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Outside my window, the ocean rolls for miles. I watch waves rock from the horizon to the sand. I spend so much time in this room, in this apartment. Is it a sanctuary or a prison? Does it matter? Either way, I am not strong enough to leave it. Not on my own.
I wake, once again, to the sound of Ryan's voice. He places my gym clothes on the bed. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says. “It's time to get back to your routine.”
I brush my teeth, tie my hair back, change into my clothes. An email distracts Ryan. “I'll be there in a few minutes,” he promises. I take the stairs. Less chance of running into Luke.
The gym is small. A few treadmills, a few weight machines, a few exercise mats. And Luke, on the floor, sweat dripping off his chiseled abs. What is he doing lying on the floor, looking sexy as fuck, practically begging me to mount him?
“I was hoping I'd see you here,” he says.
“Lucky coincidence,” I reply and step onto the treadmill. I can't push myself too hard after yesterday. Two miles at four miles per hour. Maybe three.
The treadmill hits full speed.
“I know you were in my room last night,” he says.
“Ryan will be here soon,” I say. He steps onto the treadmill next to mine and matches my speed.
“I didn't realize Ryan was in charge of who is or isn't allowed in the building's gym,” he says.
“There's nothing to talk about.”
“Tell me you're in love with Ryan and I'll never bother you again.”
“I love him,” I say. What does Luke know about love? He probably dreams about Samantha every night. He's probably infatuated with her.
“I want to tell you what happened, Alyssa. I want you to understand.”
“You aren't obligated to tell me and I'm not obligated to listen.” My fingers squeeze the sides of the treadmill.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Why?”
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks.” The door opens behind us. It's Ryan, I can tell it's Ryan from the footsteps and the sound of his breath.
Luke steps off the treadmill. His eyes hit mine and it takes everything inside me not to crumble again. I'm not built for this kind of sneaking around.
He nods to Ryan, “I'll see you later, buddy,” and makes for the exit.
I wait until Luke is out of the gym to exhale. Steady now. One foot in front of the other. It's just walking. It's easy, or do you need Ryan's help to do that also?
No. Of course I don't need Ryan's help. I'm a big girl. Bigger if you keep losing your self-control.
I put on my headphones and shut out my thought
s. Ryan is beside me, running twice as fast as I am walking. I want to run, I want to sweat out all these feelings, but I will get dizzy and faint and Ryan will insist we go to the hospital.
We return to the apartment and eat our usual breakfasts. An egg white omelet for Ryan, oatmeal and fruit for me. I am back on my recovery diet. Every day, the same. Oatmeal and fruit for breakfast. Soup and salad for lunch. Nuts or yogurt for a snack, maybe a smoothie if I'm really feeling up to it. Fish and brown rice and steamed vegetables for dinner. Dark chocolate for dessert. Of course, most days, I skip the dark chocolate. It's too tempting to eat the entire bar, and I don't deserve it. Why should I reward myself for sitting on my ass all day, watching TV reruns?
It's boring, but it's safe. Except for the chocolate, there are no temptations. I never get hungry enough to overeat. I am never so full I want to empty my stomach. I am never too close or too far away from a potential treat, even if I do skip the chocolate almost every day.
But that wasn't enough, was it? I lost control yesterday and it's all because of Luke.
How can he do this to me? I've been good for so long. Good enough to drink two or three or four tequilas without giving into the temptation to binge and purge on that pantry full of chocolate bars. How can I suddenly be so weak I'm willing to do anything to chase away my feelings?
How can I care enough about him to lose control?
