Page 25 of In the Long Run

GEN

Like everything in life, running is a series of contradictions.

You’ve got to be careful not to overtrain. But you’ve got to do the work if you want to see results. It’s important to rest. But if you don’t push yourself, you won’t improve.

The dull headache that I woke up with at three a.m. has transformed into a throbbing pain, but I push on, forcing one foot in front of the other.

I considered skipping this morning’s session when I saw how thick the fog was but I’m a completionist, so I dragged myself out of bed and into a quick shower to try and clear my head.

Not even one of the eucalyptus steamers Caleb covets like they’re made of gold helped.

My watch timer beeps and I slow to a jog. Everything feels too heavy, too hard.

Three more intervals.

And then I’ll go home. I’d go to Alizée’s, but I don’t want to run into Knox.

Not after I embarrassed us both last night.

By the time I realised he thought I didn’t want him, he’d already backed off.

All I’d meant was that I didn’t know what I wanted from him because he’s only in Melbourne until Eugene’s better and then he’ll go back to Brisbane.

And if what he was saying last night is correct, after that he’ll be moving overseas.

I’m not the kind of girl who can do casual relationships – no judgement about those who can – so where does that leave us?

Is there any point even trying when we’d be doomed before we began?

I breathe deeply, sucking air all the way down to my diaphragm, but my heart races and my stomach roils. My Garmin beeps, signalling the end of my rest period, and I pick up my pace, moving my arms faster, praying my legs will follow.

As I approach the end of the path that runs along the Esplanade, I realise I’ve misjudged my distance.

If I keep going straight, I’ll eventually end up too far away from home.

I’m already cold and grumpy. But if I go through a bit of Pinnacle Park, I could loop back and finish right near the apartment block.

I hesitate, casting my gaze around the path in front of me.

I wouldn’t be going near the section of the park Mum was talking about at dinner.

My head pounds like a drum. I just want to get home and climb back into bed. I veer left into the park.

I’m midway through my second interval when someone barrels out into me from behind the toilet block.

My first thought is Brand. But it’s not him.

‘Hey!’ the guy yells.

He’s average height. Running buff around his neck. Face hidden beneath a baseball cap. One of those weird ones where the bill can flip up or down.

His hands snatch at me and his fingers drag along my forearms.

I shake him off. Oh, God. Is it that guy? The one targeting female runners?

I want to scream.

But there’s no air.

And my lips won’t move.

All I can think about is how I brushed away Mum’s concerns last night, boasting that I had this. And I don’t have this.

‘Hey!’ the man snaps again, his voice deep and gritty, breaking through the fog in my head. The pounding between my ears.

If he says something else, I don’t hear it.

Because I’m running.

I never stopped.

My vision blurs.

I must be crying?

But I don’t stop.

My chest burns.

Breathe.

I don’t look over my shoulder to see if he’s following me.

I assume he is.

I have to assume he is.

Because he could be that guy.

I don’t stop.

I don’t wipe my eyes.

Or my nose.

I don’t stop until I can’t breathe anymore, my lungs, legs, everything on fire.

I don’t hear Knox until he’s in front of me. Stopping me with a gentle hand that I recoil from, tipping sideways and almost toppling over the bluestone seawall. His familiar form solidifies with each blink.

His eyes are frantic. ‘Gen, Jesus. Are you okay?’

I still don’t have words. I open my mouth and slam it shut when nausea races up my throat but there’s no stopping it. I lean over the side of the low wall that separates the pathway from the beach and lose the contents of my stomach in a violent rush.

‘Can I touch you?’ Knox asks.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I nod.

He gently lifts the loose strands of hair that have escaped my ponytail off my face, holding my hair out of the way when I vomit again.

Because I don’t know what that was. My breathing starts to slow. Maybe I scared that guy as much as he scared me?

Or maybe he is the asshole harassing female runners.

But the thought I can’t shake is how unfair it is that this is even a consideration. I have every right to run where I want to, when I want to.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because I still got scared.

And I hate that so much.

Of course Knox insisted on walking me home.

And he’s still here now as I potter around the kitchen, flicking the kettle on and emptying the drainer. Knives and forks clatter into the cutlery drawer. It feels important to be busy right now.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ he says gently like he’s scared I might fall apart.

The only chance of that happening is if I give in to the embarrassment crawling over my cool skin. I need a jumper. Or another shower.

Now that I can breathe again, I’ve got some much-needed perspective. Talk about an overreaction.

I blame my headache. And being distracted by what happened with Knox and how I’d wanted more but mucked everything up. Another misstep in a series of poor romantic decisions.

‘I’m okay.’

Please leave me alone.

He stands tall, his arms crossed, one shoulder pressed against the door frame. ‘You don’t have to be. If you aren’t. And I’m not saying you aren’t. Just giving you options.’

I play with a loose thread at the bottom of my shirt.

‘Gen.’ He crosses the wooden floor in two steps until he’s right in front of me. His hands raise and then fall back to his sides like he was going to touch me and changed his mind.

‘I’m cold,’ I say, because I am. ‘I think I’m getting sick.’

A muscle in his jaw flutters. He’s considering his words. ‘What happened back there?’

I shift away from him, rubbing my hands together but stopping when my fingernails drag along my palms. Just like that guy’s did. I drop my chin to my chest and regret it immediately, because the ache in my forehead intensifies. I sigh loudly. ‘Nothing.’

He wants to call bullshit, I can tell. ‘Want to try again?’ Knox asks kindly.

‘It’s embarrassing,’ I mumble, aiming my confession at his sneakers rather than his face.

‘I won’t laugh.’ He’s so earnest. So sincere.

‘I got a fright.’ My voice is so small. I hate it.

‘How?’

‘There was a man. While I was out running.’ I look up from underneath my lashes, gauging his reaction.

Knox’s eyes flash and he stops breathing for a few seconds. ‘What did he do?’

‘He was coming out of the public bathroom in Pinnacle Park. I think I gave him a fright too, but he yelled at me. Grabbed at me but—’

‘He touched you? Who is this asshole?’ All the lines and angles that make up Knox’s body tense.

It’s a physical reminder that Knox always wants to protect the people he cares about.

My cheeks heat at the thought that he might care about me, which is dumb.

He keeps showing me that he does, like telling me that he wants to kiss me or last night when he walked away.

At first I was confused about why he’d backed down.

But later, as I’d laid in bed, my fingers tracing the spot on my cheek where he’d kissed me, I’d realised.

The second I said I didn’t know what I wanted, he’d stopped.

‘It was an accident.’ The more I think about it, the more sense this makes.

‘But he scared you?’

I lick my lips before whispering, ‘Yes.’

‘Then that’s not okay.’

‘I panicked. Remembered everything Mum said last night and all the other stuff that female runners have to put up with.’ Mostly, I’m disappointed in my reaction.

‘What do you mean, all the other stuff ?’

‘Have you ever been told not to run outside? Or that you should carry a personal alarm? To not tie your hair up in a ponytail because it’s easier to grab?

To wear clothes that are hard to remove.

To look like a woman. To not look like a woman.

That if the streetlights are on it’s not safe for you.

Or that you should always leave something in the tank so you can literally run for your life if you have to.

’ My throat’s raw when I finish speaking.

‘People have said this to you?’

‘Not just me. It happens to every woman who runs.’

‘That’s not okay.’

‘It’s not. But it’s the reality, and this morning it all got too much for me. For a second, I thought it was Brand and I was …’ My head pounds harder. ‘I was scared, but it wasn’t him. The build was all wrong and the voice. And then I thought about the guy from the news and I panicked.’

‘You should call the police.’

I know he’s right. Mum and Dad always drilled into us that anything suspicious should be reported.

‘Just tell them what happened. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe it was something else. Let them decide.’

My shoulders sag.

‘I’ll stay with you.’

I should send Knox away. Tell him that it’s fine.

But I don’t want to, so I do something very uncharacteristic: I let myself take comfort in someone else’s presence.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me to the couch, waiting until I’m settled to look up the police’s non-urgent number for me.

I type it in with shaking fingers. I can tell he wants to offer to do it for me, but he doesn’t.

I chew on my bottom lip as I follow the phone prompts and then stumble over my recount when I’m connected to a male officer, who takes down all my details and says someone will be in contact if they need any more information.

When I hang up, I expect to feel relief.

To be able to put this behind me. Hopefully forget that it happened. Whatever it was.

But a heaviness lingers, gluing my limbs to the couch, making my head all drowsy.

‘Where’s your flatmate?’ Knox asks.

Caleb’s away for a few days with Lawson. ‘Away.’

Knox pulls out his phone and swipes at the screen. ‘Fancy some company?’

‘I have work to do.’

‘So do I,’ he replies.

‘I thought you were on leave?’

‘Now that Eug’s doing better, I’m doing a bit remotely.’

Oh. I drag a hand across my eyes, trying to clear the grittiness lingering beneath my eyelids. ‘I really am fine. Well, aside from this annoying headache.’

‘I know.’ He smiles. The quiet, little private one I’m noticing more and more when we spend time together. It’s starting to feel like maybe that’s my smile. The one that only I get.

‘What about Eugene?’ I ask around a yawn, wanting to ignore the inevitable crash after the adrenaline rush, but it’s becoming harder. I’m so tired.

‘He’s got some buddies coming over this morning to play mahjong. I think he’s sick of looking at my face.’

Impossible . It’s such a good face. I must say that out loud too because as my eyelids close, the last thing I hear is Knox’s surprised, throaty laugh.

It’s early afternoon when I wake. Sunshine dances across Knox’s face, bathing his skin in a golden glow. I’d sit and watch him for a bit longer but my bladder protests. He glances over when I stand.

‘Hey there,’ he says, closing his laptop. He must’ve gone to grab it from his place and come back.

‘Hi.’

He looks good on my couch. Nestled into the corner, with a coffee tucked against his hip and a plate with a few crumbs on it next to him. He nods towards the coffee table. ‘I got you a sandwich.’

I peek inside the brown paper bag sitting next to Caleb’s stack of cookbooks.

‘I got you several sandwiches,’ he clarifies, and the tips of his ears go adorably pink. ‘Wasn’t sure what you’d feel like. There’s soup in the fridge, too.’

The word ‘fridge’ makes me pause. My brain starts sending up smoke signals that it’s significant for some reason and then I remember: Caleb’s drawing of Knox.

The caricature gets more ostentatious every few days.

The newest additions? A backwards baseball cap and a large gold necklace with a diamond-studded ‘Stern Croissant Daddy’ pendant that hangs between what I can confirm are not outrageously inaccurate assumptions about Knox’s chest muscles.

‘Caleb did the drawing. It wasn’t me.’

Knox looks down at his hands, his lips curling into an embarrassed smile. ‘Please don’t ever show it to Celeste or Yeti.’

‘I won’t,’ I reply, grateful he’s not going to make it into some big thing. ‘Um …’ I pull at the neckline of the jumper I’m wearing and realise it’s huge. And blue. And not mine.

‘You got cold,’ Knox says, and the pink on his ears moves to his cheeks, his neck. ‘Woke up and demanded my jumper.’

That sounds like me. ‘Do you want it back?’ He’s changed into a pair of slouchy jeans and a black hoodie. Showered too, based on the fresh, clean scent that fills my nose when I breathe deeply.

‘It’s okay,’ he says.

‘Oh, well, thanks.’ I clear my throat. ‘For everything. Today, I mean.’

‘It seemed like you could use a friend.’ He pauses, shakes his head like he’s trying to talk himself into something and then says, ‘And I wanted that friend to be me.’

Friend. Oh. Oh.

This morning’s embarrassment resurfaces.

Knox isn’t talking himself into something.

He’s already talked himself out of it. There’s no denying the attraction between us, but we can’t keep going on like this.

If we do, we’ll be stuck in uncharted waters and every time I think I see land, it’ll be gone in a blink.

Knox isn’t just nestled into the corner of my couch. He’s giving me space. Setting a new boundary for us. Reminding us both that this can’t go anywhere anyway.

So what’s the point?

It’s another bit of proof that Knox is a good guy.

Being friends is the smart call here. My client list’s finally at a level where I can breathe properly again, we’re heading towards the pointy end of marathon training, and it’ll be much easier to see Knox when he visits Eugene in the future if we keep things platonic.

‘I can go, though …’ He starts to pack up his things and I realise I’ve been silent for too long.

‘No, no.’ My words tumble out all over each other. I take a deep breath. ‘I’m glad you’re still here.’

Because I am.

We share an awkward look and I’m saved from not knowing what to say next when my bladder reminds me that it’s in charge. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘Have you heard of The Barkley Marathons ?’ Knox asks.

Never.

‘It’s a documentary about an ultramarathon in the States. Do you want to skip work and watch it?’

‘Sure.’

And the rest of the afternoon is pretty great, even if I can’t shake the feeling that the worst thing Knox has ever called me isn’t ‘coffeebean’, it’s ‘friend’.