Possessing Farrah ✔️

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 (III)

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Farrah's POV.

On my first day of training, I meet my teachers. Professor York is a thirty-something year old woman with a Master's in business. She's tough but fair and has a knack for explaining things in ways that I actually understand. I never thought of myself as having a head for business, but when she explains it, I get it.

Professor Bene is very different. He's in his fifties and has a large stomach and an even larger smile. He's relaxed and easy-going and somehow, he makes finance interesting. We crunch numbers, discuss strategies and he shows me the ropes on bookkeeping. It's difficult, the content we're covering, but he tries to make it as fun as possible.

I'm in a positive mood after lunch because my morning classes were so successful. My happy bubble is burst the moment I step into the air-conditioned gym. Davide is a lean but muscular, twenty-seven year old sports trainer with experience coaching Olympians. I realise how lucky I got with Professors Bene and York the moment he starts barking orders at me.

In the first session, I nearly throw up, I cry and limp out of the gym wishing it was all over already. He works me harder than I've ever been worked before. I learn that he is the reason I am on a strict diet. He heard of my eating habits in the UK, which admittedly, weren't great, and demanded I get into better shape while being here.

Everything aches as I limp up to my bedroom and throw myself on the four-poster bed. I don't dare look in the mirror. I'm scared of what I will see. I can feel how hot my face is. Strands of hair have come loose from my plait and are plastered to my sweat-soaked face. I close my eyes and decide that I'm never moving again, it hurts too much.

My phone rings and I'm tempted to ignore it. I force myself to lift my head and I spot Layton's caller ID. I manage to find the strength to reach for the phone and accept the call.

"Hello?" I groan.

"Jeez, you sound awful. Rough day?" He asks, laughing.

"Don't laugh at my pain," I whine. "The trainer nearly killed me."

"Mr Ferrante?"

"No, this dickhead called Davide. He used to train Olympians, the man's a sadist."

Layton and I are on the phone for almost an hour. He catches me up on anything that I've missed at home, and I tell him about the compound, my training and how much I want to come home. I feel a bit better when we've spoken, but hearing his voice makes me homesick. I can't believe I have five years of this.

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I pin up a calendar in my bedroom and cross off each day one by one. It will be steady progress, but I'm determined to get through this. Part of me feels that my father expects me to fail, I want to prove to him that I can handle his role, that I can be as good as he is. I can be as good as the son he wanted.

On Friday evening, I change out of my gym gear and into a dress to dine in. Roza has agreed to eat with me on the patio, I am grateful for the company. I plait my hair, still damp from my shower, and make my way downstairs to the kitchen. As I walk down the corridor, a gentleman comes in the opposite direction.

My eyebrows lift as I recognise Mr Ferrante. He looks much the same as he did that night in March, although he is wearing a lightweight grey suit instead. I expect him to say hello, anything to acknowledge that I am now living in his home, but he doesn't. His face remains stoic as merely looks me up and down. He continues past me without a single word passing between us. I am bemused by the encounter, my feet keep me moving forwards to the kitchen.