Page 39 of Bewitch

He snorts. “Use that hatred.”

“You and the dark side of the force.”

“You just don’t want to Yoda it, do you? Try not!”

“‘Do or do not. There is no try.’ In this case, there really is try!”

He sighs and moves around behind me to stand with his junk way too close to the back of my head. Lucas grips the bar and straightens it.

“Down. Slow and measured. Touch your chest,” he says as he has his hands on the bar and bringing the bar down to touch my chest.

Which means the back of his fingers and hands touch my chest too.

“And then back up again. Slow and measured. Like that.”

He helps me through two more reps.

“Your turn,” he says.

“Fuck that.” My arms are way too burned out already for me to try.

“You’ll never get anywhere in life with that shitty ass attitude,” he says.

“Excuse me? Knowing one’s limits—”

“You need to give your limits the finger and constantly push them back, further away from you, so you can give them the finger again and again. Not me. Buck up, buttercup, and do better, or else you’ll never look good naked. I can only do so much. You have to want it.”

“I really do hate you.”

“That doesn’t matter to me in the least. Hate me. I don’t give a flying fuck.”

“What about regular fucks?” For whatever reason, I haven’t put the bar back on the rack just yet, trying to keep it straight and even despite the left side wanting to constantly dip.

He snorts. “No fucks given.”

“Good. None wanted.”

He grips the bar without warning, shocking me, and he pushes it down.

And then he lets go.

And the bar flies down and slams onto my chest, forcing a breathy “oomph” out of me.

“Push up! Don’t be weak! Don’t be afraid! Don’t be a scared fattie! Do what you can! Prove to the world—”

“Fuck the world!” I spit out. I’m trying, but I can’t. The bar isn’t budging, and it’s hurting me, digging into me. This isn’t funny.

“Prove to yourself that you aren’t a fucking failure,” he says right into my ear, bending down.

I grunt and maybe get it up a little bit, just enough to breathe a little easier, but it’s not going up anymore.

With a sigh, Lucas takes the bar out of my hand, lifting it with one hand as if it weighs nothing.

I sit up. My face has to be flushed, and I can’t help rubbing my chest where the bar pressed against my skin through my shirt. As much as I don’t want to show him how much that hurt, to hide any sign of weakness, I have to rub the spot.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” I spit out.

“I shouldn’t push you?”

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