My heart jumps in my chest when the sound comes again, and I press myself against the nearest wall. It takes me a few seconds to get my breathing under control before I slide against it towards the corner. Peering around it, my frown deepens. Nothing. Twisting my head to look in the other direction towards my kitchen, there’s nothing there either. With cautious steps, I walk towards the sliding door that leads to my balcony and pull back one of the vertical blinds.
There, in the parking lot, one of my neighbors, Jack, I think is his name, is shooting off rockets with two other guys recording it for who knows what purpose other than being complete prickheads. Granted, most people in this building are working right now. With a curse under my breath, I make it back to my bedroom and resolve to report him this time to the super; because talking to him about this shit isn’t getting through his thick skull. His mom is even more thick-headed than him, but she has been good for a time or two of angry fucking. She's the lesson I learned in the first few weeks of moving in. The rule to ‘not sleep with thy neighbor’ was born. Back then, I did a lot of things I regret in the name of trying to forget.
Locking the door again, replacing the gun in its original place, I groan as I catch the time on my phone. I’ve only been asleep for four hours!
It takes me longer to find sleep, irritation polluting my veins as I close my eyes.
My eyes snap open, my heart still racing from the dream. Leaning upon a forearm, I twist to survey the room and start to calm in the knowledge that I’m alone. Flopping onto my back, I watch the ceiling fan until I can track the blades in my vision as my heart slows to normal.
I haven’t been this keyed up in a while. The upcoming trip home has me on edge. My toes reach away from the chill of the floor when my feet connect. With one hand on the edge of the bed, the other moves through my disheveled dark hair.
Sighing, I get out of bed, my knee popping from an old injury as I unlock the bedroom. Heading to the kitchen, I grab my shaker bottle, dump in my morning shake and pre-workout, and take it back to the bedroom. After drinking the contents, I get dressed, stretch, and head out after locking my apartment door.
At two in the afternoon, there isn’t much activity on the street when I run towards the gym a mile away. Nothing about this small, backwoods town would make you think, California. The people here could have picked me out of a county lineup, but now after years of blending in, they no longer look up as I pass or seek a returned wave.
Sheri nods at me before hitting a key on the computer to check me in as the door closes behind me. Stealing the coveted corner spot, I start my routine.
After everything, I can’t allow myself to be weak or powerless again. Almost every day, I run and train my body to become stronger.
Usually, during a workout, I have the ability to shut my mind off, but today isn’t the norm. In a few days, I will go back. I fixate on the repercussions, and it’s throwing me off. Grabbing the gloves I shoved in my shorts, I slide them on. My grip improves, but my mind still wanders back to the countdown. Maybe, there is a way of getting out of this I haven’t tried yet?
Charles could call my sister, saying he has a project. No, I used that last time. I eye the weights on the deadlift bar. If they land right, it might break my foot, thereby needing surgery and casting. No. That would eat up my vacation time - that thought takes it off the table.
Someone clears their throat, and I peer up. She’s attractive with blonde hair in a long braid over one shoulder, her green eyes flirting as I drop the deadlift bar and weights to the floor.
“What?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.
Her eyes grow a fraction wider, probably not expecting my harsh tone.
“Are you a trainer?” One of her hands grip the end of her braid, her tone less sure than her body of a moment ago.
Looking around, I spot the closest trainer and jerk my chin in his direction. “There’s one with the name tag. Unless you want something else?” I raise an eyebrow. We both know why she walked over. There are at least two other trainers on the floor right now, and she doesn't seem blonde enough not to realize I wasn't one of them. If she wants me, the passive-aggressive approach isn’t going to do her any favors.
She takes a step back while shaking her head. It’s too bad; it would have been nice to have a distraction.
“Thanks.” She says before she twists to walk away. I watch her toned ass looking squeezable in those neon blue leggings. I brush off the sweat from my brow and go in for my last set.
About to leave, grabbing my keys from the locker room, I see she’s found a non-trainer to give her what
