Chapter 20 Margeaux
MARGEAUX
My legs are trembling. Sweat is pouring into my eyes to the point where I can’t distinguish between it and my tears. My teeth feel like they’re about to shatter.
“Come on, Marg! Three more!” Jazz yells at me.
The bar is inches away from my face. I dig my heels into the floor, trying to muster all my strength to get it up.
“Push! Push!” she yells, again.
I’m fucking trying!
My arms turn to noodles. “No!” I grunt, bracing for the bar to pin me to the bench.
Jazz swoops in at the last second and grabs the bar, helping me bring it all the way up to the rack. The metal clangs into a safe resting position, away from my face and chest. I let my arms go lax and dangle at my sides.
“What is up with you, girl? This is baby weight for you, and now you’re getting pinned under it before you finish one set. What’s up?” Jazz asks, plopping down on the bench opposite me.
Monday mornings are for weight training.
I usually look forward to these sessions.
I love the burn my muscles get and the pump I feel afterwards.
I feel most confident in the gym. A gym doesn’t judge you.
Barbells won’t lie to you. Treadmills won’t follow you.
The mirrors don’t threaten you. This is the safest place a girl can ask for.
“I haven’t been sleeping too well the last couple of nights,” I tell her, groaning as I sit up and reach for my water bottle.
The more accurate answer is that I haven’t slept in over a day.
First, Jon and I have the most sexually revolutionary experience of my life.
I think that man bruised his tongue letting me ride his face for over an hour.
Then he confesses how much he cares about me while still in a relationship with the most vapid bitch I’ve ever met.
If that isn’t reason enough for a girl to be spun out, I have a crazy stalker sending me creepy messages.
I drove for eight straight hours to get back here.
I said fuck it to that public apology with that Strickland douchebag.
Ashleigh is trying to smooth it over for me, but I don’t give a fuck.
I got back to my apartment, locked all the doors and stayed up, clutching a baseball bat, until it was time to come to training this morning.
So, yea. Not really in tip-top shape to move heavy weights.
“Alright, well. Go take a nap or something. We have match practices, and run-throughs tomorrow,” she says, trying to sympathize.
“I don’t feel like going all the way back to my apartment.” I need to stay where it’s busy, and I’m around people.
Before Jazz can offer another suggestion, my phone pings with a message from Ashleigh.
Ashleigh: You’re in serious shit! You didn’t do that apology. I’m smoothing it over for you, but you’re in fucking deep shit with the match directors. They’re over your diva act.
I don’t even have the mental strength to respond.
What can I say? I’m being stalked by a psycho, and I ran away because I was scared for my life.
They’d just accuse me of being dramatic.
Wouldn’t be the first time. Especially since so many of the athletes get creepy fan mail, they’ll definitely say I’m overreacting.
This is the life of being an athlete in the spotlight, right?
If I don’t find a way to deal with this shit, they’ll just get rid of me and replace me with some other girl who is willing to put up with this shit.
I just need to make it through this season.
Then I’ll have the chance to build up my fanbase and hopefully have enough distinction in this sport to have a voice.
Nobody listens to you until you’re sitting at the adult table; unfortunately, I’m still a kid in this sport. And nobody is going to worry about me- a bigger woman. I’m over six feet tall and strong. I’m not the stereotypical victim.
I’m not a victim.
Match training went fine. Somehow, Ashleigh smoothed things over with that yuppy asshole and he’s not demanding a public apology anymore. That’s the least of my worries. Now that training is wrapped up for the day, I can’t delay going home. It’s getting late.
Maybe it’s the creepy letters. Maybe it’s old memories coming back to haunt me.
I take a deep breath and shake the worst night of my life out of my thoughts.
Getting out of my car is always a struggle.
I really need a new ride. It’s such a pain—literally—getting in and out of my tiny sedan.
I make decent money with the PEW now. I can afford a newer car, one that I fit in better.
I’d like something taller and sportier, like a Bronco.
Yeah. I just need to get my mind off all the craziness that’s been happening the last few weeks. Maybe I should call Jacky and offer to smooth things over with Zoey. I’ll reach out to him, try and make things better. I miss my brother.
“Margeaux?”
“AHHHHH!!!!” I scream and throw the hardest punch of my life, making contact with this mystery person’s face.
My vision goes black. No sounds register in my ears. I’m transported back to that night six years ago. I should have fought back that night– I couldn’t. I was pathetic, stupid, gullible. Not now. Not tonight.
I throw punch after punch. I hit the side of his head. His ribs. His gut.
“Margeaux, stop! Please! It’s me!” Hands reach for my wrists, but I shirk away. Refusing to relent.
My hair is stuck to my face, and my hands are throbbing from my wild punches.
“Fuck you!” I shout. “Fuck off!”
“Margeaux! Beautiful! It’s me! Stop!”
I freeze, my fists clenched and ready to strike again.
The figure beneath me becomes clearer. His wavy brown hair is in complete disarray.
His face is red and puffy from my fists.
My chest rises and falls with every deep breath I strain to take in.
His perfect, full lips are split and bleeding.
His dark eyes are holding my gaze with complete tenderness and concern.
It’s me, Margeaux. Jon.”
“J-Jon?”
“Yea, beautiful. It’s me. I’m here.” He keeps his hands to his sides, but I notice his fingers twitching, wanting to touch me.
“How? Why?”
I can’t stop shaking, feeling utterly confused and on alert, too much adrenaline. He raises his hands toward my face slowly, like he’s approaching a deer in the middle of the road.
“Take another breath for me, Beautiful,” he says calmly, despite his bruised face. “In through your nose. Hold it for a couple of seconds. Let it out through your nose.”
I follow his instructions. He rubs my thighs with each breath, encouraging me. I feel the adrenaline trickling out of my system. I recognize the outside of my apartment. I’m straddling Jon and suddenly feel like a Great Dane crushing a Beagle. I push off him and sit beside him on the grass.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Are you okay?” I ask looking over his face.
He touches his fingers to his lips and winces. “I’ll be fine. I needed to see you.”
I look up and see lights being turned on from other apartments in my building. Silhouettes of other residents moving around has me feeling like Jon and I are about to have an audience. I’d rather maintain some semblance of privacy right now.
“Come upstairs.” I press up on my still shaking legs and dread climbing the five flights of stairs I need to climb to get to my apartment.
Jon follows me the entire way without saying a word.
What is he doing here? What does this mean that he’s here?
Did he really break up with his pint-size Barbie girlfriend?
I should probably ask him all these questions, but talking is the last thing I want to do right now.
My body is in no mood for serious conversations.
We get inside my apartment, I lock the door, make sure all my windows are closed, and the blinds are down.
“Margeaux, we need to talk,” Jon says as I pace around my apartment, still antsy. I stop my pacing in front of him. He’s standing in my open kitchen and living area.
“I don’t wanna talk, Doc,” I tell him, lightly grazing his jaw with my lips, and hating myself for hurting him.
“What do you need?” he asks, and I adore how caring this man is. It comes so naturally for him. I don’t understand why he’s here, and frankly, I don’t fucking care. He’s here.
I grab his hand and lead him through my apartment. “I need a shower,” I say decidedly. I feel his steps slowing down as if he’s planning on giving me space to do what I need to do. I tug him and spin around to face him. “Let me be clearer, Doc. We need a shower.”
His big, brown eyes look up at mine with shock, then soften with realization, and finally a small smile tugs at the corner of his swollen lips.
“Lead the way, Beautiful.”