"Hol ... Hooollly" I'm being called and shaken from sleep, but this time its soothing not the offending clanking noises of last night. "Rise and shine sleepy head." With robot like obedience I sit up, legs swinging to the floor and I hunch over awkwardly, my eyes never opening. I can sleep sitting up – watch me. I can hear the dresser draws opening and something made of soft fabric is tossed at me.
"Now put these on" Gail instructs and my eyes squint to see that she's given me athletic clothing. I stand awkwardly like a calf taking its first steps and a cup of something cold is placed in my hand. I gulp it, spitting and coughing instantly. I earn a chuckle from her.
"What the f..!" its too early for curse words. "What is that?" I demanded.
"My special hangover remedy" she states. I raise an unimpressed eyebrow.
"I'm not hung over. I'm tired and it's too early. Why are we even up? How can you even be up" the clock tells me its 5am. So literally I got one hour sleep, because I was falsely imprisoned in bed, by the corpse like body that was Gail when she slept.
"Our run" she states. "and the juice is a good pick me up." Gail takes a swig from her bottle. "Look at me, you could never tell that I pretty much drank the bar dry last night." she chuckles at herself and sits on the edge of the bed tying her laces. I'm very impressed she's already dressed and she did so soundlessly.
"Our run?
"You said you would love to join me sometime." Sadly I recalled the conversation but to be fair she was kissing my lips and playing with my hair and I would have admitted to murder if asked. So my agreement to join her, was technically forced. I wasn't a fan of running.
"Come on it will be fun," she sounded like a small child excited to go on the roller coaster. "I'll take you on my favourite route." All five miles of it? I wanted to ask, but didn't. It would have come across rude. "You'll enjoy it." She continues. "Its beautiful this time of day, there are no people which is perfect cause they ruin shit." My eyes are wide with distrust. I shook my head. I can't see this going well for me.
"Rain check?" I ask hopefully maybe I could get out of this, even for a day.
She shakes her own head, takes the cup from me and re hands me the clothes. Giving me the look, the one which is normally reserved for suspects before she handcuffs them and I strip shamelessly, finding underwear and sports bra in the process, which felt one size too tight. I doubt it was mine. In fact I'm sure it wasn't. I didn't wear sports bras. Maybe I should give her, a draw and closet space? Her stuffing laundry in whatever draw was the emptiest at the time was messing up my meticulous sorting system.
Finally dressed, I flop on the bed and apply socks to cold feet, and then she kneels in front of me and smiles. That toothy smile that's catching and drunks me with the same effect that two bottles of beer will. She takes my feet and bounds them in sneakers and I'm stone still, watching her, waiting.
"Don't look so nervous, it's going to be okay out there. I'll protect you" she looks to the window into the darkness of the early morning then back at me. I nod, because I can't find the courage to tell her, it's not just outside that I'm scared of, it was what was right there in the room with us.
This unspoken unknown that hung between us, haunted me and kept me up at nights thinking and debating, rationalizing and making myself miserable while she slept.
Since the kiss there was no discussion, no active conversation of what we were doing, or what this was. We had just fallen into this Hodgepodge mix of dinner and movies on my couch, sex, phone calls, shared laundry and me cooking dinner and expecting her to be there, but most times she wasn't and when she did turn up, it had gone cold, but she still ate it and that was promising, but it wasn't working; I was bending to bridge the gap between us and the strain was taking its toll.
The worst is that I think I'm in a relationship with her, her small introduction to Chris and her brother seemed like an unspoken understanding that we were together, but there was that word again 'unspoken'.
Can I tell her that this wasn't working as well as my fanciful imagination had hoped?
Can I get what I need from her without scaring her?
I just don't know and what I do know worries me.
I'm an emergency situation just waiting to happen and I really don't want Gail to leave the tree.
"Good" she replies to my nod and presses her hands to my cheeks and kisses me.
Then she instantly regrets her decision and pulls a face. "Go brush your teeth and we can go". I laugh and do as instructed.
"You got to stretch Stewart!" We were standing outside on the curb in front of my building and Gail showed her flexibility by bending this way and that as she worked out the kinks in her muscles. I wondered if it would take that level of flexibility to make a relationship with her work.
I was cold and my nerves uneasy. My eyes darting about the place, ever on the alert for that unknown serial killer in a white nondescript van. I attempted a stretch technique my bones creaked and cracked and cussed me with every movement but I tried. I tried for my sake, I tried for Gail, and I tried for the sake of our relationship.
"See not so bad, now let me show you a couple more." She moved towards me, holding me and bending me and twisting me, my muscles revolted but my skin rejoiced. Then with a tap on my butt. A term of endearment I'd grown to appreciate we were off, running in the cold and stillness of the night, because by all account, no right minded person would call this morning. They would be in bed sleeping because it was still night.
Come one Stewart keep up!" Gail demanded two miles later a couple of paces in front of me. "We are almost back". I had stopped short, bent over, clutching my hips and heaving, my chest burnt and it felt oddly like dying. This was not normal.
"I thought you were athletic" she jogs back to me. "Batting cages remember?" that well defined brow of hers tipped up. I roll my eyes.
"This has nothing to do with athleticism;" I warned. "Athleticism has to do with the ability to use one body to perfect techniques with a measure of competence that are ordinarily incidental to that sport. Such as the well honed skill of hitting a ball with a bat." I breathed heavily. "This ... this ..." I wave my hand wildly as if it makes my point clearer. "Is not a sport, its running everyone can do it. Its torture and pointless and at times endless. Its self inflicted torture. Why would anyone do this? Its not even fun. There is no goals, scores, strategy or fancy sports equipment. "
Blue eyes brightened in the dawn kissed morning. "So the fastest man in the world, is not athletic? Usain Bolt is not an athlete?" her fists anchor her hips and its almost like she dares me to object.
"He runs, we can all do that, he's just faster, put a lion behind anyone of us and we'd move just as fast." I shrug finally being able to stand tall and I mop sweat stained hair from my forehead. I hated running, and never considered it a sport just something you did while playing actual sports.
She looks at me quizzically, like in disbelief of what she just heard, and then she nods. "All right, rest over. One block left then you never have to endure this particular brand of torture again." She turns on her heel and runs off and I attempt to keep up. I can't tell if she's mad at me somehow. Had I been too honest?