𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 (18+) (𝘨𝘹𝘨)

Ⅴ

 Ⅴ: 𝙇𝙊𝙋𝙀𝙕!

I have to push my body to the limits until I feel physically drained. Normally, I would just fuck a lot of girls, which helps with my stamina but lately, Madeline has been on my case non-stop.

I mean, one night with a girl wouldn't hurt-

"Leilani, get your ass on the treadmill, and stop smirking!" my coach shouted from across my private gym, pulling me out of my heavenly thoughts. I felt my eyes roll uncontrollably, and my shoulders slumped in response to my annoyance. With reluctance, I got up from the comfort of my seat.

My skin was dripping with sweat, as if someone had doused me in water. I lifted my shirt over my arms and shoulders, letting it hang loosely around my neck, the fabric resting uncomfortably on my shoulders.

I stepped onto the treadmill, my coach, with his weathered, ragged fingers, approached the control panel. I raised an eyebrow lazily, already anticipating his next move. He pressed the speed button, his index finger rapidly tapping until the display read six.

"Fuck you," I mumbled under my uneven breaths as I picked up my pace. The air whooshed around me with each stride and sweat streamed down my body. My coach crossed his arms and leaned back, watching me with an intensity that was both infuriating and motivating.

He raised his bushy gray eyebrow, the lines on his face deepening as he spoke. "What the hell did you just say to me, Lopez?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty gym. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to engage as I continued to run.

Unfazed by my silence, he extended his arm again, his finger reattaching itself to that damn button to increase the speed even more. This routine had become monotonous; it felt like my life was a chaotic cycle, and I desperately needed something to balance out all the bullshit.

Despite the discomfort, I continued running, pushing myself harder than before, with him timing my efforts from the side. The rhythmic pounding of my feet on the treadmill matched the chaotic pounding in my chest, but for now, all I could focus on how I was going to be able to go out with my two alcohol and sex for any longer.

Nothing brought excitement like my two best friends

The timer went off, its piercing beeping echoing through the gym as I clung to the sides of the treadmill. I placed my feet on the edges to stop the relentless machine, leaning heavily against the control panel. With my elbows resting on the handholds, I struggled to catch my breath, my mouth agape as I fought to pull air into my lungs.

"That was nothing! I ran faster than this back in '08!" my coach bragged, tucking the timer back into his pocket. He pressed the stop button on the panel with a satisfied smirk before turning his back to me, he pulled his phone out, absorbed in whatever nonsense old people watch these days. "Go get some water, then I want you back on the duffle bag," he instructed, pulling out his  scrolling through the screen .

I stepped off the treadmill, each movement sluggish and unsteady as my legs trembled beneath me. It felt like I was walking on jelly as I made my way back to my seat, eventually collapsing into the chair with a heavy thump. Despite my parched throat and the overwhelming urge to drink, my attention was drawn instead to my phone, and the urge to check it was irresistible—why not?

I opened my messages, the contact for Madeline labeled "Bitch"—a name I'd intentionally set to, because she was indeed a bitch.