Red Lashers
Page 6
SCREEEEEEEEECH. Without intentionally foiling Abbud's experiment, the plate dips downward and the two metal pieces scrape together as pleasantly as nails on a chalkboard. My cocky smirk at Abbud says, “See, I told you so. I can't relax. Not in my DNA.”
Abbud reciprocates a grin and then carries on with his janitorial duties but only after sneaking in a final word. “One day,” he assures with fatherly confidence as if I was a disbelieving child who couldn't see his own hidden potential. Why? Why does he believe in me? Why so nice? I’m not exactly friendly to him. What does he see that I don’t?
I lower my body onto the flat bench and begin pressing out today's frustration. I stare at the blue-painted ceiling with each repetition, trying hard to calm my mind. Ten completed reps ends the first of three sets. The second quickly transitions into the third, each increasing in weight for maximum, merciless muscle tearing. Getting a bit more anger-fueled as I think about that young mother who was close-fisted in the face by the Tyro thug. Two hundred and fifty pounds of weight move up towards the ceiling then back to my chest, and I hardly notice.
Up. Down. Up. Down...goes the rage. Every movement is me inflicting pain on the Tyro as if I was actually fighting him. My fatigued arms are nearly at their max, and I should probably re-rack the bar, but the anger pushes more reps out of me.
Suddenly, Meilo’s front door swings open. Vision is slightly blocked by my vertically-shot right arm, but I can see just enough to identify the pleasing figure of a woman with a very attractive, unknown face that I’d only recognize in a dream...one of those rare, good ones. But what’s she doing here? No one comes here.
The girl walks in, and my curious eyes accept the invitation to follow. She finally spots me and impulsively takes a step backwards, unsure what to do. Her facial expression suggests she was hoping to find an empty gym, and I’m unwanted company. But she’s the trespasser here.
Wow. She’s seriously beautiful. The morning sunlight from outside reflects against the fallen snow and shines through a large window that highlights her silhouette.
Ruko, keep your eyes to yourself.
Entranced by the unexpected yet pleasant distraction, I happen to forget about the two hundred and fifty pounds of weight suspended in the air above me. My right arm buckles then collapses into my chest while my left arm somehow remains fully extended. I try to push my right arm back up, but it’s too late to stop the inevitable avalanche of a giant dumbbell falling onto a dumb man, and one after another, each plate slides off the right side of the bar and slams hard onto the floor. BAM! BAM! BAM!
With the right side of the bar weightless, the unbalanced left side now teeters over to empty its plates, one after another, in a seemingly endless disaster.
A thorny cloak of embarrassment tightly engulfs my pride as I lie flat on the bench with stiff hands clinging to a plateless bar. I muster up the strength to look at the girl stranger. To my astonishment, she hasn’t left the room. In response to my clumsiness, she offers a friendly smile, which for some reason stirs up strange feelings inside me, the long-lost kind. Happiness. Hope. Those fuzzy, frolicking things that, until now, have been nothing more than rotting leaves lying forgotten at the deep end of my emotional swimming pool. They swirl to the surface revived and alive as I watch the girl gracefully glide to the far side of Meilos, the yoga mat section, apparently willing to share the gym.
Abbud hammers a strong wink of approval that only encourages more my interest to know who this girl is.
Ruko leave the gym. Now! Don’t you dare...
My warning voice interjects but loses power to this spring-filled rush I can’t recall experiencing in years, if ever; a rogue energy that redefines my motivation to define and chisel my muscles, no longer by the fuel of anger but something else.
I get off the bench, maneuver around the fallen pile of plates, and transition to standing bicep raises with forty pound dumbbells in each hand. Veins popping. Heart pounding. Wonder if she's looking at me. Not sure. This is crazy. Not even arms day. Guess I'm falling prey to the old adage, “curls for girls”, as they say. But why? Why would I try to impress her? This doesn't make sense.
Did she have blond hair? Couldn't tell with the sunlight blinding me, not to mention the plummeting weights in my face. The girl is behind me off to the side doing vigorous ab crunches on a blue yoga mat. Covertly, I scope out her reflection through the giant floor-to-ceiling mirror at my front side. Hair is actually a rusty gold color like the skin of a peach.
The girl pauses her workout to take off her gray and pink winter jacket, revealing a slender, athletic body wrapped in colorful exercise clothing. Despite the weather’s dryness, her skin appears soft, healthy, and tan. Definitely not from around here; no way the harsh winter climate of the mid-west could give birth to a summer blossom like that. Her finely carved back and arm muscles exhibit the markings of a girl who's still battling through the darkness. Someone who hasn't given up. We seem to share this uncommon commonality.
Crap! She spots me starring. I speedily toss my eyes to the floor, continuously pumping my arms with zero idea how many reps I’m doing—just gotta look busy. There’s no coming back from that though...she knows I was starring at her. I feel an urgent need to say something. But what?
Ruko, mind your own business and keep your dang distance.
But this is my business, I decide. Meilos is my territory to protect, therefore—since this girl’s a stranger—it’s my duty to investigate who she is and see if she plans on making Meilos her new hangout spot. I need to know. What if she's a threat? Yup, she needs to be questioned.
With a made-up mind, I rack the two dumbbells and casually yawn my way to the yoga room. Legs move like stiff boards. Why am I nervous? Committed to the spontaneous task, I press on, but with each step become less and less convinced of the reason that compels me. Is it really that I’m worried she's a threat? Or does the truth lie in my loneliness? No, I can't be that naive. Haven't needed anyone for years, so why would that change now just because a beautiful body enters the room? There’re plenty of beautiful bodies in the world. There's gotta be something more about this girl that’s pulling me in. But what? Her smile comes to mind. There was definitely something unique about that smile. A genuine realness. A goodness. A light...guess I’m a captivated bug being lured by the mysterious illumination.
No...no, no, no...threat...yes, that’s why I’m doing this...need to make sure she’s not a threat.
She sees me coming. Oh no. To my horror, I realize I didn't decide on a kick-starter conversation line, but time for turning back has passed. In a panic, my brain falls on a piece of subconscious default dialogue, a stupid pickup line I thought up for fun weeks ago during a loopy episode, never thinking I’d actually use it. Maybe she'll think it's funny. Maybe it'll break the ice. Only one way to find out. But why a pick-up line?! Am I seriously about to hit on her? What happened to threat?!
Stop, Ruko! Go dunk your head in icy water. This isn't you!
I stand in front of the girl—bravely or foolishly, I stand just the same. She stops doing ab crunches, puts her arms out like kickstands to support her seated body, and looks up at me.
“Yeah?” she questions my intentions. As do I.
Here goes nothing…
“I...was just gunna say...it’s not my style to pick up on girls at the gym...but…there never are any...so...” I hold my breath and wait for the girl’s response to the horrendous line I immediately regret uttering. No way that’ll break the massive iceberg between us. Instead, I feel like the ice just broke me as I crashed into it face first.
“Stupid,” she judges. But then, out from behind her frozen front, she cracks a faint craving to laugh at my awkwardness through a shy smile—a small but visible fracture in the ice. I’ll take it.
I smile back. At least I think I did; my face did something that felt weird. Didn’t expect to exercise smile muscles at the gym today, a very unused muscle group that will surely be sore tomorrow from this one rep
alone. Worse than legs day.
“Stupid…yes, I-I know. Haven’t had much practice,” I admit. “Wasn’t kidding when I said no girls come here.”
“Really? Why not?” the girl follows up.
Wow. I notice how crazy beautiful her eyes are. Black pupils are surrounded by bright yellow, ruffled rings that resemble flower petals, and around that is the color blue. Draws the ethereal painting of a sunflower splashed in the middle of a blue summer sky. Never seen anything like it. Not that dreaming into people's eyes is a pastime or anything. I should probably stop creeping on her face and answer the question.
“Yeah...no girls come here. No one does. Just-just me...and that guy.” I nod over to Abbud who has conveniently moved to dusting the free weights area, close enough to spy on our conversation. I ignore him and continue, “So that’s really why I’m here...just-just wanted to, you know, see who you were...welcome you.”
“Well, I hope I'm not a bother. I can leave if...” she begins.
“No, no, no, stay. You’re totally welcome,” I insist without thought. “I’m Ruko,” I introduce at last but without offering my hand for a shake.
“Hayvin,” she says, also no hand. But our eyes...they connect and greet in a unique way. Despite being strangers, the open-book story I read in her eyes is not strange to me at all but tells the same narrative as mine, a history of tragedy-strewn Red-outs riddled with loneliness, depression, an anxious hope that good still exists in the world, and a longing for companionship. Our eyes bleed the same sadness.
“So...you-you new...to the area?” I break the stare with a stuttered question.
“I’ve been here just a couple days actually,” Hayvin clears up in a soft Southern accent that I just now notice. Nothing heavy. Certain words seem to be accented more than others, but I can understand her perfectly well.
“Where-where are you from?” I keep stuttering as if I’ve never spoken before. What’s with this?
“Florida,” she answers. “Came down with a small group.”
“Really? Do you know Craskol and Morda?” I ask, in a more controlled voice, as my tongue and brain better remember how to deliver a smooth sentence.
“Haha. You know them, too?”
“Ran into each other a couple days ago...at our Assembly,” I explain.
“They were part of the same group that traveled out. About fifteen of us,” Hayvin reveals.
While listening to her talk, I begin to feel remarkably comfortable in her presence as if I’ve known her longer than these five minutes would argue. I don't know why. Ever meet someone you immediately want to be around? You’re complete strangers, but there’s something that can’t quite be explained in words, other than you want to be around them.
“So why’d you leave Florida for this dry desert?” I ask, then slide down the wall to sit at Hayvin’s ground level. She tenses up at my self-invitation to sit next to her. Guess she doesn't feel the same way about me—comfortable—so I immediately stand back up almost expecting pepper spray to flood my mug.
“Sorry,” I plea. “Didn't mean to…I just...”
“No, it-it’s fine,” Hayvin struggles to force out, but I can sense her fear.
“No. That was stupid of me. Don't know what I was thinking,” I say.
The initial embarrassment transcends into self-directed anger.
Fool, Ruko. She’s afraid. Afraid of you. Get out of here now!
The real me comes back with a vengeance, renewed in my rule to stay away from relationships.
“I‘m gunna leave. Sorry I bothered you.” I repent. I can tell the girl feels guilty for her standoff reaction, but it doesn’t matter because she's completely justified.
With my head down—shamed—I escort myself to the exit door, vowing to never return.
“Ruko! Please,” the girl yells behind me.
I stop at the door with my back facing her.
“I want…I want to get to know you,” she anxiously declares as if worried she's passing up a once in a lifetime opportunity. But I'm no jackpot. She'll be better off not knowing me.
Face reality, Ruko. Save yourself the heartache and forget you ever learned her name.
A deep breath puffs out of my nostrils as I shut my eyes and leave Meilos.
Sorry, Hayvin.
CHAPTER 7: STALKER
Dreaming—the thing I dread about bed.
Last night, I was again plagued by Mom and Dad's murders. A reenactment of which the details are so painfully vivid, it was as if I was right back there in California seven years ago. The darkness of the Hive, the taste of blood in my mouth, and a Lasher's thumping heartbeat. What haunts me most of all is Mom's fearful scream. Can still hear it, like a song trapped in an endless loop, torturing ears that are helpless to free themselves from the coldblooded rhythm.
But...last night the nightmare was different. Worse. Halfway through Mom's scream, the image of her face faded away and was replaced by that girl from Meilos, Hayvin, as if she was also killed. It was awful. If she could only experience how I slept last night, then she'd know why I left the gym. Why we can't get to know each other. Why we can’t be friends. The memory of a third deceased loved one haunting my nightmares would be too much to bear.
I sit up and rub my forehead to smooth out the kinks and knots in my thoughts that have produced a doozy of a headache. Gym clothes—draped over a black leather chair once used in a million dollar corporate office, now rotting away in a worthless shelter—stare me down in eagerness like a pet dog ready to go on its routine walk, but I stare back in disinterest. Not in the mood to find a new gym today. The fishing pole leaning against the mountain wall of my shelter, however, peaks my interest.
“Yup! Goin’ fishin’!” I jump out of bed and begin to do what I call positive yelling, the trick I've developed to force a good attitude when depression creeps in. It’s faked, unlike Abbud’s magical power, and ultimately doesn’t translate into authentic happiness, but at least it’s something. “Man’s best friend!” I kick my legs into a pair of blue jeans. “Oh yeah!!!” I shout louder, really getting the party started. “The big one! I’m gettin’ the big, big, BIG one, people! Yeeeeeaaaaaaah!”
I file through a carefully folded wardrobe, searching for the luckiest of fishing shirts. Won’t fish without one. Over the years, I’ve come across many unique shirts to add to my collection. Unique, as in they belong to a class of clothing some people would label nerdy; they’re oversized, have crazy colors, weird phrases, cartoon characters on them, etc.
Today’s selection is neon green with a huge pink and orange decal of the Boxing Bunny cartoon character. He’s got his trademark sunglasses on while sunbathing under a palm tree. His fighter gloves are retired off to the side in beach sand—yup, even fighters have to chill. The bright colors are definitely a few shades away from my personality’s true colors of dark green, black, or plain white, but that’s why I like wearing it when fishing, because the out-of-character tropical shirt helps me at least fake what is out of character for me: relaxation.
After spraying a couple squirts of cologne on my wrists and neck, per the usual senseless routine, I’m now officially ready for the day. Oh wait. One more thing. I almost forgot my lucky fishing hat; it’s the most ridiculous-looking hat I own. Faded blue cap, hideously wide, orange bill. A rusty, silver lure hangs in the middle, which was used to catch the largest trout of my fishing career, so I proudly wear the hook like the metal of a decorated soldier.
∆∆∆
With tackle box in hand and essential snacks stuffed in a backpack, I exit my shelter. Greeting me is a warm sun, ever-melting snow, and the peace and quiet of total isolation with just me, myself, and nature. No girl to worry about—no cares in the world other than an icy breeze that waves through the mountain canyon. The t-shirt will do though; it’s phenomenal training to master my senses.
I cuff my hands around my mouth and announce to the distant city, “The big one’s waiting!” The words echo over the hills and roll d
own to the valley.
Suddenly, to my heart-stopping horror, the unthinkable occurs—a woman’s spunky voice replies back right next to me. “Alright, let's go get it,” says the voice.
“Ahh!” In response to the unexpected human noise, I scream in fright—yes, I actually scream, higher than a baby banshee—and at the same time coil into the air, then gracelessly plummet to the ground. The fishing pole and tackle box that were in my carefree hands are now collateral damage spewed across the wet dirt, along with my body. Who…why…how…no one comes up here! Who could it be?!
While lying flat on my back and leaning against my elbows and backpack, I look up to see an even greater reason to be horrified…Hayvin?! Impossible. It’s her, alright. The girl from Meilos sits under the shade of a nearby tree with humorous pleasure scribbled on her face.
The girl’s hair is up in a ponytail, her torso hidden within her gray and pink jacket, and her legs are hugged by black spandex pants with multi-colored running shoes on her feet. She’s as beautiful as I remembered: clean, groomed, and radiant.
I feel my jaw stretched downward, which means the woman I've lost sleep over is being greeted by a black hole, pink slab of meat, some drool, and silence.
All at once, she begins laughing uncontrollably. “Just curious, Mr. Big One...who were you talkin’ to in there?” she asks, then laughs harder.
Being stimulated by so many different feelings, I’m unsure how to respond. I feel extreme embarrassment but, moreover, concern—no—anger that she knows where I live, having the audacity to invade my personal private space.
She’s not welcome here, Ruko!
From the pool of emotions, I decide to go with anger. “What’re you doing here?! How’d you find me?”
Acknowledging the seriousness in my voice, the girl immediately stops laughing. “I followed you yesterday,” she explains.