In the Closet (boy x boy)

25. Between Deadlifts and Bench Press

Tuesday, April 18th

Tavish, with a firm hand on my shoulder, yanks me back. I stumble and almost fall. Left without a choice, I take notice of my environment. The gym is nearly full with members of the club. A smell of stifling cologne and coarse sweat filters through the air. A laborious silence floats, broken by grunts, pants, shuffling and, sometimes, the clacking of weights. The four walls of the room suffocate me and so do the memory attached to it. I don't want to be here. Not right now, not ever again.

Tavish gives my shoulder a tight squeeze to gather my attention. "Not so soon. Don't you want to be assigned your tasks?" he asks, everything about him mocking me.

"Not really," I answer and I see in him that he already knew that.

"Shame. Anyway." He starts walking towards a whiteboard at the other side of the gym and I have no choice but to follow.

There are some mutters as I pass by some guys and... Petrovish? I pretend he's not there because I'm intimidated enough by the McCloud brothers, I don't want to worry about that brute too. Anyway, Seamus did say this is a safe space for me. If I get my ass beaten, it might be right out the door but not in here for sure. Tavish spins a marker between his fingers and then whams it against the grid drawn on the board. Each line bears a different name of members and is accompanied by a review and statistics.

"Weekly performance review," Tavish starts. He turns his body towards me and nudges my chest with the marker. "That's you."

I try not to panic at the idea of learning everybody's name. My body feels lighter than air. I'm not sure what reality even is anymore, where all I am stands.

"Okay," I mumble. His eyes narrow at the edges but he doesn't utter anything, instead he places the marker back where he found in.

"Follow me." And he's off, walking in another direction. I try not to roll my eyes, as if I hadn't followed him the first time around.

He leads us to a door, opens it to reveal a closet full of cleaning equipment. I flatten my mouth as I anticipate what I know is coming.

"Equipment needs to be cleaned often. Maybe a sweep a couple times a week too. That's all on you too." His voice is stern, like he's scolding me for something I didn't do. I let out a small sigh in hopes my head stops spinning for a moment.

Tavish clenches his jaw, shoots a glare at me and strolls towards a vacant space. He grabs a bar. It flies through the air as if it had no weight, as if it was as light as a feather. Then, with the help of a couple members, he threads some weights on, more and more. I watch as they choose to stop and attach a clip on either sides. Tavish waves the members away with a thankful nod and flicks a thick belt on. I prefer not to ask questions about the whole ritual unfolding. He props himself in a certain position. His stance isn't too wide, if that can signify anything at all. With a clap of his hands and some cheering, he bends his legs, arches his back and catches hold of the bar. Then he straightens his back and the bar is off the floor for a couple seconds. I jump when it comes crashing back down, along with a roar of clapping and encouragement.

Tavish exhales heavily. "See? Easy." He directs the comment at me.

I gulp, nodding docilely. His smirk returns and I swear it might reach his ears. He reminds me of hyenas, the cruel ones from kid's movies.

"Great, your turn." I feel blood drain from my face. My pallor reflects in the mirror in front of me. Tavish laughs throatily.

"I can't do that," I say.

Tavish grants the weight a light demonstrative kick and it jolts a bit. "It's just 200 pounds. Do it," he says and I know it's an order. There's some clapping, whether it's in encouragement or derision, I don't want to know.