I was doing good. I was doing so good until Mother Nature had to come and ruin everything and shred every last ounce of self-control I had in me.
Since the shower incident two weeks ago, I've been limiting myself to one meal a day while continuing to hit the gym hard with Rhodes. Surprisingly, he's a pretty good trainer, and I know he made a nutrition plan for me, but my one meal a day method seems to be working for me. I've dropped ten pounds already, but I'm slowly starting to gain it back this week due to starting my period.
Aside from the bloating, I've caught myself snacking more during the day, unable to resist the temptation of consuming sugar. Like right now, I catch myself digging another fist full of M&M's out of the bag I brought with me to my desk—which was a huge mistake, because now I've lost track of how many handfuls I've had and how many calories I've consumed.
Frustrated and disgusted with myself, I roughly close up the bag and march it back to the kitchen, throwing it in the pantry with a little more force than necessary.
Glancing at the clock on the stove, I realize there's still an hour left before Eli is supposed to pick me up to go to the gym. With things at work being pretty slow at the moment, I decide to clock out a little early to get some chores done around the house.
I unload the dishwasher and run the vacuum before starting on laundry, and when I spot the scale by the hamper in the bathroom I just can't help myself. I step onto it, giving it five seconds to load before looking down at the number displaying my weight. My stomach twists and I realize I've gained four pounds since first starting my period two days ago—which is nearly half the weight I already lost gained back.
Angry and disappointed, I kick the scale away with my foot and toss in a load of laundry before getting dressed for the gym. I throw on an oversized T-shirt and some shorts, lace up my tennis shoes and wait for Eli out in the garage. As soon as his truck pulls up I hop in, eager to start working out.
Eli drops me off at the front door and I meet up with Rhodes in the back. We warm up for a few minutes and then move on to the actual workout.
Rhodes has me throwing around a medicine ball, slamming it on the ground and bending over to pick it back up. He does the exercise with me, and we do it until the timer on his phone goes off, indicating to take a break.
"Okay, good," he instructs for me to stop, but I don't.
I keep going, a sudden rage fueling me and almost possessing me to keep going, to take out all my frustration on the inanimate object.
"You can stop," Rhodes reiterates, but I still continue. "Claire, you need to stop before you hurt yourself," he says more sternly when I still don't stop.
"No, what I need is abs," I shoot back, throwing the medicine ball harder, sweat starting to trickle down the side of my face.
Rhodes places his foot on top of the ball, preventing me from picking it back up. "No, what you need is to calm down," he states, his statement and his tone prickling my nerves.
My mood instantly darkens, and little does he know he just doused kerosene on my already burning fire.
There are a few things in this world you never say to a woman when she's already riled up, and 'calm down' is one of them.
If we were playing Family Feud and the question was 'top five phrases to make a woman angry' and a contestant answered with 'calm down', you best believe Steve Harvey would be enthusiastically yelling out to show him CLAM DOWN on the board.
"Did you seriously just tell me to calm down?" I ask, my voice low and threatening.
"Yeah, take a chill pill," he states, clearly not picking up on my tone.
Again, if we were playing Family Feud, he'd be wiping the board.
"I don't want to calm down!" I let out a growl of frustration, flopping down on a nearby bench. I hunch forward, placing my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, a sudden wave of emotions crashing over me. "I'm so tired of feeling and looking like this," I confess, my voice cracking and my eyes burning with the threat of angry tears.
"Hey," Rhodes coos, his voice surprisingly soft and empathetic. He kneels down in front of me, placing a comforting hand on my leg. "We'll get there," he promises. "We just need to take it one day at a time... Preferably without any injuries."
Unable to help it, a small laugh escapes the back of my throat.
I drop my hands to see Rhodes staring back at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a small smile. His large hand brushes up and down my calf a few times before he stands, offering me that same hand. I take it, feeling a newfound sense of comradery, and he helps me up to finish the rest of our workout.
✨
On the ride home, Eli speaks up, his voice cutting through the silence of the truck, somewhat startling me.
"Hey, I'm not going to be able to pick you up from the gym tomorrow," he informs me.
I turn my head to look at him, frowning. "What?"
"I can take you to the gym tomorrow, but I can't pick you up," he reiterates. "I have that big competition this weekend and I need to put in extra hours tomorrow to get ready."
I bite my lip, conflicted. "Then how am I supposed to get home?"
He shrugs, eyes locked on the road. "You're gym isn't too far from the house. You could walk home. The extra cardio will do you some good."
My stomach twists at his words, and my cheeks flood with heat in embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess," I reluctantly agree, my voice small.
In reality, the gym isn't too far from the house, maybe two miles. And I guess it isn't really that dark out yet when I usually leave the gym, the sun just starting to set. As long as Rhodes and I don't work on legs tomorrow I should be able to walk home—or I could just call a cab. But calling a cab would probably be silly. Maybe Eli's right and I'm just being a baby. The extra cardio won't kill me, and like he said, I need it.
As soon as we get home I head straight for the shower, wanting to wash the sweat off my body. Once I'm out of the shower, I take a look at myself in the mirror, disgusted at how bloated I look. But despite how repulsed I am by my own reflection, that doesn't seem to curb my appetite, my stomach growling at me angrily.
I throw on my pajamas and head for the kitchen, going straight for the pantry. My eyes scan the shelves and land on the M&M's, my stomach sinking in realization of how many I ate earlier.
I quickly shut the pantry door, deciding I've consumed enough calories for the day and should skip dinner.
Hungry and tired, I go to the bedroom to find Eli sitting in bed, looking at his phone. I drop down onto my side of the bed dramatically, groaning. "I just want to eat everything in sight," I complain, secretly hoping for some sympathy.
Eli let's out a hum of acknowledgement, eyes never breaking from his screen to look at me. "What if you tried one of those vape things?" he suggests. "Don't they have a hundred different flavors for them, or something?"
I frown at him. "What about my lungs?" I counter, knowing how awful they are for you.
He shrugs carelessly. "So? Who cares? It'll stop you from eating so you won't be fat anymore."
And there it was.
The F word.
His words are like a sucker punch straight to the gut, that one specific word hanging between us like a guillotine—except I'm the one standing too close, getting shred to pieces.
My heart lodges in my throat, suffocatingly so, making my eyes burn.
Silently, I get up from the bed and walk to the living room, taking a seat on the couch. I hug my knees to my chest and silently cry until I hear Eli getting ready for bed, crawling into bed and turning out the lights.
My heart sinks even further, knowing he didn't even wait up for me to come back to bed or sense that anything was wrong.
I stay on the couch until the early hours of the morning, painstakingly numb, until I'm finally able to convince myself to get up and crawl into bed an hour before Eli's alarm clock goes off.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this one really, really hurt. While I can't promise things will get better soon, I can promise Eli will slowly start to make his exit and we'll get more Rhodes content.