Sanctuary in Sweat
(Esther Nicholette Sullivan) The door creaked on its hinges, a final note in the discordant symphony of my departure. As I slid behind the wheel of my Jeep, the seat’s leather clung to me like a second skin, an embrace from a familiar friend. With a flick of my wrist, I turned the key, igniting not just the engine but a spark of something within me – liberation, maybe, or defiance.
As the music erupted from the speakers, each beat pulsated through me, a rhythmic rebellion against the silence that had settled between James and me. The road stretched before me; headlights cut through the darkness, a beacon guiding me toward a sanctuary where I could breathe again.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the life I was momentarily leaving behind. The glow of the living room window faded into the night, swallowed by the distance as I drove away. My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to moments long past.
���Look at you, Nic! You’re glowing!” James’s voice echoed in the memory. It was a time when my efforts were celebrated, when we danced in the kitchen, our laughter spilling into the night. Back then, every success, every stride forward, was a shared victory.
But now? Now, Alpha Athletics was my battleground, the place where I reclaimed myself piece by piece. And he... he resented it, resented me for finding strength in something that didn’t include him.
A rogue tear traced a path down my cheek, an escape from the dam I’d built to contain them. At what cost? The question lingered, an unwelcome guest amidst the clamor of doubts. I wiped it away, refusing its claim to my moment of peace.
“Enough,” I whispered to myself to the empty passenger seat, to the night. The word was a vow, a line drawn in the sand. Enough doubting, enough guilt, enough being a ghost in my own life.
The music swelled, a defiant anthem against the storm inside. I was strong and capable, and for this fleeting journey, I was unapologetically me. It was a feeling I would chase, time and again, as long as it took to find the answer to that haunting question.
The bass thumped against the Jeep’s doors, a pulsing heartbeat that matched my own. I drove like I was shedding a skin, each mile putting distance between me and the stifling air of home. Streetlights streaked by in a blur as I gripped the steering wheel, each passing moment taking me closer to the sanctuary.
Pulling into the Alpha’s parking lot, I killed the engine and let the silence wash over me. It was a world apart from the chaos of home. In this place, the soundtrack was always an electronic symphony of beeps and booms from James’s endless gaming sessions. Here, it was different. Here, I could breathe.
“We burning the midnight oil again, Nic?” Mary called out, leaning against her cherry-red sports car, a playful smirk on her lips.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I replied, stepping out of my Jeep. My sneakers hit the asphalt with purpose, the familiar ache in my muscles already anticipating the workout.
“Ready to spill some sweat and tears?” Delilah jested, spreading her arms wide towards the grueling workout before us. Our laughter echoed around us, deep and authentic— a stark contrast from the strained titters that usually echoed within my living room.
We pushed through Alpha’s doors, and the scent of effort and resilience flooded my senses. The clank of weights and the rhythmic whirring of treadmills were music to my ears—the antithesis of my life’s daily grind.
“I’m still sore from Friday,” Delilah giggled, tying her hair back with a swift, practiced motion.
“Always,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart raced with more than just the thrill of exercise. “Let’s get to it, ladies,” I announced, shaking off the ghosts of the past. The gym was my haven, my hour of power where I was no one’s wife or mother—just Nic, fierce and free.
As we took our places, surrounded by the hum of machinery and the unspoken camaraderie of our little tribe, I let myself sink into the moment. This was my battleground, my escape. For this fleeting hour, I belonged to no one but myself. And nothing—not even the specter of a disintegrating marriage—could take that away from me.
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Don’t Let Go of My Hands
Whatever happens, don't let me go.
My hands have a story | Alex S Beto – Pexels
I swear I do not need youbut having you near,
it would help.
Yeah! I swear I do not need youbut I just need to knowyou will not disintegrate,whatever happens.
I just need to know you won’t let goyou won’t let it go,you won’t let me go.That crystal balls won’t fall and shatterheads won’t grow furious like chimps, emotions
let’s find a way to…
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