The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 35: Dark Revelations (Bree)

My palm is painfully itchy, and my mouth tastes like the bottom of a birdcage, but at least my headache is gone.

It's late afternoon, I slept for a long time.

I strain my brain, trying to remember what I dreamed about, but my memory is a blank slate.

Movement on the ground catches my attention.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask.

Hades is in a plank position, repeatedly doing push-ups like his life depends on it.

He has stripped off his shirt somewhere in the process, and I can fully see the tattoos on his back.

He has the angel of death, complete with large feathery wings. The face is mostly covered with a hood, all that you can see is a skeletal mouth twisted in a funny smile.

Fire licks around it which explains the flames tattoo on his neck.

"I couldn't leave you while you were sleeping," he grits out, not slowing down. "But I still need to work out."

I suppose his big fight is on Friday...which is tomorrow.

Sunlight streams through the gap in my blinds and I consider my own physical state. I don't really do the whole exercise thing, sometimes when I'm stressed I'll pace around, but that's about it.

He stops doing push-ups and rolls on his back, starting to do sit-ups instead.

"Isn't it bad to overwork yourself right before a big event?" I ask.

I remember when I was in high school, I had a friend who played hockey.

Before her hockey finals, her coach would always talk about the importance of resting and eating enough fuel to sustain yourself for the upcoming match.

The day before, the coach would host a movie night where all they'd watch is hockey movies. I was always invited even though I didn't play hockey competitively.

I was quite good, surprisingly, but my parents didn't want to pay for me to play.

"We don't have the money," my dad had grumbled. "Now shut up and eat your dinner."

Dinner for me was a peanut butter sandwich on moldy bread, for them, it was roast chicken and cheesy vegetables.

Looking back, the unfairness is insurmountable, they had the money to ensure I didn't have to eat rotten food, but they made me anyway.

Maybe that's why I have such a general distaste for food and don't like eating.

Whatever, I don't like thinking that.

Anyway, there's something magical about skating across the ice, and if you go really fast, it feels like flying. It makes me happy just thinking about it.

But I haven't been on an ice rink in years, and that makes me sad.

I wish I was younger again; things were so much simpler.

"You don't have to worry about me," he says. "I'm not overworking anything."

I abandon him to have a shower.

I feel disgusting.

I brush my teeth three times and use mouthwash excessively.

When I rip off the bandage on my hand, I see the bumps have shriveled away, but there's still a red rash.

It's so itchy.

I hold it under the boiling shower water until the pain takes away the itchiness.

I'm in the shower for a long time, but when I go back into my room, Hades is still working out.