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1011 Words
The next morning, the arena was even colder than usual. Not because the temperature had plummeted. Not because the ice was fresher, or because the lights were dimmer. It was because Sheila Feint headed in knowing what was on her shoulders the fact that each step she took would invite judgment, scrutiny and the relentless presence of Atticus Finch. She tried to convince herself it was not important. She wanted to tell herself that this was for work. The truth, however, was she never felt so aware of her own vulnerability.
She walked into the training room with a clipboard in one hand and felt a sudden tectonic shift in the air. Players glanced up, then turned away. Some smirked. Some whispered. Some gaped directly at her, as if daring her to respond.
Sheila lowered her head and moved to the corner as far from Atticus as she could. She was only starting to record the warm-up routines when she heard a voice behind her. “Feint.”
Sheila froze. She did not immediately turn around. She didn’t want to show he could influence her. But the voice was too close.
Sheila turned slowly. Atticus stood several feet ahead, arms crossed, eyes locked on her. He looked tired. Not physically tired. Mentally tired. As though he had been battling something inside him all day.
Sheila’s heart beat faster. She hated that she felt that.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Atticus didn’t reply immediately. He just stared. Then he spoke. “You’re still here.”
“Yes,” Sheila said. “I’m still here.”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Sheila’s jaw tightened. “Because I have a job.”
Atticus’s expression hardened. “You’re not meant for this.”
She felt a wave of anger swell in her chest. “Who are you to determine what I’m meant for?”
Atticus’s eyes flashed. “I’m someone who knows what this world does to people like you.”
Sheila’s voice rose. “People like me?”
Atticus’s voice dropped. “People who think they can come into a world they don’t understand and not get hurt.”
Sheila stared at him, refusing to back down. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
Atticus's lips pressed together. “You should be.”
Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Because you said so?”
Atticus took a step closer. Sheila’s heart hammered. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. But it felt like pressure just from his being there.
Atticus leaned in, his voice low. “You don’t understand how this world works.”
Sheila’s voice stayed steady. “Then teach me.”
Atticus widened his eyes just a bit, almost as if he was struck with some surprise at her reply. Then his face hardened once more. “I’m not here to teach you.”
Sheila’s voice sharpened. “Then why are you talking to me?”
Atticus’s gaze stayed on her. Sheila’s chest tightened. “You’re not going to scare me.”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not trying to scare you.”
Sheila scoffed. “Then what are you doing?”
Atticus’s face grew serious. “I’m warning you.” Sheila’s voice rose. “Warning me about what?”
Atticus gazed at her for a long moment and was almost deciding whether to confront her or not. Then he said, quietly, “You’re not safe here.”
Sheila’s breath hitched. She felt the hairs crawl up her arms. Sheila’s voice quieted slightly. “Why do you care?”
Atticus’s eyes flickered away for a second. Sheila noticed something in them she had never seen before, something like concern. Then he looked back at her, expression cold again.
“Because you’re stubborn,” he said. “And stubborn people get hurt.”
Sheila’s anger flared again. “I’m not stubborn. I’m determined.”
Atticus’s voice dropped. “Determination doesn’t protect you.”
Sheila looked at him with a pounding heart. She hated that he sounded like he was saying this because he knew. The idea made her hate that his words were a warning from someone who was already broken.
Sheila’s voice wavered. “You don’t know me.”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “I know enough.”
Sheila felt her hands shake. She despised that she was trembling. She hated that he was giving her the feeling. She hated that he was making her doubt herself. Sheila took a deep breath. Then she said calmly, “If you think I’m going to leave, you’re mistaken.”
Atticus looked at her for a moment longer and then turned away. Sheila looked down at him as he walked to the training room, tensed with tension in his shoulders and jaw locking.
Sheila had the feeling of anger, terror and something she could not identify. She attempted to pay attention to her job, but her mind kept returning to him. She kept writing, attempting to document what she saw, but her mind seemed to drift.
The day passed slowly. Every time she glanced up, Atticus looked at her. The minute she tried to push him away, there were eyes on her back.
Sheila attempted to tell herself she was strong. She attempted to assure herself that she was in control. But when the day was over, she noticed a sinking feeling in her chest. She didn’t know what it was. She didn’t know what he was arranging. She didn’t know what he wanted. All she was made to believe is that she didn't trust him. And she didn't want to.
Sheila crossed that arena door, the cold air hitting her face. She felt the presence, Atticus Finch. She felt like someone was watching her. And she knew, without a doubt, that the world of which she had willingly accepted a part was much more dangerous than she ever had anticipated.
Sheila Feint was never afraid of anything in her life. But now she wasn’t sure if she’d have the guts to stay.
- Writer
