The Freaks

chapter eight

When I do the first curl, I don't feel any strain because it hardly weighs anything. I ask to switch to a heavier weight, but Nathan says no, telling me to get used to the feeling of the lightest for the first few curls.

The next station is probably the hardest for me. I drop down from the pull-up bar with a thud, my arms and hands screaming in pain. My palms are red raw, sensitive to the touch. I shake them out and look up at the bar again, cursing Nathan and this whole day inwardly. The bar is quite far away from the wall beside us, but that doesn't make me feel better.

"Show me how it's done again," I say to Nathan as I step back from the pull-up bar, watching as he rolls his eyes and takes my place.

"This is the last time, Luca. You need to do it for yourself one of these days." He shoots me a look. I ignore it. He shakes his head and reaches up for the bar. He's tall enough to be able to grab it without jumping, unlike me.

I step back again and look up at him as he does five pull-ups in quick succession, jumping down next to me a moment later. He doesn't look winded at all. It's like he isn't real. I shake my head at him.

"It's really not that difficult, you know," he says, stepping back and letting me take his place again.

I let out a laugh. "It's not difficult for someone with arms the size of tree trunks."

Nathan looks down at his arms and shrugs once, not saying anything else. I cannot roll my eyes hard enough.

I jump up and clasp the bar even though it still hurts. I stare in front of me, concentrating on the treadmills in my line of sight as I pull myself up—as slow as I can. It hurts; I feel my arms burning from the effort, screaming for me to let myself drop to the ground again, but I don't let myself yet.

"Good," I think I hear Nathan say. His voice sounds miles away in my ears. "You're doing really well."

I pull myself up twice quickly, a loud groan escaping my lips from the pain. I let myself hang from the bars as my vision swims. I see colours that aren't really there and I hear a loud pounding that can only be my heartbeat in my ears. A few lone beads of sweat trail down my face, from my temple to my chin.

The remaining air has been whisked from my lungs, but I still attempt to pull myself up. A muscle in one of my hands cramp halfway through the movement, the bar slipping from my fingers when I can't take the pain in my palm anymore.

I land hard on my feet and careen forward onto my knees before I can think about it, taking in great, heaving breaths as the air slowly returns to my lungs. The sweat from my face drips onto the ground by my hands, but I can't bring myself to care.

Nathan helps me up, still avoiding my skin easily. He's whispering to me but something—the pain, maybe—is stopping me from hearing it. He hands over another bottle of water and I drink without thinking about it.

It's only my first day training and I already want to quit.

The next few hours pass in a blur. I change stations every hour, pushing through the pain even though I want to just collapse onto the ground again. The music blasting from the stereo is helping me focus and keeping my adrenaline up, but it doesn't stop my limbs from getting tired.

I slump against the wall, pressing my arms against the cool stone and my forehead against my sweaty skin. I breathe heavily, watching the sweat from my chin drip down onto the floor. I don't feel the AC swirling around the room anymore because of how much my skin feels like it's on fire.

I hear Nathan come to stand next to me, pressing his back against the wall and staring at the room for a little while before his eyes come to rest on mine. "You did really well, Luca," he says, a slight laugh escaping his mouth. "You should be really proud of yourself, mate."