Always Alone | ✓

Chapter Seven

THANKSGIVING TURNED INTO A somber day. After my visit with Jess, I didn't feel up to part for the celebrations. But I feel at peace because I understand she's in a better place than before. I hadn't visited her in years, not willing myself to see her like that, wanting to only remember the charismatic girl who would bug me all the time.

It's harder to see her now since I live so far from her. But I was able to gather my hidden courage and paid her a visit for the first time in many years. Although she didn't answer to anything I said, I made it a point that now I can speak to her freely without being interrupted.

Ridding myself of sad memories, I unlock my front door and enter my new home. I plow down on the couch and close my eyes, listening to the sound of nothing.

Silence, a perk of living alone. Before my tranquility disappears tomorrow with rowdy kids getting in from the holidays, I decide to use the extra time I have to go to the gym.

I walk into the empty fitness center but for an older man with a beer belly on the treadmill who's sweating like he ran a 5K.

I smile at him and walk to the farthest machine at the end. After fifteen minutes of walking at a slow pace, I incline the treadmill and speed up to get into a sprint. Forty-five minutes later, the man leaves and I'm left alone in the massive gym thinking of all the scary movies I've watched over my lifetime. Like the one of a girl who was left alone in an empty gym at night and was beheaded by a serial killer

I decide to let the memory leave my brain because I know those are my leg muscles scaring the crap out of me to make me stop exercising. Better luck next time muscles.

Slowly coming to a walk, I get off the treadmill and head over to the leg press machine. Seeing the pictures on the right side of the equipment and thinking it's pretty self-explanatory, I sit on the cushioned seat, place my feet flat on the plate, and start with a modest amount of weights before gradually increasing the pounds.

I lift the weights until I can hardly feel my calves or thighs any longer. Absentmindedly, I reach for the handle with my casted thumb as I slowly free the weights off my feet, but I can't manage to reach the handle in time and lose control of my legs, letting the pounds clink loudly throughout the gym.

"Shit," I mutter, taking the earphones out of my ear and putting my phone on the floor, noticing Nike's in my peripheral vision.

The black shoes walk closer to me as the pulse in my chest trampolines to my throat. I can hear it drumming in my ears and not because I think I might get murdered. My cheeks flush, not just from working out. I can only imagine how horrible I must look, all sweaty with baby hair sticking to my forehead like Velcro.

"I'm beginning to think you do this on purpose." I look up from the shoes to muscular calves and my eyes keep traveling north until they land on a desirable curved smile. "You know, my eyes are up here."

I wipe the sweat off my brow with a shaky hand in hopes of looking as presentable as one can after their first full-on workout. My hands moist with the pungent smell of sweat and I cringe as I realize the guy I've been having sexual dreams about is right in front of me when I smell like the man's locker room after a football game.

I should've known the odds of seeing him here would be high, nonetheless, I don't understand why my heart's racing like a harass of horses galloping across a carpeted grass. Bringing myself back from my daze, I lick my dry lips and breathily ask, "Do what on purpose?"

His eyes glint with mischief, "Do questionable things to get my attention."

I look at him in shock. Me, doing outrageous things to get a guy's attention? I giggle at the ridiculous statement, trying my best to avoid a full-on laughter at his joke. I would never put myself out there and appear desperate when I'm not.