Page 51 of Breaking Ophelia

The treadmill is screaming. My legs are pistons, my feet numb. I last fifteen seconds before the world whites out, and I slam the emergency stop with my palm, collapsing forward on the rails, breathing in short, violent gasps.

The silence is deafening.

“Noted,” says one of the men. “Endurance, above mean.”

I slide to the end of the mat and stand, swaying.

The next station is worse.

Strength, they call it, but the setup is pure torture. Free weights, a bench, a pull-up bar mounted so high I’d have to jump for it.

“Remove shirt,” says the Board member. “Testing upper body. No interference.”

“Why did you let me put it on?” I snarl through heavy breaths.

“Quiet and do as you’re told.”

I peel it off, skin clinging, and toss it on the floor. My nipples are bleeding, raw as the inside of my cheek. I see the camera move, auto-focusing on my chest, and I grit my teeth until my jaw aches.

They start with push-ups. Standard, then diamond, then knuckles.

I do every rep, counting in my head, ignoring the way my arms tremble, the way my breasts pull and sting.

When I hit fifteen, the man says, “Continue.”

I do.

At twenty, my elbows quiver, my arms collapse, but I catch myself, force another three.

The Board is silent.

“Pull-ups,” he says.

I jump for the bar, fingers slipping on the knurling. I manage two before my shoulders seize, then drop and go again.

They watch the whole time, never blinking.

Next is the bench. They load the bar to half my body weight and gesture for me to lie down.

I do.

The steel bites my back. The bar weighs nothing at first, but after two reps my arms scream. After four, my eyes water. At six, I’m crying, though I don’t let the tears fall.

They up the weight, do it again.

This time I fail before I even start, the bar pinning me to the rack. The Board member leans in, not to help, but to watch.

“Again,” he says.

I obey.

The world narrows to pain and breath and the sound of metal on metal. I lose track of how many sets, how many reps. My arms go numb.

When I can’t lift anymore, they move to legs.

Squats. Deadlifts. Lunges with weights I didn’t know existed.

By the time I finish, my body is a map of trembling muscle and burning skin.