“Ha, well I briefly thought I was dating you at one point. How idiotic is that?” My eyebrows raise in surprise as she nudges down beside me, urging her to explain. I hang off every word as she relays her catfishing story, unable to hold back my laughter when she describes the scrawny ginger guy who eventually turned up in my place. Her joyful presence is so alluring, especially in her final days. The thought kills my mood as I wonder how I thought eliminating such a bright light from the world would set me free.
“What if it had been me?” I ask quietly, knowing this conversation is fruitless.
“Well, at the time I had wanted it to be,” she admits shyly. I can’t tell but from the way she ducks her head into her shoulder, I imagine she’s blushing.
“And now?” I press on, needing to hear her answer for some unknown reason. It’s pointless but feels important to me all the same. I need to know if there was a chance I could have been saved from this fate, guided down another path.
“Now…I don’t think you even know who you are anymore so I can’t make that assumption. You don’t have to live up to whatever these people expect of you, you can still-”
“These people accept me for who I truly am, a cold-hearted monster. I’ve done things you wouldn’t even believe.” My eyes cut across to the hunched figure scratching at the wall in the corner. She shouldn’t be down here, not after what she suffered in a cell like this because of me. I need to get her out. Standing suddenly, my fingers begin to shake as I pull the key from my pocket and hurry to unlock the chain on the outside. A cold sweat beads on my forehead, guilt shredding my insides. Meg is talking but I can’t hear her over the blood rushing through my ears, and when her hand lands on my shoulder, I shrug her off roughly.
“Don’t go thinking I can change, Sweetness. I was born from a crackhead, there’s poison running through my blood stream. This is exactly who I was always destined to be, like you were destined to rot down here.”
Avery
My fist connects with Huxley’s jaw, pain slithering across my knuckles. “Stop holding back,” I growl, bending low to throw my shoulder into his abs. I manage to push him a step backwards before he twists sideways so I stumble forward. Catching myself before my face becomes best friends with the floor, I swing out my leg and groan as our shins crash together. “Fuck!” I shout, hopping on my good leg and holding the other to my body. This isn’t working. I’m so far off my game, I can’t concentrate and Huxley’s not even trying to retaliate anymore.
“Maybe we should take five, have a short rest?” Huxley offers, helping me to hop over to the wall. I slouch back and rub the latest addition to the mass of bruises and bumps on my leg. Rolling my grey leggings back down, I peel off the matching vest and square my shoulders in a hot pink sports bra.
“I can’t rest; I need to be ready.” For what, who knows but it helps me from feeling restless. Useless.
“Burning yourself out won’t do anyone any good either. We’ve been at this for two hours now. Let’s get some lunch.” My eyes slide past Huxley’s head to see the sun has almost drifted directly overhead beyond the skylight, not that time has any concept to me anymore. Sleep is no longer a blessing while my mind is plagued with visions of Meg suffering, so I was happy to be woken by Huxley and dragged down to the gym. The space is clearly one of the newly renovated rooms in the house, each machine sparkling in chrome with no sign of use.
“You go ahead, I’ll be out soon,” I lie. Moving over to a rack of dumbbells, I lift my usual weight before deciding against it, putting it back and selecting the next one down. I need to improve, push myself to uncomfortable limits. Huxley sighs loudly as he leaves, grabbing his t-shirt from the floor on the way out. The samurai scene splayed across his entire back shifts as he walks, the flex of building muscle beneath making me envious. It’s been so easy for him to bulk up while I’m struggling to even feel stronger.
Falling into a routine of lifting the dumbbells into the air and dropping into a squat, sweat runs a line down my spine and my thoughts consume me. I know Meg’s alive; I can feel it in the pit of my soul, but that’s where my certainty ends. The lengths Wyatt will go to in hopes of proving himself to Perelli are my biggest concern. The second she’s safe, he’s a dead man walking. No matter what it takes, I’ll be ready to make sure of that. Huxley’s been a godsend, helping me train and keeping me busy because he understands. I don’t need saving, I need support.
A shadow to my left makes me flinch. Cursing under my breath that I wasn’t focused enough to notice him approaching, I turn my back to Dax and continue squatting. This time, as I rise, I lift a leg, so the opposite elbow meets it in the middle and crunch my core tightly. My hair has fallen free of its bun, the hairband hanging loosely on the end, but I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Large hands land on my hips, holding me still as Dax closes in behind me. His hair tickles my ear, whispering for me to take a break.
For a moment, I yearn to step back and let his warmth envelope me. Let his hands roam my flesh and lips erase
