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“Holy shit,” I said softly.
“Mr. Universe competition, here we come,” said Meed.
This was crazy. Over the past couple months, I’d felt my development accelerating. It wasn’t just the extra training or the protein shakes or the mass-gain powder or the endless brain exercises. Something had fundamentally shifted in me, physically and mentally. I felt myself progressing in leaps, not just steps.
“Look,” said Meed, tipping the mirror, “even your hair is better.”
I leaned forward and ran my fingers over my scalp. She was right. I still had my widow’s peak, but the hair on top was now thick and full. The little bald patch on the crown of my head had completely filled in. The last time I had hair like this, I was in high school.
“Go ahead,” said Meed, twirling her index finger in the air. “Take in the rear view.”
Now I was really self-conscious. But also kind of curious. I did a three-quarter turn and looked over my shoulder into the mirror. Jesus! My traps and lats were carved like marble. My waist was narrow and tight. My external obliques looked like thick straps. My glutes bulged like two solid rocks under my shorts.
“Work of art, right?” said Meed. She turned the mirror around and leaned it against the wall. “Hold on. I have another treat for you.”
I never knew when to take her literally. She always kept me off balance. Usually, when Meed said she had something special for me, it turned out to be pure misery. But sometimes, she actually came through with something great. Like Kobe steak for dinner instead of tofu. Or letting me choose the playlist.
She bent down and reached into a cooler. I stepped back.
“That better not be another pig head,” I said.
“Give me some credit, Doctor,” she said. “We’re celebrating.”
Sure enough. When her hand came out of the cooler, she was holding two frosty bottles of Blue Moon Belgian White beer. I almost started panting. I hadn’t tasted any liquid besides protein shakes and bottled water since last November. Just the thought of that cold beer hitting my throat made me tremble.
She knocked off both caps on a corner of the weight machine. Little dribbles of foam spilled out of the necks. She handed me one of the bottles and tipped the other to her lips. I felt the frosty sensation in my hand then took my first delicious sip. Sweet Lord. Heaven.
I heard Meed shout. It was earsplitting. I saw a flash in front of my face as she knocked the bottle out of my hand and into the side of the treadmill. I heard it crash and shatter.
“What thefuck!!” I shouted.
She rammed her elbow into my gut with enough force to rock me. Instinct took over. I put my arms up and lunged at her. She stepped back, then moved in for another punch, this time to my mouth. I felt the flesh split and tasted blood. She came at me with a chop toward my neck. I knocked her hand aside with my forearm. She used the momentum to spin on the ball of her foot and whip her leg around. The instant before her heel was about to hit my temple, I grabbed her ankle and twisted it hard. She screamed and went face-down onto the mat. When she flipped face up, I was on her. Her hand whipped up and I saw the flash of a blade coming straight at me. I knocked it away with one hand and pinned her wrists to the side. I had one knee across her thighs and the other knee jammed into her solar plexus. For the first time—the very first time—I realized that I had her. She was done, and she knew it. In that instant, I felt all the fight go out of her. I let go of her wrists and backed off. I sat back, breathing hard.
“What the hell wasthat?” I asked, dabbing blood from my lip.
She winced as she sat up.
“That was your final test,” she said. “You passed.”
“I could have killed you just then,” I said. “You know that, right?”
She actually smiled a little. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
I shook my head. I was starting to feel like a trained monkey again—totally manipulated. Was I supposed to feel great about being able to murder a woman with my bare hands? Meed reached over and tapped my arm. She leaned closer.
“Ask me something,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“Anything you want,” she said. “No wrong questions.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Try me,” she said.
I was fed up. But if this was another mind game, I was going to swing for the fences. I didn’t go for anything new. I went straight to two questions I’d asked her a hundred times—questions she’d never come close to answering.
“Okay, Meed,” I said. “What’s your real name? And why am I here?”
