don’t bother drying my hair and tie it into a messy ponytail. After sliding into jean shorts and the official volunteer polo, I apply a touch of makeup. When I look semi-human, I slip on my sneakers, take my pills, and then make my way into the hall.
The lights are dimmed, subdued so as not to wake the individuals still sleeping. My first class is art with Tamara, so I decide to go to the art room and set up the supplies. When I pass the chapel, the memory of June’s gut-wrenching sobs echoes loudly in my ears. It’s a sound I won’t ever forget. To express such pain can only mean one thing—she’s lost someone she loved. I can feel her pain because I’ve felt it too, and I’ve cried her hollow tears.
The distinct sound of someone taking out their raw frustrations can be heard ahead of me. The fitness center is three doors down, so I decide to see who’s punishing that punching bag with forceful blows. A long, rectangular window on the door allows a perfect view.
Something red catches my eye, followed by a quick succession of walloping punches. Standing on my tippy toes, I crane my neck to the right and see a punching bag swing from side to side. I can’t see who delivers the blows, but whoever it is, is showing no mercy.
I watch, mesmerized, the hint of tanned flesh coming into view for a second before disappearing behind the bag as quickly as it appeared. My nose is inches away from being pressed to the cool glass, desperate to see who this champion is. Just as the bag moves in the right way, I hear a door close and footsteps padding softly along the carpet.
I snap my head to the left and can just make out June coming down the hall. I don’t plan to avoid her the entire time I’m here, but after last night, I need to put some distance between us. Her empty cries still etch away at my heart.
I can’t turn right, as I’ll bump straight into her, and left isn’t a better option either as it’s a dead end. So with no other choice, I open the door and dive into the sanctuary of the gym. I sidestep away from the door just in case June walks past and sees me standing like a statue in the middle of the room.
The punching doesn’t cease, and now that I’m actually inside, I can hear the ferocity and viciousness of the strikes. There is anger behind each punch. Something I can relate to all too well. Stepping forward, I peer around the pole, latching on to it when I see just who the boxer is.
This explains his ripped physique, but who knew Dr. Archibald could pack a punch? He’s a dark horse with a secret.
He hasn’t seen me as his bare, taut back faces me. His bulging muscles ripple as he delivers each vigorous blow. Beads of sweat coat his glistening flesh, slithering down between his shoulder blades and into his low slung black sweats.
He is truly magnificent, and I watch for minutes, unable to tear my eyes away. He’s dominant but tortured all in the same stroke. When he delivers a right hook, his flank catches the light, and a scripted tattoo comes into view. It runs the length of his ribs. I lean forward, still using the pole as my support, curious to see what it says.
Eleanor.
I’ve encroached on a private moment, as I’m sure Dr. Archibald wasn’t planning on being shirtless with an audience. This tattoo remains hidden for a reason. It’s not for show. It’s there for his eyes only as a reminder of someone he cares deeply enough about to have her name permanently inked onto his flesh.
I turn quickly, too quickly, ready to flee, and in my haste, I trip over a rowing machine, performing a lopsided somersault. I tumble onto my ass ungracefully, screeching in shock. The mats break my fall, so I’m not hurt. I’m more embarrassed because the commotion has forewarned Dr. Archibald that he has company.
“Goddamn,” I curse under my breath when he turns over his shoulder, slipping off his headphones.
“Lola? Are you all right?” he asks breathlessly when he sees me sprawled out on the floor. I frantically hunt for my glasses. They are nowhere to be seen because I’m searching for them blindly.
“I’m fine.” My far from convincing response has me wishing I was a better liar.