Frost Bite

Chapter 8

Josie

According to Jack Frost, the self-proclaimed expert in everything, us mere mortals need to learn how to fight.

Which is why at seven in the morning Ryan and I are standing in work out clothes and I'm pretending not to stare at Jack's rock solid body. He doesn't feel temperature apparently, so why would he need to wear a shirt?

I swallow and look down at the matted floor below me and I know I'm going to get my ass kicked today. Ryan plays football so he's used to physical exertion. I am a math nerd. I have my petri dishes and my biology and that's what I do.

I am so screwed.

"How many push ups can you do?" Jack asks.

Ryan shrugs. "Sixty?"
 Jack nods. "Decent. Josie?"
 I smile sheepishly but it quickly turns into a grimace. "Ten maybe?" It's a lie. I'd be lucky to get five in.
 Jack smiles and it's the kind of smile without any remorse in it. "Start doing pushups."

"How many?"

Jack smirks. "Until you can't do anymore."

And that's how my day goes. Every muscle in my body burns and I drip sweat and it pools in all my crevices and Jack just tells me to do more, put my butt down, keep my butt up, keep my legs at a ninety degree angle, keep my knees straight, stay on the balls of my toes, keep my glutes clenched, keep my head up, run another mile on the treadmill.

I throw up. Once, twice. Each time Jack is there, holding my hair back and telling me that once I'm done I'll feel better and that once I get the taste out of my mouth he wants me to do another fifty squats when my muscles are bankrupt – too poor to afford another fifty, with no way to borrow them steal them take out a mortgage for them.

Ryan looks like he's having an easier time. But only slightly. He's used to running, lifting, pushing, jumping, squatting, and otherwise destroying his body in every way possible.

Because there is no way building your body, making it stronger should feel this horrible.

Jack is a slave driver, and it's only when I almost faint that he lets me stop.

He hands me a water bottle. "Drink," is all he says and this time I don't mind listening. I gulp it down and when I'm done he hands me another in between telling Ryan to add another ten pounds to the weights he's using.

"You did a good job," he tells me softly.

I glare at him. "I'm not in shape."

He smirks. "No. You're soft. Like a cupcake. Or a donut."

"One of those would be great right now."

"You're not ruining all the hard work you just did with a donut. You're going to have a banana. And some stew."

I glare, thinking of dessert and chocolate and I think my stomach has begun to eat away at itself. "What is it with you and stew?"
 "It has everything you need in one bowl. It's simple. Hearty. Manly," he says but I feel like there's something to it that he's not telling me and I decide I'm too tired to care.

"Whatever. I'm starving."

Jack turns around to look at Ryan – who clearly isn't suffering enough – and calls for another then pounds on top of what he's lifting.

"Sadist."

Jack grins. "Sh. Don't give me away too quickly – this idiot still hasn't figured it out yet."

"He's not stupid, you know."

Jack shrugs and looks at Ryan with the strangest expression on his face. Like nothing I've ever seen before. "There are many different kinds of stupid," is all he says before leading me to the kitchen as Ryan swears at the weight.

I really should be asleep. My muscles burn and my eyelids have never been heavier but I stare up at the ceiling of the room that Jack has given me with a few of my things here and there. The bed is more expensive and infinitely more comfortable than mine. The sheets are softer, silkier, smoother.

I sit up despite the effort and put my feet on the floor and I head out into the hall.

And there I see Jack, siting outside his room.

I cock an eyebrow.

"Sleep gets boring after a thousand years," is the only explanation he offers. "What's with you? I worked you hard. Ryan is drooling in his room."

"Careful – he might aspirate on his drool. Then you'll have a body to deal with."

Jack waves his hand nonchalantly, like oh I deal with people aspirating in my house all the time – though it's clear there's never anyone in this house but Jack. "You'll know what to do. Or maybe I'll give him another transfusion."

I sit down next to him, without waiting for an invitation because I don't see Jack offering one. "Why are you so hard on him?"

Jack's blue eyes pierce mine and it's like being stuck in that storm – lost and unable to move, think. Only with slightly less terror.

"Because he wants something so hard it's a physical ache inside of him and I know what that feels like. I know what it means to be kept up at night wanting something so badly it destroys you from the inside out. I also know you don't get it but he doesn't seem to understand that and his optimism is...abrasive."

"Said the most abrasive person ever."

Jack lets out a dark laugh. "I guess that's fair."

"What is it that you think Ryan wants?"
 Jack shakes his head. "Nope. You're the best friend. I'll let you figure that one out on your own."

I ignore the annoyance bubbling up inside me. "Then what is it that you want?"
 Jack's expression cracks like ice. "I've learned not to want things."

"You can't stop wanting things just 'cause you tell yourself you don't," I whisper.

He smirks. "You think you're pretty clever, don't you? You think you understand what I'm pretending at and why?"
 "I don't understand you at all," I tell him because it's the truth. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to figure you out."
 "Here's a piece of advice: don't." Jack stands up and goes back into his room and I'm left wondering if I've just cost myself another hour of exercise my body will not be able to handle.