Page 114 of Devil Inside

“Professionallyspeaking, that is.”

I laugh, only for it to hitch in my chest the second Gil stretches my hamstring. “Ow.”

“Crybaby. I barely touched you.”

“Says you...”

“Says me.” We start off simple, like always. I’m on my back for some straight leg raises. Gil kneels next to me while I lift my leg six inches up from the mat and hold it there.

Gil counts down from ten, then I switch legs and start all over again.

“Not bad, not bad.” Gil’s not afraid to get in there, really grab hold of my body and find the tension points. He’ll find the very edge of his patient’s physical limits, walking right upto the line, and seeing if he can convince us to push ourselves a bit further. Go beyond.

“There you go,” he says. “Looking good...”

“You say that to all your patients.”

“Whoever this lady friend of yours is, she’s been giving you one hell of a workout...”

“She’s stepping on your turf,” I say, smirking.

“Damn. You got claw marks all over. Looks like you got in a knife fight with a jaguar.”

His chitchat is a distraction. I’m not supposed to notice he’s gently pressing my leg back, just to see how far it’ll flex before I wince. “Don’t worry about me, doc.”

“Just give her my number, okay? Once she’s done chewing through you...”

“Yeah. Right.” I can’t help but laugh again, just a bit, as I strain through the stretches. I feel like a fleshy pretzel getting torn apart by Gil. “I don’t even have her phone number...”

“This girl got a name, at least?”

I’m about to say it, her name right there at the tip of my tongue—Lilith—but for some reason, I think twice. Hold her back. “She’s not your type, trust me.”

“I’m every woman’s type,” Gil says, clucking his tongue.

“What a lady-killer.”

“I’ll throw you some pointers, if you’re interested... On the house.”

I hiss at a particular stretch. Now I’m feeling the sear in my muscles. The heat starts slight, an itch in the tissues, then branches out and spreads.

“Let’s move on to the ankle alphabet.”

I’m supposed to imagine my big toe is a pencil and I’ve got to write out the alphabet—A through Z—all with my feet, rotating the ankles on each foot.

Gil grips my knee. He pushes, just a bit, and I hiss again, wincing this time. Jesus, my body’s mangled. “You’re never going to get your body back at the rate you’re going...”

“Thanks, doc,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Love the bedside manner.”

“Life is short, my friend. You survived. Not everybody does.”

“Should I have?”

“All this stress is doing your body no good,” he says. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack before you turn thirty from all the weight you’re carrying around. Killing yourself. You need to let go, man... Or it’s really gonna drag you down. To hell and back.”

My body locks. Pure reflex. “What was that?”

“What’s what?”