25. Kira
25
KIRA
I wait all morning for the anger to come. I need it. I crave it. I want the fire, the flames licking at my skin. I want the tense coil of my gut and overwhelming desire to release my fury through ferocious screams while my fists annihilate a punching bag. But the anger doesn’t come.
Instead, I’ve been slowly overtaken by numbness. The thick fog rolls in, engulfing me in its suffocating dullness as I go through the motions of feeding Pancakes and walking to Spin Sync. The absence of anger sits heavily on my chest, a confusing paradox of feeling everything and nothing at once.
I’m not surprised by Jonathan’s actions. After everything we’ve gone through together, his inherent shittiness no longer shocks me. It’s the impact of his actions that kill me. How quickly the morning show hosts jumped to believe him, to join in on his decimation of my character. We’re a few centuries past Salem and yet the townspeople are still so willing to gather in the square to watch the witch burn.
Normally on a Saturday I like to show up early to shoot the shit with my teammates, film some social media content and even hang out in the lobby with Spin Sync members heading into their various classes. Today, I time my arrival at the studio so that I can have the locker room to myself while I get ready for class.
Everyone who is working today is teaching or prepping on the production floor. Save for a few pitying looks from stragglers in the lobby, I’ve avoided all human interaction since I left Rachel and Amir’s place this morning.
Sinking into the chair at my usual vanity in the locker room, I take in the dark circles and bags under my eyes. My face is ashy, devoid of life and color, as though I haven’t slept in days.
How is it that just a few hours ago, I was warm and safe in Ren’s arms, surrounded by my favorite people and feeling like my life finally made sense? And then this morning, he was going to say it. He was going to tell me he loves me. I could feel it, but I couldn’t hear it. I didn’t want the first time he said those three words to me to be when I couldn’t feel anything but static humming beneath my skin. When he says it, I want to be able to say it back with all the joy and security that his affection gives me.
My mind slips into the worst-case scenario for a moment, wondering if Warren is going to serve as a constant reminder of everything Jonathan took from me. Will I constantly be looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop?
No. No, I won’t. Ren is not Jonathan. He is not my damnation; he is my salvation, and when I’m finished wading through these dark waters, I’ll be ready to love him with my whole chest.
I should send him a message and reassure him that just because I’m not okay, that doesn’t mean that we’re not okay. I pull my phone from my pocket so I can send him a quick text, but I’m distracted by my Spin Sync scheduling app. The bright red notification indicator is staring back at me, and my stomach sinks. I only get notifications when someone drops from a class within half an hour of start time and there’s no one on the waitlist queue who is able or wants to take the spot.
There are thirty-five notifications waiting for me.
Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow down the urge to vomit. Any hope that I was holding on to that Jonathan’s interview was a figment of my imagination or that no one else in the world was watching the most popular live podcast on the internet flies out the window.
With the exception of my three best friends, my entire class cancelled, and no one is taking their place. No regulars, no first ladies, no movie stars. For the first time since my premiere ride, my Saturday Killa Sixty class is going to be…empty .
My bottom lip trembles as I lower my face into my hands to muffle my scream. All the work that I’ve done in the last ten years, the connections I’ve made, the relationships I’ve built, the people I’ve tried my best to help and inspire. All of it has been burnt to nothing but smoldering ashes because of the fragile ego of one man who couldn’t leave well enough alone. I gave Jonathan my best years, my dedication and support when he never deserved it, all the while ignorant of the knife he held to my back. I’ve been dead to him for so long, but he can’t stop himself from dancing on my grave.
If he wanted to destroy me, it looks like he’s succeeded.
I look down at my phone, reeling at the cursed app showing me a room full of nearly empty bikes and thinking about cancelling the whole thing and spending my morning drafting my resignation letter instead. But when I look at the front row, at the first three bikes closest to mine and the names of my best friends on the reservations, something emboldens me. I can’t undo the damage that Jonathan has done. I can’t control the negative spin of my reputation. I can’t stop the spiral of the spins taking over my brain or the effect all of this will have on my health.
The damage may be done, but that doesn’t mean I have to take it. I did that once, bowed my head and took years of hell from the man in the hope that my understanding would one day pay off.
Fuck that. I’m not going with grace this time. I’m Jason Vorhees. I’m Carrie after the prom. I’m Billy Loomis at the end of Scream, and I’ve got one last gasp in me.
If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging.
The “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” will haunt me either way.
Kira
I know how much you hate this, but I need a favor. I’m sending you a playlist, can you swap it in for my ride this morning? We can keep the class plan the same so no changes to the metrics. I’ve just…
I’ve got a lot of shit to say, and I need the right music to help me do it.
Producer Jackie
Don’t worry about the class plan, we’ll clear the feed, and you just do what feels right. You know I’ve got you, Kira. Consider it done.
I give myself another glance in the mirror. I’m not going to bother with makeup. I’m not going to throw on a bright pink lip or body glitter to mask my feelings. This is probably my last time stepping on to that stage and I’m not going to do so as anything less than my authentic self. I pull my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and spritz myself with water. I choose to wear black leggings, a black sports bra and black cycling shoes–a somber look for my final procession.
Outside of Studio B, a production assistant meets me with a sympathetic smile as she helps me suit up in my mic strap and my shoes. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before walking into a silent room instead of the throngs of cheers and applause. Without the energy of a crowd to feed off of, I’m relying on the power of the music to help carry me through the next sixty minutes. The playlist I sent to Jackie is a lot longer than sixty minutes, but I know that the songs in the lineup will help me hit the beats I want to hit before I make my final bow.
I open the door and carefully descend the stairs. I grip the railing and close my eyes, bracing myself for the silence below. But when I reach the last step…
Applause. Loud, chaotic, obnoxious screams and cheers erupt from all around me. I snap my eyes open to find that every bike in the room is full and there are more people standing on the edge of the room. Rachel, Dottie, and Georgie are on their normal bikes, with Amir, Stephen, and James behind them.
My fellow instructors fill in most of the remaining space, decked out in a line of Spin Sync-branded tees and tanks with “Kira’s Killa Saturday Sixty” on the chests. The remaining bikes are taken by members of the production team, baristas from the lobby cafe, and our in-house DJ. It seems like every Spin Sync employee that isn’t currently in the production room above us is in the room right now, for me. The numbness I’ve felt all morning is slowly– slowly –being replaced by something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s better than feeling nothing.
Right across from my friends on the bike closest to my left side sits Ren. He’s got on a white t-shirt I’ve never seen before that says “I 3 Kira”, something so ridiculously endearing that I have no choice but to laugh and go to him.
I run on my tip toes across the studio, high-fiving my teammates as I make my way to my man. Relief floods his face when he sees me coming. I hate that I instilled that uncertainty in him. He leans down from the bike as I throw my arms around his neck, sinking into his warm embrace. His lips brush the side of my head as we hug, neither of us caring about the awkward position.
“I was rude this morning. I said things but…my brain may be spinning out of control right now, but I don’t want to lose you. Tell me I’m not going to lose you.” I say, burying my face against his neck and drinking in the clean-cut scent of him.
“Don’t you worry about that one bit, love. You just go up there on your bike and do what you do best, and I’ll handle everything else,” he says, his voice a whisper against my ear for only me to hear. I might not have any idea what he means by handling everything else, but I trust him.
Despite my better judgement, despite all the reasons I thought I shouldn’t and all the times I tried to convince myself not to, I put my faith and trust in Ren. I may have made a lot of stupid and crappy decisions in my life, but falling in love with Warren Yates is the one thing I know I got right.
Pulling myself from his arms, I ascend the stage and situate myself on top of my bike just as the countdown to the pre-show ends. The red-light flashes, signaling the beginning of the livestream. The opening notes to “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon play overhead, one of my favorite songs of all time. The contradiction of the soft melody and the lyrics so sharp they could cut glass fuel me, igniting the feeling I’ve been yearning for all day.
Anger. I’m finally fucking angry.
And I’m ready to let that anger out.
Despite the mass drop-out of studio riders at the last minute, my tablet is still showing thousands of riders joining me on demand from their homes.
Good. I’ve got a lot to say.
“Spin Sync, my name is Kira McKenna and this is your Saturday Killa Sixty ride. We’re doing things a little differently today, so I want you to open your ears and listen to the music and to the words I have to say to you. I want you to think of something that pisses you off and vow to exorcise it right here, right now. We’re leaving everything on this bike today. I want everything you got. No cucaracha energy, okay?” I give my safety speech, and as the clock winds down and the show begins, I take a deep breath .
“Inhale, exhale…Spin Sync, welcome to what I like to call Female Rage: The Spin Class.”
The lights dim, the producers upstairs picking a very fitting red back light for the walls today, making it feel like we’ve just descended into hell as Halsey’s “Nightmare” plays. I say very little through the first song, only piping in to give form and output cues.
I let the biting lyrics speak for themselves, and when we reach the second verse, I stare directly down the camera as I yell out “I’m tired and angry but somebody should be” along with the song. It’s the perfect lyric to encapsulate everything I want to scream from the top of my lungs right now, and hell if it doesn’t get my heart rate pumping.
The next song starts, “The Man” by Taylor Swift, and I lean into the shift of vibes. I look into the camera, thankful that I don’t have a script being fed through to my tablet so that I can speak from my heart.
“I’m going to be honest with y’all. I’m not in a good mood today. In fact, I’m feeling a little fucking pissed off. Something happened to me this morning. Something that was a long time coming and still felt like a pistol whip to the side of the head. You see, there’s this man. This man who, until recently, signed my paycheck. A man who, for years, has been jealous of me. A man who would tell anyone who asked that he saw something special in me, that he was the reason I’ve found success in my career. That he’s the reason I’m sitting here on this bike, spending my morning with you. I’m not gonna say his name, he doesn’t deserve it. But if you opened your phone this morning and scrolled through social media before clipping in, you know exactly who I’m talking about. And I’m going to tell you a little story. Add some resistance. We’re going uphill together.”
I drop my speed back, cueing the class to follow me as Taylor sings around us.
“When I was just nineteen years old, I fell under the spell of an older man. Tale as old as time, someone who should have known better saw an easy target and made me feel special and important. He had me hook, line and sinker. I was smitten, and I gave him pieces of myself. I was young and starry-eyed, and I shared my dreams with him. I told him about a vision that I had for something just like this. A fitness platform, a community, a place for connection. I told him how I wanted to be able to reach as many people as possible through movement and fitness. I even told him the perfect name I’d come up with, a play on my favorite boy band. I gave him too many details, thinking I was sharing with someone who cared about me. Imagine my fucking surprise when a few years later, that man had taken my idea and stolen every piece of it, right down to the fucking name.”
The song reaches the bridge, and I cue the class to get out of the saddle with me. I let Taylor sing to us about how unfair it is that if she were an angry man, she’d be respected, but since she’s an angry woman, she’s demonized.
“And then he came to me, acting like nothing had happened. He made me feel like he’d done nothing wrong. That those kinds of things happen all the time. He had the money and the vision and he made Spin Sync possible. And the fuck of it all is…I let him. For years. I let him take the credit and the glory for my brainchild because I thought that if I worked hard and proved myself, it would all one day be mine. I was modest, I was quiet, but FUCK that. No more. You see this room? This studio was my design. The music playing? We can play it because I secured the licensing. My amazing teammates that are in the room with me right now, the people you love to workout with? Maddison, James, Alex, Jess, everyone. I recruited them. All of this exists because of me, and that fucker had the nerve to run his fucking mouth and say that I’m only here because of who I invite into my bed? FUCK THAT!”
I roar, settling back into the saddle. As the playlist continues and we are greeted with the deliciously pissed-off sounding Rina Sawayama screams at her adversaries to shut the fuck up, I lead the class through a set of heavy and difficult intervals.
“I know you’re frustrated. I’m fucking frustrated. I know it hurts. I’m fucking hurting, too. But use it. Use the frustration and the pain and turn it into fuel. I’m not the only one going through something. We’ve all had something stolen from us. We’ve all had someone try to knock us down, but we’re here. We’ve got air in our lungs, our hearts are pumping blood. They can knock us down, but they will never knock us out.”
I lead us through another set of intervals, a climb, a flat road, and then repeat the process, all while Stevie Nicks, Alanis Morissette, Chappell Roan and a slew of other badass female artists provide the soundtrack to my deliverance.
When we approach the penultimate song of the class, “labour” by Paris Paloma, I cue the class to pedal slow and heavy, listening only to the sound of their heavy breathing and the poignant lyrics and transcendental melody. To my right, I catch Georgie wiping a tear from her red eyes. Rachel is riding with her head bowed, her shoulders hunched as she pedals. Dottie is snarling and trying to sing along to the chorus through her breaths.
Each one of my friends has had their own struggles with parents or ex-lovers who have stolen their power from them, and as much as this moment is for me and my own catharsis, it is very much for them, too.
With four minutes left in class, “Breathe Me” by Sia pumps through the speakers, a haunting melancholy compared to the anger and rage of the last fifty-five minutes. I glance down at the leaderboard on my tablet, at the three thousand people still taking this ride with me at home. I look around the room at my friends, my family, my teammates, and my love. And I decide that I won’t feel cleansed until I bare my whole truth .
“When I was twenty years old, I almost took my last breath. I struggle with depression, and at that time, I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know how to cope with it. I was…overwhelmed. I was numb. And I came very close to ending my own life. I came so far as to say my goodbyes. By a twist of fate–or maybe it was parent’s intuition–when I called my dads to tell them I loved them, they knew something was wrong. They dropped everything based on a hunch and flew across the country to be with me. They saved my life when they showed up on my doorstep, and I got the help I needed.
“I’m better now, but this morning? This morning, that numbness was back. That unfeeling, thick nothingness overtook me, all because of lies someone decided to spread about my character. It scared the shit out of me, but I’ll tell you something. I might not be able to control my brain chemistry or the way my body does or not produces serotonin, but I can decide how I respond to it. Back then, I responded with fear. Today, I respond with anger because I am fucking done with letting someone else hold the keys to MY power. If you are struggling, if you are hurt, if you are pissed off, know that I am with you. I’ve got your back, and I’ll be here to lift you up and fix your crown when you fall. In this last effort, I want you to give me everything you’ve got. All that shit that’s weighing you down, you leave it right fucking here. That shit doesn’t follow us out of here. We drop it and we fucking run. Are you ready? 3…2…1… go ! ”
We power through the last interval, sprinting uphill for fifty seconds to the powerful instrumental outro, and by the time the final note of “Breathe Me” ends and the cooldown clock begins, I’m drained. Physically, I worked myself to the bone. Emotionally, I’m spent. Mentally, the temporary relief from the spins is fading out and the overwhelming wave of exhaustion settles over me. I’m contractually obligated to lead the class through a cool down and a short stretch for the safety of our students, even if the majority of the people in this room are my coworkers. There are still people at home that I want to help prevent from injuring themselves.
But once it’s finished and the cameras turn off, I nearly collapse into a puddle before I can even unclip my shoes from the bike. I drop my head to my handlebars and fight to catch my breath. I can’t see them, but I can feel my people flanking me on either side. A hand settles low on my sweaty back and I know instantly that it’s my Ren. My friends and coworkers are speaking softly to me, telling me how proud they are of me and singing my praises. I love them for it, but I only have so much energy right now, and I need to use it to get home. I turn my head towards Ren, finding solace in his soft blue eyes as he looks at me with pride and reverence.
“Take me home, Ren. Please?” I mutter, and he’s quick as lightning as he drops to his knees to help me remove my shoes. Once I’m free of the cleats, he takes my hand and tucks me into his body so that I can use him for leverage as we exit the studio. I stumble once, and he sweeps me into his arms, carrying me bridal style down the hall. I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and nuzzling into his sweat-slicked neck as he whispers in my ear.
“I’m so proud of you, love. You’re so brave. You’re so strong. You’re so resilient. You are incredible. You rest, okay? You rest and I’ll take care of you. I’ll get you home and cleaned up and tucked into bed. Alright darling? I’ve got you. My beautiful, brave girl. I’ve got you.”
I let his words wash over me as the dark waters of my depression continue to roll in. The world around me grows hazy as the heaviness settles behind my eyes. I barely hear him when he says he needs to put me down for a second.
“Can you stand, darling?” he asks when my feet are on the ground, and I shake my head, feeling the wobbliness in my legs. He steadies me, gripping my arms and holding up the weight of me.
“I didn’t know if you’d need me, if you’d want me today, after everything. But I knew you’d need someone. You’re so strong, my love, but if I couldn’t be there for you, I wanted you to have someone who could.” Ren glances over my shoulder, and it takes all my effort to turn my head to see what he’s looking at.
“Daddy?” I ask, my voice sounding a thousand miles away even to my own ears. I think I must be imagining Pops and IronDad standing here in the Spin Sync lobby in San Francisco, looking at me like I hold their hearts in the palm of my hand. I know I must be imagining Tía Camila with them, her arms open and ready to take me in. My knees wobble, and a sob wracks through me as the tears begin to fall. In an instant I’m surrounded, held up and held close on all sides by three people I know will love me no matter what and the one person I hope still loves me back.
And in the comfort and safety of that warm embrace, I succumb to the exhaustion. Like my subconscious knows I’m taken care of, it slips slowly into the quiet.