The Poison in her Veins

The Race

 I wake up to an empty bed and the sheets clean and straight. Oliver must have been screwing a girl last night and slept over. Scoffing I get to the gym for training earlier than usual so that I can make sure I can do everything with my stitched hand. Cracks of blood are still visible and I wince as the sharp pain hits when I stretch out my hand. I start wrapping the white tape around my palm until there is a thick layer that covers the cut but doesn't prevent all the movement in my hand. Jogging a lap around the track I do a couple sprints to warm up before taking off my hoodie and waiting for everyone else to arrive. A familiar guy names Chris is the first to walk in, followed by most of the other kids. Everyone is in the same uniform and starting to get their equipment out. A loud bang of the door abruptly silences the room signaling that Oliver has arrived. "We're having a race today. I expect each one of your times to be at least a minute faster than your time last month. I want 7 miles today, last 2 miles will be a sprint. Questions?" The silence continues on but it's obvious that the adrenaline has begun to start pumping in everyone's bodies as the competitiveness is thick in the air. "Blake." I turn my head sharply as Oliver calls my name. "I want you actually catching up with everyone else, we can't have you slowing us down just because you decided to join us late." I keep my face void of any emotion while gritting my teeth so hard they might crack. If he wants to see what I've got, I'll show him. I will take down anyone at this place if it means getting out at some point because I don't feel like waiting to see what other surprises other than Harry they have waiting for me.

A piercing whistle is blown and everyone sprints off, pushing and shoving each other to get ahead in the first part of the run. After 2 miles, spots start to even out and I find that I'm running with the top 7 people. A haze has fallen over me as if I'm not even in control of my body anymore and something else is pushing it to go faster and faster without letting me control it. A smile sets on my face as a feel the pain in my legs, welcoming the feeling and pushing feeling my body push itself to the front of the group. I guess it's only the beginning of training but I thought more people would be at least faster than me in my first week of training, geez. Once I reach the last mile, the top runner Tate, and I, are left. My breath is short and my legs went numb a while ago, my feet slapping the ground hard with each step. 

The finish comes into sight and I start to move past Tate with ease, letting my haze take control again as I near the end. Just as I am several feet from the finish and the staring Oliver, I feel myself being propelled forward. My hands fly out to stop the fall and toxic pain sears through my entire hand and arm as each stitch pops out. I faintly feel the skin on my knees shaved off with the gravel and my cheek digs into the dirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Oliver take a step towards me as if to help but then redirect his attention towards congratulating Tate for his win. I look towards my wrapped hand with tape that was once white and is now quickly becoming a dark red. Not wanting to embarrass myself further as more kids begin to finish, I pull my body up masking the pain beneath my empty face. Showing emotion is what made me vulnerable and I will never make that mistake again. I try not to limp across the finish line and ignore Oliver as he reads out my time and tells me to go clean myself up and be back for the next round of workouts after everyone finishes the run. Tate smirks at me with eyes resembling the cruelness in Harry's.

"Better luck next time, right Blakey?" Something about that nickname ignites a hatred within me that erupts like lava and I start shaking with anger. I see Tate's expression begin to turn to one of fear and before I do anything I probably wouldn't regret but would force me to have a talk with Mallard about again, I storm back inside. Not having time to go to my room and clean up, I head to the nicer workout bathrooms meant only for instructors. 

As I look in the mirror I grimace, seeing that I look like a car hit me. A small trickle of blood has started to dry from an inch long cut next to my eye and the bottom of my lip is swollen and bloody. I wipe the dirt and gravel off of my cheek, leaving behind a tint of red from the impact and lick away the rest of the blood from my lips. After my face looks half decent, I pick the rocks out of my knees and dab at them until there are only faint traces of blood remaining. Both cuts look raw and deep but they are the least of my worries as I stare at my swollen hand that has become twice the size of my other one. I pinch my eyes closed and tear off the bandage letting out long puffs of air to try and forget about the pain cursing through my body. The string from the stitches has come halfway out having ripped through more of the skin around the gash. I hurry to a medkit near the towels and grab new string, a needle, and a towel. Biting my tongue until I taste blood, I take out the stitches Angela had put in. The gash definitely looks infected but I have to get back to training before Oliver and Tate start mocking me in front of the whole group if they haven't done so already. I thread the new needle and string in and out of the cut attempting to match what had been done previously. With a finishing knot at the end, I take out new strands of tape and lay them carefully over a sterilizing gauze. I throw the bloody towel into the trash because there's no way all of that blood will come out, and I head back into the gym.