Gemma's point of view
200 m later, I think I might have torn a muscle or something. I'm also slower than most of the girls, the exception being the almost bold girl, Sally, who doesn't have right kind of body for sprinting, as well as Ella and another girl called Isabelle, who have apparently decided to find out how red exactly coach can get when he is angry, because they are walking the workout.
Another 200 m, scratch "might have" and "I think". I know exercise is supposed to hurt, but I did not know it would hurt like this. I am tempted to just leave, really tempted, because I feel Grace's eyes on me when she thinks I'm not looking, but I stay. Can't get much worse anyways, aye? Besides, I desperately need that injury if I want to drop out of the team permanently.
And another 200. Sally is catching up to me now. No credit to her, though.
Another 200. The only reason I know that I still have legs is because of the pain.
One more. "Are you alright, Crazy?" That's Grace, bending over, trying to catch her breath, still paying too much attention to me.
"I'm fine" I spit out. I'm not usually the kind who talks back, and this comment can definitely be counted as just that, given that it's me we're talking about. I'm too scared of people to be impolite. But my brain doesn't get enough oxygen, I'm in so much pain, and she keeps calling me crazy as if it wasn't rude, as if she wasn't bullying me.
"Just checking," she mutters, "There's no shame in stopping, you know. None of us are going to finish this crazy workout." She doesn't have time to elaborate any further because her rest time is up.
To be honest, I would have stopped, had she not told me that I should. Had she not assumed that I am the weakest out of all of them, the one who needs to stop first.
I might be a fat chicken with social anxiety disorder, but that doesn't mean I don't have perseverance. If anything, it's the opposite. What do you think how much energy it costs me to go to school, be judged by people, be bullied by them and still show up every single day, live my life, be it a very miserable one, get on with things? Normal people don't know what a struggle it is to even get out of bed knowing that I'm still me, still that ugly little misfit that nobody cares about.
If anyone has perseverance, it's me. I have fucking lived through three years of high school, don't think I can't handle goddamn track workout.
One more set.
Just one more, Gemma. You can't give up. Not before they do.
I can't even see properly anymore, my vision is blurred and I feel like I'm about to pass out. I'm definitely taking more rest than the 47 seconds we're allowed, but coach isn't yelling at me anymore.
In fact, coach isn't saying anything anymore. At the beginning of the workout, I could hear him shouting random insults, but now he isn't even around anymore. Neither are most of the girls. I can't help but feel kind of proud for staying longer than they did, for outrunning them, even if they were faster.
Grace is still going though. She's the one I need to beat.
One more set. You can quit after today, Gemma, but you have to show this bitch what you're made of.
Just one mor
Author's Note:
Well, that didn't go too well, did it? What do you think happened there at the end?
Please vote and comment, feedback is always welcome and if you find any typos just let me know.
Have a fantastic day! (And read the next chapter because I double-updated AGAIN!)
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About a Loser
Romance"They call him a loser cause that's what you become when you meet him." *** Gemma Cunningham doesn't do people. If you wanted to look up social anxiety in a dictionary, you'd probably find her name listed as a synonym. She doesn't talk to anyone, do...
