15. Selene
15
SELENE
I step into the main area of Crestwood’s gym, happy to be back after taking a couple of days off to rest. The familiar sounds of weights clinking and treadmills humming create a rhythm that feels oddly comforting now. I never thought I would say this in a million years. Working out used to feel like a chore—a punishment, even—but now, a few weeks into my “new life,” it’s become something I actually look forward to doing.
The treadmill is calling my name. It’s safe, predictable, my go-to when I just need to move. But today, I’m trying something different. I force myself to ignore it and walk over to grab a mat instead. I’ve been reading about the importance of stretching and how warm-ups and cool-downs can make a big difference. So, here I am, determined to do this right.
Hell, I should get a high five just for being here even though I forgot my headphones.
As I unroll the mat, I settle into some stretches. They’re basic—nothing fancy—but even as I reach for my toes and hold a lunge, I feel a subtle sense of accomplishment. My body feels stiff but alive, like it’s waking up. I try a few halfhearted yoga poses, my balance wobbly, and can’t help but laugh at myself. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.
I let my mind wander as I stretch. Thoughts of my to-do list, random snippets of conversations from the last couple of days, and flashes of self-doubt all swirl in my head. But then I catch sight of the free weights area out of the corner of my eye. My movements slow. The people over there look so confident, like they belong in a world I’ve always been too afraid to step into. My gaze lingers over there, and I know it’s because I’m both curious and intimidated. The thought of trying it myself feels both exhilarating and impossible.
For a moment, I sit back on the mat and watch. I shake my head, trying to brush off the feeling, but the idea stays with me. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop staying in my comfort zone.
I roll up the mat slowly, buying myself time. The treadmill is still there, and I could just do a quick jog, tell myself I’ll tackle the weights another day. No one would blame me; it’s not like I have a personal trainer breathing down my neck. This is all on me.
I take a deep breath and stuff the mat back into the rack. The free weights area is still a steady fixture in my mind. But right now I feel comfortable on the treadmill, so that’s where I go. It’s like my body is on autopilot, choosing the path of least resistance. I swipe my finger across the screen of my favorite machine, setting it to a walking pace, and step on.
As the belt starts to move, I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought. The view from the treadmills is perfect for people-watching, and my eyes drift back to the free weights area. I’ll make it there eventually. I crank up the speed on the treadmill, transitioning into a light jog. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, and my ponytail swishes in time with my steps. Running has become a sort of meditation for me, a way to clear out the mental cobwebs. Today, though, it's just adding fuel to my anxiety.
Why am I so scared? It's just a bunch of dumbbells and benches. Maybe it’s the thought of doing something wrong or looking stupid in front of people who know what they're doing. The image of me dropping a weight on my foot or fumbling through an exercise I don’t understand flashes through my mind, and I wince.
My speed slows as I consider my options. There’s a part of me that knows the fear is irrational, that everyone has to start somewhere. But then there's the louder part, the one that remembers every failed attempt at getting fit in the past. It's not just the free weights I’m afraid of; it’s failing again.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and slow to a walk. My heart is pounding, but it’s not just from the running. I need a plan. Something to make the idea of venturing into uncharted territory less terrifying.
What if I just go over there and look around? No commitment, no pressure. I could see what equipment they have, maybe watch how other people do it. After all, knowledge is power, right?
I step off the treadmill, my legs slightly rubbery from the sudden stop. The logical thing would be to stretch again, to cool down properly like I’d planned. However, something else at the free weights area gets my attention.
Or should I say someone?
I’m starting to become convinced that Knox is following me around campus. First the library and now the gym? Well him being at the gym makes more sense given that he’s a hockey player and probably has to do strength training and cardio related to that. However, I didn’t expect to see him. Plus, I haven’t answered him about his apology and going out on what I assume is a…non-date?
It’s not like I’m avoiding him—I just need time to figure out what I want. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Knox is deep in conversation with another guy, someone even taller and bulkier than him. It takes me a second to realize it’s Wilder, his teammate and roommate. They’re laughing about something, and I take the moment to observe Knox in his element. There’s an ease to him that I find intriguing, a confidence that’s not overbearing but quietly assured. He catches me looking, and for a split second, I consider bolting. Instead, I give a small, tentative wave.
Knox's face lights up with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. He says something to Wilder, who glances over at me and gives me a goofy smile before he walks off toward the locker rooms. My heart does this weird little flip-flop in my chest as Knox starts making his way over.
“Selene,” he says, his voice cutting through all of the noise that surrounds us. “How's it going?”
I wipe my hands on my leggings, suddenly aware of how sweaty I am. “Good. Just finished a run.”
He looks at the treadmill and raises an eyebrow. “Excellent. Are you thinking about coming over to the free weights?”
Shit. How does he—Oh right, he probably saw me eyeing them earlier.
“I was,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just checking them out for now.”
He laughs, but not in a mean way. More like he's amused by my cautiousness. “They're not as scary as they look, you know.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says, shrugging. “I can show you some basics if you want.”
I hesitate. It’s one thing to fumble through on my own; it’s another to have someone like him watching me. But having someone who knows what they're doing could make all the difference. It’s a chance to learn without diving in completely blind. And if I say no, then what? Back to the treadmill for another mindless jog? Leave the gym all together?
“I don't want to interrupt your workout,” I say, testing the waters.
Knox waves a hand dismissively. “I just finished my sets. Besides, helping you out sounds more fun.”
Fun. I didn’t know he knew what that words was. “Okay,” I say, and it feels like I’m leaping off a cliff.
“Cool,” he says, and there's something warm in his eyes that makes me think he really does want to help.
We walk over to the free weights area together. The closer we get, the more my stomach tightens. People are grunting and sweating, their faces scrunched up as they hit their sets. It’s a far cry from the stretches and running I'm used to.
Knox picks up a light dumbbell and hands it to me. “Let's start with something easy. Ever done a bicep curl?”
I take the weight and shrug. “Once or twice.”
“Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart,” he says, demonstrating. “Keep your elbows close to your sides and slowly lift the weight up toward your shoulder.”
I mimic his motions and notice he winces slightly. “Everything okay with your shoulder?”
“Yeah, it’s much better. Thanks for asking…you have good form.”
I glance at him, half expecting sarcasm, but it seems as if he’s being genuine. The compliment makes me straighten up more, and I feel a tiny spark of pride. Maybe this won't be so bad.
We go through a few more exercises: shoulder presses, triceps extensions, and some variations of lunges with weights. During one of the lunges, Knox steps behind me, gently placing his hand on my lower back. “Keep your spine straight,” he says, his voice low but clear. The warmth of his hand lingers, and I do my best to keep my balance without overthinking it. “Engage your core too,” he adds, moving to my side to demonstrate. “This will help you stay steady.”
I try to follow his instructions, adjusting my posture slightly. His presence is grounding, even as it leaves me hyperaware of every movement I make. “That's it,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “You're getting it.” Knox is patient, correcting my form with gentle suggestions rather than taking over. At one point, he steps closer, lightly placing his hand on my elbow to adjust the angle. “Here, just a little lower,” he says, his tone calm and steady.
I’m convinced the brief touches he’s giving me are about to set me off like a rocket. My brain is transported back to the way he touched my body, bringing me pleasure in ways I could never imagine. I refuse to think about what happened after that for fear of ruining this moment.
After finishing the set, I set the weights down and take a deep breath, feeling a mixture of accomplishment and exhaustion. “I’m starting to think you missed your calling as a personal trainer,” I say, half teasing.
Knox chuckles. “Maybe. But I don’t know if I’d have the patience for everyone.” He leans back against the nearby wall, his towel slung over his shoulder. “You did great today. Seriously.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. “Thanks,” I say softly, glancing down as I wipe my face with a towel. “I didn’t think I’d actually enjoy this.”
“Told you,” he says with that easy smile. “So, are you going to make it a regular thing?”
I think about it. The idea of coming here on my own still intimidates me, but now it feels a little more doable. “Maybe. We'll see.”
Knox takes a step closer, and my heart starts its flip-flop routine again. “If you ever need a workout buddy, I can be around as much as my schedule allows,” he says. “No pressure.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. His proximity is doing strange things to my thoughts, muddling them in ways I’m not prepared for. Aren’t I supposed to be mad at him?
“So,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have you thought any more about… what we talked about? The apology and the?—”
“Outing?” I add for him because I’m not sure how else to describe it. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
More often than I care to admit.
Knox looks at me with an intensity that makes goosebumps appear on my skin.
“I appreciate the apology, Knox. Really, I do. It means a lot that you’re sorry for how things ended. But I’m not sure what us going out will accomplish.”
Knox's eyes narrow slightly, as if he's trying to read something deeper in my expression. “It's not just about accomplishing something. It's about giving us a chance to... I don't know, clear the air?”
A part of me wants to believe him, to let go of the hurt and dive back into whatever confusing thing this is between us. But another part—perhaps the more sensible, self-preserving part—reminds me how deep that hurt runs.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to expel some of the tension that's built up in my shoulders. “It's not that simple, Knox.”
“I know it's not,” he says quickly, almost too quickly, like he's afraid I'll walk away before he can finish. “But maybe it could be. Simple, I mean. Like, we go out, we talk, and we see where things stand.”
I adjust my stance as I repeat what he said in my head. “And if things stand in the same place they are now?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Then at least we tried.”
I study Knox’s face, searching for any hint of disingenuousness, but all I see is the earnestness of a guy who believes what he’s saying. The problem is that I believed him once before, but my emotions got the best of me and look where that got me.
“Trying takes a lot of energy,” I say, stalling. “Energy I might not have after all these workouts.”
He laughs, a short burst that sounds like relief. “You’ll build up your stamina.”
I want to laugh with him, to let this tension dissolve in the easy banter we used to share. Instead, I just nod, still weighing my options.
“Okay,” I say finally. “One outing or whatever.”
His face lights up briefly before he catches himself. “Great. When are you free?”
I think about my schedule, about the safest distance I can put between now and this potential minefield of a conversation. “Next week. Maybe Monday.”
“Monday works,” he says. “I’ll text you the details. Are you done working out for the day?”
I nod quickly. There’s no way I could go back now even if I wanted to. “I am.”
“Do you need a ride home?”
This time I shake my head. “I drove here right after class.”
“Well how about we grab our things, and I’ll walk you to your car?” he asks.
I hesitate, but finally say, “Sure, that’d be nice.”
We head to the locker rooms, and I’m grateful for the break from Knox and for bringing an extra set of clothes with me. As I change into my street clothes, I replay our conversation in my head. Can we really clear the air? Is it even possible to start fresh after everything?
I take an extra moment to tie my shoes. The truth is, a part of me is terrified to let go of the anger I've held onto. It's been easier to blame him for everything than to face the fact that I might have been just as foolish because I was warned about him.
When I step out, Knox is waiting with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. He’s changed into jeans and a t-shirt, looking every bit the guy I met that fateful night at a party. My heart does its traitorous flip-flop again.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m ready for. But here goes nothing, I guess.