The gym membership I had bought is expiring in a week. I have reduced a mere 2.5 kgs in the last six months. Not surprising, since I have visited the gym properly for only about two months. Mother has given me a few bills for the membership of the next six months, and I leave home in the morning and walk a few blocks.
A motorcycle stands in front of the dilapidated building that was once a garments shop. A figure is lying across the seat, a lean, wheatish-skinned man with lanky hair falling down to his chin, wearing big sunglasses wearing black skin-tight t-shit and low waisted jeans. He looks at me, gets up, and flashes an oily smile at me. I grin back, and as soon as I sit on the pillion on his bike, he drives off from the place.
Andrew lets out a guffaw as he throws his head back and winds blow through his hair. I laugh as I hold his waist tighter and leans my face to his back. He just keeps laughing for a few minutes until I ask him what was so funny.
"The look on your face," he says.
I scowl. "What?"
"You should have seen yourself when you came towards me. As if you were doing something illegal."
"Of course it isn't illegal, unless they realise I'm nicking the money my parents want me to spend on getting fit."
"Your parents, right. And why do they care if you're not skinny? You're their daughter and they should be proud of what they have. Also, you're so beautiful, you don't need to change at all. Damn, those haters, but I like my 'friends' a little chubby." He winks at me.
I blush a little, and give my head a shake. I can't fall for another guy just yet. Especially not for Andrew.
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It was a year after Grace died, and I needed to get out of the house. Several weeks at the gym, there were no girls and only three boys who kept themselves to themselves. They were shy I knew, and so was I. I couldn't talk to them and I felt a little lonely as I there was no school to look forward to, and I had no friends around to keep my mind distracted from the living hell my life had become. This gym was the only place I intended on going to, but working out proved harder than I expected. My muscles ached after every squat I did, and I was confined to bed for a few days after the first week. Still I persevered, as working out helped keeping me busy and tired, the result of which I dreamt lesser than before, and I could sleep better too. But not being able to talk to anyone was stressing me out. The others averted their eyes from me, but this one guy, Andrew, would look at me with such intensity that somedays I just felt like walking up to him and talk about, I don't really knew. It didn't help that he looks like my favourite actor, albeit a little thinner. One day I saw him at the market, and our eyes locked. I thought I saw him talking a step towards me and probably talk, but I looked away in a fright, and walked away fast. There was a little guilt mixed with longing when I approached him the next morning and asked him if he could show me how to use the chest fly machine properly.
I remember the lust that took over me as I saw his well-oiled arm muscles pump and contract with heavy breathes as he proceeded to show me how to work the chest muscles. His body glistening with sweat, there was a tug behind my navel that told me I already suspected, that this new feeling is different from anything I've ever experienced, and from the way I saw his eyes travel down my body as I recreated his actions, his mouth slightly opened, I knew this pull I was feeling was not one-sided.
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After I have hung out with him quite a few times, my chest pumps hard against my heart, telling me that things were going too slow to bear. Every time I put my hands around his waist, he says nothing, does nothing, but he doesn't object. He seems to be waiting for me to make the first move, but I'm afraid, so afraid, at what if he didn't want me as I do, and what if I end up messing up everything. I have never kissed anyone, if you don't count the two swift peck on Shahbad's cheek, a lifetime ago. And I'm nervous as to how to make the first move.
Andrew parks his bike near a garage that is closed, but muffled voices comes from within as I move towards it, a little scared.
"This place looks closed..." My voice shakes a little but I try to sound indifferent. Andrew looks at me, a little worried, I think.
"Are you scared, Az?"
"No. No, no. Why would I be? I trust you!" My voice is a little high pitched, and Andrew hardly fails to notice. He stops and pulls me by my elbow, his grip feather-light, and I can almost see my fear melting away at his touch.
"Azalea, you have no reason to trust me. I am a notorious crook around the neighbourhood, a good-for-nothing. My parents hate me, my wife left me because of my misdeeds. I am nine years older than you and you shouldn't even be here with me. Yet, I cannot resist myself from seeing you every other day, laugh with you, and feel free with you. Your trust means a lot to a person who has not earned quite enough of it from his own people, but we both know there is nothing to be gained from this trust. We are never going to have a future together, we probably won't be friends for long. It's only a matter of time before I have some sort of case put up on me by those who hate me, and there are quite a lot of crowd wanting to do just that. And I won't pretend to be a goody-two-shoes because I'm not. So, if you do not trust me, I'd understand, and you're free to go back."
I look at the face of a person who was notorious for drug dealing, petty thievery and bullying people to get his way and had been honest with me from the very beginning about everything. And I think about the people I've known for years, loved, and cared for, and the lies I've been told. I look into those eyes I know would not mean much to me in a few months or years, and I took his hands and declare, "I trust you, Andrew."