105 Ava: Training (II)
Halfway around the track, Jericho pops up again.
There’s never been a person I’ve love–hated as much as him, and I have a fucked up family that inspires all kinds of hate to go with the love a family shares.
“What,” I grunt as I lunge forward, stretching my legs and dipping down with my wildly weak arms. They’re beyond trembling. They’re like jello, and I can barely raise the dumbbells from my sides.
But I don’t stop.
“Straighten your back,” Jericho growls, eyeing my pose critically. “Keep your core tight.”
I adjust my stance, trying to maintain balance as my leg muscles quiver. Jericho grunts, apparently finding my form acceptable, before shoving something at me.
“Here. Two pound dumbbells. Never had to start someone so low before.”
I glance down at the weights, surprised to see they’re a cute, bright pink color. They look pristine, like they’ve never been touched.
105 Ava Training (1)
“Did you have someone buy these for me?” The question slips out before I can stop myself.
Jericho’s eyes narrow. “None of your business,” he barks, turning on his heel and storming off towards Lisa, who’s struggling through her own set of lunges.
I can’t help but giggle–in my head, because I have no breath to spare–as I continue the exercise, the small weights clutched in my hands. Despite Jericho’s gruff demeanor, the fact that he went out of his way to get these for me sends a unexpected wave of warmth through my chest.
It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes. Beneath his tough exterior, maybe Jericho isn’t quite as cold as he
seems.
“Lift those arms higher, Grey! You think this is a game?” Jericho’s voice cuts through my momentary warmth like a knife.
I grit my teeth, forcing my arms up despite the burn radiating through my muscles. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes. The weights feel like boulders dragging me down.
Nope, I take it back. Jericho is a heartless bastard after
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105 Ava: Training (II)
all. A sadistic, merciless drill sergeant determined to
break me.
I glare at him through the strands of hair plastered to my forehead. He meets my gaze, unflinching, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He’s enjoying this, the jerk.
“Face forward! Did I say you could stop? Keep going!” He barks, folding his arms across his chest.
I resist the urge to throw one of these pretty pink dumbbells at his head. Barely. Instead, I force myself to continue, each lift sending fresh shockwaves of agony through my body.
My arms are on fire, trembling uncontrollably. I’m pretty sure this is what dying feels like. But I won’t give Jericho the satisfaction of seeing me quit. I’ll finish this
set if it kills me.
“Come on, Ava! You got this!” Lisa calls out from somewhere to my left, her voice strained but encouraging.
Of course, Jericho yells at her, too. Poor Lisa. She’s struggling as much as I am.
Still. I cling to her words like a lifeline drawing
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<105 Ava: Training (II)
strength from her support. We’re in this together, suffering under Jericho’s tyrannical rule. United in our misery.
Just a few more reps. I can do this. I have to do this. For myself, for Lisa, and maybe just a little bit to spite
Jericho.
I summon every ounce of determination I possess, pushing through the pain, the exhaustion, the overwhelming desire to collapse on the ground and never move again.
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