𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 (on hold)

| 𝟎𝟔 |

I took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out— pushing my lungs until they felt fit to break.

My feet pounded the pavement. One, two. One, two. Four seconds for inhale, four seconds for exhale.

The counting emptied my head, and when I began to fall so far into the rhythm that counting was no longer necessary, I began counting other things.

The aches in my body. One in my calf, one in each shin, my lower back, my right arm and my right ankle.

How many buildings I passed. A tall grey one with many windows, a shorter yellow one with hanging plants by the front door, a plain white one and a brown one.

How many people smiled at me. A postman, an elderly lady sat in her house, a child on a scooter, a painter and a window cleaner.

Counting grounded me. It made everything seem simple and too basic to worry about. What was there to stress about when life was reduced to numbers?

I began to ponder what kind of lives each person would live. I decided that the postman could move to America and marry a tall blonde lady. They could have a house with a swimming pool and a kid called Brooklynne.

The elderly lady might remarry at 87 and live a very happy life with a golden retriever and her partner. They might go on holiday to Egypt every year and she might learn to scuba dive.

The child would grow up to be a doctor like me. They would go on Masterchef and make it to the finals and quit their job to open a Michelin star restaurant.

The painter could win the lottery and he could start his own gallery and donate all of the proceeds to charity. He could be knighted and meet the King.

The window cleaner might ask her neighbour to help her learn Mandarin. They might slowly fall in love and the neighbour might write a book about their lives that became a New York Times bestseller.

It was a fun game, and it took my mind away from my burning muscles. I slowed to a walk, catching my breath. I'd been running every other day for a few months now, but I still couldn't run for more than five minutes at a time.

Maybe I was running too fast still.

It was still progress though, and I was happy with it. I tightened my ponytail and slid my water bottle out of my leggings. I took a quick swig before the alarm on my watch let me know it was time to run again.

I had been told I was crazy for running without music, but the beat always threw me off. I was sure one day I would be able to do it, but for now it didn't bother me.

I needed a long run after yesterday. I could barely sleep last night, and I regretted not tiring myself out before I went to bed. I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

When I made it home I was sweating heavily, and very thirsty. I made myself a fresh drink and ate a nectarine, letting the juice pour down my chin. Then I stripped off all my running gear and jumped into the shower.

The cold water chilled me to my core, but it was perfect after my warm run. Even in an English autumn, running warmed me up way beyond the point of comfort. So, the ice cold water was surprisingly comforting.

I eventually stepped away from the shower and dried myself off, putting on some wide-legged trousers and a t-shirt. Downstairs, I pulled on a warm and fur-lined leather jacket, and then I was back out on the London streets.

I felt stupid for yesterday. I had spent months making sure to avoid Percy, and yet I managed to run into him? I had also fought him off before, plenty of times, so I knew I could have fought him off that time too.