Page 17 of Vipers & Roses

“Killing things?” he asks.

“No, learning to propagate and identify certain constituents within plants. It’s probably boring to you,” I add, although I don’t care if he finds it boring because this is who I am. He can always go elsewhere if he’d rather have a conversation about what he’s interested in.

“No, I don’t mind,” he shrugs. “By the way, you’ve got good form in the pool.”

I fake an expression of gasping horror. “You’ve been watching my strokes?”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching the female mantis work on her strokes,” that gaze softens as I peel my cap off, and my golden ponytail tumbles down my back. “Ever thought about trying out for the team again?”

“Are you flirting with me?” I tease, eager to change the subject.

“Definitely,” he states, glancing over at the other side of the pool, probably checking to see if he’s required to return to training. “I looked you up online.”

My stomach twists into a little knot. “And you discovered I’m not as interesting as I look?”

“No, the opposite.” The little smile is gone, and that frown and narrowed eyes return. “Why did you quit the swim team?”

I had rehearsed the answer to this question for the last two years, which isn’t too short of a lie. “I got sick, and when I finally recovered, I couldn’t climb back to my previous performance level. I kinda lost interest after that.”

He nods in understanding. “What about now? You could enter the tryouts?”

“My interest has waned,” I reply as he glances at the other side of the pool again. This time, his entire body tenses and a shadow casts over his already severe face.

“I have to go,” he states, wondering how he can tell. No one yelled at him or blew a whistle, and it occurred to me that maybe he wanted an excuse to leave.

As he walks away, he places his white cap over his wet hair, and I watch him go as I wrap my towel around my waist. When I look up again, someone catches my eye on the other side of the pool and pulls my shit together so he can’t tell that his piercing stare is affecting me.

Michael Lyons, i.e., The Lion, i.e., the rapist.

He stands on the far edge of the pool, tanned arms folded across his chest, wearing a cobalt blue polo-neck, and those fucking eyes drilling me like the piss of shit that he is. This is an attempt to intimidate me, and my natural reaction is to drop my head down and scurry away like a frightened vole.

But I must remind myself now that I’m a different girl than I was two years ago. I was on my knees in front of a man who could vastly change my swimming career with the click of his fingers. It was he who chose who was good enough to go to the Nationals and who should be cut.

Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, he can take his credentials and status and shove them up his ass.

Dragging my eyes from the resin floor, I tip my head back slightly and lock my eyes on his. Internally, I’m terrified, but externally, I’m calm and cool and readying myself for revenge.

A revolting smirk worms across his tanned dial, and vomit rises into my throat. But I kept the expression on my face set hard and unaffected, and my feet froze onto one spot.

Cormac approaches him, and he turns away from our locked stare. I exhale in a gush after holding onto my breath. Snatching my bag, I turn my back and walk to the locker room to shower and change into my clothes.

Once inside, I land on a bench and breathe, even though the stench of chlorine and disinfectant overwhelms me. This is the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh for two years, and suddenly, everything becomes real again.

Repulsiveness surges as I shudder when my skin crawls, and I drop my face into my cold hands. Rocking slightly on the bench to steady my heart and even my breath, I become aware that other women are nearby and hope they don’t think I’m mad.

“Who are you with today?” the voice of one of the women asks softly as if she wants to keep the conversation to themselves.

“Ol’ octopus,” the second woman answers as I grab my bag and head to the shower cubicle.

“Oh my god, he’s so gross,” the first woman says, and I freeze. Pretending I’ve misplaced something, I return to where I was sitting to search the floor.

“You know he told Lu that she had to do one-on-one with him,” the other woman says, “like late in the evening. So, she made up an excuse that she was on her period or something.”

They laugh awkwardly at this, and I know this so well. We pretend that’s not a big deal. We appease, laugh when it’s not funny, and keep our mouths shut for fear of destroying his career and ours. No one will believe us, even if we speak up about it.

The women leave, and I turn the shower water on, strip my bathing suit off, and step inside the cubicle. My closest friend on the swim team, Izzie, left shortly after we started intense training, and she said it was because it was too much for her. I remember Lyons stating that some people are not cut out for the long hours in the pool, and I left it at that. Izzie grew distant towards me, and our friendship didn’t last.

When The Four ruined my life, and after I recovered physically, Izzie was the first person I thought of contacting to see if it happened to her, too. I didn’t go with it because I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.

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