The Virus

Chapter One

After my little late night adventure I let myself into my place and sat heavily on the bed, not caring about my filthy clothes. I spent the next pleasant two hours coughing up blood.

“Looks like God finally caught up to me,” I said between breaths with a smirk.

            No matter. I wasn’t one to give up after a little problem. I looked at the clock. Only a few hours until I’d have to go to school. I showered and rather than going to bed, went down to the gym. I knew it’d be empty at this time. Looking back, it made no sense to shower if I was only going to get sweaty again. I shrugged. Too late now. I considered what I should do first. Treadmill or punching bag? Maybe weights. I spun around and found myself looking at the treadmill. I started off with a slow jog which escalated into running so fast I feared one bad step and I’d be sent crashing into the opposing wall. I wiped the sweat that had accumulated on my brow with the back of my hand.

            A sound on the other side of the room caught my attention. I absentmindedly slowed my step and was thrown back by the treadmill. I screamed, the floor getting dangerously close to smacking me in the face. Rather than breaking my face on the shiny, tile floor, I fell into the arms of some stranger who happened to be in the right place at the right time. My shocked face was reflected back at me in the tile. I looked up to find those same eyes from just a few hours before staring down at me.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said quickly. I wrenched myself out of his grip and stumbled back a few paces. Had he followed me? “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. Try not to push yourself too hard,” he said grinning.

            I looked down at my feet. I was dressed in my black yoga shorts and a matching black sports bra. My body gleamed with sweat from my run. I felt so exposed. Shrinking back a few more feet, I stuttered another thank you and turned to the punching bags.

“Do you mind if I work out too?” he asked. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here but I can leave if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, yanking on a pair of gloves. “Just don’t bother me.”

“No need to worry,” he said.

            I looked back and found him still looking at me. Those eyes! What was it about his eyes that freaked me out so much? Was it how they could seem so bright yet so dark at the same time? Was it how he never seemed to blink? Was it how he seemed to see right through me like he knew something I didn’t? I shook my head. It was probably just me being paranoid. He didn’t appear to remember me. I guess he didn’t see my face after all. That unknown fact had been eating away at me until now. I sighed in relief.

            I cleared my mind and unleashed some built up anger on that defenseless punching bag. Before I knew it I was letting out cries of fury every time I hit the dangling, red bag. My feet moved with blinding speed. First rule of boxing: never stop moving. I imagined I was bashing in my foster father’s face. With a sneer I drilled my fist into his invisible nose. When I felt satisfied (about an hour and a half later), I fell to the floor and pressed my face to the cool tile. I momentarily forgot I wasn’t alone. That guy had stayed just as long as I had. I glanced up to see him lifting weights. So hot, I thought. He looked briefly at me and set down his oversized weights. Glancing away, I peeled myself off the floor.

“You done with that?” I asked.

“It’s all yours,” he replied. I was passing by him when he suddenly turned to me. “Hey, what time is it?”