I’m so not ready for today. Nope. Not even a little bit. Then again, I haven’t been ready for any day since I got divorced over a year ago. Every move feels like a struggle. I glance at my phone and realize it’s only 10:00 in the morning. I still have another six hours to work.
Normally, I wouldn’t complain, but I just can’t focus today. My brain is spinning, and the words aren’t coming to me as easily as they usually do. I get up from my desk to pace around, putting my hands on the back of my head and taking deep breaths, trying to calm the thoughts that are racing around my skull.
Technically, I don’t have to write this story. I could just throw in the towel, binge-watch TV, and call it a day. But then I think about the fans, and I’d probably get a stern text from my editor about how important deadlines are. So here I am, coffee in hand, pretending I’ve got this as I sit back down and try to focus. Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering despite my desperate attempts to concentrate on getting any words written down on the document. It starts with thinking about what I should do for supper, to how the workout went this morning, and back to how fucking lonely I am.
Somehow, I always end up there.
Before I know it, it’s 4:00 at night, and I give up writing for the day. I managed to write three somewhat solid pages for the book, so I can stay on track with my goal to finish it by next year. So far, I have 90 pages completed, and we’re well into April.
I turn on the television to drown out the silence as I cook dinner. A nature documentary hums softly in the background, the narrator’s calm voice a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside of me. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the hum of the boiling water, and counting slowly to five. When I open them again, the weight of everything seems to press down harder. I wish, more than anything in this moment, that life could rewind to simpler times, before the voices took over and made even the smallest moments feel like I’m on a battlefield.
Forget it. I turn off the stove and TV, grab a water bottle, and head downstairs to the small, but well-equipped gym that I built a couple of years ago. I spend most of my time here these days, pushing my body to the point of exhaustion so that I can’t think or feel anything else. I blast heavy metal music while I run on the treadmill for five miles. At the end, I lie on the floor, and stay there for a good twenty minutes before I get up and go to shower, and then to bed. I don’t feel like eating right now, and not by myself. The voices in my head are finally quiet, and I take the opportunity to get some much-needed sleep.
I wake up at 3:00 in the morning, like clockwork. Sleep never seems to come easy past this hour unless I take melatonin, but I’m not ready to lean on that crutch just yet. The silence presses in around me, and my thoughts begin to wander, slipping through the dark until they settle on her.
Georgia. Ever since she started coming to the 5 AM crew, it’s been hard not to think of her when I wake up. It’s been almost a year now, and I still haven’t quite figured her out. She’s so quiet that when she speaks, I have to lean in just to catch her words. Her tone is always gentle, like she’s walking on eggshells. It’s almost as if she’s afraid she’ll get into trouble if she says anything.
The first time she walked in, I could tell right away she was tough. She didn’t say much, but there was a fire in her eyes, the same look I had when I was out to prove someone wrong. At first, she came to the 6:00 AM classes, so I only saw her in passing. But then she started showing up at 5:00 AM, and selfishly, I hoped she’d keep coming so I’d have the chance to really get to know her.
Luckily, my wish held up. She’s been coming to the 5:00 AM class for the past year. Still, I haven’t really gotten to know her, unless you count finding out what she did over the weekend through Facebook.
She’s beautiful, with long caramel-colored hair and hazel eyes that pulled me in from the second I saw them. There’s something thoughtful in them, something that I couldn’t resist. But there’s a curious look in her eyes as well, like she’s trying to figure me out before I can say a word to her. I’ve never met someone who looks at me like that, like I’m more than just the surface. People look at me and see the tattoos, the height, the muscle, and they step back, like I’m some kind of threat. I don’t blame them. I’ve spent most of my life being that guy. The one people avoid, the one they’re afraid of, before they even know me. It’s easier that way. Keeps me safe. She doesn’t seem to care about any of that.
But whenever I look too deeply into her eyes, I can tell there’s always a sort of sadness in them, like someone has reached into her soul and pulled out her biggest insecurities, and proceeded to tell every single one to her. It seems as if she’s the kind of person who carries more than she lets on. Someone who puts others first, even when it costs her.
Another thing about Georgia is her scars. I don’t know how she got them, and she never talks about them, like she’d rather avoid the subject altogether and forget that she has them. But they’re there, large and jagged, trailing along the underside of her right arm and stretching down her right side. She tries to keep them hidden, always in oversized shirts and leggings, like she’s hoping no one will ask. But I’ve caught glimpses, when she lifts her arm, or pulls up her shirt to wipe away sweat during a workout.
Honestly? I think they look badass. They don’t make her weak. They make her look like she’s survived something brutal and came out the other side still standing. Tougher. Stronger. Maybe even stronger than she realizes.
Shaking my head to clear the thoughts of her, again, I throw the covers off and roll out of bed at 4:30. Time to stop stalling and get ready.
I’m almost always late to class. I’m a natural procrastinator. I throw on some deodorant, grab my water bottle and bag, then lock the door behind me. The house is pretty big, tucked out in the countryside. Fortunately, I got to keep it after the divorce, prenup and all, so my ex-wife had to move out when I found out she had cheated and presented the screenshots to the lawyers.
Today’s workout very well might kill all of us. Seriously, who has been coming up with these? I think they’re just trying to torture us by this point. Georgia and her mom are already stretching, and Michael is still getting ready. I glance at Georgia as she stretches, and then look at Michael as I take a seat. 67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlYKVDoCuya
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“Mornin',” I say as I put my gym bag and water bottle down. There’s no lift today, so I shouldn’t need anything out of my bag.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUHIqdi5fpy
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“What’s up?” Michael asks as we walk over to stretch.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq5PURYMdA3
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“Oh, not much. The usual, you know?” I say as I sit down and lean forward, reaching for my feet to stretch my back. I’ve never been much for small talk, so I stay quiet as I stretch out my back and legs, bending forward to reach for my toes.
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I notice Georgia looking at me, but she quickly looks away when our eyes meet. Her cheeks are a little flushed, and I’m not sure if it’s from stretching or from getting caught staring. A small smirk crosses my face, and I try to focus on actually warming up so I don’t pull something. Still, there’s something kind of entertaining about the way she blushes, like she didn’t realize she was staring at me, and she definitely didn’t mean for me to catch her. Maybe it’s nothing, but it’s cute.
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After our usual back-and-forth over what music to play—you’d think we’d just make a shared playlist by now of all our favorite songs, but we haven’t—we finally land on some heavier rock. Something with just enough bass to keep us moving, but not so heavy it kills the mood. Georgia shimmies a little when the first track kicks in, and I shake my head and smile as I hit start on the timer.
It’s only a 20-minute workout, supposedly a recovery session. But about halfway through, I realize whoever designed this must’ve had a grudge against humanity. My legs are burning, lungs tight, and I’m already drenched. My shirt has taken on a dark gray color from the sweat, compared to the light color I walked in with before the workout.
By the end, we’re all on the floor, breathing heavily, trying to piece ourselves back together. I’m actively trying not to pass out with my head in my hands, while Georgia’s chugging water like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. Sweat drips from the tip of her nose, and her top is soaked as she uses the bottom of it to wipe her face off.
She went hard on herself today, again. Even when she’s not supposed to, she pushes like there’s something to prove. She didn’t just do the women’s RX level either, which, for the record, looked brutal on its own. No, she went head-on with the Men’s RX calories, the most challenging option on the board, and didn’t stop once.
I’m not too proud to admit I glanced at the women’s RX before we started and thought, Jesus, that’s intense. And Georgia just looked at it, shrugged, and went one level harder. It’s impressive. And a little terrifying.
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“You okay?” I ask as she finally sets the water bottle down beside her so she can take a breath.
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“Me? I’m fine. Why?” she replies, glancing at me, like I’m trying to trick her by asking if she’s okay.
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“No reason. You just looked like you might pass out. We can’t be having that. It would scare the 6 AM crew away.” I’m joking, but I watch her carefully now, sensing something she’s not saying.
I don’t think she’s used to being asked if she’s okay. The way she brushes it off, like she’s trying not to make a big deal out of anything. It’s not really my business, I guess. We barely know each other. But still… it nags at me in the back of my mind.
Jennifer and Michael are by the table chatting, so it’s just Georgia and me on the ground now. Neither of us moves or speaks, since we’re still catching our breath as the 6:00 group walks in. I offer her my hand, and when she takes it, I pull her up. Her grip is firm but quick, and when I let go, her eyes drop to the ground as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear from her braid.
I didn’t realize I had that kind of effect on her.
It catches me off guard at first, how quickly the color blooms in her cheeks, how her gaze drops like she’s trying to hide it. But now that I’ve seen it, I can’t stop thinking about it. There’s something unexpectedly satisfying about the way she reacts to me. Not because it’s about ego. God knows I’ve had my fill of shallow attention, but because it feels like I’ve stumbled onto something she didn’t mean to show.
And I like it.
I like that I can make her blush just by looking at her too long. There’s something addictive about it. And maybe it’s selfish, but part of me wants to keep learning how to draw that color to her cheeks.
By the time we finally make it back to the table, Jennifer is staring at her phone, and Michael must have slipped out while I wasn’t paying attention.
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“What’s on the agenda today, Rowan?” Jennifer asks while scrolling through her emails.
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“Not much, just a couple errands. How about you?”
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As Jennifer and I talk, Georgia glances between us. From what I’ve noticed, she values eye contact when someone’s speaking. She slowly opens the zipper of her bag, taking her time to organize everything, and puts on her jewelry. Rings and earrings seem to be her favorite. She’s got four rings that she always wears, and three piercings in each ear. She wears a necklace too, a small and delicate silver and gold cross.
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When I get up to say goodbye to Jennifer and Georgia, my chest tightens slightly when Georgia waves goodbye. I quickly climb into my car and close the door, exhaling a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I already know that I won’t be able to stop thinking about her today, the way her eyes flickered when I caught her looking, the faint blush that stole over her cheeks when she realized I noticed. It’s like she’s already under my skin, twisting around in my thoughts without permission. I don’t even know how or when it happened, but damn, it’s there, and I’m not sure I want it to go away anytime soon.
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