Templar's in London: A Syndicate in Need

Chapter 8: A Day Off

A/N: Hi there! Sorry again for yet another long wait. I will warn you, there isn't much going on in this chapter but I hope you enjoy it. I promise the exciting stuff (as in the action, you naughty-naughty) should start to kick up in a couple of chapters. Just, please, be patient with me? :,)

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For a woman who's spent the last two weeks training as if her life depended on it, (Y/N) is surprised she is even able to stand right now. Her bones ache, her muscles burn, and every time she touches a certain part of her skin she finds a new bruise. Her eyes are still heavy, even though she's been up for about an hour now, and the steaming hot water that cascades down her nude body doesn't help.

She spent the first forty-five minutes awake lying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, knowing that as soon as she even moved a finger her whole body would pulsate with pain. She had to get herself up, though. Even the blankets that draped her weren't thick enough to cage the stench rolling off her body. She was so tired the night before that she just peeled off her workout clothes and flopped into the sheets, groaning as the weight of her body sunk into her mattress. She was asleep in minutes, no surprise to Charlotte who had walked in only moments later wondering if she wanted dinner. Not that (Y/N) knew of this but now she's realizing how long it's been since she last ate a meal. Her stomach suddenly caves and growls at her realization, the sound almost bouncing off the shower walls, echoing to get a move on.

She sighs, it long and drawn-out, and picks up a fresh washcloth hanging on the shower rack, dowsing the cloth in body wash and water. She's careful when washing, not pressing too hard on the sore parts of her skin. Thankfully the cut on her side is finally healed, only leaving a light discolored stripe on her skin, but she still must mind her new injuries. She manages to wash her hair, too, after rinsing the soap from her body which burns her worked arms more than she liked but it needed to be done.

Stepping out of the shower, she grabs a towel and dries her body, and walks to the elongated mirror. She hums softly as her eyes fall on the dark spots of her skin, fingers running over them softly. Recollections of where some came from flood her memory.

The one on her shoulder came from sparring with Edward, his elbow making harsh contact to discombobulate her over and over again. The ones down her left arm are from him constantly disarming her when she was the one who was supposed to be disarming him. The biggest one, taking up half of her right hip, came from climbing the manor. Since there were no other major buildings for her to work on her free climbing, Edward insisted she used his home. She's sure he regrets it after her slip on the second floor. Her footing wasn't steady and she lost it, breaking a shutter on the way down and crashing into the bushes that lined the wall. Luckily, nothing was broken when she was looked over by his personal physician but it has been days since that fall. It somehow looks worse – rimmed with purple and dotted with black and blue on the inside. She's tempted to touch it, tempted to press in at the center to feel a sharp yet dull ache pass through her hip and thigh, but the memory is painful enough for now.

She wraps her towel around her and eyes her hair, deciding not to do much with it. She finally gets a few days off after her endless training and she could really care less about the way it looks. She does comb it over to the side, resembling some type of style and she's about to walk away when she catches her arms. She hums again, flexing it, though it is painful. The creases deepen and define in shape and her lips purse as she nods in approval.

Looks like the training is working.

Bouncing out of the bathroom with newfound self-appreciation, she goes to her wardrobe to pick out another set of underwear, a bra, sweats, and a tank top. As she dresses, she gives the underwear a second thought. It's bad enough she's reminded of the bruise every time she takes a step but having underwear constantly pressed into her will make it more memorable. She decides to go the day without them, concluding that her sweats would be baggy enough to conceal her secret.