Page 18 of I Blame the Alcohol

I hold up my hand for a high five, but Lou just looks at me wearily. I settle for a gentle fist bump against her hand and give her a reassuring smile.

“It’s going to be great, Lou. Just wait and see.”

Who I was trying to convince with that statement, I couldn’t tell you.

Chapter 6

Stella

The scream fills my ears and I wake up with a gasp.

I sit up in bed, gulping down oxygen like I’m a sailor drowning at sea. Heart racing, I stay panting in bed for a good five minutes before rolling over and checking the time.

4:15am. Right on time.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I walk the four steps to my door and flick on the light. My face looks drawn and weary, my eyes bloodshot with dark bags seeping beneath them. The only thing that remains intact after a long, restless night is my loose platinum braid, and even that looks flatter than usual.

I turn off the alarm I’ve yet to need these past two years and start prepping for the day. I only use the bare makeup essentials for the gym, that is to say, a heavy dose of concealer and four swipes of mascara.

My mother always told me there was no reason for anyone to not look put together and that’s something that has always stayed with me.

I made sure to lay out today’s gym clothes last night, so it doesn’t take me long to get ready. Pulling up my hair into a top knot, I secure it with two elastics, having long since learned one doesn’t hold out too well when I’m doing any sort of jumping exercise.

I pause in front of the bathroom mirror on my way out the door, pulling up my tank top like I do every morning. Everyone’s torso is divided into sections, but mine more than most. Hard earned abs pop over the top of my waistband but it’s not the muscles I take time to study every morning.

The jagged edge of my scar burns a trail up my right side, the thick white line jutting out from the soft patch of skin that goes from my waist to my ribcage. From there, the marred skin becomes more than just a single line, it becomes an intricate web of scar tissue that dances unevenly along my ribs before seeking shelter in the confines of my sports bra.

I inhale deeply, watching my breath push against the taught, damaged skin.

Healing is such a funny thing. It’s a miracle on all accounts but even the toughest cells can never return to what they once were. Rough, ugly skin tissue replaces what was once innocent and pure, turning something soft and beautiful into a hardened, hollow shell of what once was.

Something dangerously close to tears start to prick my eyes, so I turn my attention away from the broken side and on to the one that survived. Bold, tattooed letters stare back at my reflection before I let my top fall back down and head out the door.

On the day of the accident, I broke five ribs and lost eighteen-stitches worth of skin. It only took six weeks for my ribs to heal and for the thick tissue of my scar to pull my torso back together. The doctors were impressed by my fast recovery, but they hadn’t peeked behind the outer layers.

They hadn’t seen the untreated wound beating with what was left of my heart.

My spirits begin to lift the second I step through the gym entrance. The florescent lights are almost blinding this early in the morning, the lingering scent of sweat and metal almost sickening.

And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

For once, Cody is first to the gym and is waiting for me by the cubbies. He pounces on me before I have the chance to take out my indoor runners.

“So, I was thinking…”

“Sounds like a dangerous hobby.” He ignores the retort, running a hand through his spiked hair and drawing my attention to the loose muscle shirt doing a poor job of covering Cody’s impressive arms.

“If you need a cop-out, just send me a signal and I’ll come up with an emergency to bail you out.”

Busy trying to peek past the edges of his shirt for a nip slip, it takes a moment for his words to register.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Cody’s eyes flick to mine, and he gives me an understanding shrug, “I overheard Hayden talking in the changeroom. Guy is planning on putting you through your paces.”

My mouth drops open as my brain grinds to a stuttering halt. An indignant rage sparks inside me as I struggle to think of an appropriate response.

Finally, I manage to spit out, “Heisgoing to putmethrough a fitness test?”

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