1:55 | h.s

Chapter Three

4 am.

The sun had yet to rise.

My shoes slapped on the tartan track, disrupting puddles of water from last night's rain.

"Five laps." My father shouted from the side. Illuminated in a neon green jacket, I could see him frowning at the stopwatch in his hand.

"Pick up the pace Emily. I want a faster split-time."

In the dark, I didn't have to resist any delinquency. I relished in the eyeroll I gave him but stretched my steps anyway to pick up the pace.

With three laps to go, I finally spotted him.

A lone figure sitting on the bleachers, a baseball cap hanging low over his eyes. But the broad shoulders and black tinted left arm was easily distinguishable.

I averted my eyes to the white lines in front of me. Coming to a breathless stop after five kilometres, I bent over, hands on knees.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Decent. But we'll work on technique this afternoon, your shoulders slouch and your arms hang. Streamline Emily, keep it tucked in."

Grabbing my water bottle, I sat down in the middle of the track. Watching my father's back as he left to go to work and left me to cool down.

"I think I could take you."

I wasn't even startled. His arrival was expected as soon as his figure disappeared from the bleachers in my last lap.

I wiped sweat from my top lip, self-conscious about the way my shirt clung to my clammy skin.

"Probably."

"You're not even going to defend your record. A solid 2:10 at only fourteen years old." He whistled, impressed.

"What do you want Harry?" I huffed, bringing my heels towards my body and pressing down on my knees in a painful stretch.

"Why do you run?"

"Stupid question."

"Humour me." He spun his cap around, dropping onto his haunches in front of me.

"I'm good at it."

"Do you love it."

"Yes."

He smirked mouthing the word liar.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, turning the spotlight onto him.

"I was just curious."

"Well, are you satisfied?" He followed me as I stood up.

"Not yet."

"I heard you won you're first track meet this week." Dr Joan kept an easy stream of conversation as she measured my progress on a clipboard.

"They let me won." I groaned in pain as she pushed my right leg further than what was comfortable.

"You're being modest." She clucked with her tongue, finally relenting with the insistent pressure on my leg.

"How does the pain feel?"

"Tolerable."

"I hope you're not pushing yourself too hard." She stared at me beneath her bangs, brown eyes stern.

"Depending on who you ask, I'm probably not pushing myself nearly hard enough." I laughed, meaning to joke it off but Dr Joan only frowned deeper.

"Emily, your recovery is important. Running a good time is not worth it if you destroy your ability to walk."

"I'm doing fine Dr Joan. I promise."

So many lies I had to keep track off, I wondered at what point my web would start to unravel.