Left Drowning(77)

Unless Eric organized this. Damn him.

I keep my head down and do what I can to ignore them until they go away. What I’m not prepared for is that Eric seems to know my route, so just before I make a turn, I see him yell up to Chris, directing him where to go. Although I hate deviating from my routine, when we hit the end of the road that leads to the lake, I go right instead of left. Chris has already gone left, so I’m free.

Until I hear his truck peel back a few yards before he bangs out a U-turn.

“Fucking *,” I mutter. I keep my eyes on the road and just run, not even flinching when his truck pulls in front of me again. Sabin and Eric are cheering and clapping, and I can’t help but crack a smile. They are ridiculous. I give in and accept that they are here for the duration of my run. At least I don’t have Chris in that truck bed facing me, too. Presumably his eyes are on the road. Eventually I circle back and pick up my favorite route.

Goddamn if Chris doesn’t keep the truck fifteen feet in front of me at all times, even waving the occasional car to go by us. I feel incredibly stupid, but I maintain my normal pace. Twenty minutes later, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Zach waving wildly to signal me. I look up and see him shaking his head. He cups his hands and yells at me.

Annoyed, I take out my earphones again. “What?” I yell, not hiding my aggravation.

”You’re too slow,” he calls out. “You’re way, way too slow.”

“Too slow for what?”

“If you’re going to run this half marathon, you better hurry up.”

“I told you I’m slow! Stop saying the word marathon! Go away.”

Back to the music. But my f*cking phone is dead. I can’t believe this. This has never happened. I have never run without music, and I can’t. Without the sound and the mood … Music blocks out everything: ankle pain, shaky legs, the cold, and most importantly, it prevents my mind from taking over. I start to walk. Within seconds Sabin is banging on the truck again, and Chris screeches to a halt.

“What are you doing?” Sabin looks unreasonably upset.

I catch my breath and hold up my phone. “Dead.”

He holds his hands out at his sides. “So what? Just run, baby!”

I can hear Chris all too well when he leans out the window. He looks right at me. “She can’t run without music.”

I hate that he knows me this well. I f*cking hate it. And I f*cking hate how much it hurts to look at him.

And then there is music blaring from his truck. I’m going to murder him. I walk faster and reach the back of the truck. “Can you please go home now, all of you, and leave me the f*ck alone?” My voice is cracking, and my throat is tight.

Estelle rolls down her window, too, and seats herself on the door frame, her feet in the car and her upper body hanging out the side, to watch me. “Come on, Blythe. Run.” The truck moves ahead again.

“Blythe, run, damn it,” Sabin insists. “Please. You can do this. It’s only … What? How many miles left, Chris?”

Chris holds out three fingers and then two. Three point two miles. He’s been clocking me.

I start running. He’s playing the first playlist that he ever sent me.

Eric hollers to be heard over the music. “You’re running a nine-and-a-half-minute mile. You need to be doing an eight-point-five-minute mile at the very slowest just to catch up.”

I’m pretty sure that I can go the distance, but I don’t think I can make the time. I’m a slower runner than even I thought. I’ve never paid attention to distance or pace before, but I do know that by picking up my pace by a full minute is going to be tough, so I’m really going to have to sprint. But, shit, I didn’t know that I could run over ten miles at all, nor that I have been doing it frequently. Now they’re asking me to finish this half marathon.

Sabin and Eric shut up and let me run. Chris holds out his hand and flashes me two fingers as I run through the playlist that first kept me from walking. Last September feels like eons ago. I nod back and immediately hate myself for acknowledging him, for responding to the natural way in which we communicate.

“Faster, B. You have to run faster!” Sabin calls out.

My legs are burning. I’m not made to sprint like this, and it hurts.

“Look at me,” he says.

So I do. He spends so much time goofing around that moments when Sabin is real totally get me. I push a little more, and Sabin starts strumming his guitar along with the music. We must look like fools, but now I’m curious to see if I can make this time.

“Attagirl!” Eric claps.

Sabin is playing along to a song that I always run hard to. It’s one of those songs that would make me cry if I had any extra breath left to give. Even with the music loud, I can hear Sabin singing to me, so I focus on the back of the truck and push myself.

The music changes again. It’s this song by The Lumineers that I love—that Chris knows I love—and I can see him tapping his hand along with the music.

Fuck him.

I’m about out of stamina. It’d be impossible for me to finish at this pace.

“No way, Blythe!” Sabin looks pissed. He can see I’m weakening. “You are not stopping now.”

I just can’t. I can feel my legs slowing despite my efforts. I’m burned out.

“I thought you were a fighter, B.!” Sabin yells. “You’re not gonna fight for what you want, is that it? Stop being such a *. You want your man? He’s right here.” Sabin stands up and beckons me with his hands, then points behind him and gives me a taunting half smile. “Are you going to let him get away? After all this, you’re not going to just f*cking give up, are you? Run a little faster, and you might get him.”