6
Healing Through War
Amanda
Meeting up with Janine and venting was terrific. She brought her two friends, Beth and Jessie, as added support. I kept our meeting at the bar, too ashamed for them to see where I’m currently living to bring them there despite Janine’s insistence on privacy. Where would they sit? The floor? I can’t picture it with the way they dress. Hell, I can’t picture them getting out of their sleek cars outside the complex.
After I spilled everything that happened, minus the letters and mysterious photos I don’t want to think about, they were full of advice.
It’s a full spectrum of going back to him and using him for his money from Beth. Jessie said to get fit and find a new man while taking Loser to court to get all his money. And Janine has waffled in between it all. She’s the only one that doesn’t have a firm decision on anything. Instead, she asks me what my plans are.
She’s frustrated with me for wanting to wait to be given paperwork. Easy for her, she still has money. I, on the other hand, need to be careful. I don’t try to explain myself and admit how far I’ve fallen out of their social sphere.
After a few margaritas, I finally broke down and told them my self-confidence was at an all-time low. Even if I met a man I wanted anything to do with, I doubt I could keep his attention. I don’t even know how to date anymore.
With all the whining, they came up with a plan that sounded great at the time. Something to rebuild my self-confidence.
Now? In the cold light of day and sober? Not so much.
This is a mistake. How did I let her talk me into this?
I turn around to leave when Janine catches my arm with a laugh.
“Don’t chicken out. We’re doing this,” she says with an excited squeal.
Beth and Jessie give full-bodied laughs that bring a lot of attention. I stifle the urge to snap back at her and take a deep breath.
They look like supermodels with their tight clothes and strong, toned bodies. Their makeup is perfect, though I have no idea why. We’re not here to look good.
I only say that because I’m in some oversized five-dollar sweats with no makeup and my hair in a ridiculous ponytail.
“Come on,” Beth strides away from me. The exercise pants she’s wearing swish as she walks. I would burst out of those in a second if I could get them on over my thighs.
“Must be nice to be a stick bug,” I mutter and stomp after her with a glower.
For some reason, I’ve gone back to the serene doormat version of myself when they’re around. I want it to stop. Surely, they can accept me as I really am.
Then again, my own husband couldn’t accept either version of me. It leaves me floundering on how to behave. They’re used to the serene version of me. They don’t know the fighting in the halls, suspended to the point of almost being expelled version.
Now, I’m exercising at a gym for self-confidence. I glance around at the toned bodies around me and down at my muffin top. I have a lot of doubts. My chicken-wing arms agree with me.
This is stupid. Muay Thai? I don’t even know what that is. Yet here I am, on Janine’s free three-month ticket, trying to get out more . As if I want that.
Once the free ticket is up, I’m going to find something else. Possibly anger management classes. I could make a ton of friends to fight in the parking lot.
They drag me to the very back of the gym. This is someplace no one will hear me crying in agony. It’s a trap! It’s empty except for a giant floor mat, a few metal chairs along the back wall, and an empty shoe rack.
“Shoes off,” Jessie says and begins removing hers. “I read somewhere that it’s rude to walk around with shoes on while we train.”
The fact that she did research for this while I just shrugged it off makes me feel bad. They’re going out of their way to help me out of my funk, so the least I can do is participate and keep my attitude in check.
My enforced enthusiasm lasts until several people join us.
Several men . Not another woman in sight. They’re all dressed comfortably in shorts and shirts, wrapping their hands in tape like boxers.
I think we’re in the wrong section.
The people joining us seem to agree as they come to a stop and stare. There are five of them. We’re outnumbered and, based on the muscles, outgunned. I guess this is better than a parking lot?
A guy with messy blond hair, covered in flower tattoos, braces his hands on his hips with a frown. The dusky-skinned man towering over him crosses his arms over a massive chest and scowls. Standing with an open space around him is a man who looks familiar somehow. His pale gray eyes are intent, while his expression stays flat and emotionless.
The last two are the ones that hold my interest the most. One with blond hair and blue eyes with a light spread of freckles over his nose and a boyish grin of delight. The other with red hair pushed back as if he runs his hands through it constantly and hazel eyes.
They seem happy to see us instead of disgruntled.
The threatening postures are scary enough. The flirty vibes of the last two make me antsy.
The blue eyes of the blond meet mine, and for just a second, his expression becomes something else. Something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Almost like I’m about to be struck by lightning. His eyes narrow the tiniest bit and focus on me with the intensity of a surgeon performing a miracle.
I take in the intense stare and slowly turn my face away. I won’t hide, but I’m not inviting conversation either. Flirty or not, these guys are out of my league.
“Ladies,” the flower tattoo guy says in a cold voice. “Are you here for a class?”
“Yes, sir,” Janine coos. I cringe at the oozing flirtation. She can’t be serious.
“Are you our instructor?” Beth fans herself. I struggle to contain my eye roll.
“I’m Asher Broussard. This is Muay Thai.”
“Just the man we need then,” Jessie smiles sweetly.
I seem to be the only one who feels the awkwardness as Mr. Broussard sets us up for warm-ups.
Muay Thai is a type of fighting . That’s why they taped up. I’m soaking in sweat by the fourth punch, and we’re just starting. What happened to regular punching someone in the face and laughing? Why add the kicks?
I used to exercise every day in high school, but my hips are telling me those days are out of reach now. Still, this is a challenge, and I’m not backing down. I’m a Jefferson. Plus, maybe I can learn some new moves.
The regulars act as if it’s effortless, but it’s a lie. This will never be easy. Ten minutes in, I want a piece of cake and a nap. I flounder around, trying to watch what they’re doing so I can imitate it and do a horrible job. I don’t get this at all.
“Say yes to everything my ass, nacho guy,” I mutter with the last of my breath.
Luckily, my friends have all of the attention covered, so no one notices me flopping in the background. Mr. Broussard is helping them constantly while the rest look on with aggravation or amusement.
“Let me help,” a rough voice says charmingly, and the smiling blond walks over to Jessie to position her properly.
The redheaded guy helps Janine with a personal touch and whispers advice that she giggles at.
Mr. Broussard looks just as relieved as he does annoyed.
I glance around and get sneers in return. Jessie doesn’t let this stop her. She walks up to the tall, scowling man and starts imitating his moves and chatting.
It isn’t until my eyes pass him again that I realize where I know the gray-eyed guy from—the apartments and the blue-haired woman. I wonder what happened to her? The last I heard she left, and this guy wanted to get her deposit back. I hope he got it before the landlord disappeared. Thank God he bailed before he could make good on his promise to get the rent in other ways.
By the time the class is over, I’m so exhausted and coated in sweat that I don’t care about anyone anymore. I want off my feet and a giant glass of water. A nap. A million things that don’t include staying here.
My friends call out farewells as I shuffle to the door and I wave back, too out of breath to comment. Mr. Broussard said he put us through a cool-down routine, but it felt like more of the same. There’s absolutely nothing cool about me in any aspect.
I’m not surprised when Janine calls and talks about how good Cade, the redhead she was all over in class, is in bed. Beth calls a few days later, talking about how big Jake, the blond guy, is. Like I want to hear all the details after the things I’ve seen in those pictures. Not that they know about it.
And here I thought for a second that they might be interested in me. Shows me. They’re interested in anything with the proper parts to sink into.
The following Saturday is the same. I spent Sunday crying about how sore I was, but by Monday, I felt better somehow. It was a great week of bland nothingness. Not a single letter or photo was in the mailbox, either. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m no more ready for this than I was last weekend, but if it keeps the good luck coming, I’ll take it.
Janine and her crew aren’t waiting for me at the entrance this time. I could run, but it screams cowardice.
I’m a Jefferson. I won’t stop fighting.
They’re in the back and already fluttering all around the guys. I check my watch to make sure I’m not late. They look like they’ve been here for a while. I barely get a hello from them. They’re so focused on the two guys that are receptive to their easy going smiles and flirting. I’m stuck with the three that communicate with glares.
Everyone starts getting ready, and I fall to the back when I notice the blue-haired woman sitting casually in one of the metal chairs. She’s watching everything without an expression and taking pictures of her boyfriend while he exercises. It looks like she and her boyfriend are clones of each other. Neither one of them has much emotion and is intimidating as hell.
Her eyes trail to me and narrow as they meet mine. I give her a tight smile and a little hello nod. Her head tilts, and her brows furrow. It’s a tiny amount, but she seems like she’s thinking way too hard. I guess she doesn’t recognize me.
By the time we’re done again, I’m slumped with my hands on my shaky knees, trying to catch my breath.
“Why. Am I. Doing this?” I ask myself with heaving breaths. There’s no way this is worth a good mood or luck. Maybe the letters aren’t that bad.
“Doing ok?” Janine asks me with a giggle.
I straighten as best I can with my already aching muscles and take her in. The two guys are with her and eyeing me like I’m pond scum. They look like assholes up close.
I give her a lackluster thumbs-up, which makes her giggle. The guys laugh, too, but it’s more at me than with her.
“What made you think you could pull off a class like this?” The redhead asks with a snicker.
It makes my brow rise as I huff for air. What makes him think I want to stand here and listen to him speak?
“Oh, stop, Cade.” Janine gently taps his arm with a smile. “She needs some self-confidence.”
We’re telling everyone now? I feel so special. By special, I mean ready to punch her in the face. If only I could lift my arms.
“Why not try the bikes?” The blond says with a wide grin. “You wouldn’t have to move around as much.”
“ Excuse me?” I gape at him in astonishment. Who the hell does he think he is? He can ride a bike with no seat right next to his ‘helpful’ advice.
“Just a suggestion,” he offers and backs away with his hands raised.
I’ll tell him what he can do with his suggestion .
“You’re doing great,” Janine says with a painful smack on my shoulder and a smirk. She walks away, whispering with the redhead.
After that, I keep going back out of pride and stubbornness. I even start exercising during the week so I can make a better showing. Screw those guys. I can do this just as well as a stick-figure woman. They can kiss my ass. My anger only gets me so far, though. I still can’t get the moves right. It’s really starting to piss me off.
One day, I catch Mr. Broussard in his office before class and knock on his door. I feel nervous, like a student asking for the principal's attention when I don’t want it at all.
The tall guy is chatting with him and they both look irritated at the interruption.
“Yes?” He says in a cold, flat tone.
“Hi, I’m in your class?” I point out hesitantly. I’m not sure he’s even noticed with all the flirting going on and his constant need to separate people. The class is starting to feel like an orgy could break out any minute.
“I’m aware.” His tone gets darker, and his lip turns up in a sneer.
“Right,” I frown at the reaction. I’m starting to think everyone in class would look better with black eyes. “I was wondering if you did any one-on-one sessions. I’m not getting-”
“He doesn’t, fuck off,” the tall man snaps out with an intensity that makes me step back.
“Whoa,” I hold up two hands to keep him at bay, even though he hasn’t moved. I know I’m ready for violence, but what’s his problem?
“We moved the class to Saturday because of shit like this. Why don’t you and your friends get the fuck out of this class and let us actually get some exercise in?”
“Max,” Mr. Broussard mutters, but not seriously. He’s not trying to stop him. Just tone him down a little.
“Right,” my eyes narrow on them balefully. These assholes just activated bitch mode like they sucker-punched the button.
I walk away and wait with my arms crossed for everyone to join me. Screw these people.
The blue-haired woman is in her usual chair, watching me with narrowed eyes. I jerk my chin in her direction in a hello. She gives me the same confused look she always does and sits back to watch the ridiculous class play out.
I bet she’s here to remind her boyfriend she’s always watching. It's not a bad call, even if he doesn’t acknowledge her. He’s the only one who’s managed to scare Janine and her crew away with any efficiency.
I don’t say anything as they all come in and get ready. My tongue might as well be pierced with how many times I bight it.
It’s to the point that none of my friends acknowledge me anymore. This class takes a lot of effort, and they got put on the back burner. They’re busy, barely working out and getting fondled by guys. All of the men here are egotistical assholes, what’s the appeal there?
I know they’re all single and looking for a good time, but this is a little ridiculous. It’s like Mr. Broussard is purposely not helping anyone anymore. He leaves them to their boyfriends and teaches Max and the scary guy.
I’m seriously considering finding a gym closer to the apartments. I don’t like pulling the plug, but this seems like a waste of time for anything productive.
“You haven’t given up yet?” Cade asks as he watches me slip my shoes on to leave.
I’ve gotten very familiar with the two guy’s names over the weeks. The descriptive gossip has made me even less likely to ever give a shit about them.
He should give up on his teeth because he’s this close to losing them.
“You really should be doing something else,” Jake says with a boyish smile. It’s malicious around the edges, making me glare.
Like what? His dad?
Ugh, I just grossed myself out.
These two need their teeth knocked in. See how many women they pick up when they have to rely on their personalities instead of their supposedly huge dongs.
It’s getting to the point that I’m going to explode all over everyone with nonstop curse words and threats I’d never be able to pull off. My control over my temper is a slippery rope, and I’m losing my grip.
I leave them all behind without looking back.
I like that I’m getting better at taking the stairs at my apartment. The huffing isn’t as bad, and I’m seeing some results in my waistline. But it isn’t worth the harassment. I’m finding a cheap gym close to the apartment and exercising alone with headphones. It’s more my speed.