It takes me exactly five minutes and thirty-four seconds to make it to the corner gym.It’s a decent walk which warms my muscles instead of allowing the spring chill to drill through to my bones.Frankly, I need all the warmth I can get.I can’t put on weight to save my life, so I rely on fitness to convince myself I’m healing.
I’ve done everything—increased my protein, carbs, even eaten junk food which makes me nauseous.That said, there are a few things I can’t live without: Chinese, ice cream, and sour gummy worms.They’re the best and nice to have as a treat, but that’s all I can manage before going back to my usual diet ofspite.
I’ve received a few judgmental looks at school, especially when I wear tighter outfits or a better fitting hoodie.Typically, I stick to leggings and jeans; the occasional skirt is what gets me the most attention.My favorite outfit, however, is torn shorts and a crop top.Not at school, not where people can look at me and make assumptions.
I’m working hard to gain, I really am, but something isn’t clicking—I like to think it’s because I’m housing terroristic entities who are feeding on my life force.Super Sci-fi type shit.
Until my therapist and I uncover what’s keeping me from breaking through, I’m going to do what I always do—maintain my routine and scarf down General Tso’s chicken like it’s a delicacy.
Swiping my electronic key, I step inside and make my way to the bane of my existence—the elliptical.It fucks me up every time.There’s something about the rotation, stability, center mass, gravity, and my will to live that overworks every muscle.The treadmill isn’t any better, but this is how I get my cardio outside of a few rounds of kickboxing.I start here then move over to machines and focus on either my upper or lower body.Sometimes all I do is cardio—if my arms fall off, at least my heart won’t stop working.
Climbing onto the wonky foot placement, I shove my water bottle into the cup holder and forgo a preprogrammed run, settling for a steady stride.Usually, I overthink classwork when I’m here, or my non-progressing therapy appointments.It’s hard to get anywhere when you feel like the only way you can move in life is by punishing your body through tedious workout regimens and fighting the hourglass.
Yeah, the ever-ticking clock that lacks all bedside manner—day in and day out.A taunting beast; a constant reminder there will come a day when time stops.I may not be alive to see it—where I can wallow in its death and no longer suffer its teasing.
Ten minutes into my routine, my phone chimes and yanks me out of my hatred for Father Time.
Damn, I forgot my earbuds.
Elias
Only ten more minutes on that thing.After that, it’s useless.
Speaking of—ladies and gentlemen, my keeper.He didn’t get enough of me—rather, enough of Kate—before we parted ways, and has made it his life's mission to shadow me out ofconcern.Shaking him has been rather impossible, so I’ve taken on the role of pain in the ass, all because he won’t take the hint and fuck off.
Like the brat I am, I cue up one of the preprogrammed runs.It has elevation and resistance that will have me burning, my joints wobbly, and my heart ready to choke me with its unbridled rhythm.
A three second delay counts down on a small red LED screen; the vibrant color throws gasoline into the fire burning at the back of my heels.Here comes the muted beep—oxygen has now saturated my blood, expanded veins, and seeped into my muscles, all of which prepare me for an oncoming war.
My excitement, my need for survival, senses Kate’s low growl rumbling inside of my cerebellum.She detests how I punish myself for the things I cannot control.Hell, that bitch is the one who does the majority of the punishment—which makes no sense as to why she’s aggravated with me.Still, my legs carry me, my hands squeeze the swinging hand bars, and sweat creeps down my back.
One, two, three chimes come through—God how I wish I could throw this fucking phone into the river and never look at it again.Electronics are one thing my adoptive parents didn’t allow me to have.Yes, I was jealous of other kids at the time, but I’m against them now.People lose themselves in instant gratification, getting high on dopamine when they receive a modicum of attention.
Kate’s growling has shifted from low annoyance to a warning.I’m trying to ignore it, to avoid problems associated with letting the most violent part of my psyche out to play, so I push harder.Exhaling heavy puffs of air, I then suck in sharper ones through my nose as her cold-crazy eyes rake up my spine.
She’s watching, angry, disturbed, and seconds away from hauling me off of this machine and dragging me away with her bony hand wound tight in my hair.Not if I run harder, farther, with more determination to escape her soul-crushing hold.
Ding!
“So help me God!”
I slam my palm on the emergency stop, its moving parts slow to a crawl, but I don’t wait for stillness.Snatching my phone out of the cup holder, I swipe a sweaty finger across the screen.I know who it is without looking.If I didn’t have the damn thing on Do Not Disturb, I have no doubt it would scream the tornado siren I assigned to his contact years ago.
Me
Stop messaging me!I’m busy.
Elias
No, you’ve been on long enough.Get off.
Me
At no point in time did I ask for your opinion.If I need to consult with a stalker, I’ll let you know.
“You’ll let me know?I bet the idea of cooperating gives you hives.”
Twisting around, the wet ends of my hair smack me in the face, sticking in more sweat.This motherfucker could beat Bigfoot at his own damn game with how silent he is—coming out of nowhere like some phantom of doom.
