Chapter Text
Chapter Three
The next few weeks were unfortunately more of the same. I woke up with a hollow dreadful feeling in my gut, my eyes begging to shut yet again. A large part of my feelings towards training with Harlon were definitely because he seemed to make it worse each day. With the spring heat starting to increase, and my growing exhaustion, It was obvious I was going to break myself sooner or later.
Today was that day. The day I woke up with dark circles under my eyes. I went through my usual mindless routine. The absent constant that kept me prepared for a kind of hell I never thought existed. As the warm water cascaded down the now firmer planes of my back and chest, making my long dark hair drip, I caught myself yawning, my eyes struggling to stay open even moments after I got out of bed.
These days, I made sure to keep myself from zoning out, or putting off the inevitable. That meant usually ending up at training five minutes early. As I got to the familiar gym, that now had a lingering sort of stench building up in the wooden planks of the floor and walls, I saw Harley there, already stretching.
Despite him not being the nicest sometimes, I would be a liar if I had said I didn't stop to admire him in the center of the gym every morning. I stood in the doorway for a moment, taking note of the morning sun gleaming onto his skin and hair. The way it highlighted his nose and cheekbones. Once I had taken another few steps forward into the gym, he had turned toward me.
I joined him in stretching, quietly mimicking his motions as I had done everyday for the past two weeks. Bringing one of my arms across the front of my chest, then the other in the opposite direction. Today though, he snorted. I looked up to see him staring at me. He usually smiled at me while I stretched, as he did the first day, but now I had an opportunity to ask him why he was so entertained.
"Uh, sorry, did I do something?"
He took a moment to turn away from me, his bolded shoulder blades pushing back through the stretchy fabric of his black training tank top. They moved and jolted and he chuckled and laughed into the palm of his hand.
I tilted my head, glancing over his shoulder to see his eyes closed in a hearty laugh. His attempt at stifling the sound was weak at best. After a sharp inhale, Harlon turned around again, composing himself.
"Have you ever stretched before?"
I was silent.
"Y'know, like when you stretch, you feel that light burn in your muscles. That's the whole point."
Oh god. A flush covered my cheeks in embarrassment. I nodded and decided to play it off.
"Yeah- Uhm Yeah I know how to stretch," Harlon took half a step towards me, his harsh grip wrapping around my wrists.
"You're apparently as good as lying as you are preparing for a training session." He started tugging harshly on my arms, pulling one across my chest and the other in front of the first. I winced instinctively as I felt that harsh burn he mentioned, it hurt more than I thought it should have. "Don't be such a wimp," he murmured, quieter now, knowing I was close enough to hear him if he whispered.
I kept my gaze on his hands, and how his tight grip was sure to leave bruises later. That same tight grip was cold on my skin, something I hadn't expected from him. When he let go, he started doing another kind of stretch, lunges. I hated these ones especially, they felt too embarrassing to commit to.
Now though, when I leaned forward, I made sure to adjust my posture and movements, shifting and stretching until I felt that uncomfortable feeling Harlon showed me.
It had been almost a month since we first started our training together, and I had noticed how my body had shaped in that time. I could easily get through half of our warm up without needing a moment to catch my breath now, and while it wasn’t as far as I had wanted to progress, Harley seemed to notice it nonetheless.
Today was a particularly grueling day. Once we were done with the warm up, we moved outside. Normally I would love being able to get out of the house for a bit. But it wasn’t as if there was even a yard anymore.
Two years ago, my father renovated our house a lot. I got a room change, all of mom’s stuff was gone for good, and instead of our sprawling vibrant backyard, we got an extensive zen garden put in place. It was tended to every day, each rake and swirl of sand practiced and perfected by the next day.
Harlon quickly barked an order at me to take off my sneakers. And as I sat on the few wooden steps into the garden, I obliged, hurriedly undoing the laces. I took off my socks as well, placing them inside each respective shoe.
I hissed as I stepped onto the hot pale sand. My toes sunk into it effortlessly, and I felt grains take their place, sticking to my skin. The sand is directly in view of the risen sun by seven in the morning, and it made this specific part of training hellish. My body was already worn from exhaustion. I had been burning a candle at both ends for more time than I could reasonably handle.
If the heat wasn’t bad enough, I still had to do hand to hand combat with Harlon, which is a feat to complete in of itself. Clumsily, I positioned my stance like he had taught me weeks prior.
He stood across from me, staring me down as if I were a piece of meat. My legs trembled, as I held myself upright. With his hand, he motioned for me to start. I nodded nervously as I took in a deep breath, feeling the slick of sweat run down the back of my neck and join strands of my hair together. With as sudden of a movement I could muster in the sand, I ran towards him. I aimed my fist right for his cheek.
I wasn’t surprised when I had missed. Harlon sidestepped around me, his chest right next to my shoulder. In an attempt for another punch, I twisted my torso to strike him again. Before I could, he had grabbed harshly at my shoulder and struck my ribs with his fist.
I stumbled back into the sand, losing my balance. For a moment, I didn’t know if I was going to be able to get back up. With large gulps of air, and a hiss of pain, I climbed back to my feet. Every part of me felt as if I were burning alive.
“Again. You’re not quick enough.” Harlon glared, turning away to take back his original spot in the sand.
I only nodded, turning away from him to take my own spot as well. I was still reeling and holding at my stomach when he had motioned for me to come at him again. This time, I ran at him and pivoted to the side, trying to punch him in the side of his shoulder. My movements were slower this time, more sluggish. The sand kept its hold on my bare feet and ankles. Harlon easily sidestepped again, his arms crossed in front of his chest with an scrutinizing glare on his face. I fell face first into the hot sand.
I coughed and sputtered out small granules of sand, spitting onto my palm. I cringe at the texture as I clenched my jaw, hearing the small cracks of the sand between my teeth.
“This is pathetic.”
My body betrayed me in trembling. My arms and legs shook with effort as I tried to push myself again back to my feet. After an embarrassingly long moment, I gave up, and laid in the hot sand. My olive skin had tanned just a bit from my time outside since our training in the zen garden begun. For just a second, I imagined I was under the hot sun, in the sand of the beach. The crashing waves so close. Salt lingering in the long stands of my hair. So close.
“Come on Stone,” Harlon’s harsh voice rung me out of dreams, his hand harshly pulling at my shoulder, “Get the fuck up.”
I tried once again, pushing myself up to my knees this time. My eyes took long blinks, an unbeatable force lulling to pull them closed. A nauseous swim of vexing enervation made my head drown in lightheadedness.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Harlon yanked at my shoulder again, catching a glimpse of my sweat stricken reddened face. “Nicholas!”
“Just- just one second.” I muttered, my throat and lips dry. My chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths. Only a moment later, I felt cold water drench my head and face, trailing down my back and neck to soak into my shirt. I gasped and opened my eyes quickly, wiping the cool water off of my face. It was a nice relief for only a moment until I felt Harlon’s arms grip my sides and pull me up to my feet.
I blinked when I turned around to meet his eyes. He looked infuriated. With a rigid movement, he handed me his water bottle that still felt half full. Presumably the same thing he used to pour water all over me.
With more hesitancy than was efficient, I took a small sip. My mouth and throat felt immensely grateful, and I brought it up to my lips once more taking in a large gulp this time. It spilled from the sides of my lips, adding already to the uncomfortable wetness of my shirt. Increased frustration grew on Harley’s face, and he snatched the bottle from my hand mid gulp. I wiped at my chin and mouth shamefully.
“Uh sorry.” My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, as I watched his eyes trail over my soaked form.
“We’re doing three more rounds of hand to hand combat, then you’re redoing the garden by yourself.” He moves to his end of the zen garden once again, cracking his knuckles.
None of my pitiful attempts at beating him even came close. By the end of the third round, I was nearing collapse once again, but this time, Harlon only left the sand garden, dousing his mouth with water. I convinced myself he was doing it to taunt me. He never allowed us water breaks, saying they were a “monumental waste of time” so I eventually gave up trying to sneak in my own bottle. I took a long moment catching my breath, and wiping the warm sweat off of my brow before making any move towards the shed. Inside was a large rake used to redo the swirls of sand.
I was used to watching the servants do it, and more recently than that, me and Harley would fix it up after every training session outdoors. It was a workout in of itself, and much harder to do alone than I had anticipated. By the time I had finished, my forehead and arms still slick with sweat, it was time for my first class of the day.
I felt light-headed, and I didn’t even get a chance to shower before I had to hurry to the library. I know, gross. Science was first, as per usual, and I tried my best to pay attention. I really did. But even then, I still ended up dozing off when met with the dreadful pages of my textbook. My tutors weren’t used to this side of me, and honestly neither was I. Over the course of these few months, my grades had been on a slow but steady decline. My teachers constantly had to clear their throat or tap my shoulder to regain my focus. I only wondered how long it would take before one of them informed my father. And sometimes that feeling was enough to keep me attentive just a bit longer.
Often times, I didn’t have time to complete homework or study after dinner anymore, as the only thing my body yearned for was sleep. I couldn’t stop myself from face planting into the soft covers of my bed at the first chance I got.
This imposing change in my life made me realize something important. This whole training arrangement had only negatively impacted the other aspects of my life. Training with the Arclight was nothing like I thought it would be. It’s no news now that the Harlon Abbott that trained me was nothing like the Arclight that was on T.V. And even with this extensive training, it’s not as if my father has paid me any more attention than usual.
Sometimes I wondered if any of it were worth it, or how badly my father would react if I brought up the idea of dropping the training regimen. Best not to risk it. Not when I could be so close to making him proud of me.
After my classes, I had just a bit of time to clean up for dinner. I was grateful for the opportunity to wash the grime, sweat, and lingering sand off of my body. Once I was dried and dressed again, I made sure by habit to be downstairs and in the dining room for five minutes to six.
When I got to the large hall today though, my father was not at his seat at the head of the table. Quietly, I took my seat, my polished plate and silverware already laid out in front of me.
I shifted in my seat with every minute that passed, and still, there was no sign of my father. It was unusual for him, if anything. After a long moment of me sitting by myself at the long wooden table, I finally heard voices approaching. One was Harley’s, for definite, but the other — well the other voice sounded like my father’s. But there was something distinctly different about it. It was light, and happy, as if he was now capable of experiencing genuine joy. It was a sound from him I hadn’t heard since my mother had left.
There they were, though, as they walked in side by side, chatting like old friends. I immediately turned my gaze down to my empty plate, waiting for them to take their seats. Harlon sometimes stayed for dinner, and though it was only a few times a week, my dad dressed up and cleaned up the house every time he did. As they sat down and were presented with their food for the night, they barely even acknowledged me. Harlon sat directly opposite me, but his gaze always stayed on either his plate or my father.
I barely ate. Somehow my appetite had soured. It didn’t matter; tonight I was invisible, no matter what. Their conversation wandered, from the progress my father had made in his work, to Harlons new haircut. My steak laid untouched as they complained about incompetent hairdressers and the like.
“Honestly, the last guy I went to messed it up completely. The experience was terrible, his voice was grating…” Harley trailed off, sawing through the meat on his plate with increased ferocity, “I swear he had enough glitter in his eyeshadow to reflect the lights around the mirror.”
My father let out a hearty deep chuckle. “I completely agree with you. Most of the boys nowadays have completely forgotten what it means to be a man.” Quietly, I furrowed my eyebrows in response, chewing through a carrot in attempts to bite my tongue. “Take Nicholas, for example, and that long mop of hair he refuses to cut.” Thatcher gestured to me vaguely with his fork.
Harlon laughed, and I stiffened in my seat, my defiance completely flattened.
“It does get in the way during training,” Harlon agreed, making eye contact with me for only a second. “Always getting in his face, its hilarious, you should come see him in action one of these days.”
My stomach dropped further. At least now I knew who’s side he was on.
“Maybe,” My fathers tone soon grew void of compassion. The smile in his eyes dulled, and he focused for a moment on eating. “He needs to cut it or something. Otherwise some people are going to start to think I have a daughter and not a son,” The rough edge to his voice came back. That edge that he addressed me with whenever we spoke alone, “Not that he is a child to be proud of either way.” The last part that left his lips came quieter, like he was expecting me not to hear despite being only a meter away from him.
There was no response from Harlon this time, only the quiet clink of silverware against china plates. I excused myself as dessert came out, knowing I of all people didn’t need the extra calories. As per usual, I went to bed as soon as I got into my room. I fell asleep in my clothes, and dreamt of the beach and it’s crashing waves.