Chương 71: Ch 39b –Physical

She is definitely going to vomit this time, there is no doubt about it. The question is whether she can make it off the mat in time. If she vomits on the mat he'll probably make her start the session from the beginning. That would surely kill her. But, if she does vomit on the mat she might be able to strategically splash his feet. Would it be worth it for the look on his face? Possibly, she thinks.

"Jump higher! Your feet are barely leaving the ground. Your form is awful Cara. Higher!" As her hands hit the mat her elbows buckle. She twists her head just in time to avoid face-planting nose first. The rest of her body crumples after her. She lays where she fell, a panting, sweating mess. If the bastard wants her to get up, he'll have to scrape her off the mat. She is done.

"Aw Cara, no," Crathsun complains from above her.

"I had you lasting for another 27. I can't believe you've let me down. I haven't lost a bet to Erro since Sky Runner Games two cycles ago." She flops onto her back and lifts a hand to wipe the sweat from her face. Her arm is no match for gravity, it falls across her face, burying her eyes under the crook of her elbow.

"You…," she pants out each word, "guys…. bet…. on…. me?"

"Of course. Everyone bets on the 19-19 Cadet Burnout."

"Fucking…. bastard," she manages to pant amidst another wave of nausea. Crathsun tuts, but his voice is playful.

"Swearing at the instructor is an automatic session reset for anyone on the mat."

"I'm going to be sick," she groans. Her body rocks from side to side in a feeble attempt to gain enough momentum to roll over. It isn't possible. She is just going to have to choke on her vomit.

"No you're not," he chuckles, moving somewhere near her head.

"I am," she moans, unable to lift her arm off her face to see where he is.

"Sit up," he says. She feels his hand move to the back of her neck. Using a gentle grip, he guides her up to a sitting position, then over and down so that her shoulders rest on her bent legs and her head hangs down between her knees.

"Breathe through it. It'll pass quickly." She groans at him. He chuckles. Until she'd reach the point of nearly dying, she'd found a surprising enjoyment in his torturous training session. Being ordered to focus only on her movements, the strain of muscles, the fight to push through for another rep, a higher jump, a longer hold. There was no energy left to be pulled back into her self-pity, there was only his insistence to complete the next exercise, then the next, then the next.

She had tried to rest before the session, but her mind had not stilled. Laying on her bed made it hard to keep finding distractions to push away the grief. She had given up and returned downstairs, fearing if she didn't, it would become increasingly hard to mask her sadness. There was no more flexibility in Wyndeer's demand for cooperation and rule adherence. No mistakes. No emotional outbursts. No unanswered questions. No shard healing to lock her sadness away. Crathsun is moving around on the mat.

She prays that means he is tidying things away, not setting up for more exercises. Drool has escaped from her open, panting mouth, she watches it combine with her sweat on the padded mat. From the dank smell, so close to her bent head, she guesses there have been countless other bodies sweating out their efforts on the same mat. Her nose wrinkles at the thought. She finds enough reserves of energy to lift her head in search of cleaner air.

"Better?" Crathsun chirps. His demeanour had jumped high on the cheerfulness scale as soon as he had stepped onto the mat.

"Getting there," she mutters, yet to forgive him for what he has just put her through. He throws a towel at her. Her arms are still too heavy to attempt to catch it. The towel collides with her forehead and falls, draping over her knees.

"Wipe up the mat while you're down there," he says. He moves to the corner and starts to select weights, heaving them over to one of the benches.

"I can't do anymore," she says, alarmed at the size of the weights he is arranging.

"I know. You're done. These are for me." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The surge of relief brings hidden energy to her limbs. She pulls the towel off her legs and begins mopping at the floor around her as she watches him set up. His large bulk moves easily amongst the equipment, well-practised in this environment. He appears to be humming as he prepares. A man happy in his happy place.

The uplift she feels observing his contentedness butts against the lump in her throat that wedges down her sorrow. Her nausea resurges.

"Are you still feeling sick?" Crathsun asks, frowning at the expression on her face.

"Uh, a little bit." She doesn't have the energy to change her manner nor correct his assumption as to the cause of her peaky face.

"Get a drink of water." He gestures to the basket of water bottles at the corner of the mat. Her thighs tremble as she gets to her feet. She pauses to let her blood adjust to her upright position before making her way over to the basket. Crathsun tracks her movements, making sure she is steady on her feet before turning his attention back to his weights. The water bottles are oversized for her hands. She finds them easier to hold with two hands as she squeezes the flexible black metal.

Crathsun had shown her how to reshape the malleable membrane at the top into a bespoke shape to suit how she likes to drink. The membrane keeps the bottle sealed tight, but a gentle suck allows the water to seep through. Another difference, her mind announces, reminding her of the dented Wimbledon limited edition water bottle that is now abandoned on her desk at work. Is it still her desk? Would someone else have claimed it by now? Where do they think she has gone?

The sense of loss punches her hard in the chest awakening a silent scream in the back of her throat. Her legs buckle under the sudden weight of grief. Her hand gropes the air as she tries to brace herself against the fall.

"Woah, steady there," Crathsun urges, catching her before her knees find the floor. He holds her upright, bracing her weight easily on his solid muscles. It isn't the warm, reassuring hold she has felt with Draig, but nevertheless she savours the brief moment of Crathsun's strength bearing the heaviness of her heart.

"Sit back down," he orders, an unfamiliar concern edging into his voice. She is lowered down. He crouches down beside her, ensuring her back is propped against the wall. His hand takes hold of her jaw, gently tilting her head so that he can see her face.

"Tell me what you're experiencing."

"I'm fine," she mumbles. His calloused fingers press against her jawbone as she speaks.

"I didn't ask how you are, I asked what you're experiencing." His reproach is light but enough to jar her descent into self-pity and remind her that she now lives in a world where a straight question is a demand for a straight answer.

"A little dizzy. My arms and legs are a bit floppy," she says, squeezing her eyes shut to push away the threat of tears. Making sure her head rests against the wall he releases her jaw.

"You probably have an electrolyte imbalance. Give me your water bottle." She watches him take the bottle that she hadn't realised was still in her hand. He twists the reenforced base, turning it through three loud clicks. The base, previously a dull black, fades into bright red. Crathsun shakes the bottle vigorously before handing it back to her.

"Drink this. All of it," he orders, "but slowly." Tentatively she takes a sip. What she is sure had been plain water a minute ago, now has a sweet, chemical tang.

"Electrolytes and sugar capsules in the base," he answers her confused look.

"One twist for salts, two twists for additional minerals, three twists to add sugars." He nudges her elbow. She takes another drink under his watchful gaze. He nods as he stands up.

"All of it," he reminds her. Behind him, Draig strides quickly into the room, slowing as he takes in the scene. A new wave of dizziness crests over her head. She takes a long drink from the bottle.

"Did something happen?" he asks, turning to Crathsun, having finished his study of her.

"Just some dizziness. I'm usually very good at judging how far to push the final burnout but I guess she's-." He leaves the last word unsaid but they all hear it. Different, she's different. Heaviness returns in her chest.

"You-?" A look of disapproval forms on Draig's face.

"Crathsun, we agreed no Trisec or Cadet training."

"We agreed a tailored programme." Crathsun says stiffly.

"It was a tailored level one."

"A 19-19 Cadet level one?" Draig clarifies, his disapproval edging into rebuke.

"A tailored level one," Crathsun responds defensively, drawing in a large breath, puffing out his already enormous chest.

"Press ups on her knees, no back-to-flip, no single leg squat to plank. She only managed 3: 23." Draig glances at her and back to Crathsun's crossed arms. He wipes the annoyance from his face with a slow drag of his hand.

"The goal is to improve her general fitness and lung capacity Crathsun, not train her for combat." The familiar burn of resentment flows through her as they exchange views on her life while she sits in front of them. Again, Wyndeer's words return to her thoughts, cycling her from insult, to despair, to anger, to sorrow. She swallows down her feelings with another long drink, resolving to find a new distraction for her thoughts. Coldness has begun to crawl across her skin leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Dressed only in loose fitting shorts and a t-shirt, she had been warm enough whilst exercising but the cavernous space of the hall has soon cooled her down. She rises gingerly, making sure her head and legs are ready for the movement. She makes it three steps across the mat before they notice.

"Where are you going?" Crathsun snaps, his annoyance with Draig spilling over to her.

"I told you to sit and drink slowly."

"I'm cold, I'm going to get changed. Then I might see if Erro wants to go for a walk. I'll make sure I finish it." She wiggles the bottle at him.

"I'll walk you to your room," Draig announces, cutting off Crathsun's response.

"I'm fine by myself," she bristles, "I'll go slow."

"I'll tell Erro to meet you in the rec room," Crathsun announces, giving Draig a side eye.

"Thanks," Cara mutters as she continues to the door, glad to be leaving the two men to bicker without her.