Unholy | Noah Sebastian

|Chapter Two|

I wake to Phil getting dressed, the harsh sun letting me know it's late morning and I actually slept in for once. I pull the sheet up to cover myself and Phil smirks at me.

"I gotta get to the airport," he kisses my forehead and I resist the urge to pull him back into bed with me. I nod at him but I don't get up to see him out. "Call me if you need anything, and stay out of the hospital."

"Have a good tour," I call out to him and he smiles at me, he looks like he wants to say something else but I give him my back before he does. I'm not in any state to resist his smooth words.

Physically, I feel fine, but I wasn't going back to work until Monday. I put my short hair into a ponytail and put on a matching sports bra and leggings. In the kitchen I make a protein smoothie and head out to the boxing gym that's a few blocks from my place. But before I can leave, I touch all of the knobs on the stove, once, twice, three times, and I finally feel calm by four times.  I circle the apartment, one, two, three times before I'm satisfied I've unplugged ever appliance I can reach.  Is my straightener unplugged?  I haven't used it in six days now, but I better make sure.  The deadbolt is the same, I try the handle five times before I am convinced the door is locked.

I'm feeling fatigued by the time I get there, from the walk or the rituals I don't know, but I push on. I take my time wrapping my knuckles while surveying the gym. I see a trainer that I'm familiar with working with someone towards the back of the building.  I put my headphones in and start working on the heavy bag. 

1, 2 roundhouse, repeat. Breathe, release your heels, tighten your core. I've been going here long enough I don't work with a trainer anymore, their instructions just crowd my head while I try to remember what I'm supposed to do and when.  If there's one thing I can do well, it's repetition.  I can feel my body protesting after a half hour of working, and I listen to it for once and wrap up my work out. 

I sit on a bench to unwrap my hands and towel the sweat off of my face.  I glance around the gym again, but this time I see an almost familiar face.  It's the cab driver that dropped me off yesterday.  His long dark hair is held up with a clip off of his neck.  I watch as he hits the heavy bag, the bag moving under the force of his blows.  His lean muscles ripple under his vivid tattoos.  He catches me staring at him, but no recognition passes over his face and I make a hasty exit.

I can't believe I had just been openly ogling a stranger at the gym, and got caught.  On my walk home Phil calls me to let me know he had landed wherever the band was playing tonight.  He lets me know that I can call him for anything, again.  I knew he would be there for me if I truly needed him, but emotionally I wouldn't recover from needing his help.

I grab one of the ready made, perfectly balanced meals from my fridge and pop it into the oven.  I text Allison from work, I didn't think I was ready to be on my own yet.  The thought of staying in the apartment by myself all night didn't sit right with me.

Want to get drinks later?

Hell yes!

I eat my flavorless meal and clean my apartment, again. I wasn't meeting Allison for hours, so I grabbed my kindle and curled up in the oversized chair on the balcony.  If anyone needed an escape from reality right now, it was me.

An hour before I'm supposed to meet Allison I get in the shower. Lather, rinse. Lather, rinse. Lather, rinse. Everything is a ritual, nothing can just be. It doesn't take me an hour to get ready, but I have to account for the extra things I have to do to get out of the door. The shower took so long I don't have any time to do anything with my hair. I pray it dries well on it's own. No time for make up either, I swipe some mascara and concealer over the gash over my blue eye. I put on perfectly tailored jeans and a pretty tank top. It's several blocks to the bar, but I still put on heels. I am 5'1" on a good day, I have to wear heels everywhere or they will sit me at the kids table.