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So when tears swam in my eyes, blurring my vision, completely and utterly horrifying me with their presence, the words, "Please stop!" burst out of me almost as a scream, echoing off the walls and back to my own ears as Edison snatched his hand away, deep eyes going wide with concern, maybe realizing he had pushed it too far too soon.
"Ow ow ow," my voice hissed as I slid down the padded wall, pulling my knees to my chest I hard-blinked at the unwanted tears.
"Fuck," Edison growled, and I was vaguely aware of him dropping to his knees in front of me before his hand reached out toward the pressure point again, making me jerk back, slamming against the wall with a sound that was meant to tell him to fuck off, but came off a lot like a whimper somehow. "Easy," he murmured, his impossibly deep growl becoming oddly comforting, "I'm not going to hurt you," he told me right before his fingers moved to stroke over the spot, making the throbbing pain he had inflicted just a moment before ease almost instantly.
Once the pain faded, his hand moved upward, his thumb catching one tear that had managed to slip out and slide down.
Feeling that, seeing the look of regret in his eyes, it did something to me, something that I didn't really even have a name for, something I was sure I never experienced before. It was a heaviness in my chest and an ache in my heart.
Maybe someone more in-touch with their emotions, someone less guarded, someone who understood what these sensations were could put a name to them.
Me, though, I was clueless.
All I did know was that I found them simultaneously comforting and incredibly disconcerting, a cocktail that wasn't going down smooth.
"You're so fucking tough, Lenny. I forgot to be careful."
There the sensations were again, stronger.
And, to be honest, that was one of the best compliments I had received in a long time.
I was tough.
I tried so hard to be.
It was reassuring to hear someone else recognized that.
But I still had my pride.
"I don't need you to be careful," I countered, forcing some steel into my voice even if I wasn't feeling it. "I just need a minute."
With that, I pushed up off the floor, moving quickly away in toward the main part of the gym, my hands at the back of my neck, taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves, ignoring the eyes from everyone around who maybe, possibly heard me cry out.
I went across the room toward the water dispenser, realizing as I reached for a paper cup that my hand was shaking.
Freaked, I dropped it down by my side, curling it into a fist, trying to mentally berate my body into doing what I wanted it to do even if it was overwhelmed from all the adrenaline surges brought on by the pain.
"Lenny," Edison's voice said from my side, making me wonder if he could see how my hand was shaking, how it was seeming to start to make my whole arm do the same. Hell, even my insides felt all weird and trembling.
What was wrong with me?
"I think I'm done for the day."
"You're shaking."
I wanted to say something smart-assy about my tits or something, but I couldn't seem to think clearly through the completely foreign coiled, twitchy sensation in my abdominal muscles.
I needed to get out of here.
And fast.
Before I did something completely out of character and admit a weakness, ask for help.
I didn't need help.
I needed to get back to my apartment and consult Google, figure out what was wrong with me.
I was sure that after ten minutes, I would self-diagnose with three different kinds of cancer, some rare auto-immune disease, and some sort of mineral deficiency.
No matter what it was, I would have a shot and a few Advil and hope for the best.
People in jobs like mine didn't get the so-called luxury of health insurance.
I once got the flu with a fever so high that I hallucinated and woke up somehow outside with no shoes or jacket in the middle of winter because I couldn't afford the eighty-dollar fee to go to the emergency medical office.
I certainly wasn't dropping eighty because I worked out too hard, inexplicably cried, and started shaking.
It sounded like a whole lot of non-life-threatening to me. Even if it was completely and utterly embarrassing.
I mean, seriously, what the ever-loving hell was that? So what if it hurt? So what if I reached my max? I had hit my max before without tearing up. Maybe it was a nerve thing, when you pressed them enough, they got more and more sensitive or something.
I would be fine.
I just needed a shower, some food, then to get a decent night of sleep after work. That was all.
