Darken up

1. The probability of things

He looked around the gym a bit disappointed that she wasn't there. He started to look forward to Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. It became their weird, familiar ritual during the last two weeks, each quietly working out 2:00AM in the morning, earbuds in, listening to their own music. He often wondered during the day how peculiar they could seem to an outsider: the noise of the gym equipment mixed with their strained grunts echoing through the silence. Perhaps one would immediately assume that they are a couple given the odd time they both attend - that is if they had not read the tabloids last year announcing his engagement to Genie who he met on the set of an indie film. For him the 2:00AM workout was for practical reasons and he assumed hers were similar: work and less people naturally. This was an exclusive gym near Russel Square in a huge basement of a high end apartment complex where the studio decided to rent him a place, so he can prepare for his next role in peace while his London house was renovated. Needless to say, the exclusive clientele wasn't above asking him for selfies even begrudgingly so, as if they were surprised that they are not immune to the allure of a celebrity either. He was famously polite and humble, therefore he rarely declined their requests, yet deep down he resented the studio and his agent who assured him nobody would bother him there. Hence he started to attend the gym after midnight.

She however never asked for a selfie, barely acknowledged him as a matter of fact. The only occasion she really looked at him was the first time they met. He remembered how annoyed he was, hearing the sound of an equipment before he entered the gym at this time of the hour. To his relief he saw only one person, a short haired woman doing leg presses. She was seated with her back to the door, oblivious to his presence. He hopped on the cross trainer to warm up a couple of meters away. He was looking for a suitable playlist on Spotify to work out to when he heard her rapping with a strange accent he could not quite place "I might, just might kick your butt / go run amok then paint my nails / Never learned to raise my hand / Was too busy raising hell / Everything I know I am / You should go and save yourself / Thought you had my number, huh? / Congratulations, played yourself" followed by some gibberish. It made him smile and curious, so he googled the lyrics and found that he quite liked this song, adding it to his most recent library. A bit later he saw her finish the leg presses, wiping sweat off her forehead as she sat on the bench for respite. She stood up, took her water bottle and drank. That was when she spotted Tom who tried not to smile and said 'Hello!' politely, because manners are the armour of a true English gentleman. She looked a bit surprised, took out one of her earbuds and greeted him with a curt 'Hey!' and walked past him to one of the incline chest press machines and adjusted the weights. Tom found himself staring which he considered very rude, so he focused on his routine. He wondered if she was surprised to see someone here in the small hours or because she recognized him.

His gym buddy never stayed much longer than an hour and sometimes she was already finishing up by the time Tom arrived. They fell into the habit of nodding as a way of greeting which he found annoying as he could not recall her voice anymore. She gradually became his secret obsession. He often wondered who she was, what she did for a living, where she's from - probably Finland or perhaps Sweden based on her blonde hair, bluish eyes and high cheekbones. She had a tall, slim figure and toned legs with slight baby fat around her waist, colloquially known as love handles; that phrase always made him smile. Her gym gear seemed purposeful. She wore plain T-shirts or stretched vests with sports bra and the same Nike trainers. She did not wear make-up apart from the occasional remains of eyeliner. She had a freckled nose that he found cute and she was not ashamed by the occasional spots. She did not seem to mind his presence at all and he concluded that she must be in her mid-thirties. Based on his experiences, girls in their twenties are often more self-conscious and sometimes obsessed with their imperfections, especially in the entertainment business, with a tendency of making fun of their own appearance or be mean about others' just to hide their own insecurities, wearing make-up even to the gym. Tom, as someone who was blessed with slim figure and accepted that a fit body comes with more roles and more fans that produce more opportunities and followed a regular routine, never really had the patience for those type of conversations. He led a relatively healthy lifestyle: ate well, worked out almost every day, went on long walks with his dog if he could. His only vice - apart from the occasional recreational substances - was smoking which he had been wrestling with in a somewhat masochistic fashion. He went on without a single cigarette for a half year then bought a packet and sneaked out with the other "non-smokers" during events or parties "to network".

During the last few days his guessing game related to his absent gym buddy often turned into erotic scenes which he always shut down after a few minutes, being someone with a beautiful young actress for a fiancée. Today of all was especially bad as he was winding down in the hot tub section. He imagined Salla - he named her that after googling Finnish girl names - being a high-end call girl, was probably out entertaining a rich oligarch on his yacht. Before he could get inevitably turned on, he sighed and went to the men's changing room to dry himself. He got dressed and headed upstairs. He put his wet swimming trunks into his gym bag along with his towel and walked to the lift. His apartment was located on the top floor.

He pressed the 10th floor and frowned when the lift stopped at the lobby. He did not want to meet anyone. The doors opened and there she was. She looked at him, eyes hooded with alcohol, her eyeliner slightly smudged. She was wearing a cool grey leather jacket over a little black dress with silver hems, paired with black, studded sandals. He stepped aside and moved his bag in front of him instinctively as if they were in a crowed tube carriage. She did not say a word, just walked in, grabbing the handrail of the lift as if they were on stormy waters. She pressed the 9th floor and then impatiently tapped on the close button. The lift made a weird sound and started to slide upwards. He could smell cigarettes on her and found himself staring at her. She was standing there, her back leaning against the mirrored lift, clutching the handrail with her eyes closed when she suddenly looked at him. He batted his eyes away and was fully aware that he was blushing. The lift made a weird metallic sound and then it suddenly stopped. He looked up and saw her hand on the Stop button. She dropped her chain shoulder bag on the floor and walked up to him. He could not believe this was happening, but something at the back of his mind was lying in wait. Salla was now standing in front of him, her light eyes fixed on his. She grabbed his gym bag and pulled it off his shoulder, pressing her body against his. She said something in a foreign language and locked her lips on his. Tom forgot to breathe for half second and only snapped out of it when he felt her tongue looking for his. The lift started to move just then, but they didn't stop. His hands slid under her dress, caressing her soft skin under her panties. She had one hand on the back of his neck and the other running up on his spine, under his T-shirt. The lift halted and announced the 9th floor apathetically. She broke away from their kiss not even looking at him, picked her bag up and stumbled out with the drunken charm of a royalty, leaving a taste of tobacco and pina colada on his tongue. He stopped the lift doors from closing and watched her as she was slowly swaying along the corridor in case she needed any help (and to see where she lived). Her walk was a bit wobbly, but she made it to the second door on the left. She leaned against the wall, looking for her keycard in her bag, then disappeared.