Bad Rep

EIGHT

I was doing good. I was doing so good until Mother Nature had to come and ruin everything and shred every last ounce of self-control I had in me.

Since the shower incident two weeks ago, I've been limiting myself to one meal a day while continuing to hit the gym hard with Rhodes. Surprisingly, he's a pretty good trainer, and I know he made a nutrition plan for me, but my one meal a day method seems to be working for me. I've dropped ten pounds already, but I'm slowly starting to gain it back this week due to starting my period.

Aside from the bloating, I've caught myself snacking more during the day, unable to resist the temptation of consuming sugar. Like right now, I catch myself digging another fist full of M&M's out of the bag I brought with me to my desk—which was a huge mistake, because now I've lost track of how many handfuls I've had and how many calories I've consumed.

Frustrated and disgusted with myself, I roughly close up the bag and march it back to the kitchen, throwing it in the pantry with a little more force than necessary.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, I realize there's still an hour left before Eli is supposed to pick me up to go to the gym. With things at work being pretty slow at the moment, I decide to clock out a little early to get some chores done around the house.

I unload the dishwasher and run the vacuum before starting on laundry, and when I spot the scale by the hamper in the bathroom I just can't help myself. I step onto it, giving it five seconds to load before looking down at the number displaying my weight. My stomach twists and I realize I've gained four pounds since first starting my period two days ago—which is nearly half the weight I already lost gained back.

Angry and disappointed, I kick the scale away with my foot and toss in a load of laundry before getting dressed for the gym. I throw on an oversized T-shirt and some shorts, lace up my tennis shoes and wait for Eli out in the garage. As soon as his truck pulls up I hop in, eager to start working out.

Eli drops me off at the front door and I meet up with Rhodes in the back. We warm up for a few minutes and then move on to the actual workout.

Rhodes has me throwing around a medicine ball, slamming it on the ground and bending over to pick it back up. He does the exercise with me, and we do it until the timer on his phone goes off, indicating to take a break.

"Okay, good," he instructs for me to stop, but I don't.

I keep going, a sudden rage fueling me and almost possessing me to keep going, to take out all my frustration on the inanimate object.

"You can stop," Rhodes reiterates, but I still continue. "Claire, you need to stop before you hurt yourself," he says more sternly when I still don't stop.

"No, what I need is abs," I shoot back, throwing the medicine ball harder, sweat starting to trickle down the side of my face.

Rhodes places his foot on top of the ball, preventing me from picking it back up. "No, what you need is to calm down," he states, his statement and his tone prickling my nerves.

My mood instantly darkens, and little does he know he just doused kerosene on my already burning fire.

There are a few things in this world you never say to a woman when she's already riled up, and 'calm down' is one of them.

If we were playing Family Feud and the question was 'top five phrases to make a woman angry' and a contestant answered with 'calm down', you best believe Steve Harvey would be enthusiastically yelling out to show him CLAM DOWN on the board.

"Did you seriously just tell me to calm down?" I ask, my voice low and threatening.

"Yeah, take a chill pill," he states, clearly not picking up on my tone.