Saving Hearts

Chapter 12: Wesley

Chapter 12: Wesley

There was something intriguing about Gisele. I don't typically share details about my childhood openly, and most people don't ask as many questions as she does. Gisele's insatiable curiosity and unwavering gaze sparked a flicker of interest in me. Despite my reservations and the walls I had meticulously built around my heart, something about her relentless questioning stirred a sense of openness in me. While there are specific questions I prefer to avoid, overall, I don't mind her probing as much as I initially thought I would.

The self-defense lessons served as a covert excuse for me to spend more time in Gisele's company. I'm not entirely sure why I wanted that extra time, but I find her company pleasant. She's quite intelligent for her age, maybe not on par with my intelligence at her age, but certainly above average.

Her interest in learning self-defense made me even more curious about her. Does her desire to defend herself have to do with her being assaulted months ago? I wanted to know more about her, yet I didn't want to pry.

On Monday morning, I missed the gym due to work, but on Tuesday morning, I decided to text her. It took me a while to compose the message—should I start with a simple good morning or directly mention the gym? In the end, I settled on "Good Morning. I'll be at the gym if you're still interested in learning self-defense," followed by the address. I anxiously waited for her response for about 10 minutes before realizing it was 3 a.m., and she was probably asleep. I continued getting ready, hoping to hear from her soon.

I never received a text back from Gisele. I assumed she wasn't coming or was still sleeping. I get up early, and most people sleep in.

At 6 a.m., no one was at the gym, which was what I loved about coming early. I could lift weights without someone watching me or waiting for me to finish.

As I was doing my warm-up exercise, Gisele walked in wearing yoga pants and a tank top. She looked tired and unhappy, letting out a yawn as she approached me.

"You seriously get up this early?" she questioned. "You text me at like 3," she added.

"Sometimes, I'm up earlier," I informed her.

"Don't you have kids," she questioned.

There are two things I don't like talking about: Mason (my son) and Tiffany (my wife).

I changed the subject and asked her, "Did you have difficulty finding the gym?"

I was hoping she would leave the conversation about kids alone.

"Actually, I walked here. I live, well I sorta live across the street." She informed me.

I'm not sure how you "sorta" live somewhere, but I was not about to question it. I just nodded my head. I gestured for her to follow me. I showed her the lady's room and the locker room. Then we walked to the other side of the gym, where the punching bags were.

We began with warm-up exercises, focusing on stretching her muscles. To my surprise, she remained quiet, absorbing every instruction and following directions diligently. However, once we transitioned to the mats, the dynamic changed. As I explained the vulnerable points for attacking an opponent, she started asking questions.

"Why don't you get any sleep?" was the first question.

"I don't need much sleep," I informed her. "Remember, eyes, windpipe, groin, chin, and feet."

"Are you teaching me anatomy? Why do I need to remember that?"

I chuckled genuinely, a rare occurrence as not many can evoke laughter from me. She likely hadn't caught what I said before she asked her question.

"Those are the vulnerable points you want to attack when defending yourself," I repeated.

She nodded and asked, "Do you get 8 hours of sleep?" I gave her an annoyed look. "What!" she hollered. You're the doctor, and you should know the importance of sleep on the human body."

"I do know. Do you want to learn self-defense or not." She shrugged her shoulders.

I showed her a couple of basic self-defense moves and how to target vulnerable points. I spent about an hour and a half showing her the moves and having her practice them on me. I could have kept going, but she gave up at that point and sat on the mat.

"You can keep showing me moves. I'm just going to sit down here and chill for a minute," she told me.

There it was, I laughed again.

An hour had passed, and a break was needed. I sat down in front of her. I passed her my extra bottle of water.

"You don't work out a lot, do you?" I asked.

"I don't work out at all," she informed me.

With a figure like hers, I thought she would be a regular at the gym.

"I take it you work out all the time."

"When I can."

"Why?" she asked.

"Most of the people who come to me with heart problems could have prevented it with exercise," I informed her.

"Not all of us can live off of two hours of sleep as you do," she pushed.

"It's five."

"That's still not enough, Mr. Cardio Surgeon." She mocked. "Why don't you sleep?"

She would not stop asking me about my sleep patterns until I told her. She was not only curious but persistent, and I liked that about her.

As I thought about what I would tell her about my insomnia, she said, "Fine, don't tell me." I was grateful she let it go, but then she asked, "What's your wife like."

I was never going to talk about her. I quickly said, "I have insomnia."

She laughed.

"So, do you have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?" she questioned. From her question, I could tell she knew a lot about insomnia.

"Staying asleep. What do you know about insomnia?"

"I know cognitive behavioral therapy helps."

"Are you trying to be my therapist," I questioned jokingly.

"No. It's something I did when I had trouble sleeping."

I pondered what might be causing her sleep issues. I thought about the evening she was at Hopkins with an alarming number of bruises and fractures. Perhaps that's the reason for her insomnia and the need for self-defense lessons.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" I asked.

"It's getting late. Don't you have surgery or something?"

"It's 8 in the morning. You're not getting off that easily," I pushed.

"It was back when my parents died. I kept thinking if I fell asleep, I wouldn't remember them and don't ask me why, but at the time it made perfect sense. Eventually, my body put me to sleep after a week of no sleep, but I wouldn't sleep for more than an hour." She explained.

Gisele and I have a lot in common. I could see myself getting along well with her if I were the type who liked to share my problems.

"That had to be rough. How old were you?" I asked.

"I was 17. I had my sister, so I got through it," I nodded my head as she looked at her watch again. "Well, you may not have surgery, but I do have to be in court soon."

The thought of her in a courtroom was alluring. I could imagine her in a pencil skirt, ruffled blouse, and heels, commanding attention. It was enticing to envision her in that role. I knew I shouldn't be entertaining such thoughts, but there was an undeniable allure about her.