beautiful thieves | ✓

twelve

I'm up ridiculously early this morning, just as I have been every morning of this week. Every bone in my body feels shattered, every muscle torn and every injury received by Maeve hurts, but I've been putting everything into training and working out. I'm not sure where the sudden bursts of motivation have sparked from, but I've decided I don't want to be seen as the runt of the litter anymore. I want to be strong and fearless so I never land in a sticky situation and find myself defenceless.

I have noticed quite an improvement. I already have a lot more stamina than I did at the start of the week and my stomach has already stiffened with muscle, reducing the food bumps I'd usually have after eating a large meal. The other's have come down to be surprised that I'm here in the basement yet again, and I've felt a fair few eyes watching me during the time I've spent down here. It's gotten to the point that Danielle or Zavier have had to step in before I knock myself out with exhaustion, but I've always found a way to keep myself going.

I stop hitting at the punching bag for a breather, wincing as I undo the handwraps to find my knuckles are busted and bruised. I'm sat on the floor for some time, catching my breath in between sips of chilled water. I'm exhausted, but it's barely past eleven in the morning. In one hour I'll grab myself some lunch, have a chat with Maeve or Enoch, who I've actually found to be a very decent guy, before coming back down here to get back to work.

At least, that should be the plan.

I stand back to my feet, ignoring the blood that rushes from my head and the black dots that swarm my vision. I'm about to move onto the treadmill when I hear echoed footsteps entering this part of the basement, and to my dismay, Blake walks into the area.

While everyone who comes down here as been watching me with pride or encouragement throughout the week, it's always been Blake who has been watching me with judgement. He's made it more than clear that he doesn't think I belong here, and I always see him chuckling at me in the corner of my eye when I slip up and get my technique wrong. It's very aggravating.

This time he stalks past me with a cigarette in his hand. I flicker my eyes away to coil my handwraps up, before my vision turns cloudy for a split second and my lungs fill with that overwhelming scent of nicotine. I glance back up with annoyance, seeing Blake's smirk after blowing the smoke in my direction. Gross. If there's one thing I don't like about the older members of this group, it's their smoking habits.

He ignores the middle finger I hold up to him and continues on his way to the shooting range.

I must've been running on the treadmill for around half an hour, barely needing to walk as much as I used to, before I think I've had enough. My energy is seriously wearing thin and I'll be puking in the nearest bin before I know it, not exactly something I'd want Blake, who is now doing weight-training with Jayden, to see and inevitably use against me. I take long gulps of my water, finishing the second bottle of this morning, and make my way up the stairs to raid the kitchen cupboards of all it's contents.

As I walk into the kitchen, I see Maeve, Chelsea and Danielle, who has baby Posie bundled in her arms while the three of them talk.

"You look beat," Maeve comments as they notice my entrance.

"I am," I say back, walking over to the fridge to fill my bottle with fresh water and opening the door to pick anything to eat.

"Have you really been down there every day this week?" Chelsea asks.

Before I can answer, Danielle chuckles. "You bet she has. Enoch had to catch her before she fainted the other day. She's been working hard."

"Damn, she's making me look bad," Chelsea smirks. "I didn't bother with all that when I first joined."