Afraid to love

Chapter 18

"Next, deadlifts" he says, more lifting? I resist the urge to groan in protest.

He's putting weight on his bar again. Curious as to how much he plans on lifting, this time I watch. He places three 50kg weights on either side, so a total of 300 kg. Is he seriously planning on training with that much?

On mine, just like before, he places a ten kilo weight on each side. Feeling hot from the previous exercise, I pull off my sweatshirt. His eyes linger on my body for a brief moment, enough to make my cheeks hot.

He gets me to stand in front of the barbell, guiding me through the deadlift. Focused on the deadlift, I try really hard not to show how much his closeness affects me. When I start lifting, he places his hand on my lower back, showing me to straighten it in the lift, there is a subtle strength to his touch. I almost drop the weight because of that touch, that's how aware of him I am.

When we finally finish all sets, I'm actually tired, I just want a break, but he motions me over to the bench press,

"You can't be serious!" I mutter,

"Why? Tired?" he teases,

"Why do we keep lifting things? Let's do the treadmill again"

"You're doing my routine, remember?"

"I changed my mind" I say,

"Not an option. Here" he places 5kg on either side of the barbell for me, "you can do that, surely. Lay down here" he points to the bench,

"Why don't you do my routine?" I retort,

"What routine?"

"The one I do for dance, I'd like to see how you go with that"

"Okay, show me"

"Not here, at the dance studio"

"You do my routine today, take me to your studio next time and I'll follow yours. Okay?"

"Will you actually?"

"Yes. Now lie down" he points to the bench, I do as told and he shows me how to do the lift. The whole time he's standing above me, ready to catch it if I let go. But the fact that he's watching me struggle just makes it worse, I do my best to finish one set then stand up,

"You can be my spotter now" he says and goes over to his bench,

"Your what?"

"Spotter. Stand behind me, if I drop the weight, you catch it" he says,

"What? That's crazy, I can't even lift that much, how do I stop it from falling on you?"

"You'll be fine" he smirks and starts lifting. He's joking. Surely. He must be joking. Even so, I go over closer to him and stare at the barbell going up and down, praying it won't fall because I would most definitely not be able to stop it. I watch his muscles working up, down, his chest rising and falling. His shirt is wet from sweat, so I can clearly see the outline of every one of his muscles. How long has he been training to be in that shape? Was that before or after prison? Why did he go to prison in the first place? After his set, I my second one, then after his second my third.

We go to legs next, which I love because it gives my arms a break, then bicep curls, then tricep dips, a Russian twist and then a plank. I am huffing from exhaustion after the plank, even though that's one of the exercises I do often as a dancer. But doing it after all this? My body just won't have it. I stay seated with my head on my knees to catch my breath, when I look up, I find him watching me with a smile,

"Okay" he says, "now we go to the real gym"

"What?"

"It's across the street, c'mon" he offers his hand to me. I look at his outstretched palm, large and hard, I place my hand into it and he pulls me up,

"What do you mean another gym?"

"That's where I train for boxing"

"After all this, you do more training for boxing?" I cry,

"Part of my routine"

I want to complain, but I hold it in. What's the point? He'll do what he wants anyway. I follow after him,

"Have a good night" the guy at the reception calls after us as we exit the gym. It's quite dark outside at this point, and chilly, I'm thinking to pull my sweatshirt on again,

"You won't need it" he says, "it's just around the corner"

"I thought you said across the street"

"Across the street and around the corner"

"My legs don't work" I say, he laughs,

"Want me to carry you?" he turns towards me as if he will pick me up,

"No!" I step away just in case he's serious, but then remember that I am out in the open and step back closer to him,

"I don't think he would've followed us all the way here" he says,

"Who?"

"The stalker guy" he says, "I can see he's still on your mind"

"He's always on my mind" I admit,

"Best case scenario would be for him to come out right now, while I am with you. But he won't"

"No. I really hope he doesn't"

"We'd get him if he did"

"What if he's armed? Maybe he's mad at me for getting away, and maybe he's even worse than before"

"I am not worried"

"But if he has a gun, or a knife-" I pause, remembering the knives and gun I found in Daniel's room, I glance up at him, "sorry for accusing you of everything before"

"You already said sorry like five hundred times. And I'm ready for him whatever he might have"

"But if he has a weapon..." I start, Daniel pushes his hand into his pocket and pulls a switchblade out. Similar to the one I bough except quite a bit larger,

"I have a weapon too" he says, opening and closing the knife and placing it back in his pocket,

"You carry it around with you?"

"Always"

"Why?"

"You never know which idiot you might run into"

"I bought a knife too, a switchblade" I admit, "but I left it at home, forgot to take it. But then..." I pause, remembering that night I held a knife up against Daniel, and how easily he'd disarmed me, "but then who knows how useful it would be if someone actually attacked..." he glances down at me once more,

"You have to learn to use it, then it becomes useful"

I want to ask him if he knows how to use one, and if he knows how to use that gun I saw in his room. I want to ask why he even has a gun. But I don't. He doesn't owe me any explanations.