Page 64 of Memories Like Fangs
Lilah’s laughter echoed as the darkness took over like a joke I wasn’t in on.
Thousand Cuts
QUINN
My grunts and Megan Thee Stallion’s rapping on “Cobra” on the loudspeakers echoed off the gym walls.
Sweat poured down my shoulders and back in sheets like a torrential downpour. The curled ends of my ponytail were dripping wet from grazing my skin. My sports bra clinging to my chest and matching biker shorts fused to the muscles of my thighs did nothing to keep me cool, but I was grateful that I wore them. Less fabric meant fewer things to catch on me and annoy me. Besides, the way they hugged every cut of muscle across my body, as well as showing off my abs, back, and muscular arms and shoulders, made me feel solid, powerful, and grounded.
Fuck knows I needed that where I could find it these days.
Whoever said that the monotony of routine was the perfect distraction from how ruthless and harsh life could be was such a damn liar. The thing was that Ididhave a routine. Since Byrd was kidnapped by Lilah, I did the exact same shit every single day. I woke up late every afternoon in the hotel room where the cousins and I were staying. Cody would have already left that morning to meet with Maisie, Simone, Everett, Teddy, and Talli to keep trying to find Byrd at our base of operations: Everett’s and Byrd’s place. Meanwhile, I got dressed and grabbed a quicksnack before I went to the gym, threw some of my knives, took Clarkson on a walk, or some combination of the two, with either Cole or Nat in tow and the other arriving soon after they checked in with Cody. After my workout, we headed back to the hotel, where I showered and got dressed before we left to meet with the others. Teddy would cook dinner for everyone while we all caught up on any updates on finding Byrd. There usually were none. Afterward, we quickly ran through and exhausted every avenue that we could to try and find her. There were usually none of those, too. We would work late into the night before parting to go to the hotel. Then, I would do everything all over again. Wake up, work out, distract, find a way to save my girl, and do it all over again. That was the only way I could survive right now.
I was starting to get bored.
And, I was no closer to my girl than we were at the start. In some ways, it felt like we were further than ever before.
I hoisted myself up the bar until it was leveled with my clavicle before dropping down and doing it again. I had found magicked weights that I strapped to my ankles that tugged me down hard to give me even more of a challenge in my pull-ups. They knew when to adjust the weight to make the workout just difficult enough for me. When I checked last, the weight was set to about 250 pounds added onto my own. My arms trembled. My core screamed. The muscles at the back of my shoulders and along my arms and legs burned. I welcomed the pain.Cravedit even. It was better than silence, better than spiraling in my own head thinking of the woulds, coulds, and shoulds. If I was going to beat myself up, I should at least have something to show for it. Plus, maybe if I could make my muscles ache more than my chest did, maybe I could breathe again and think just a little bit clearer.
Pain was focus.
Pain was control.
Pain meant I didn’t fall apart.
Not yet, at least.
Yeah, I was feeling Byrd’s absence.
In turn, so was everyone else.
As hard as this was on me, I knew I wasn’t making it easy on everyone else. The firestorm always brewing in my ribs didn’t exactly make me the nicest person to be near. Everyone was walking on eggshells with me, just waiting for me to snap at them. I didn’t blame them. I felt how testy I was. When I had first gotten back from seeing Byrd as a spirit, I was decent for a while. These days, though, I was quick to annoy, my anger always bubbling just below the surface. Folks liked to call it “giving me my space,” but I knew when I was being avoided. It wasn’t like I didn’t get it. If I could ignore my big temperamental ass, I would, too. The only people who still came within arm’s reach of me on a regular basis were my cousins. My moods had never been this bad before, but they knew what they could be like, having grown up with me. Maybe they could deal with me because they knew I wouldn’t snap their necks.
For the most part.
I mean, they at least knew when I needed them to shut the fuck up before they came too close to finding out.
The guitar riff at the end of the song started to play out, so I pulled myself up and over the bar for another set of ten or so as it did. I was on number twelve when the chime for the door of the gym went off, making Clarkson give a quick howl before lying back down once she saw who it was. Cole scrolled in with a gym bag over his shoulder in a dry-fit tank top and shorts. He eagerly waved at me and Nat as if we weren’t the only people in the gym. In the over a week that I had been using the gym at Byrd’s condo, it had always been empty. I wasn’t sure if the supernatural creatures who lived here just never felt the need to work out or ifthey just did it earlier or later than I did. Regardless, the vacancy meant that Nat could connect her phone to the loudspeaker to give me an amazing workout playlist.
“Hey, Q!” Cole greeted. “Need a sparring partner?”
I raised my slitted eyebrow mid-pull-up to him. “Who? You?”
“Well, I figure I’m better than the runt,” Cole said, pointing his thumb at Nat.
From the yoga ball that she sat on in front of me, Nat threw out her arms and looked admittedly offended. “Hey! I’m spotting her while I DJ.”
“First of all, definitely not what spotting means. Second of all, I doubt you are even paying attention to Quinn. How many pull-ups did she do?”
Nat glanced at me, deep in thought for a moment. “I want to say, like… 62?”
“Try 113, little bitch,” I rolled my eyes before jumping down from the bar. “Fine, let’s spar and see how you do.”
“Sick!” Cole said, ever the cheerful puppy.
I grabbed some hand tape and wrapped my hands while Cole picked up some sparring pads. We met on the mat when we were both ready. I waited for him to hold up the pads before I even took on the proper stance. Then, I started to punch in quick succession with variations of jabbing, crosshooking, uppercuts, and overhands. The sound of my fists against the padding was satisfying and helped to work out some of the tension lingering within me. I relaxed into the motions. The weights on my ankles had adjusted, so it was a bit more of a test to stay light on the balls of my feet, just like my father had always taught me.
As pussy-shit as it is to say, fighting is just like dancing. You have to follow the lead of your opponent, see what they are going to do, anticipate their next move, watch for missteps, and then use their energy against them. You have to know when to take the lead, when to use the power of that punch. You will winfar more fights if you use your brain rather than your brawn. Don’t forget that.
