The Retribution Chronicles

M i r i a m | f o u r

Miriam thought yoga was supposed to relax a body, unfurl your muscles and unlock your mind, transporting you to a whole new plane. And yet, each week, she found herself a sweaty, panting mess by the time cool down began. Which was particularly embarrassing considering every week Wes entered the final phase awash with a healthy glow that served to enhance his serene smile. So perfectly perfect, Miriam half wanted to push him out of child's pose. Not so hard he broke something, but a little tumble would be good for her soul.

He cut her sideways glance as the thought of him in a crumpled heap flashed through her mind; the left corner of his mouth rose into a smile, and he winked before his eyes fluttered shut and his body slid into the next pose with such ease Miriam wondered if his joints were liquid gold. Hers, on the other hand, stuck, clunky and awkward, groaning as she followed his lead, sunk to the mat and prepared for the final ten minutes of class; also known as her favourite ten minutes of class, not only because it meant the end was in sight, but because she could finally buy into the whole relaxation ritual. For what was more relaxing than ten minutes of silence?

Unfortunately, the sound of bare feet pattering against vinyl flooring forced Miriam to open her eyes, one at a time, just as her body began to sink. She blinked twice and glanced at Wes. His hand was outstretched, hovering just above her nose. She curled her palm into his, tightening her grip as he hauled her into his chest, and threw her arms over his shoulders while his snaked around her waist.

"Why do we do this?" she moaned into his damp t-shirt.

"Because it's good for us."

"But I'm in more pain now than I was before I came to class."

"You'll get better."

"You get better," she muttered. "I get worse."

He laughed, the sound rich and comforting, and squeezed her shoulders before wrapping her up, pressing her against his side and leading her towards the changing rooms where they went their separate ways. Once alone, Miriam slumped against a bench and sighed. It should've been a wail, primal and raw, but at least two of the four showers were running, and the door opened, welcoming a flood of women in matching pink gym sets. Miriam took this as her cue and hauled herself to her feet. She unlocked the locker closest to her and grabbed her belongings, shrugging on a jumper before she left.

Wes was waiting in the foyer, phone in one hand, overstuffed gym bag in the other. He hiked it higher on his shoulder just as his eyes narrowed, flicking from left to right, scanning every inch of Miriam's person. So focused, for a moment, she felt like she was under a microscope, stretched bare on the freezing stage. "Is this mine?" he asked once she reached him.

Miriam looked at his hand, which had managed to barnacle itself around the hem of her hoodie, and licked her lips. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I—"

"Wesley." A tall man with a buzzcut and glinting nose ring slapped Wes on the back. "Where have you been?"

"Ryan." Wes smiled through gritted teeth. "How are you man?"

"Good." Ryan's eyes slunk towards Miriam. "Who's your friend?" he asked.

"I'm Miriam," she said, offering a hand.

"Right. I think I saw you last night. You were talking to my guy Ade." Ryan's brows, so thick they migrated onto his eyelids, wriggled while Wes stiffened beside Miriam, leaving her with the overwhelming need to smack Ryan's face and displace his eyebrows forever.

Unfortunately, Lydia's pending payment forced her to settle for a blank expression as she said, "Ade?"

"Adedayo," Ryan clarified.