Page 39 of Encounter

“No. That’s... why I’m here.”

I didn’t know why I felt like my pride was hurt by him knowing I got my ass kicked. Perhaps because of who he was—my pathetic self-esteem seemed even more so next to a man like him. The idea of how feeble and pitiful I must’ve looked in his eyes weighed on my mind and forced my throat to close.

Was there really a way for him to make a better man out of me? Even with someone like Chast at my side—a presumed alpha in his prime who killed people for living—could I really be made someone worth standing on their own? As I stared at my hands, the question became louder and more forceful. I had failed everything I have ever tried and never felt good enough...How is this any different?

I was comfortable sitting in silence and surrendering myself to my black thoughts, but after about halfway to the gym, Chast glanced at me with a look that showed he wanted to say something. “I questioned this guy...” He said it like he was talking to himself, with eyes focused on the road and fingers rhythmically tapping on the wheel. “He was anartist, like you.” A smirk appeared, half-hidden behind his beard. “Had this real nice piano in his house. Had to make him a little too familiar with it to get what I needed but— Yeah, well... reminded me of you, I guess.”

Shrugging, he looked out of the window, waiting for the light to turn green.

The burning at the back of my throat—brought on by such topic—mixed with the strange sensation rising from my stomach as the non-violent part of what he said echoed in my head.Reminded him of me...? Why would he think about me at all?

Confused, I looked down into my lap with a frown.

“Why are you telling me this?” Was that some sort of a thinly veiled threat? Was he trying to scare me? Or was he only baiting me, knowing how I looked at him before,knowingI found him attractive?

Chast turned to me with a puzzled expression, but before I met his eyes, we got interrupted by the honking of the car behind us. Quickly changing the gear, he looked ahead again, and it was obvious to me he didn’t like my question. “I dunno. It’s a miracle we havesomethin’to talk about.” His tone was different now—more somber and distant.

I’m so confused around him. I don’t know what to think.

When we finally arrived at the gym, I let out a sigh of relief. There, we could hopefully kill any of this bizarre, awkward mood with some movement, instead of sitting next to each other like this.

Like the last time, the gym was locked up and dark. Chast let us in and prepared everything while I went to change, this time with my own clothes at the ready.

He waited at the heavy bag when I walked in, standing with that pensive, deep expression on his face. The one I didn’t like because it seemed unpredictable, like there was a wall between us. “Ready?”

Is he being cold, or is it all in my head?

“Do some jumping jacks for a few minutes to warm up.”

Suppressing a sigh—which would have made me seem maybe a tad too ungrateful—I followed the order.

Once I reached my final few jumps, I prayed I would do better than the last time. But I was well aware of how my psyche reflected in my body—I felt sluggish and exhausted, inside and out. The dreary atmosphere didn’t help. His eyes—watching me, hypnotizing me, intruding—didn’t help, either.

Catching my breath and sweating more than I should, I made a few steps toward the bag. As I tried to suppress the burning in my lungs, I held my breath in while Chast handed me the gloves.

Anxiety gnawed at my insides.

Whatever playful, outgoing spirit he usually had was now gone from Chast’s face, making me worry about my every motion. I started to feel like I trapped myself in a cage with a wild animal.

The regrets flushed in—How did you think you could just meet up and train with a hired gun? Expecting it to go well?

“Are you ready?” Chast asked, voice tinged with annoyance while I stood there with my eyes closed, trying to purge those thoughts from my head. Looking up quickly, I swallowed the lump in my throat while attempting to get into the correct position he showed me last time. Right away, he went toward me from behind the bag, silently correcting my back and my arms.

After a few hits, he stepped in again. “Don’t stare down like that. Don’t stare on a fixed spot, either. Just look ahead.”

Ignoring my inner critic, I pushed forward, trying to take what he told me and do better.

“Don’t throw yourself at the bag.”

I tried. Iwantedto do better. For once, I wanted to do good even though I didn’t really feel like it.

“Keep movin’ your feet, don’t just stand there.”

Quickly, Chast’s advice started to feel like criticism, and every time he noted another thing I did wrong, I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. The moment he moved the bag out of my way after another desperate, pathetic strike of mine, I froze, expecting the worst to ensue. Instead, his eyes turned soft—though he still looked like he was angry at me—as he stepped in front of it.

Please, don’t be mad. Don’t kick me out.

I knew he would, but I wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not today.

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