Halfway around the track, Jericho pops up again.
There's never been a person I've love-hated as much as him, and I have a fucked up family that inspires all kinds of hate to go with the love a family shares.
"What," I grunt as I lunge forward, stretching my legs and dipping down with my wildly weak arms. They're beyond trembling. They're like jello, and I can barely raise the dumbbells from my sides.
But I don't stop.
"Straighten your back," Jericho growls, eyeing my pose critically. "Keep your core tight."
I adjust my stance, trying to maintain balance as my leg muscles quiver. Jericho grunts, apparently finding my form acceptable, before shoving something at me.
"Here. Two pound dumbbells. Never had to start someone so low before."
I glance down at the weights, surprised to see they're a cute, bright pink color. They look pristine, like they've never been touched.
