The Dog Whisperer

●Chapter Eight

A/N: I'm going to put a trigger warning at the beginning of this chapter, because it deals with some rough topics concerning body image and eating disorders. Please read at your own risk!

Anya is about to punch me in the face.

I cringe, bracing myself for the blow as usual. It doesn't come. Luckily, the plush pads equipped on my hands save my face from any damage.

I'm already moving down in a position to block her kick when she stops suddenly, sweat pouring down her face as her bouncing feet coming to a standstill. She shakes her head, wiping her brow and retreating away from me.

"What's wrong?"

More head shaking, followed by a squirt of water from her bottle.

Anya and I have been using her family's gym membership to practice kickboxing for about ten months now. It's brutal, and I always have to come prepared to get my ass kicked, but my body has thanked me for the continuously strenuous exercise. Kickboxing is one of my favorite ways to work out because it's so engaging. It consumes all of your body, and if you want to be serious about it, then all of your mind as well. I'm usually drowning in a pool of my own sweat by the time each session concludes, but it's well worth the exertion in my opinion. Plus, it's the perfect way to get any excess frustration out of my system.

We do classes and lessons frequently, but after months of instruction, we also just like to come up and work by ourselves sometimes. Every once in awhile, we'll bring Valerie or Faith up with us, but their visits are rare and for good reason.

Val wouldn't be too bad except her mind is always elsewhere - where the parties tonight are, who has the best accessory sale right now, oh, wow, and that guy out in the lobby was really cute. The first time she tagged along was during a private lesson, where she blurted out, "Is it bad that the only thing I'm thinking about is food right now?" during Anya's sprint and the instructor overheard; his solution was to focus on her for the rest of the lesson, critiquing her as roughly as he possibly could. In true Valerie nature, she wasn't too beaten up about it, at least not emotionally.

Faith, on the other hand, always seems be interested. But it's...Faith. She's the same girl who panics after swatting away a bee on accident. Most of the instructors aren't too fond of her because she's not willing to pound away like you're supposed to. But people like Faith only have so much room in their body for such aggression, and it's never used for kickboxing.

I join Anya on the bench over by the wall now. She's leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, staring ahead at the wall like it's some complex word problem she's trying to solve. We sit like this in silence for a few moments before I speak up again.

"Seriously, you're hitting harder than usual today. What's up?"

She rolls her eyes. "The standard. Parents badgering me about the next program to apply to this summer."

I blink. Of course Anya is already thinking about her plans for next summer.

Anya's been to an astounding number of seminars, workshops, and camps over the past few years, thanks to her parents. If there's anybody more uptight about Anya's grades than Anya, it's her parents. Constantly monitoring the gradebook online, checking in during study sessions, and frequently asking about what she's learning, Anya's parents will do just about everything to ensure she ends up with the prestigious private school degree they've wanted oh-so-badly for her. Everyone in her family holds some kind of doctorate, and more often than not, works in the medical field themselves, so it's only assumed that Anya should be headed down the same track.