All characters are consenting, 18+ adults.
*****
Prologue: "Pretty Little Liar"
I cry out in pain - the high-pitched wail of a wounded animal echoing against the expansive gym walls. I sprained my goddamned ankle again. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" I chide myself. Shit, here he comes. And, like a fabled, fairy-tale prince - swooping down to rescue the ever-present 'damsel in distress' - you come to my aide, and I avert my gaze so you can't read the humiliation written across my face.
Those fucking eyes, man - they get me every time.
...
Chapter 1: "Little Rich Girl"
I'd arrived late again, not because of any particular reason, but because of who I am as a person, and I anxiously shuffled my gym bag against the wall before joining the class. I was hoping for some more glorified yoga (because my God - look at you! Who wouldn't want to watch that glorious body bend and stretch, while imagining them-selves beneath you?!), but you seemed ready to bust our proverbial balls today, and the scathing look of disappointment you flashed my way was a blow to my ego.
I was not a unique and beautiful snow-flake; I was the all-singing, all-dancing, crap of the world - some yuppy little white girl with her fresh little outfit, hopping on the latest exercise bandwagon in the spirit of getting more followers on Instagram. Or so one would think. The only, subtle hint that there was something more to the story was a shock of "pleasure-me" pink hair that I always kept up in a messy bun. How typical.
But secretly, I lived for Thursday nights; I lived for the public humiliation of my body, my weekly testing of my own physical limitations, the surpassing of many milestones that I never thought were even possible for me to achieve. I lived to prove to everyone, to you (my cross-fit instructor), and to myself, that I could do this. That I would make us proud.
Being late, however, does not make you proud of me, but it does get me negative attention (which is better is better than no attention at all). I blushed and gazed apologetically in your direction - my mercurial, olive-green eyes meeting your stoic pools of ice. My guilt and shame melted away momentarily - you saw me. And I am in love all over again. I toed the line, sighing dreamily as my mind wandered in and out of various exercises and daydreams, imagining you were my lover in many different ways, until eventually I completely, mentally checked out. Then I lost my balance.
Crunch.
...
Chapter 2: "Great Cry and Little Wool"
A hush falls across the room as you gingerly grasp my foot. "Are you okay?" you question me softly. I nod yes, but the white-hot tears streaming down my face say otherwise. You poke and prod my ankle tenderly, asking which parts hurt, and all I can do is either shake my head or nod - it all hurts! My ego, my pride; literally everything. I'm such an idiot! You calmly dismiss the rest of the class early for the day, then extend your arm to me to help me stand up on my good leg, and propel me towards your office. I am grateful, and mortified.
As I hobble along beside you, I am intensely aware of our bodies' close proximity. Your scent is intoxicating - a heady mix of sweat and aftershave - and I find myself go weak it the knees for reasons other than my injury. You must have noticed, too, because you stop momentarily.
"Hey, hold on," your voice is calm and strong; "Let's take a break." I shake my head no, determined not to show any impotence on my part, and try to limp forward without you. Almost there! I can hear you chuckling behind me, before you slide your hand around my waist. Fuuuuck!! "Easy, killer. Let me help you." And you throw my arm around your shoulder to pull my weight against your stolid body. When our hands meet, I swear there's electricity in the air. My heart races. I can't breathe. I think I'm going to pass out.
You help me trudge the last few feet through the open doorway, and ease me down onto the couch in your office. I resist the urge to pull you down on top of me (why can't I stop thinking about doing terrible things to you?) Quit it, brain!! I can't prevent the thoughts of you from coming unbidden into my consciousness, but I CAN keep my mouth shut, and I bite my lip as if to seal the deal.
As you back away from me, you give me a funny look - one that I can't interpret right away - and tell me, "Stay here." The quiet, commanding tone of your voice sends chills down my spine, and I gulp instinctively. What the hell is going on with me today?
...
Chapter 3: "A Little Rough Around the Edges"
Having been well-versed in how to take care of sports-related injuries over the years, I already have my feet propped up on the couch cushion by the time you return. You smile and grin a little as you amble over to where I'm comfortably resting, and set the first aid kit on the end table. I'm surprised you're doing all of this for me, but I'm not complaining. As you open up the little jar of tiger balm and begin smoothing a small amount of the ointment along your palms, I return your grin. Are you serious right now?
You nudge my uninjured ankle away, indicating that I should move my leg, then sit facing me on the sofa. My voice trapped in my lungs I simply comply, and tremble a little as you grasp my injured ankle, rubbing the heavily-scented salve onto my tender spots. This is really happening! I panic a little, chewing on my bottom lip (an old nervous habit) as I grip the back of the couch. I'd imagined those hands running along my body a thousand times before, but this isn't quite what I had invisioned.
When you've finished your masterful manipulation of my flesh, you ask if it feels good. Trying not to read into anything, I simply nod, feeling your eyes linger long on my body. He's just helping fix your foot, you fool! My mind is in turmoil as you reach for an ace bandage, and expertly wrap my ankle.
"There, how's that?" you ask when you've finished, gazing intently at me.
