Page 1 of Mending Me
1
BAILEY
If you’ve ever wondered what the biggest sign of a man without self-control or discipline is, it’s a man who slams his weights around in the gym.
This is also a pretty good sign of a man with a tiny penis.
Some people think it’s a man who can’t keep his hands to himself or a man who spends all of his money at strip clubs over the weekend. But to me, it’s a man who throws his weights down or lets the plates slap into one another once he finishes his set.
If you’re strong enough to hold 100-pound dumbbells in your hands while you chest-fly, you’re strong enough to carefully set them down on the ground when you finish your set. Period.
I was in the middle of my lift when I heard it. The ear-splitting sound of plates crashing into one another over and over again. Sitting up from the bench, my eyes scanned the gym to find the offender. My music was playing loudly through my over-ear headphones and I could still hear the plates crashing into one another. I pulled one side of my headphones back just in time for another crash of weights to cut through the morninggym air. Why are the idiots who do this always the same type of person? Is the role of gym lunk-head type casted at birth?
The man—no,the bro—at fault for the blood curdling sound at 5:45 a.m. was just like all the other men who were normally at fault for this kind of public gym faux pas. Black tank top and gym shorts with a three-inch inseam, muscles that were grossly engorged due to an overconsumption of protein powder and potentially banned substances, and a tiny head that more than likely matched his tiny penis. Sitting across the weight section of the gym, I watched as he reached up, grabbed the bar at the top of the machine with both hands and pulled it down, lifting at least 125 pounds worth of plates. With every pull, an animalistic grunt came from his mouth and I couldn’t help but grimace.
I hated gym bros. You’re in a communal space at the ass crack of dawn. The least you could do was pretend to be considerate. SMACK! I’m going to fucking lose it. How many years would I get if I bashed in a stranger's skull with a twenty-pound dumbbell? SMACK! It would probably depend on if he died or not. He would totally die if I swung a dumbbell into his head like a baseball bat. SMACK! I just need to turn my music up and go back to my workout. SMACK!
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I slipped my headphones back on both ears and gently laid back down on the bench. It was Tuesday, which meant it was chest and arms day. I personally hated Tuesday workouts but had good reason for wanting to get stronger in my upper body, so I showed up and put in the work anyway.
My friends thought I was crazy for coming to the gym so early in the morning, but I loved it. It was quiet and never super crowded, and with the exception of today’s gym bro, the people who came during this time of day were generally kind. One of my favorite things to do while here was people watch. Oh, and read. I always had a book with me when I came to the gym so I couldread in between sets. I like to flip between listening to music and cracking my book open and getting lost in its pages. The mornings were generally the only time I had to read, so I tried to get in as many pages as possible when I could
Having finished another set, I sat up again and crossed my legs on the bench. Leaning over, I picked up my book which was another spicy romance novel I had swiped off my roommate's bookshelf when she wasn’t looking. Ophelia had close to a hundred books on her shelves so I knew it wouldn’t be missed. I pulled out the bookmark and played with its ribbon between my fingers. My eyes drifted through the lines, taking in every word as I let the book absorb me completely.
That was the magic of books. They could completely transport you into an entirely different universe with little to no effort. They acted like a guide to another realm where you could get completely lost in love or adventure or heartache. Books would carry you away from reality and let you stay as long as you liked. Books were a place to escape, to get away, to become someone new.
Someone without scars or bruises or broken pieces.
Someone you couldn’t be in real life.
Someone you wished you could be, living a life you wish you could live.
Once I hit the end of the page, I nestled the bookmark back into the spine and tossed it onto the floor. I stood up, stretched my arms across my chest, and then turned to reset my rack for my next set. As I turned, something in the mirror caught my eye and I worked to focus on it.
Not anit.
But ahim.
Different from the gym bro who had no self-control or discipline from before, this him was on the opposite side of the weight room setting up his rack with varying plate sizes anddumbbells. I tried to not be obvious with my staring, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. I’d never seen him here before, which was interesting because the 5:00 a.m. crowd was nothing if not consistent.
Dark hair that had a slight curl to it. Caramel skin that I knew kept its hue no matter what time of year it was. And strong arms that stretched the short-sleeved shirt that was wrapped around them. He was wearing dark gray shorts that showed off his muscular legs and a black T-shirt. A tattoo covered the bottom half of his left arm and snaked its way up and under his shirt.
I would pay good money to see that up close and personal, I thought to myself as I continued to observe him from afar.
The thing that struck me the most about new guy were his boots. They weren’t just any boots, they were combat boots.
New guy was a soldier.
A soldier who wore his boots to the gym.
Curious.
2
HANK
When I landed back in Charleston yesterday, the first thing I did was Google the closest gym to my apartment. Working out was like cheap therapy and God knew I needed it. I also probably needed actual therapy but that’s not something I’m willing to get into right now. I had just finished my last tour and was set to start my new job next week. Without access to the base and the gym that sits behind the gated entrance, I knew I was going to have to find a place to get in my daily lift.
It was weird to think that I was “retiring” from the military. I was only twenty-nine for Christ’s sake. But I’d served for almost eleven years and it was time to move on. Enlisting right out of high school was something I never regretted. It got me out of a shitty home life, out from under my alcoholic father’s fist, and helped me gain some insight on the world. Plus, it didn’t really count as retiring because to retire from the military you have to serve for over twenty years, and I hadn’t done that. After my last tour though, I was ready to head home and try civilian life for once.
