3 | Partners in Crime

“Tell me that you missed me, you angry young man!" Logan, my hangouts partner, asks me as he gets off his bike. He takes off his helmet and runs a hand through his jet-black hair. His almond brown skin has acne scars on both of his cheeks. It looks awful to me and God knows how he still manages to grab girls. 

“No,” I reply earnestly and the door of my Sierra shuts behind me with a bang. 

Logan narrows his eyes walking towards me. Don’t get me wrong, I gave only a little push to the door. Its wrecked state made it sound like a bang. 

However, neither is Logan someone important for my justification nor am I someone to care what others think of me. Therefore, I just shrug and head inside the majestic gym where I work for money. 

Logan smirks and stands beside me as we head inside. A rich body spray from him seeps into my nose and I remind myself that he isn’t like me. I am not the one born with a golden spoon in my mouth.

Everything about Logan's gest spills about how filthy rich he is. His perfectly styled black hair, his carefree glances around the place, the constant fixing of his latest designer jacket, and boasting about the brand new model of bike he rode today. Long story short, he is the son of a business tycoon and rather astonishingly, money attracts girls. 

Logan and I have only one thing in common. Both of us are a little f*cked and we do four things together. 

When puberty hit him, Logan joined a gym but three older teenage boys made fun of him because Logan was obnoxious and looked down on them because of his wealth. Therefore, Logan told his dear daddy and now he has his own gym. About those three boys, they now work under Logan here as his gym workers and he still condescends to them. 

Even the name of this gym is f*cking rich, Gym Grandé. 

Logan’s father, Steve Thompson, owns his own nationwide textile business. I first met him at the funeral of my mother and to this date, he has been behind me. I have been practically raised by that man since I was fifteen. 

He took me in when both of my parents, my mother most importantly, had died. He provided me with a place to live and a gym to work and earn money for myself. I met Logan because of him. I am alive and breathing today just because of that man. But I still don’t know whether I should be grateful to him or should I punish him for keeping me alive. 

Because I wish that I were dead. 

There are people like Steve Thompson and Logan Thompson who live to see their wishes come true. They buy those wishes with their money. The more they get, the more wishes they wish. And when they’ve lived one day and seen their wish come true, they want to live more. They want to become eternal. That money fuels that desire to live. That money has poisoned their nasty minds.

Then come the goal-oriented people like those four-eyed nerds in my school who live to fulfill their dreams. They breathe each day in the pursuit of their beloved dreams. 

But I neither have wishes nor dreams. There is no driving force to excite my boring life and give me a reason to live. I just drag myself throughout the uneventful days in the hope that death will arrive soon. 

At the beginning of living with the Thompson family, I thought I would also be infected by the poison they spend on me. Today, three years have passed and I still don’t crave those crispy notes. Maybe it is because of my childhood incidents when I heard and saw my parents bickering over it. Look where money got them. To death. 

“You’ve got your shirt and tie for tonight, eh?” Logan stands beside me with his hands on his hips. I nod and resume my work of helping my client with his daily exercise 

“Nio, you know that you can do much better somewhere else, right, my son?” Charlie added his everyday statement. 

Charlie is a former boxer now in his early fifties. He trains boys here for the money. He once saw me knocking a fellow down the road and he thinks I can do well in the ring instead of assisting Logan with his 'other' hobbies. 

“Yes, Charlie, I know,” I hand the towel to my client to wipe his sweat, “but I still stand by my word. The ring isn’t for me” 

Charlie sighs and Logan laughs throatily. He takes Charlie away and I focus on my client once again. 

“There must be something to make you change your mind,” Charlie shouts from afar with a hopeful smile on his lips, standing near his trainees. 

I laugh apologetically this time. The ring is for goal-oriented or money-driven people. I am nothing and I don’t want to take their place. They will lose anyway. 

“I agree with Charlie too,” my client pipes in while lifting the dumbbells. “You will do a thousand times better than that.” He points at the two men whom Charlie is training for the upcoming match. 

They begin with some warm-up skips and within a millisecond, the first man jabs in the nose of the second man. I would have never aimed there for my first strike. The second man stumbles back and touches his bleeding nose. Then he pounces upon him and they start fighting like a bunch of kids whose lunch got snatched.

Charlie huffs and looks at me pleadingly. I shrug again and look back at my client who is shaking his head. 

In the next few hours, I help other clients with their regular exercises and get busy with my job. At some point, I feel the need to pee and I go to the toilet. When I’m done, my stomach growls with hunger. I knew I was hungry when I skipped lunch. I just didn’t feel like eating today.

Strangely, it felt boring. 

“Psst. Nio. Psst.” I hear the quiet whispers of Logan coming from somewhere behind me as I move to my next client. 

“Mr. Davis,” Logan reaches my client. “James will help you with your exercises today. Nio, follow me.” 

I walk quietly beside Logan and he comes to a stop behind the indoor plants that hide us both. He points his finger to that certain someone. 

“Fatty Forman is here.” His devilish snicker reaches my ears.

Perhaps, I won’t feel bored anymore.

Forman is fifteen years old and his parents forced him to join the gym because he is way too fat for his age. At first, he was quite adamant not to do any exercise and just chill till his two hours were up. He wanted me to help him fool his parents. Little did he know whom he was asking. 

I decided to make things a little exciting with the help of Logan. Now both of us help fatty Forman not to get further obese and to focus on his body. 

“Fatty Forman, my boy! I’ve missed you.” Logan strides towards him and forcefully pulls him in a tight hug. 

“You shouldn’t miss even a single day of exercise. It destroys the rhythm.” Logan pats his lower back pretending to be thoughtful. 

My eyes don’t fail to notice the way his hands pinch the ass of fatty Forman. Then he slaps there playfully. Fatty trembles in his arms. The ways he breathes erratically closes his eyes and purses his lips say it all. 

“Let’s get you moving.” I clap from behind and lead Forman where he exercises privately. Privately with Logan and me. 

“Get on the treadmill,” I tell him sternly. He does as I say and places his feet carefully but timidly on it. 

“Nio, go slow on my Fatty.” Logan’s hands run up and down his arms. A crooked smile never leaving his lips. “My fatty isn’t ready yet.” 

I nod and increase the speed of the mill. Fatty’s pace increases by every minute. His breathing becomes heavier and he gradually becomes a meatball of sweat. Within fifteen minutes, his eyes begin to droop and he looks as if to pass out any second now. My own heartbeat increases with the rush of adrenaline for what’s about to come or maybe for what I'm about to do. 

Perhaps Fatty Forman sensed it too. He shuts his eyes and gives up running anymore. His upper half falls forward and his lower half drifts back. I hear the last whimper escape his mouth. 

This is the third reason I’m the best worker of Logan. I’m his bullying partner. 

Logan and I catch Fatty just in time in our arms and I rotate the knob of the mill to zero. We place Forman on a chair and I look at his helpless and fainted body. Logan hands me his water bottle. 

“Your daddy will be proud of you today.” I hear Logan snicker once again beside me as I pour the ice-cold water over Fatty and he wakes up with a jolt into his worst nightmare.