This isn't weird.

Southern Hospitality

The second run was somehow worse than the first.

By the time Thursday morning arrived, the optimism Ben had felt for another cozy breakfast with Good Morning Millie had withered and died. She hadn't actually suggested it, had she? And she'd already given up another morning this week to take care of him. What had he expected to do? Call her up early in the AM and demand that she make him pancakes?

Ugh. Another bout of alcohol poisoning would have been the safer bet.

Meeting up at the park meant waking up even earlier, and Ben slept poorly the night before. He was exhausted, miserable, and still aching from Monday. Tess, on the other hand, was just as chipper as the last time, if not more so, greeting him so cheerfully that he was almost afraid that she would hug him. She didn't, fortunately, and she telegraphed her insincerity by calling him Bill this time. He didn't bother to acknowledge it. He just wanted to get the damn thing over with.

It proved to be an unsettling ordeal. The first mile was on pavement, running through the park proper, and they passed a few other runners and early morning dog walkers here and there. But soon the pavement ended as she led him west, and the trail grew secluded, surrounded by tree cover. It surely would have been lovely during the day, but in the dark, it was downright creepy. The sky was covered with a thick layer of ominous clouds, obscuring any evidence of the impending sunrise that might have offered some meager illumination to their surroundings. Ben could barely see his own feet, and he couldn't fathom how Tess could step so confidently on the uneven ground.

Their proximity to the river made the atmosphere even more sinister. He kept thinking about how quickly Tess had answered his question about her hypothetical murder method of choice. The situation felt entirely too much like a poorly scripted horror movie—the kind that made it difficult for the viewer to suspend their disbelief enough to believe that the protagonist could really be that stupid.

But as grueling as the psychological aspect of this outing was, the physical side was worse. Even once his muscles had warmed up, there was no point at which he wasn't actively hurting. It didn't feel like the standard burn of a high intensity workout. The front of his ankles throbbed with a searing pain that escalated with every step, but of course, he couldn't give Tess the satisfaction of letting it show. He gritted his teeth and forced himself onward, and somehow, managed to complete the trail without stopping or throwing up.

A few wan beams of morning sunlight had begun to seep through the clouds by the time they escaped the shadows of the forest and arrived back at the park entrance. Ben would have liked very much to fall down and die by that point; spite was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

"See?" Tess said brightly, slapping him on the back. "It's easier already!" He could see in her smirk that he hadn't done a convincing job of hiding his pain.

When he finally returned to his car, Ben slumped over his steering wheel and let the exhaustion roll over him. Once he regained enough force of will to lift his head, he found the emergency stash of ibuprofen he kept in his glove box for headaches, and took four. Fuck, his legs were hurting. Why would he ever do this to himself?

Then his phone pinged, and he saw a message from Millie: Pancakes?

Oh, right. That was why.

"Worth it," Ben said to himself with a grin.

This time, he rushed home to shower and change before meeting her at her apartment. Tess was annoyed to see him, and expressed it with a friendly smile. "Ben did great today," she bragged to Millie. "He's a natural. We're going again on Saturday. Right, Ben?"

Saturday? That was only two days away. Ben opened his mouth to make up an excuse, but Millie spoke first.

"That's so awesome!" she said. "Maybe I will finally join you for a run one of these days." Her pajamas were sky blue today, and covered with tiny yellow ducks. She had found time to brush out her hair this time. He missed the pigtails.