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25
Amaya
Iwon’t be able to hide my pregnancy for much longer. My baby is growing, and I’m in my second trimester. The larger tees were getting tighter, so I went up a size, playing it off on it being that time of the month for my increasingly bloated figure.
“I just don’t feel comfortable in tight stuff,” I tell one of my clients as I help her with a spinal twist. “We all have these phases as women, don’t we?”
“Oh, yeah,” Paula, my client agrees, giggling as I press down on the side of her knee to deepen the stretch. “Sometimes, I feel like I might as well just put on a garbage bag and be done with it.”
I smile. “I had a similar feeling this morning, but the studio does have some limits on an otherwise pretty relaxed dress code,” I say.
We both laugh, but Paula needs to relax some more, so I deepen the stretch further, inviting her to exhale deeply whenever I apply pressure to her leg.
It’s been a hard couple of weeks, to say the least. Mikey hasn’t picked up on it just yet. School and Nikki keep him busy, and I thank all the gods for having brought her our way. I’d be dead without her. To my surprise, the gifts and wire transfers from Kace and the guys haven’t stopped.
I do send them back, though. My honor won’t allow it. Not after that argument. Not after they were clearly tempted to believe Derrick over me. I’m still disgusted and disappointed. Still struggling to process that entire conversation. Still terrified about those photos. I haven’t gotten anything else in the mail, however.
No calls. No weird emails.
There are times when I feel like someone is watching me, but whenever I look over my shoulder or outside the window, my suspicions wither away. Maybe I’m just paranoid though I have every reason to be. I’m not crazy. I may not be as sharp as I normally am, but given the circumstances, no one can blame me. I’m just trying to do my best with what I’ve got.
At least this new yoga gig is going alright.
I get along with my clients, and the studio has been picking up some foot traffic in the cooler season. With summer over, more and more people stick to yoga and fitness instead of hanging out at bars and terraces or oceanside escapades during the weekend. It’s good for business, and it’s good for me too. They keep me busy—busy enough to not constantly be thinking about everything else.
“Great job, Paula,” I say once we’re done with the final stretch. “You’ve come a long way, you know.”
“You’re a patient teacher, I’ll give you that,” she replies.
“Our bodies have a way of communicating with us, if only we’d learn to stop and listen more often.”
I should heed my own advice. My body has been telling me things for a long time now. My body tells me I miss Kace and Finn and Elias. I miss how we were together, how beautifully it worked between us. My soul cries out for them whenever I’m left alone with my thoughts. My heart struggles on a daily basis, and I carry a permanent sense of discomfort in my chest. It’s hard to live like this.
I keep waiting, hoping for it to pass. Sometimes I doubt my decision. I sure doubted the ones before, and I had every reason since I was aware that my pride and fear were getting the better of me. But after that last incident with Derrick and those medical documents… I understand things more clearly. I understand them so clearly, in fact, it pains me to admit it.
“Okay, I’ll see you on Wednesday,” I tell Paula as she leaves the studio.
For a minute, I revel in the silence. It’s almost noon, and the place is practically a ghost town at this hour. We get most of our clients either early in the morning or after four in the afternoon, so I’m looking at a couple of dead hours, which is great because I’m hungry. Well, I’m always hungry since I’m eating for two.
I leave the studio owner’s daughter in charge of the reception desk while I grab my food from the staff fridge. It looks good—Greek yogurt, oats, protein powder tossed into the mix along with fresh berries and mixed nuts. My favorite most filling and complete meal. And the baby loves it, too. I’m just about to go into the staff room when the studio’s main door swings open.
“Shit,” I mutter, recognizing Derrick.
I can’t hide from this bastard. What is he doing here? Hasn’t he done enough harm? Judging by his smug smile, I quickly realize that he’s come over to gloat. There’s no way in hell that I will ever give him another inkling of satisfaction. Ever.
“Amaya,” he says, his tone soft, his gaze warm. “I’ve been working up the courage to come see you.”
“Work up the courage to walk back out that door,” I reply flatly. “You’re not welcome here.” I give the confused receptionist a slight nod. “If you see this guy around, feel free to call the police. He’s banned from the premises.”
“Come on, Amaya, don’t be like that,” Derrick chuckles nervously. “I come in peace.”
“Bull…” I mumble, then take a deep breath.
I’m already giving him that inkling of satisfaction by reacting like this. He doesn’t deserve my anger. He doesn’t deserve any of my energy, period. I need him to leave the studio without a sense of accomplishment, and since I can’t afford a circus here, I decide to let him speak and then fully ignore him. That’s how you hurt a narcissist. You ignore him. You deprive him of your attention and your spirit.
“How have you been?” Derrick asks.
“You came here to ask me how I’ve been?”
