
Nothing.
I press my ear against the changing room door,
And nearly jump out of my skin.
“Son of a…” I choke on the rest as music explodes down the hallway, so loud and sudden it sends my heart into a sprint. My hand flies to my chest, breath sharp and ragged. It feels like I’ve been struck by a live wire.
I move quickly now, silent as I can, toward the source of the noise. The studio. It’s used for yoga and Pilates, usually a quiet, padded space sealed off from the rest of the gym. But not now. Classical music pours through the cracks in the door, echoing through the hall towards me.
