His Gymnast by Darcy Rose
9
Aria
This is so bizarre.It’s almost normal, sitting and drinking coffee in the kitchen, with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. It couldn’t be any more idyllic if a big golden retriever came galloping into the room, or maybe a little kid or two.
Wow. That is the opposite of the sort of thing I need to be thinking about when I’m around him.
What’s even stranger is how relaxed Knox seems now, so unlike the man I first met, the man who kicked the door in to save me last night. I think I even see something resembling a smile when he meets my gaze over the rim of his coffee cup.
I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m the reason for this change, like making him come last night turned him into a puppy dog content to eat from my hand. He’s different for sure, though. Like there are two sides to him. I’ve already seen one side. I think I like this one better.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, dragging me out of my thoughts.
“Very well. I was exhausted, and I don’t usually get a lot of sleep.”
“How come?”
Before I can think about what I’m saying, the words come out. “For one thing, there was only a cot in the basement—”
“They made you sleep in the basement?” He sounds beyond incredulous. The old shame threatens to wash over me, but I won’t let it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of unless I decide there is, and I’m tired of that. I’m tired of not being in control.
“Yes, they decided I wasn’t worth having my own bedroom. It all started when I got hurt. You know, back when I was doing gymnastics. The medical bills were astronomical. Things got really bad because of that.”
“But they were supposed to be your parents. So, what? They used that as an excuse to treat you like shit? Like you were a slave or something?” The disgust and horror in his voice strike me as almost funny, considering what he’s capable of. If he’s this stunned, maybe things were even worse than I realized. Like a frog in a pot of water, that whole thing. Raise the temperature one degree at a time and they don’t realize they’re being boiled alive because they’re used to it by then.
I got used to being treated the way I was. They wore me down enough over time that I didn’t bother trying to fight back anymore.
“I guess they thought they had the right. I don’t know. I can’t imagine because I can’t make myself think the way they did.”
“Trust me. I’m capable of a lot of things.” Yes, I’ve seen that for myself. “And even I know that’s fucked up. I should’ve finished the job.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I settle for sipping my coffee, grateful he broke into the house when he did. That I mustered up the courage to approach him in the first place.
Suddenly, he checks his phone and stands. “I need to go out for a few hours.”
My hands start to tremble. I have to set down my cup to make sure I don’t spill anything. “Do you really have to?”
He hits me with a sharp look that quickly softens. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine here. This is probably the safest place for you.”
“No, I’m not worried. I just…” I stare down into my cup, unable to put words to what I’m feeling. I’m not sure I want to be alone right now. Funny, he should be the last person I want to be alone with. It turns out, he’s the only one.
“It won’t be long. Don’t worry about it. While I’m gone, you’re free to do whatever you want. There’s plenty of food here in the kitchen, everything you could ever want to watch on TV—I have all the streaming services. There are a bunch of books and magazines in my room. Make yourself at home.”
I’m sure he means to calm me down, to soothe me, but it makes me feel more uncomfortable than ever, and I know why.
“I don’t want to feel like home. At least not the one I’m used to.”
“Shit. Sorry. I mean, make yourself comfortable. Eat whatever you want, use whatever you need. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He runs a hand over my cheek, stroking my jaw, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.
“Have a good day.” He grins before heading toward the door, checking his pockets as he goes. The click of the lock reminds me I’m safe, that nobody will come in after me. Nobody even knows I’m here, and the house is completely nondescript. I’ll be safe here.
Now what do I do?
First things first. Knox didn’t make breakfast—not everybody likes to eat right after they wake up. I am not one of those people. The fridge is full of food, another way he doesn’t line up with the stereotypical bachelor image. I expect to find a box of baking soda and a few moldy takeout containers, but what I see is a wide range of foods, even vegetables.
I fix myself scrambled eggs, toast and jelly, and a big glass of orange juice. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to do something this simple, to fend for myself the way normal people do. Maybe that’s why the food tastes so good, much better than plain old scrambled eggs have any right to be.
Once I’m finished, I clean up the pan and dishes, then wipe down the table and the counters. Call it a habit. I have a hard time not earning my keep. It’s a relief that Knox is as clean as he is, though at least that would give me something to do with my time.
Now what? I go up to the bedroom to find something new to wear. I can’t make the dreadful feeling in my gut go away—the one telling me not to touch anything, not to eat or drink. Not to feel comfortable in any way or I’ll get a beating. I force that voice away and remember what Knox said.
One of Knox’s dresser drawers is filled with T-shirts like the one I’m wearing, sweat shorts, and sweatpants. The sweatpants seem like the best bet even though they’re still way too big. At least there’s a drawstring I can cinch around my waist so they won’t randomly fall down. I choose another clean, white T-shirt and knot it at my waist so it doesn’t feel so much like I’m wearing a dress.
The bedroom is so quiet, like a tomb. I still feel sort of bad being in here, like I’m being a burden all over again. I can’t tell how much of that is normal and how much it’s me being brainwashed.
One thing is clear, I want to know more about him. The sort of books he has in his room—history books, strangely enough—I wouldn’t expect him to care about that. The magazines are more what I figured I’d find—cars, girls, and sports. I don’t know why he thought I’d be interested in those, but it makes me grin anyway. He’s doing his best to make me comfortable.
All of this only killed an hour. It’s weird, not having every minute of my day filled, and the thought of unfilled hours ahead of me makes me feel all antsy and twitchy. I’m going to have to get used to living like a normal person. Even when I was competing, I had a single, focused goal. Everything was about training, being stronger, faster, the best. I guess I’ve never lived a normal life, even before my injury.
The sound of the washing machine finishing almost gives me a heart attack, but it makes it easier to find the thing and switch my clothes into the dryer.
Afterward, I decide to settle in on the couch and veg out for a while. Knox wasn’t kidding when he said there’d be everything I could ever want to watch on television. He must pay a fortune every month for his streaming services. It makes me wonder how much time he spends here, all alone. It’s impossible not to think about him, to try to figure him out. I hate to think of him sitting here by himself, though I’m sure it’s completely his choice if that’s ever the case. I doubt he ever does anything unless it’s what he wants to do.
After another hour or so, I finally start to relax for real. I get my clothes out and switch into my bra and shirt, so I don’t have to look at my bruises anymore, but I’ll leave his sweatpants on, finding them even more comfortable than my leggings.
Cuddling back up on the couch, I try to relax. It’ll take time, but I have no doubt I’ll eventually be able to enjoy downtime like anybody else. I’ll need time to get over all the shit Mom and Dale put me through, but the fact that I’m even thinking about moving on with my life must be a good sign.
My God. I’ll even be able to keep my wages now. My tips. The possibilities loom large in my imagination.
“Shit.” My wages. That’s all it takes to remind me of my obligations—namely, my job at Laura’s Gymnastics. I jump up and frantically look around. I’m scheduled for a class this afternoon, and I know Lisa won’t be able to get anybody to cover for me on such short notice. I can’t even remember all the times I had to drag myself over there after a beating, covering the bruises I could and making excuses about the ones I couldn’t.
I always had the feeling Lisa didn’t believe me, but she was too nice to say anything.
I can’t let her or the girls down. I have to find a way to get there. My bag is by the front door, right where Knox left it. I have some money for the bus fare, more than enough to get me to class, and according to the schedule I look up on my phone, the next bus rolls through ten minutes from now just a block away from here.
But I’m not supposed to leave, am I? What’s Knox going to think if he comes home and finds me gone? I don’t even have his number, so I can’t call him and let him know what I have to do. He would probably tell me not to go, but that’s just not going to happen. I’m sure I can handle getting myself to gymnastics and back.
Still, I do have manners. I don’t want him getting home and freaking out—who knows what he would do if he assumed something bad had happened to me? So, I leave a note on the kitchen counter.
I forgot I have a class to teach this afternoon, and I can’t miss it. I’ll be back in a few hours.
That will have to be enough. As it is, I’m afraid I’m going to be late as I put on my shoes, grab the bag, and almost run out the door in hopes of catching the bus.
