Lookism: What Am I Even Doing?

Chapter Thirty-Nine

This whole Burn Knuckle thing has gotten worse. You would think that the rest of the members would come up to me either with concern or awe in my incredible display of movement during the fight. But in reality things are so much more complicated than that.

Some of them were naturally concerned. Having your body slammed into a table and bleeding at the back of the head from it was...well you know, very concerning. The nurse said that nothing had been cracked open and that I wasn't dying despite everyone's panicking accusations.

A few of the stupid guys, mostly the freshmen, really liked it. Like, really liked it if you know what I mean.

But after the concern faded over the days they became more weary of me. I wanted to say that it was uncalled for. That they had no reason to be careful of me but I understood why. Some of them had been in the cafeteria long enough to hear what I said.

Others who didn't like me thought I was using my position as my girl to mess with Vasco again. Like, what the actual hell? Apparently in their minds I played the weak damsel in distress on purpose so he could come save the day. They thought I was playing attention seeker and messing with their leader even more.

Why was it so hard for them to understand me?

Whether it's out of fear, protection, or suspicion they're hovering over me. I don't know how much longer I can take it.

Haha...I honestly don't know what I'm even fucking doing anymore.

One of the guys in front of me tried to subtly peel off the top end of his jumpsuit then wrapped the arms around his waist. He was on the leaner, petite side with an ovalish face and kind eyes. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and once he knew I was looking at him, he let out a loud yawn then stretched in a way that would flex his muscles.

I'm so tired of this.

What am I even doing here?

Because if I'm not here then what else would I be doing? Being a Burn Knuckle means being there for each other. Always. Being part of a "gang" means hanging out until needed. At least, that's what I understand from it. At the far corner of the room I could see Vasco benching what looked to be more than 350 pounds give or take.

Whether that's fucking humanly possible or not, I don't give a damn. I just don't want to be here. I leaned against the mirror by the squat rack as I very lazily spotted the other guy in front of me. Spotting was supposed to be a more intimate and careful thing but I really wasn't feeling it today.

The warm stickiness of the room wasn't bothering me. Not even the mustiness from men working out. It was the fact that I felt like I could never be a part of it. The guy I was spotting let out a small groan and I could see his body faltering. I got up, actually worried he'd hurt himself and went behind him.

"Go ahead."

My voice came out so weak and depressed.

I put a hand on either side of the large bar and gave it a little push so he could finish his set. He gave a final effort then put the weight back on the rack. This was so tiring.

Do you ever feel like it's impossible to smile? Like the air is so tight around your chest that it becomes hard to breathe? Right now...that's how I was feeling. I handed the guy some water and watched him with quiet eyes. For some reason I had the sudden urge to cry. Something warm pressed against the back of my nose and I had to clear my throat to block out the sound of my sniffling.

I took the water from him when he finished.

"Are you really going to let them treat you like this?"