Falling

Isla is based on someone I saw in passing. Annabelle started as the one who would yank her out of her shell.

But as always seems to happen the characters I write have their own ideas about what their stories are. What I had thought was going to be a gentle flirty four-pager turned into... well, this.

It had several different titles during its gestation. I guess the one I'm publishing it under has meaning for Izzy and Bella both.

-:- Falling -:-

I slunk nervously through the double doors and out into the main exercise area, feeling exposed, ridiculous and completely out of place in my newly-purchased leggings, running shoes and lycra top. The air was cool, verging on chilly, and I shivered as I walked under a downdraft from the building's air-conditioning system.

I had never been inside an actual Gymnasium before, and apart for the brief tour I'd been given with one of the staff I had, quite literally, no idea of what I was getting myself in to.

I stared around at all the men and women, busy and focussed on their various fitness-related activities.

I felt small and lost.

Everyone looked so comfortable with themselves. No matter their size, shape or general condition, every one of them seemed to fit within this space.

I envied them all.

Then I took a deep breath, sighed it out.

After all - nothing ventured, nothing lost.

A line of bicycle-like machines with pedals and comfortable-looking seats was closest. I picked one of the machines, sat self-consciously on it, and stared at the screen with its friendly and encouraging green start button.

It was well past time to do something about the sorry state of myself.

"Come on," I said, softly. "You can do this."

I managed thirty minutes before I felt too sweaty and yuck to continue, and I groaned as I slid my burning thighs off the seat and tried to stand on my spaghetti legs. I stood, breathing hard. Then I staggered off to try to find the showers.

I was a realist. I knew this would be the first step of a long journey.

But I was also proud that I had taken it.

After all, that was what mattered.

.:.

It would be hard to put my finger on the precise chain of events that had woken the urge in me and driven me to sign up. Some strange combination of the weather, disgust with myself at needing to go up a size in trousers once more, and the fortuitous arrival of a promotional flyer in my postbox - clearly they had all played their roles well.

I'd have found it even more difficult to explain how and why I went the second time, when my legs were screaming bloody murder at me and I had to roll myself out of my bed in the morning to even start the day. Any illusions I'd harboured about my physical health were swiftly incinerated; the long-ago memories of being able to run and dance and play netball for hours at a time were just that - memories.

But I persevered. Stubbornness flowed from some deep reservoir that I didn't rightly understand, and I dug in and refused to give in to the strident, unhelpful part of me that wanted to laugh all this nonsense off and go buy and consume large quantities of chocolate.

I slowly stopped resenting the time I spent on the machines, and then, in some weird psychic twist, I began to enjoy the hour, sometimes two, that I could spend on bike or a treadmill or stair machine every second to third night.

I had nothing else meaningful in my life, and this gave me time amongst people, doing something positive with the hours I'd otherwise be wasting, mindlessly browsing the Internet to stave off loneliness and the black crow of depression that alway cawed in the shadows, waiting...

My favourite became and then firmly remained the spinning bikes. They were marshalled against a low wooden divider, beyond which was a vacant space that the gym clearly had not yet formed a concrete plan for. I'd sit or, later, stand on a bike, sweating and burning, staring off into the empty space and wondering what it would become.

Soon enough my curiosity was sated - workmen would be clearing up when I arrived in the evenings, and day by day strange bulbous wooden structures seemed to spring up like fantastic fungi. As more structure was added I realised that it would be a series of climbing walls, part of an expansion into lifestyle-related activities that the gym was starting to advertise.

Thick mats were put down as the various sections were completed, and people began to clamber up, down and sideways along the angular, protrusion-studded framing.

I'd sit, peddling, sweating myself gradually slimmer as I watched lithe, wiry superhumans do things with their bodies that I could not even comprehend.

I saw people hang by their hands. I saw people race one another from hold to hold - cheered on by onlookers. I saw people fall, two or three metres sometimes, onto the padding - sometimes even onto their faces - and they'd stand, laughing, high-fiving their friends before they'd go and try again.

Madmen and madwomen, all of them.

But they were beautiful, unworldly and inspiring, and I enjoyed watching them, envious of the sense of camaraderie they all seemed to share.

And I'd feed off the periphery of their happy buzz to push my body harder.

.:.

My health improved quickly. My back pain dissipated and then departed. I lost a dress size, and a bra size, and one lovely bright autumn morning I caught a rather good looking man giving me a wistful glance as I made my way in to work.

It had been a while since I'd been aware of anyone looking at me, and that brief window of knowing I'd been noticed made my week and hardened my motivation even further. Where there was one, there might soon be others.

I rewarded myself with a lunchtime shopping run for a new gym outfit - ankle-length navy tights and a mid-blue long-sleeved quick-dry top that caught and enhanced the colour of my eyes.

I was extremely pleased with the effect. It was so much better than the shapeless camouflage I'd made do with up until now.

That night, buoyed with a newfound confidence, I ventured in amongst the weight machines. I stared at the pictographs, watched other women using them and then, fighting off my natural shyness and fear of drawing attention, I even went so far as to ask one or two of the friendlier ladies what to do and how to do it.

And from there, my routine and knowledge started to expand geometrically.

I began to understand the language that my body was talking. I started to sleep properly. I began to read up on healthy diets and cut a lot of rubbish out of my weekday meals. And I learned how to give myself time to rest over weekends.

By the date of my twenty-sixth birthday I had lost my second dress size, and my small group of friends were all astounded when I appeared at my birthday drinks in a tiny little red and black cocktail dress that they'd last seen me in at my twenty-first.

For the first time in many years I could proudly admire myself in a mirror, and wear tight clothes in comfort - without any choking sense of self-consciousness.

I was, very nearly, happy.

.:.

A girl appeared on the walls. Whip-thin and of average height, she'd have blended well into a crowd were it not for the long, ornate, brunette braid that first drew my attention as it dangled like a banner behind her.

Once I'd noticed her I found it hard not to see her everywhere; I'd come to the gym and find her lifting free weights, or running at pace on a treadmill, or holding a plank position for minutes at a time.

She always wore calf-length black leggings and a tight sky-blue cotton-lycra vest through which a sports bra would occasionally peek; I had an amusing daydream in which she had a wall-to-ceiling wardrobe containing nothing but pair after pair of these three items of clothing.

Her eyes were a rich hazel, and while she didn't smile much, when she did the slight gap between her two top teeth just made her all the more endearing and fascinating to me.

I watched as she grew in popularity with the other climbers - I soon worked out it was because she seemed to be an anthropomorphic spider rather than a human. I'd sometimes simply sit and stare her in disbelief, almost entirely forgetting where I was as I watched her cling to infinitesimal handholds and imaginary footholds that others simply could not find, let alone use.

I once even ventured out onto the mats to try to verify if a hold I'd seen her dangling from was as small as I thought it was.

It turned out to be even smaller, and I shook my head in thorough disbelief at her voodoo powers.

She had stark musculature that looked like it had been etched directly from an anatomy textbook, a stunning-if-slightly-angular face, and a caustic tongue that could clear the floor around her when she very occasionally felt the need to deploy it.

I was awed by her, and tried to be subtle about the way I watched her.

But she caught my stares; she never said anything, she'd just arch an eyebrow slightly, smile a small smile, and go back to whatever she was doing.

I'd flush hot and try not to do it again.

And I'd always fail.

She was simply too mesmerising.

As time went on it seemed to me that she slowly gravitated towards me during her time off the wall. It was never overt, but when I looked around from whatever I was doing she'd be nearby; as if there were some weird field between us that kept us within a Goldilocks orbit of one another.

And that pleased me far more than it really should have.

.:.

Winter arrived, icy and grim, and soon enough came the long, dark and lonely end of the year. I somehow managed to avoid gaining any weight over the holidays - thanks, I suppose, to the newfound appreciation of just how hard it would be to lose it again afterwards.

My mother was horrified by my sudden coolness towards her cooking and it took me a great deal of patience and vast expenditure of tact to prevent her taking mortal offence as I skipped her roast potatoes at our family Christmas lunch and opted to load up on protein and salad instead. But my self-evident health and quiet happiness mollified her somewhat - and my sister backed me all the way to the wall.

New Year's resolutions brought a fresh influx of faces at the gym as people made their traditional oaths to counter the Christmas spread. I ignored almost all of them; I had strong suspicions that most of them would make it through a month and then succumb to laziness.

But I did notice one of them, a tall, fair-haired, reasonably attractive man with what seemed to be a ready smile. He was usually around when I was, and seemed friendly enough, so I'd smile at him, greet him, occasionally make small talk with him. We settled into a nodding acquaintance of sorts; trading hellos and snippets of meaningless conversation in passing.

One evening I made the cardinal error of telling him my name, and regretted it almost immediately as he took that as an expression of interest and started coming over when I was doing weights or running, or when he decided I looked approachable, or when he was bored.

He'd stand in my peripheral vision, talking at me, interfering with my concentration, ruining my mood, impinging on my space, and constantly commenting, advising or suggesting how I should do things.

It very quickly drove me insane.

I began to dread his presence, to the point where I'd feel a physical tightness manifest itself in my chest when I saw him.

I varied my days and times to try to gain some desperately-craved space. I signed up for random fitness classes to escape him... but nothing worked - he'd simply hang around, waiting for me.

Frustrated and enraged, I clammed up. I started listening to music on my phone when I could. He seemed to get the idea after I pointedly ignored him a couple of times, and I felt a very real relief that I'd dealt with it and could go back to simply using the gym as I wanted, rather than having to run the ever-present gauntlet of this unwanted admirer.

I was soon to discover just how naïve I was.

.:.

It was a miserable evening punctuated by intermittent showers of freezing rain and sleet, and the bitterly cold wind lashed the strip of exposed skin around my ankles as I exited the gym into the lurking night.

I shivered and hunched deeper into my jacket as I walked towards the pedestrian gate, fervently hoping that I would get to the bus stop before the next cloudburst blew through.

I stared at my phone as I walked, texting my sister, stupidly paying no attention to my surroundings.

Emma was ranting about her man, and I was deeply mired in helping her disentangle his latest act of manifest stupidity...

"Isla?"

I froze for a moment, before I took a slow, shaky breath and turned to face him.

He stared at me from under the hood of his canvas jacket, grim face partly obscured in shadow.

I swallowed as I became horribly aware of how dark and isolated the parking lot was, and how incredibly stupid I'd been to let my guard down like I had.

"What do you want?" I said, trying to sound calm and disinterested. I knew that I could not afford to let my discomfort show.

"Why are you being such a bitch to me all of a sudden?"

"Excuse me?"

He advanced, and I took an instinctive half-step back.

"Why are you being so rude to me? I'm just being friendly. I thought we were friends. I thought you liked me."

"You are making me uncomfortable. Please, leave me alone and stop talking to me. I don't want to talk to you any more. I think you should go now, please."

"I'm just trying to be friendly to you, and you're being like this! What's wrong? Why aren't you talking to me any more? You don't even look at me any more. Met someone else, have you?"

His voice rose in volume; I felt the icy clawing tendrils of real, primal fear.

Shit shit shit fuck shit...

My brain felt like it was wading through molasses.

I wondered if he had a knife.

I wondered if I'd be able to make it back to the front door of the gym if I dropped my bag and ran...

"Why won't you answer me? Think you're too good for me now?"

He grabbed my arm roughly; his grip was painfully tight and his fingers dug into the flesh of my arm.

"Let go of me!" I cried out, shrill and close to panic as I tried to shake myself free of him.

"Hey!" shouted a woman, and I heard a burst of running footsteps as someone charged up and barged in between us.

The newcomer effortlessly broke his grip on me; he shouted out in pain as she did something brutal to his wrist.

"Is he bothering you?" she demanded of me as she held his arm away from me.

"Yes," I said, heart hammering in my chest, unutterably grateful. "Yes, he is. He's scaring me and he won't leave me alone."

She spun to confront my assailant, and I realised who she was by her elaborate braid.

"Fuck off," she told him, coldly. "Fuck off, right now. If I see you near her again you'll regret it."

"Fuck off yourself, you bitch, this is a conversation between me and her," he snarled as he struggled fruitlessly to free himself from her vicelike grip.

She got right into his space; fearless and utterly contemptuous of him. He flinched back from her, then yelled in agony as she torqued his wrist further with little visible effort.

"Looks like a pretty one-sided conversation from where I'm standing. Get out of here or the next thing coming out of your mouth will be teeth. And when I've put you down on the ground I'll break one of your arms for good measure. Maybe I'll go further and see how far your hip goes before it dislocates. How would you like that? I think it would be an interesting experiment in physiology..."

"Whatever, you fucking cunt. I'll leave. But I'll be back," he added, staring past her at me.

My champion held him pinioned for a few more seconds, then released him and stepped back - poised, fists clenched, staring at him as if she were daring him to chance his luck. He stared back at her, rubbing his wrist, before he turned and slunk off into the darkness, cursing and swearing at us.

I slumped down behind her, and put my hands on my knees to support myself as I panted softly and shook with relief, close to tears, unable to believe how close a call I'd just had.

I heard her let out a long, slow breath and she turned back to me. "What a class one fuckstick. Hey. Are you ok? Did he hurt you?"

"No and yes, he did," I whispered. I brushed the tears away and straightened up. "I'm not at all ok. I nearly wet myself. Fuck, that was terrifying. Thank God you were there. Oh my God, thank you for that."

She linked her arm with mine and applied gentle pressure.

"Come. Let's go inside and report that to Reception; it's warm in there and you can sit for a bit and just focus on recovering. Odds are he'll try that again, if not with you then with someone else. I've seen him around the gym. He gives off bad vibes. I never liked him one bit. Do you know him?"

"Just from here. I feel so stupid. I wish I'd never talked to him. God, I'm such an idiot."

"Chalk it up to experience. Come on. Lets go get you out of the cold and see about getting him banned from here."

She gently guided me back into the building, and hovered nearby while I described the encounter to the horrified women at the front desk. Then my guardian guided me to a table in the cafe and sat beside me, quiet and composed, arm around my shoulders as I shook my way through the adrenaline low that came crashing down onto me.

.:.

"Are you ok yet?" she asked, after my shivering had eased slightly.

"I can't stop shaking..."

"That was a very scary situation. I'm not surprised. Fear is a hell of a drug. Oh... sorry, just give me two secs..."

A group of men had wandered through and she flagged them down and scurried over to them for a moment. They greeted her raucously, then quickly went still. A brief, muttered conversation took place, and I noticed some grim looks being flung my way before they wished her a reserved goodnight and went on their way.

"What did you say to them?" I asked her softly when she sat down beside me again.

"I told them what happened to you. And I asked them to keep an eye out for him; that he was bad news and that we probably don't want him here any more. They're... lets call it unimpressed; he's not going to have a good time if he shows up here again."

"You guys sound like the Mafia," I said, nervously.

She gave me a small smile. "We're a tight knit group. We look after one another. Most of those guys have girlfriends or sisters or both. I think you can probably connect the dots."

"Well... I really appreciate that you were there. Thank you. That could have gone..."

"Much worse," she softly completed my sentence. "I'm really glad I was there as well. I'm Annabelle."

"... I'm Isla," I said, softly. "Um... would you really have punched him? And... broken his arm?"

"Yes. With a great deal of pleasure."

"You're so much braver than I am."

She snorted softly. "Sometimes, maybe. It's probably mostly stupidity though. Come. I'm parked over there," she added, pointing at a battered Renault Clio that I could faintly see through the window. "Can I give you a lift somewhere safe?"

"My mummy always told me not to get into cars with strangers," I said, hamming it up a bit as relief made me silly.

She laughed softly, and offered me her strong, slender hand.

.:.

"Would you like to come up?" I asked. "I feel like I at least owe you a cup of coffee for tonight."

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got some... stuff... to do tonight that I'm already overdue on. I'll claim the coffee some other time, if you'd like? Maybe buy me a take away one next time you're at gym and we'll call it even."

"It seems like such a cheap way to say thank you for your heroism," I said, softly.

She shook her head. "I'm just... really glad that I noticed what he was doing in time to help. And that he didn't have a knife on him," she added ruefully.