Page 15 of Whiskey & Wreckage

1:00 PM – Yoga & Wellness Class – Level 2 Gym

I stop mid-step.

Yoga.

I’ve never done yoga in my life unless you count that one time I tried to do a YouTube video and pulled a muscle trying to be “one with the mat.” But today’s a weird day. A magical day. A "screw it, why not" kind of day.

I’m already in a headspace of trying new things, and hey,maybe a little downward dog will help me not think about the trainwreck that is my personal life. Or at least help me stretch out the tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders since, like… 2006.

So I head up to my room, ditch the Target bags, and dig through the pile of mystery clothes Thomas had sent over. (Still haven’t figured out how he nailed all my sizes, and I’m not emotionally stable enough to unpack what that means.)

I pull on a pair of soft navy leggings, a sports bra that somehow fits perfectly, and a cropped tank. I twist my hair into a high ponytail, swipe on a little deodorant, and stare at myself in the mirror.

No makeup. No mascara streaks. Just me. Still curvy, still soft in all the places I’ve learned to hide, but I look… fine. Like a person. Like a woman who’s maybe, kinda starting to figure her shit out.

“Alright, Poppy,” I mutter to my reflection. “Let’s go pretend we’re the kind of girl who does yoga on a Saturday.”

The gym is bright and modern and smells like fancy water and eucalyptus towels. I feel wildly out of place the second I step in, but I fake confidence like it owes me money and grab a mat from the corner.

The instructor is tall and serene, with a voice that could lull a toddler into a nap. Her name’s Sage,because of course it is,and she gives me a gentle smile when I awkwardly wave and whisper, “First time. Please don’t let me die.”

Sage laughs softly and tells me to just breathe. Breathe? I can do that. Probably.

We get started, and I amnotgood. I wobble. I nearly faceplant during warrior two. At one point, my foot cramps during pigeon pose and I have to bite my lip to keep from yelping.

But I also don’t quit.

And somewhere in the middle of it all,during some twisty move that somehow cracks my back and my brain at the same time,I feel something shift.

By the time we’re lying on the mat for whatever the hell “shavasana” is, my body feels like jelly and my brain feels... still. Quiet, for once.

When the class ends, I roll up my mat and give Sage a little thumbs-up. “I didn’t die,” I whisper.

She winks. “That’s the goal.”

I head back to my room with sore legs, damp hairline, and a weird little sense of peace buzzing under my skin. Not exactly enlightenment. But maybe the next best thing.

Today wasn’t perfect. But it wasn’t chaos.

Chapter Six

THOMAS

I’ve madea career out of keeping my distance. I watch. I listen. I gather facts. I don’t get involved.

But that line got crossed the second I saw her sitting alone at that bar, makeup smeared, tears drying on her cheeks, chucking peanuts like weapons. That girl was chaos in flip-flops, and something about her flipped a switch in me I didn’t even know was there.

And now I’m sitting here, fully clothed, at work, in broad daylight, checking my damn phone like a teenager with a crush.

Finally, the screen lights up.

Poppy: Tried yoga today.

Poppy: Didn’t die.

Poppy: Only fell twice.

Poppy: Hamstrings are pissed.

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