I'm not tired anymore. Which maybe isn't strange because all I've done in the past two days is lie in my bed and rest, in an attempt to overcome the sudden sickness.
I feel much better now as I walk down the dorm hallway to the bathroom, peeking inside and seeing that it's empty. I close the door behind me and walk through the room, a faint smell of lemon-scented cleaner lingering in the air.
As I look into the mirror, I realize I really do look different. My face seems much slimmer, a sharp jawline beginning to show. I take off my baggy shirt to reveal my tight black tank, noticing the hints of muscle in my arms when I flex them. I press my hand over my shirt and my stomach feels much firmer, as if a layer of muscle is about to peek out.
As I change into a pair of black Adidas shorts, I notice that even my thighs, the one place where all the bagels, muffins and popcorn in the world seem to go to, actually look firmer.
Maybe I finally am becoming stronger.
After I finish washing up and put on a shirt, I head back out the hallway and outside, taking a detour to the dining hall, even though it's not even breakfast yet. More times than one, Martina has snuck in and brought us both actually palatable food before meals are served, so I'm out to do the same. I quietly slip through the door and keep the lights off, walking to the way end of the room where Martina told me she has found some of the good stuff.
And she wasn't lying. On the table is a platter of blueberry muffins.
Bingo.
Carrying the one with the most blueberries, I head out and eat it quickly, disposing the wrapper in one of the trash cans outside. Then I stop in my tracks and sigh, knowing I have to head to an early morning workout.
It's been two days since I've seen Axel, and I'm glad, as strange as it sounds. I needed those few days to really think through things and maybe more importantly, try to forget the way it felt to be so close to him.
I'm supposed to want that feeling...right?
I stretch out my back and walk into the Central Building, greeted by a rush of cool air. I take my time walking into the gym at the end of the hallway and step back when I see all the equipment there.
I feel dizzy just staring at it.
"Good morning."
A voice jars me from behind, and I turn around, seeing Axel there in a black shirt and shorts to match, his hair tousled from sleep. He drinks from a large cup of coffee and walks towards me.
"Good morning," I respond, my hands fiddling with my hair to put it up in a ponytail. There seems to be a slight tension between us as he opens his mouth to say something.
"You've missed out on two valuable days of training, so today I have a slightly more vigorous workout planned," he says with that I'm-not-messing-around-anymore look on his face. Oh boy. "We'll take it slow first, don't worry."
We go through a quick stretch and warm-up, mainly consisting of jogging in place, also one of the top ten things on my "Activities that I Think are Dumb and Pointless" list.
"Let's start with twenty push-ups," he says, and I chuckle at the word "start." I think I'd consider twenty to be a good workout in itself, but I have no choice but to listen. I try my best to not stick my back up in the air, but that transfers the strain to my arms as I have to lift my whole body weight. Not that that isn't the whole point of this exercise.
I push my arms down to perform yet another, but Axel crouches down right near my face.
"They should be more like this," he says, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades to make me bend down lower. I purse my lips, avoiding his gaze. "See?"
I nod and get through the rest of them, trying to ignore the fact that I still feel his hand lingering on my back. At the twentieth one I fall into a heap on the floor on my face.
"Up," he says, and I press my hands into the floor, climbing up onto my feet. "Do a set of fifty jumping jacks; then we'll stretch a little more before moving on."
He continues to drink his coffee as I get through the jumping jacks. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, I'd really like a sip, thank you.
"Fifty," I say at last, brushing away a small piece of hair that's fallen onto my cheek. "How do you take your coffee?"
He looks at me weirdly. "With sugar and some milk? You?"
I crinkle my nose. "I take it black," I answer and then add, "like my soul."
"How cliché," he mocks me, placing a hand against his chest. I roll my eyes. At least he knows now there's no way I'm going to try to steal his coffee.
Afterwards, we go through a series of toe-touching and arm-stretching exercises, which at least don't require the expenditure of too much of my energy.
"Alright, we're going to try pull-ups today," he says when we're done, and I just stare at him blankly. He corrects himself, emphasizing, "Try."
I watch as he walks up to the pull-up bar, jumping up swiftly and grabbing onto it. I see the muscles in his arms and back tighten as he pulls himself upwards and then downwards, repeating it again so I can observe. After a few more times, he gets back onto the ground and wipes his hands on a small towel.
"Ready?" he asks.
My mind says no, but my mouth says yes, failing me. I sigh as I walk to the bar and look up at, realizing it's much higher than I expected it to be. I jump up and miss it by one hand.
"It's not that hard," he says from behind me, and I groan, jumping up again and still missing it.
"Yeah for you because you're like eight inches taller or something."
Just then he comes behind me and picks me up around my lower waist, both of my hands setting on the bar now.
That helped.
I wait a moment before I attempt the pull-up, which is rather stupid because the most momentum occurs after first putting your hands on the bar. I get back on the floor again and jump up to the bar, actually latching onto it. I strain the muscles in my arms to pull myself upwards; I barely budge. Four tries and three exasperated sighs from Axel later, I'm still useless at his exercise.
"I don't think it's working," I tell him and drop to the floor, landing on my feet.
He gives me an I expected this look. "Let's switch over to weights," he says. "I was testing your arm strength, which unfortunately, I haven't worked on enough."
He leads me across the gym to a large mirrored wall in front of racks full of different sized weights, some small and light and others resembling cannonballs. "These are only ten pounds," he says, handing me the weights one by one. "If you can't carry these, Whitney, you're hopeless."
"Well aren't you spirited today," I quip, carrying them both firmly in my hands. I attempt the bicep curls he instructs me to do. I clench my teeth as I extend my arms, feeling like they are going to snap in half. They don't feel heavy like I expected them to, but lifting weights this way is a foreign feeling. I put the weight on the ground and stretch out my arm before trying it again and facing the mirror. My expression looks so fierce, it's almost hilarious.
"Come on, no messing around," Axel urges, but he can't keep himself from laughing at my facial expression. I continue with the weights, suddenly feeling like the task is far easier. I don't even notice how many repetitions I've gotten through until he stops me.
"Let's take a short break," Axel says, taking the weights from me. "I have too much planned for today to tire you out already."
I walk away from him and sit with my legs in front of me and palms pressed flat behind me. He throws me a water bottle and takes one for himself.
"Axel," I say, putting the water bottle beside me. "What got you into training? Or, when did you get into it, is what I mean."
"I started boxing at twelve and then working out when I was thirteen; I used to sneak out to go to the gym at night with some friends," he says, opening the cap of his water bottle. "Very badass of me, I know, but it fascinated me: the idea of being strong."
"So, is this something you want to do for a while?"
He shrugs. "I like being a trainer, but I'm continuing a degree in physical therapy. This might be something I just do during the summers." He sits down in front of me. "Let me ask you a question, Whitney. Why did you wait so long to start working out?"
My lips part as if to speak, but then shut; I'm conflicted on how to answer. He continues anyway.
"I know people were awful to you because you sucked at sports, so why didn't you decide to make a change then? Did you ever think that maybe you had the control over them by helping yourself, instead of merely living through it? Look at how you've improved in just a couple weeks. You're so capable."
"I-I don't know," I answer truthfully. His words are so true that they cause my chest to ache. "I thought I could live through it."
"Sometimes making a change is easier than the pain of living through it," he says, reaching his hand out and hauling me up from the ground. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm proud of you, Whitney."
"Really?" I feel like small child begging for attention as I look up at his face, but he doesn't seem to see me that way. He brushes a rogue strand of hair away from my face, his fingers dancing against my cheeks.
"Really," he confirms and drops his hand.
***
After Axel's brutal workout, exhaustion is an understatement for how I feel. I have to drag myself to the dining hall in the evening, not because I want to leave the comfort of my bed, but because my resulting monstrous appetite needs some help.
"Whitney!" Martina calls me over from the table she's sitting at after I grab a burrito. I smile and join her.
"Hey," I say, sitting next to her. "How was your day?"
"Pretty good but also exhausting," she replies, leaning her elbows on the table. "I missed you at meal times the past few days. I've been stuck sitting next to that girl who always has her finger stuck in her teeth."
I make a face. "I had to sit next to her in yoga. And I've missed you too. But you could have sat next to Adriana, I mean she is your sister."
As if on cue, Natalie and Joanna, along with Adriana following behind them carrying a large drink, take a seat at the other end of the long table.
"Look who joined the party," I mutter, taking a bite of the sandwich.
As I take another large bite, someone comes beside me and I feel a cold, thick liquid dribble down my shoulder. I hear a cup fall to the ground. I look up in disgust, and Martina leers at the sight behind me.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," Adriana says, although her voice is devoid of any sincerity. I try to get some of the drink off my sweatshirt with my fingers, but it's a sticky mess. It's a blueberry smoothie.
"Here," Natalie says, handing me a wad of napkins, but Adriana bumps into her and the napkins drop onto the ground into the purplish-blue mess of a drink.
"Are you blind?" I ask Adriana. My chair screeches as I push it back and stand up. "How do you drop a drink onto someone when you're walking in a straight line?"
"It fell?" she tries, but I reach forward, shoving her shoulders. She falls, and I'm about to punch her when she claws at my arm, and I yelp. I ball up my hands into fists and sock her in the shoulder. She stumbles back against the ground, and I jump on top of her. I'm about to send a fist to her face, when someone hooks their arms around mine and pulls me back.
"Whitney, seriously," Martina says, and I fight out of her grasp. "Don't waste your time."
Now all the girls in the dining hall are staring at us, and Adriana stands up, rubbing her shoulder. She glares at me and lifts her head high, walking out of the dining hall with about an ounce left of her dignity.
I breathe heavily and stare at my hands before grabbing my sandwich and sitting back down, not caring that everyone has their eyes on me or really, the fact I have blueberry smoothie still on my shoulder.
I take a bite and look up at the doorway, seeing Axel pass by with Austin and shake his head at me, but even I, twenty feet away, can make out the approving smirk on his face.