Page 41 of Lure

As grateful as I was for that respite, I wasn’t sure what it meant going forward. Should I pursue another night? Would it help me forget? Or at least push it all away? And yeah, sex as stress relief or as a coping mechanism didn’t seem the best idea. Not after everything else.

Restless with the circumstances, but even more impatient with my own thoughts, I shoved out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. A lot of my bruises had faded. The soreness between my shoulder blades also seemed to have faded.

Twisting to look at myself in the mirror, I eyed the pinkish and ruddy line. It was thin but there. I didn’t need any more bandages, so that was good. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I dragged my hair back and into a ponytail.

I went through the dresser to find clothes I could run in. Even though I’d never been a fan of running, or exercise of any type, I needed to dosomething. The spandex shorts hit me mid-thigh. The racerback tank top with the built-in sports bra was perfect. Socks took a hot minute then I had to find shoes.

There were boots and shoes in the mudroom, but I needed something for the gym. If I had to run in my socks, I’d do it. I delved into the closet and found a stack of shoeboxes in the back.I could have sworn these weren’t here before. Frankly, half the stuff in here still had the tags on it, but I hadn’t paid that much attention when we got here beyond seeing if there was anything I could use to get out.

“Score.” Second shoebox had running shoes in it.

The gym was in the basement, so that was where I headed. The house was quiet and the sun wasn’t quite up outside, though there was some light. Weird. The scent of coffee tickled my nostrils and damn near convinced me to detour to the kitchen.

“After,” I ordered even after I caught the faint whiff of maple syrup. Too much sugar. If I didn’t do something, I really was going to just start screaming and not stop. The walks helped, but agitation churned in my gut like I’d become some kind of plasma ball. Everything zapped me from the inside.

I followed the stairs around and then down the set to the basement. There were a lot of rooms down here, but thankfully, I didn’t have to prowl and sneak peeks behind every door.

The gym door stood wide open. It smelled like a gym too—a combination of sweat, cleaning products, and an old air freshener, maybe. Pungent and musky. I studied the layout, the equipment, and what supplies were here. There was a huge matted area, benches, basic weights, and multiple cardio machines including a Stairmaster, two treadmills, two bikes, and an elliptical.

There were four of them. They obviously needed to work out. Probably did it at the same time. Shelves in the corner had towels, a spray bottle with some kind of cleaning solution, and roll of paper towels.

Cool.

I’d kill for music, but I didn’t see anything that looked like a remote or a stereo and I was still sans a phone. The earlier irritation swarmed through me, and my heart hammered as I clenched my fists.

Yep. Time to run.

I chose the closest treadmill and studied the buttons. Most of these had programs that would alter everything from incline to speed, but I just wanted to move. Basic start. Excellent.

Got it going and kept upping the pace over the next few minutes until I was at three and half miles per hour. My legs protested right from the outset. I’d been too still for too long. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became and the faster I ran.

Could I actually outrun my frustration? Or would I collapse from the effort? The answers were maybe and most definitely, and in that order. The hum of the machine and the slap of my shoes against the treadmill’s belt. At thirty minutes, I had the beginnings of a stitch in my side so I dropped back to three for a bit even though I’d finally found that place where all the noise in my head quieted.

Runningsucked. It was good for keeping me trim and for endurance. I needed endurance on long photo shoots. It actually demanded a lot of energy, whether I had to scowl or wait for the light to be in the right position, or summon some sultry smile.

Part of it was playacting, inhabiting a role that the camera could catch. In the beginning, it had been me. I was the person in the photo, and I struggled to find something to care about—especially when the demand for sensual shots grew.

Then one day, I just pretended.

Pretending was easier.

I loved my job. I loved the places it took me. Most of the time, I even loved who it demanded me to be. The stitch subsided and I hit the speed back up, passing three-point-five for three-point-eight.

At forty-five minutes, I pushed past the four to four-point-five. Not only had the noise in my head quieted, but the tension which stretched out inside me and threatened to snap and breakat any moment seemed to ease. Sweat slicked my face and trickled down my back.

I slowed it all the way down to a walk at the one-hour mark. My legs burned and so did my lungs, but fuck it felt good. Real good. The scuff of a shoe against the hard floor had me cutting a look over my shoulder.

Lunchbox crossed the room with a large bottle of water in hand. “Hey…”

My brain stuttered a moment as I processed his greeting. For just a few blissful moments, I’d forgotten everything. Where I was. Why I was here. The fact my sister was missing. It all rushed back in, bringing the tension with it, a milder form of it, but still back all the same.

“Hey,” I said, finally. At least my breath was already coming back under control. “Thanks.” I accepted the water and tilted the bottle up for a long drink. I damn near gulped down half of it.

“You doing okay?” The guarded way he asked the question had me cutting off the treadmill entirely so I could face him.

“Not really,” I answered and tried to summon a smile. “But my back doesn’t hurt really anymore and the bruises are fading. I can’t keep sitting around all day. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Hence, the running.” Arms folded, he studied me as though he were trying to peer right into my brain. Hated to break it to him, it was messier in my head than in my apartment. Probably better that he couldn’t see.

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