This is not a quickie, dear readers. It is a purposefully slow burning; a slow building story that takes place between two human beings – not two sex dolls throwing themselves at each other at the drop of a hat. This first section is only build-up, but I would hope that you enjoy the development of the characters and the situation, so as to find sensual pleasure in the mutual attraction between two people.
2am...
It is the lunatic hour. The hours are creeping by and the night is slowly dying out, the day ready and willing to overcome its twin brother's throne. Half of the gym is steeped in shadows, weights and machines lingering in the dark, just out of sight - as if they were the bones to the hulking beast that is this place. An occasional passing car on the road outside...when they would take the curve, headlights would slip away from the road, racing across the empty parking lot and leaping through the plate glass windows of the gym, briefly racing across the room, casting shadows and making the metal of the machines glisten like teeth in the darkness.
Dramatic much, Troy?
I put the weight down - let it thump to the floor with a resounding thud. I should have brought my iPod, should have brought something - anything - to fill my senses and let me forget why I was here. Too much thinking, lately...too much of everything. I should be at home. I should be sleeping.
But sleep lingers tantalizingly outside of my grasp. I could lie there in bed, eyes closed and feigning sleep...putting on a show for no one.
And why is that, Troy?
Well, so glad you asked...but you know already, don't you? Because of her.
We can lie to our friends, we can lie to every around us - put on a brave face and pretend that it is all over and it was nothing...but here in the dark, talking to ourselves...we know the truth. Let us ignore the pain, the feeling of a heart removed - forget the absence in our chest and the cold around the soul. Let's just pick up another weight and lift until our palms turn red and the blisters develop at the base of the fingers - the five finger proof that you are lifting more than you should.
I'm standing now, silencing the running commentary track in my mind...looking into the mirror and enjoying the sight of myself - not in a sort of narcissistic manner, but rather enjoying seeing my reflection half in shadow, half in light. It fits my mood.
Five years lost in the haze of training and fighting - six years ago I was behind the desk of a video store, my only exercise being the pressing of the buttons on a remote control. Then something happened...something that even escapes my understanding. A breaking, a twist of the soul...it got me up at five am, strapping on running shoes and pounding pavement until the sun came up. Sweets and fast food suddenly turned my stomach and salads became the only thing I desired to eat. Now here I was, training for
boxing
. The guy who never met a playground fight he would rather run from...the guy who made his bullies laugh in order to escape with his lunch money...the guy more at home in the library stacks then in the testosterone soaked atmosphere of the ring...ending up
here
. At home living in his own sweat and finding sweet music in the sweet science.
Now here I am, looking at myself in mirror...hardly recognizable to myself. It hardly looks like me in the mirror...I have to admit, I enjoy it. The separation. I feel like a kid at the controls of a video game - and the man in the mirror is the game character I created for myself. It is strange how one's form transforms only when you are no longer paying attention to it. To have gone from "husky" to "athletic" – I only noticed it when others commented upon it. Stranger still, how people react to your presence differently once your stomach turns from a "gut" to a "six pack" and your arms turn into "guns." At first it was complimentary...now it seemed rather absurd.
Okay, get a grip. Sleep deprivation and heartbreak should never be a man's choice of cocktail. At the bottom of that glass is a straitjacket.
I'm starting the feel the chill as the cold reaches my skin - the glistening sweat beads are no longer ignored as my body temperature rapidly cools off from the lack of exertion. Suddenly those little beads of sweat become tiny entrances for the cold of the room to slip into my skin, turning my blood into ice water.
The gym is empty - what the hell? I peel off the cheap "Party Till She's Naked" t-shirt and let it slap the floor with a wet "thwack." Going shirtless in the gym is a no-no (see the sign on the wall?) but at 2am, I cannot help but think the "Who Gives a Fuck?" rule goes into effect.
The sound is all I hear – the tell-tale electronic chirp...in my foggy, sleep deprived brain I recognize the sound but do not immediately process it....I know the sound, but it is out of place here. No, that's a sound I hear over and over again during the six o' clock rush hour...
It is the sound of a membership card getting read by the front desk scanner.
I spin around on the bench, looking over to the door – at first I see only a silhouette, an outline of a very small form walking from the desk and into the gym. It's a she...I can tell that already from the way she carries herself and her petite frame. She has her gym bag in one hand, carrying it slung over her shoulder while her other hand turns the dial on her iPod. The soft glow of the LCD screen illuminates her face...
I could only describe her as being pixyish...she had the lucky of a fairy tale creature who had just escaped from the pages of a child's fantasy book. Short blonde hair, cut into a bob - her face perfectly symmetrical, so flawless it seemed formed out of porcelain. She had the appearance of a living work of art...in grubby sweats. It was almost surreal to watch her walk across the empty room...
Apparently, my attention had been too focused – I heard the music coming from her headphones (Tori Amos, I do believe) in the deathly silence of the darkened room...she gasped when she finally looked up and saw me, startling us both.
"Oh, fuck me!" One hand went to her chest, where she was now breathing heavily.
The sentiment was a sharp cry of shock...but nevertheless, my brain chose to interpret the sentence quite differently, as you could imagine.
"Didn't mean to startle you..." As openings go, it was not half bad considering the circumstances...especially considering my mouth was dry and I was feeling strangely guilty for having stalked her with my eyes since she had entered the place.
"No, no – it's okay." She laughed, and her smile raised the temperature of the room several degrees...there are some women in this world who possesses smiles so perfect, so enchanting, so utterly magnificent to behold that it should be the duty of civilization to constantly keep them entertained. This was quite obviously one of those smiles. "I usually have the place all to myself at this hour. Wasn't expecting anyone."
"Me neither." I laugh, standing up – realizing I'm only wearing my black Starter gym shorts and nothing else.
Now, it may be the overly male brain beginning to stir and see things for what they are not...but I could have sworn she let her eyes drift over my abs and a small quirk of her lips formed at the edge of her smile before she caught herself.
I looked to my shirt...the "Shirts Must Always Be Worn" paper sign on the wall suddenly seemed to be edged in neon – bringing my infraction to light, condemning my partial nudity with no humor whatsoever.
She must have followed my gaze, for she let out a laugh just as I looked back down to my white puddle of sweat stained t-shirt.
"It's okay. I won't tell anybody."
"I would be in your debt."
