It's Only Temporary

Chapter 37: Power Failure

"Power On. Welcome."

David broke into an easy jog as the treadmill began to shift beneath his feet. He needed to keep moving, he told himself. One foot in front of the other. Turn the treadmill on. Turn the brain off. If he could lose himself in rhythm of the run - just for a little while - maybe he could escape the fact that the only person in the world that he actually cared about had just walked out of his life for good.

"Thanks, boss."

Those were the final words she said to him. She called him "boss." In the end, that's who he was to her. Not her friend.  Not David. He was Mr. Powers, her boss. That's all he ever had been.

He'd been just about to pull her in for a hug, right before she said it. "Thanks, boss." But he couldn't do it after that. He'd been fighting all morning just to hold it together, and when she called him that-

He had to get her out of there at that point. No choice. He couldn't let her see... everything. It was bad enough that he'd put it in the letter, but at least he wouldn't be standing there in front of her when she read it. He wouldn't have to see the look on her face.

What did it matter anyway, one hug more or less?

Now he just needed to stop thinking about it. She'd left his apartment an hour ago. She must be at the airport by now. Maybe she'd already boarded the plane. She probably hadn't read it yet. Probably wouldn't bother to read it for days. Maybe weeks... months.... Maybe never. Maybe she had enough recommendations from other people. Maybe she had dozens of them - dozens of letters from dozens of people who all knew her far better than he did. Maybe she would never read it at all.

Probably for the best if she didn't.

The treadmill clicked into a higher gear. Even as David quickened his pace, he knew it wouldn't be fast enough. The purpose of exercise was to clear his head. Think about something else. Anything else. Anything other than Penny.  And the letter.  And Penny reading the letter.

Would she read it on the plane?

It didn't matter where she read it. What difference did it make? She wouldn't be with him. That was all that mattered. She would never be with him.

He had his earbuds in. His regular workout mix played at its usual volume, but his mind barely even registered the sound. Maybe it wasn't loud enough. Maybe that was the problem, he thought. Turn the music up. Turn it up loud enough that he couldn't hear himself think. He reached into his pocket and pressed the volume button, clenching his jaw for a moment as the sound blasted painfully in his ears.

There, he thought. This was what he needed. Get out of his head for a while. Stop thinking about her. Stop trying to picture the way her face would look when she got to those words - those words he still couldn't quite believe he'd dared to write:

"I want her to know that I'm in love with her...."

Was that even true? Yes. Obviously, he was in love with her. But was it true that he wanted her to know? Maybe not. Probably not. Why, why, WHY had he written that?

God, he had to stop thinking about it.

David lifted his hand and pressed the green arrow on the treadmill's control console. He held it down firmly, watching the numbers on the LED display tick upward:

6 mph

7 mph

8 mph

9 mph

10 mph

He had to run hard to keep up with the pace, but still he kept his finger on the button.

11 mph

12 mph

13 mph

14 mph

15 mph

The numbers stopped. Top speed. He'd never pushed this far before. He had to sprint just to stay upright. The muscles in his thighs burned in protest, but he ignored them.

This was good, he thought, closing his eyes as he ran. This was what he needed. Just keep going. Pace after pace. Stride after stride. Keep going, even if it hurts. Focus on the pain. Focus on the music. Focus on the red-tinged darkness of his closed eyelids. Focus on anything - anything but her face.

David clenched his fists and pumped his arms in time with the music pounding in his ears. Seconds passed. Then minutes. How long could he keep this up? Just a little while longer, he told himself. Just run. Full speed. Just go. Just keep on running. Running, running, running, running-

BOOM!

David's eyes sprang open and he looked down wildly at his feet.

The conveyor belt had stopped. Stopped dead. Something had given way. Some circuit must have blown. Some gear....

His head jerked up, but it was too late. Too fast. His chest exploded in pain as he ran full speed into the control panel in front of him. The force of the impact knocked him clear off his feet, and his arms flailed uselessly as he felt himself fall backward.

He turned his head then. He never would know why. Some instinct? Some noise, perhaps. He turned his head as he went down, expecting to see an empty living room.

And he could swear he saw....

For the life of him, he could swear he saw....

There.

Next to the couch.

She was reaching toward him, but she was too far away to break his fall. All the way on the other side of the room. She was standing there. Her eyes were open wide.  Her hands were holding a....

Holding a....

Why was she holding the-

***

"David!"

He could hear her voice now, but her face had disappeared. Or maybe it was still there, but he couldn't see it - temporarily blinded by the cluster of stars that filled his field of vision.

"David?" He felt her hands on his shoulders. "David?"

Penny. Definitely her voice. He blinked.

Penny? Either he was having a full-on hallucination right now, or it was Penny, here in his living room, hovering over him with a look of concern on her face.

"Oh thank God," she said.

He was lying flat on his back, on the hardwood floor beside the treadmill, and he looked up at her blankly. Her face looked different from before. Not like when he said goodbye to her. Different. Her eyes looked... puffy. Her lashes were all pale again. They were dark when she left earlier. What happened to her mascara?

"David?" She shook him lightly by the shoulders. "David, say something. Can you hear me?"

He'd seen her eyes look like that once before, he thought. Just that one time. He'd been in the hospital. He'd woken up and found himself flat on his back in a strange room, in a strange bed, with a tube down his throat that he couldn't take out. He'd opened his eyes and blinked until his vision cleared, and then he saw her face. The room would have been empty except for her. Penny. She'd been sitting by the edge of his his bed, holding his hand. And her eyes had looked just like that. Just like that. Puffy.

Why did she look like that now? Because he fell? He couldn't have been out for more than a moment or two. Eyes didn't get like that in a moment or two....

"Say something," she whispered. "Please say something."

He remembered now - the last thing he saw, just before he went down. She'd been standing on the other side of the room. Next to the couch. Next to the spot where he kept the surge protector, tucked behind the couch. She'd been holding something in her hand.

The power cord.

That was why the treadmill stopped. Not a blown circuit. Not a mechanical failure. She must have pulled out the power cord.

"Dammit Penny!" he swore, when he managed to speak at last. "What the hell?"