Page 9 of A Monster Is Coming

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But … don’t you think there needs to be a break in between?” I didn’t know if I wanted to see him again. I wasn’t even sure if I was coming back to the gym. The thought of being around this stranger terrified me. I didn’t know who he was or why he’d come to Pickle Quest.

I couldn’t start asking a lot of questions in case he wanted to start asking questions, and I didn’t want to answer any of them.

“The only way you’re going to learn is to keep practicing. Think of muscle memory,” he said.

“And you’re going to be the one to teach me?” I didn’t want it to sound like I had a crush on him or anything. I didn’t. I’d promised myself not to get close to anyone.

“Yes, I’ll teach you, but it will have to be my method. No one else’s.”

I nibbled my lip. That didn’t exactly sound promising. In fact, it was a little terrifying.

“I don’t know how anyone else works here. I’m still new, and learning the ropes. I’m going to need to start taking clients soon. You’d be my first, and you’d be helping me out.”

I highly doubted it. Peter was a sexy man, and she’d already seen a lot of women interested in him. All he’d need to do was click his fingers and she had no doubt women would flock to him.

But, she did need this help. It was all part of her plan, and what was the point in running away if she wouldn’t learn to defend herself?

“Okay, then I will see you tomorrow, six o’clock,” I said. I’d never been able to sleep in late.

In fact, I struggled to get to sleep, kind of out of fear. I didn’t imagine it helped the fear when your mother or father could walk in and start hurting you at any time. Yes, I had that. My dad had come in once, he’d been super pissed. I think it was because of something my mother did. Again, I didn’t know the whole story, but I was the one that got hit with the end of his belt. He even made sure to use the buckle. The pain had hurt so bad, and I still had the scars on my back, butt, and thighs to show for it. That hadn’t been a good day.

Afterward, it was the first time my mother had shown me any kind of affection. She’d been the one to rile my father, but I’d taken the beating she should have.

I couldn’t help but wonder about my messed-up life.

“I’ve got to get ready for work,” I said.

“Ah, you know what, I’ll wait for you. I’ve been designated with getting coffee and breakfast this morning. The order has already been placed. I’ll walk you to the diner.”

Great. Every time I tried to create a distance between myself and this man, he seemed determined to close it.

“Yay,” I said, and hoped he didn’t detect the level of sarcasm I knew was dripping from my voice.

I left the pool area and went straight to the changing rooms. I pulled the key from around my ankle and opened my locker. The key was mine as I paid for my gym membership. Seeing as I was on the run from my family, I rented a small apartment, and any money I had I spent on essentials only. I only ever had enough belongings to pack in a small bag, so I could be on the road in less than thirty minutes. The gym membership was a luxury, but seeing as I didn’t plan to buy ornaments, or anything like a TV or a car, there was no point in worrying about the expense. Also, this helped toward the bigger plan—getting into shape and changing what I looked like, so it would help me hide longer.

To me, it sounded like a genius plan. On paper, it probably made me sound like a nutjob, which I could handle. I was more than happy for people to be afraid of me.

“Oh my, did you see what he looked like? Those arms … I bet they can show a woman a time or two.”

“Arms, come on, girl, we’ve got to talk about the man’s hands. His arms don’t matter, but it’s all about the hands. He could touch me any day.”

“What is his name?”

Several women had entered the changing room, and I could imagine who they were talking about.

“I think it’s Peter. I don’t know his last name. That man does not need a last name. All he needs to do is help me forget what my last name is.”

There was a chorus of laughter.

I finished getting changed and stepped out of the small cubicle.

The ladies stopped talking, but I didn’t pay them any attention. When I left, the door closed on a round of giggles. I didn’t want to know what they were giggling at.

Peter was standing at the main desk, cell phone in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. He’d also changed out of the clothes that were soaking wet. He was in a new set of sweatpants and another shirt with the gym’s logo, which was an image of a treadmill with the initial, “CF.” Carl Fields was the owner of the gym. I heard him talking in detail about how hard it was to think of a logo.