3. Lisa
Lisa
My heart rate doesn’t slow for a solid thirty minutes after the men leave.
I spend half of that time taking my break early, despite it being hours before noon.
My fingers hurt from gripping the counter, looking for ways to get the tension out of my system.
I’m just counting the minutes until I can leave so I can finally head to my new gym and gain back the control that completely fled me during that encounter.
What kind of douche canoe storms into someone’s place of work and accuses them of stalking? When they’re the one that walked into the place?
Benjamin freaking Estes, apparently.
I glanced at his credit card long enough to see his name when he paid. I had to know the identity of the person who clearly believed, with all his heart, that I already knew it. I have half a mind to print off images of his face to put on the punching bag at the gym.
Even though I’ve moved on to internal rage, my mouth is still dry from fear. I know, realistically, he barely raised his voice at me…but still. It took all of my willpower not to slip away at his initial tone, to force my flight instinct to fight instead.
I wonder when that knee-jerk reaction will go away. If ever.
I learned long ago that fear and anger are basically cousins. Fear can turn to anger, and vice versa. Both burn, though in different ways. Fear is like ice, shooting down your body like you’re doused in it. Anger, on the other hand, burns white-hot, traveling through your veins like fire.
I thought for a long time that anger was the most effective tool – but fear? Fear is the best thing I’ve ever learned to master. Fear led me here, to safety, even if I’ve questioned that choice countless times. Including today.
“Lisa?”
The question jolts me out of my almost-spiral, and I turn to face my manager, Steve.
The beginnings of a polite smile fade as I take in his nervous expression and the way he rings his hands together.
He’s young – younger than me – and it’s clear he hasn’t been in his position long.
My eyes travel to my other coworker, who is conveniently immersed in some sort of latte art. Oh, god. I know what’s about to happen.
“We can’t have this kind of…drama in our workspace, Lisa.” He pauses to fidget some more. “Given the fact that it was your first day, that doesn’t bode well for what could happen in the future.”
“I’m so sorry. I truly have no idea what that was about. I’ve never even met that man before.” Not exactly true. We’ve now met three times, as Benjamin freaking Estes pointed out himself.
Steve hums but averts his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, but I truly doubt that. We had several interested applicants who would jump at a second chance to work at this location, and with less…baggage.”
I close my eyes at his use of the word baggage. I have it in spades, but not in any of the ways he can even begin to imagine.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go,” he finishes.
I open my eyes again, staring at him in disbelief. He’s moved to cross his arms, his jaw set stubbornly. His mind is clearly made up, and even if it wasn’t, I’m not about to argue with someone whose age still ends in a teen. I simply remove my apron.
“I understand,” I say. “I wish you all the best. Thanks for the opportunity.”
His relief at my lack of outburst is obvious. His arms drop to his sides, and he murmurs something about today’s tips as I turn away, anger beginning to burn inside me. The anger isn’t directed at teenage Steve, though.
It’s reserved entirely for Benjamin freaking Estes.
“Get out of your head and into your body!” Paul calls out from the front of the room, and begins another series of movements: punching, driving, and twisting.
The small class follows suit, and I exhale sharply with each punch, enjoying the feel of my muscles working to mirror the technique our instructor is demonstrating.
For at least sixty minutes almost every day for the past few weeks, Paul’s advice has been exactly what I need.
I came here for the self-defense classes, but stayed for the boxing.
During these classes, all of my energy is focused on physical exertion, leaving my mind no room to wander.
I’m too busy honing my form, stamina, and punching power.
I don’t mind the small class sizes; in fact, I prefer them.
I don’t mind the fact that the gym, Punchline, is run down, with red and black paint peeling off the bricks and fraying rubber flooring.
I don’t even mind being screamed at by Paul, the lean, gruff owner, whose graying hair stands out in stark contrast to his tanned skin.
For forty minutes, he grumps about our form as he leads shadowboxing, until finally, he unleashes us to the heavy bags.
“Come on, Andi! Twist that back leg, drive your hips up!” he hollers, staying true to his personality.
The short, curvy woman he called out groans audibly. “It doesn’t feel natural,” she complains.
His reply is immediate. “It’s not going to feel natural. That’s why you need to work at it until it’s muscle memory.”
Andi huffs, raising her fists once more, and I grin. She and I have become close over the past few classes. She’s crass, blunt, and loud – all the things I wish I could be. I gravitated toward her instantly, and she accepted me with open arms.
For all the steps I’ve made to become more independent and strong, it still takes active work not to pull back inside myself every day.
Most people would allow that to happen without question, but not Andi.
She reaches in, yanks me back out of my shell, and somehow makes me cry laughing while she does it.
Once the class is over and we’ve sufficiently pummeled the heavy bags, Andi collapses against me, rubbing her arms.
“Remind me why we do this, Lisa?” She squirts a long stream of water into her mouth and then exhales dramatically.
“Because we want to be powerful, independent, and badass?”
She considers for a moment. “No, that’s not it. I just want to see my abs again.”
“Well, keep it up, and they’ll be back in no time.”
“Don’t get me wrong, they’re still there.” She sits up and pokes at her stomach. “They’re just hidden under a few…dozen drunken nights.”
“Well, were the drunken nights at least worth it?” I ask, and grab the water bottle from her to take a long drink.
“Absolutely. But back then, my cardio just consisted of suffocating a man with my thighs.”
I spit out the water, choking as I laugh. “Andi!”
“What?” she asks innocently. “I said it was worth it.”
“Okay. Fair enough,” I reason, shooting her a look of amazement. She’s twenty-nine, and I hope that in my next five years, I can feel free and confident enough in myself to be like her. “So, tell me. What was your wildest hookup?”
“Ummm…a jester at a Renaissance Faire.” She twirls a strand of blonde hair from her ponytail, clearly lost in the memory. Eventually, she breaks out into a grin. “He had all sorts of fun devices at his disposal.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I take it back. I don’t want to know more.”
“What about you?” she asks, turning her bright, mischievous gaze on me. “Do you have any wild sexual adventures you want to share with the class?”
“Not really,” I hedge. “My sex life has always been pretty mundane.”
She watches me for a brief moment and then shrugs, grabbing the water bottle back from me. “Your loss! But you’re young and hot; you’ll find someone to give you all that freaky sex you deserve.”
I chuckle, both from her comments and from relief. I love that she’s so open with me but doesn’t push for the same. She could easily bug and pry, but she seems to accept that there are things I keep close to my chest. Sometimes, I’d love nothing more than to confide in her. But I can’t.
Instead, I decide to offer up another truth. “I got fired this morning.”
“What?” She straightens. “What the hell did you do, girl?”
“That’s just the thing. I didn’t do anything! This guy in my apartment building and I had a couple of run-ins, which were entirely on him, I might add. When he came into the coffee shop, he blew up about it. Management decided I’m too much drama because of it, and let me go.”
“Well, fuck. Do you want to go egg the place tonight? Or TP it?”
“What?” I laugh, incredulous. “Do people our age still do things like that?”
She shrugs. “If you decide it’s necessary, I say yes. Just say the word and I’m there.”
“Not necessary, but I appreciate the offer.” I grin and check my watch. “All right. I’ve gotta go home and get ready for the job I have left.”
“Go,” she says, whipping my butt with a towel when I get up. “And be punctual, unless you want to get fired twice in one day!”
I stick my tongue out at her as I leave and she laughs, the sound providing a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. I can’t remember the last friendship I had like this, where someone offered up all of themselves to it so entirely.
The warmth quickly descends into guilt as realization dawns on me, along with the words I couldn’t shake yesterday – words from the last friendship I had.
This is your last chance. Get out.
Would Andi still be my friend if she discovered that nothing she knows about me is real?