“What I mean is, Andrew.” I look at him and only at him. “I can’t train with you. I just texted my trainer, and she’s already working on a program for me.” He grins at me.
“Good for you!” He stands, never taking his eyes off me. “Keep me posted.” He looks me over again before he brings his focus back to my eyes. “We’ll keep each other motivated. Maybe even think of a way to measure our progress.” He winks at me on his way out, leaving me to wonder how we’d do that.
Sara is sitting open-mouthed on the chair arm, trying to figure out what the hell she just witnessed. She mumbles something about needing to get back to work and then I’m alone, drunk on my own sense of self-satisfaction. It feels great. I feel powerful and in control. Until I remember that, I just agreed to run a fucking marathon. I even claimed to have a trainer. What have I done?
My phone vibrates silently on my desk. I reach for it and find a text from Josh.
Josh:I’m calling it. I’m the coolest teacher at this school.
Me:I’m sure the competition was steep.
Josh:I think growing a beard might make me even cooler, but I fear I may be too powerful then.
Me:With great power comes… I don’t know. Better party invites?
Josh:Then my social calendar is about to be lit.
I don’t respond, choosing to put my head down on my desk for a bit and think of all the ways this day has gone wrong. It started off so promising. I’d slept well and woken up just before my alarm was about to sound. I’d been looking forward to my homemade chicken korma over saffron rice that I’d packed for lunch. One meeting and conversation later and everything has gone to hell. After a few minutes, my phone buzzes again.
Josh:How is your Monday going?
Me:You don’t want to know.
Josh:That bad?
I groan and slip out of my office to the bathroom. I run cold water over my wrists to cool myself down. How did I go from planning my way out of this to doubling down? What is wrong with me?
Back at my desk, I find several more messages.
Josh:Betts? You okay?
Josh:Seriously. Are you okay?
Josh:Can I do anything? What can I do to help?
I start to reply with “nothing” and then stop myself. Josh is a runner. A runner who just told me he would do anything for me. I’m sure when he said that he meant that he’d be there if I ever needed to talk about anything, or if I needed him to pick up something from the store on my way home or help moving furniture. Not that he’d train me to run a marathon. Still, he did say anything and I’m desperate. I type out a quick reply.
Me:I’m okay, really. But I need your help. Can we talk this evening?
Chapter 11
Betty
Josh is waiting outside my apartment when I exit the stairwell. I can see some of the tension leave his body when he sees me. He was probably expecting me to arrive in tears, having another panic attack.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.” I’m more than a little embarrassed.
“I wanted to.” His eyes are deep pools of concern. “Plus, I just got here.”
I unlock the door and we go inside. I don’t stop to put down my things or take off my shoes, instead heading directly to the kitchen and coming back with a bottle of wine and no glasses.
“Jesus, Betts.” He’s pacing now. “Please tell me what happened to you today at work.”
I curl up on the couch with the bottle and emotional support pillow, Carol. I don’t open the bottle yet, but I feel better just holding it.
“They are trying to kill me.”
This throws him. “Who is trying to kill you?
