Daylight. What a menacing bastard that could be. Who’d have thought, other than vampires, such a small sliver slicing through the broken venetians could cause so much pain? The laser of brightness felt like a thousand pins being fired into my eyeballs, so I squeezed them shut and rolled to the other side of the bed.
“Dear God, what was I thinking?” I muttered to no one, dried drool sticking to my lips. In a wallowing episode of self-pity the previous night, my brain had decided getting drunk would be a good starting point on the road to regaining happiness. Clearly my brain had confused happiness with feeling like utter shite buried under a pile of steaming rubbish that’d been run over by a lorry-full of manure.
It appeared I’d set myself up for another day of feeling sorry for myself…until my phone rang. I fumbled blindly on the bedside table until I found the object responsible for making my ears bleed and swiped answer before noticing the caller’s name. “Crap.”
“I heard that,” said Zac, my personal trainer and, also, Chrissie’s brother.
“I’m not feeling well.”
“You’re feeling hungover. That’s not an illness. I still expect you here in an hour.”
What the… “How do you even know that?” I rubbed at my eyes, shifted up onto my elbow. Bloody Chrissie, I suspected. She documented every minute of her life on Instagram. “Never mind. Look, there’s quite a big chance I’ll die if I use gym equipment today. I don’t think you want that on your conscience.”
“I’ll take my chances. Fifty-eight minutes, Hel. Better get outta that bed.”
“Wait, how do-” He hung up. Actually hung up on me. I basically paid that man to treat me like shit and put me through physical pain.
Still, like a good soldier I did as I’d been told, dragged my flubbery arse out of bed, brushed my teeth – twice – and took a shower. I didn’t bother styling my hair or applying makeup. Nothing could possibly improve the car crash that was my hungover face. The grey circles under my green eyes were too dark and swollen for even a pound of concealer to cover. A thrown-together ponytail would have to do, and I didn’t have the energy to care that it highlighted the fact my mousey roots needed touching up to match the rest of my reddish-brown hair.
In the car, I downed a couple of paracetamol and told myself aloud, in the visor mirror, that today would be awesome, because I’d read in an article on Facebook that shit like that worked. Just in case, I also told myself I could stop eating like a pig and kiss the extra sixteen pounds goodbye.
I arrived at the gym six minutes early, which justified the smug smirk on my face when I approached Zac. I found him by the leg press machines, standing tall and godlike in his joggers and vest as he wound a resistance band into a small parcel.
“Good morning!” he said, his voice full of energy, as always. “Beautiful day to take care of ourselves, yeah?”
Armed with my towel and water bottle, I acted as though I didn’t feel like a sack of rotting potatoes. “Absolutely! Buzzing my D cups off over here.” Turned out I wasn’t that great an actress. I’d tried pretending I was somewhere else, some place nice, but there was no mistaking the scent of oiled metal, rubber, and pine freshener in the air. My body would know it was in a torture chamber, I mean gym, with my eyes closed and pins in my ears.
Zac pouted. It didn’t suit him. “I wanna take you back two years…”
Here we go. I huff-sighed, if that were a thing.
“You were seriously overweight, unfit, miserable-”
I’m still miserable. “Stop with the compliments. I’m blushing.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I snapped like a petulant teenager. I knew exactly what.
“No one knows the journey you’ve been on more than me. I’ve been with you from the start.” Brow furrowed, his brown eyes bored into mine. He didn’t blink, never faltered. I felt well and truly told off. “I’ll be with you till the end, too. And when’s that?”
I shook my head, forced a smile. “There isn’t one.”
He nodded with so much zest I think I burned one hundred calories just watching him. “Right answer! This isn’t a fad diet, no quick fix. Goals have end dates, living healthier is a lifestyle!”
I started laughing, couldn’t help it. “Do you want some fries with that cheese?”
“You think I’m cheesy, huh? You’ll pay for that, Jenkins.” Tipping his chin towards the spin bikes, he added, “Starting over there.”
Bastard. As I followed him across the gym floor, I knew there was a very real possibility he could end up the target of projectile hangover vomit if he pushed me too hard…
And it would serve him right.