His eyes snapped up to mine. “I might have fucked up. But she knows how an injury can hurt you; she would have been perfect to help you recover. Not just to keep you company.”
Rosie already did more to help me than anyone else. The countless hours she spent keeping me company as everyone else went on with their lives. And despite most of the girlfriends from my team made the effort to help, Rosalie baked for me, entertained me, and really cared for me. I thought it was the start of something between us.
“Clearly, she doesn't share the sentiment,” I muttered, not being able to stop the sarcasm steeping into my voice.
Aaron narrowed his eyes at me, but bit back whatever it was he wanted to say. He knew he screwed up. “Don't worry, I'll talk to her and...”
“That's okay,” I cut him off. “I can take whatever other teacher is in the studio. I'm sure it's all the same.”
I wasn't looking forward to being vulnerable and fumbling in front of anyone but knowing it would have been Rosie made the thought a bit more bearable. She was like a safety blanket.
“All right, bro,” Aaron nodded. “Whatever you want. Maybe it’s even better, so you don’t hit on my sister just to make yourself feel better.”
I groaned and gave him a stern look. It might have slipped his attention, but since my injury, I wasn’t excited about hookups. I just couldn’t stomach them.
“Sure, great excuse,” I said sarcastically.
“Sorry,” Aaron laughed. “You know I get overprotective of her. I don’t want some douche playing with her, and sheseems hell-bent on going out with idiots. But at the same time, I want to help you. You seemed like you struggled today.”
Pushing my lips together, I forced myself to stay quiet. I didn't just struggle; I was battling my inner fight or flight. But contrary to Rosie, I couldn't just walk away. I wanted to, because every time I lifted my leg to shoot, gut-wrenching fear paralyzed my body.
Was there such a thing as injury PTSD? Because if there had been, I sure would have suffered from it.
But it wasn't something I was willing to discuss with anyone. Only my therapist.
“I'm good,” I nodded, standing. “Thanks for offering to help. Especially asking Rosie. Appreciate it.”
Aaron nodded, but I missed his wave of goodbye as I stared at my buzzing phone.
Max
I'm here if you want to talk.
Maddox
Dude, get your head out of your ass.
Yeah, my two best friends had very different approaches to addressing tough topics.
With a scoff, I ignored them both, and taking a deep breath, I forced my feet to start walking towards the Pilates studio and face my fears.
My schedule quickly turned mental. I spent my early mornings running with Max and Maddox, my two best friends, who didn't mind slowing down to keep my knee from giving out. Then I fumbled through soccer practice where I shit the bed every time I needed to score. Passing wasokay, I could do that. But scoring still made my palms sweaty. Then I had my boring classes, which were annoying, as I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I had a big inheritance coming my way, so I could do anything I wanted. I could do professional soccer; I was decent enough, but I wasn't sure I was cut out for that. Not the way Max and Maddox were. So yeah, my business classes were a pain.
And in the afternoon, I had to struggle through 90 minutes of Pilates. The teacher, who happened to be the owner, Sam, was nice enough when she didn't make my legs shake like they were made of fucking jelly.
“Ten more,” she smiled at me, as she forced me to internally rotate my knee and slowly push out the carriage of the reformer, which was otherwise known as a modern torture device. She only kept me at one red spring, which was supposed to be not too heavy. Instead, simply help strengthen the muscles around my knee. “Inhale, exhale.”
And that was the other thing, being forced to synchronize my breath with the exercise. Never thought breathing was so fucking hard.
My leg shook as I did at least twenty. I learned early on that Sam was a compulsive liar. Every time she said a number, I ended up doing double. She also didn't know how to count seconds. I wasn't sure how she was qualified to teach, seeing that she struggled with counting, but hey, who was I to decide?
A groan escaped me as I changed legs, and my injured knee was the one I had to force to internally rotate. Fear gripped my throat from the unnatural position before I slowly pushed the carriage out, every single muscle in my leg screaming.
“Very good,” Sam praised me as always when we worked on my weaker leg.
My eyes fell shut for a short moment before shooting back up as soft instrumental music coaxed them open. I watched the figure through the glass door move in awe, her movements fluidto the music I didn't fully hear. She looked like a dream, moving like the waves in the ocean. I didn't know where one move ended and the next began as she melted into one big run-on sentence.
I held my breath, watching her, my exercise all forgotten.
