New Story-Jagged

New story I just started on. Breaking the rules of my "plan" but I couldn't get it off my mind. Hope you like.

Jagged
Chapter One
The baby was pink and round, with chubby ankles and arms; everything a baby should be. But I didn’t want it.
The nurses had bundled him in a pale blue blanket which brought out the darkness of his blinking gray eyes. Why did they have to bring him to me? My baby. With my blood, my genes running throughout his tiny body.
Lying on the bed, he began to kick off his blanket. His mouth opened like a freshly-hatched robin’s and his cry sounded like one too. His head tossed side to side, searching. Needing. Me. My comfort.
But I couldn’t soothe him. Couldn’t move my arms to even touch him. I’m sorry, my unspoken apology never reached his ears. I pulled my knees up to my chest. I didn’t want you. I didn’t want any of this.
Tears streaked down the rigid muscles of my face. And still the baby cried.
Beep. Beep. Beep. I sprung out of my bed like a taut wire. My heart pounding, breath came fast. It was just a dream. I ran my fingers through my tangled hair. The horrible crying— the baby, just a dream.
Air whooshed out my mouth. Head hung between my knees. Somehow I felt more exhausted than I did before I went to bed.
Longing to pull the covers over my head, curl up to the warmth of Darrin’s body, but the green digits of my alarm clock blared 5:02 a.m. Like it or not, time to get up.
Staying quiet for Darrin was difficult. The effects of the dream cursed through my body. I had a hard time pulling on my sports bra and running shoes without shaking.
Good grief, Catherine, it was just a baby. You’d think my nightmares were about the Grim Reaper or something.
A run. Yes, a good run was exactly what I needed. Sweat the adrenaline out of my body.
Minutes later, the exercise room in the lowest level of our condo greeted me. As usual, no one else was up this early. The cleaning staff left the lights on for me. But the room’s emptiness only deepened the dark hole in my chest that the crying baby had knocked into me.
Forget it.
I fit the earplugs of my IPod into my ears and cranked up the volume to “American Woman.”
Several songs later, I looked down at the treadmill dash.
589 calories. 5.3 miles. 34 min 35 seconds.
The cuticle of my pointer finger turned white as I pushed the red up arrow. The treadmill quickened. Seven and a half miles per hour. Hot pink and white Nikes dashed over the imported complex cotton belt. Eight and three eights. Faster. Sweat streamed down my temples and dripped off my nose like salty rain drops.
Faster. Eight miles per hour. Eight and a quarter. Only half a mile to go now. Come on. Eight and a half. Heart pounded so fast. Lungs screamed. Legs whipped. Nine miles per hour. Move. Endorphin’s released somewhere in my brain. No thoughts. No open robin’s mouth. Only uninhibited speed. Freedom.
6.1 miles. Yes. Done. Fingertip pushed the down arrow and toes squished in the Nikes to a comfortable walk. Took a blue towel to my forehead. Sweat drops splattered like liquid silver on the black belt. Felt so good. Draped the towel over the handrails. Heartbeat slowed. 110 beats per minute. Stretched each calf, long blonde hair swinging over my shoulder, the tips wet.
Checked the clock. 5:47 a.m. Still alone in the workout room. Darrin’s body was warm and sleeping, his tight chest rising and falling under Egyptian cotton sheets somewhere above me, but I wasn’t finished yet.
Spine curled back, each vertebra touching the big, blue exercise ball. Hands behind my head, palms touched the tips of my ears. My mouth made an “oh” as air rushed out and my abs contracted, lifting my upper body parallel with the ground. The fan in the corner of the room made my armpits tingle as the moisture cooled. 5 reps. 10. No words to think of. No reports to analyze. Just muscles working. Air moving. At least, for now.
5:54 a.m. In an hour and half the board meeting would start. It was a big deal. I was to present the projected plan for phase two of the nation’s third largest shopping center that was under construction just twenty minutes away from my condo on the north side of New York. Shops at Riviera had been my baby for the last three years. Couldn’t blow it now. Reviewed the teasers and tag lines I had practiced all week with each flex of my abdomen. “Brought on all the big national chains. Exponential growth. Projected sales increases of 21%.”
Over and over. This I did so I wouldn’t have to think about what really made my heart trip: the Hopkins Annual Charity Gala. Darrin was to be a key speaker. An honorary guest. It was a big achievement. That’s not what I was worried about. Smiling in my Isaac Mizrahi designer gown, tapping the point of my Gucci heals against the table, while controlling the effect of the wine, was something I could handle. It’s what I was made for: fresh water pearls dangling on my ears, a sling of soft silver around my neck and a jewel of jade just at the tip of my cleavage. That jewelry fit me like a faceted crown, but there was one piece that wouldn’t fit: a ring made of diamonds meant for only one thing.
How could I prevent it from happening? A warming sensation concentrated upon my stomach. What could I say to him? Sitting up on the ball to take a drink from the water bottle, my reflection in the mirror across the room snagged my attention. Cheeks flushed magenta pink. Brushed blonde bangs out of my eyes that were green and vibrant. Skin smooth, and suntanned, lips bright from pumping blood. Cocked my head. Abs were tight. Stomach, hips and legs were smooth, slender, strong. Would have to be sure to make it to Pan’s Yoga class next week to keep it that way. My life. My way. My boyfriend- I’d keep it that way.
He got me our condo overlooking the park with a view that even the Sononnalp would envy. Not only did it have a retro Elaine Griffin style front room, but it checked off the last mark on my seven year plan. Yes, my seven year plan. That was what was so important to me. Everything so under control. So planned.
Lowered myself down on a navy-blue mat. Full suspension sit-ups. The tips of my manicured nails touching my scalp, I could feel the muscles and tendons in my neck flex and contract. Seven years to graduate from prestigious Northeastern top of my class with a masters degree in Business Communication, land a flashy job at a forward-moving company and get a condo in Carnegie Hall in the upper east side of Manhattan. Two years ago, all were accomplished save the condo part and I soon realized that coming from a middle-class background I still did not have the proper social connections despite my success in the corporate sector. That was where Darrin came in. He was born into a family with a long Ivy League history. Getting the condo took less effort than a blink of his long brown eyelashes.
Did he feel superior to me? I don’t know.
65 reps. 70. My stomach was taut under the skin. Come on. 25 more. Besides, I had a fetish for the city. It moved for me. Or so it seemed. The blaring of cab horns, the rush of delivery trucks, the smells of wet pavement and New York style hot dogs, the sophisticated men that turned to watch me pass, all of these existed for my delight. I respected its calloused roughness tinged with a welcome embrace that gathered any and all into it.
Anyone. Yes. Even the ragged homeless man. His sign came to mind as I pushed the air out of my lungs.
“Countdown to the End of the World: 31 days. Pray to Jesus. If you don’t believe in prayer, give me $3 and I’ll pray for you.”
The cardboard was tattered at the edges and stained from the previous night’s rainstorm, causing the letters to run like the black mascara of a drama mask. His wrinkled, filthy palm was cupped and weighted, as sacred as the Holy Grail itself. Brown finger nails pleading for a spare nickel or dollar, or $3 in this case. I took a calculated step away from him, hoping I didn’t get dirt on my brand-new, fire-engine-red Prada heels. They were so wickedly glorious.
His ancient, cloudy-gray eyes looked up at my shinning, gold-chained handbag like a beaten-puppy’s. Don’t even think about it, Mr. But then my cell phone buzzed and all thoughts about the tattered bum with his fatalistic cardboard warning were driven from my mind like a brakeless freight train.
150 sit-ups. Stopped. Took another sip of water. It was lukewarm now. Why were so many people concerned with end of the world? My life was enough to think about. 5:59. Yes, Darrin was practical. He would see the nonsensicalness of pushing our relationship. Maybe he’d let me trade the rock in for a new handbag. That’d be nice.
6:02 a.m. Overhead, the florescent lights flickered twice.
Weird. Maybe an electrical short or something.
I should go upstairs and take a shower. Call maintenance about the short. I put my hoodie on and stood.
The floor trembled through the rubber soles of my Nikes. I tried to steady myself. Maybe I overdid it this morning. I tried to clear my head. Maybe I just need a drink.
The water bottle in the treadmill cup holder rattled softly. Is this an earthquake? I’d never been in one before. An earthquake in New York? Maybe the construction had started on 75th street. But it was six in the morning. A little early for that.
The trembling turned to shaking. Vibrations shot up my claves, my hips, my arms. A low rumbling sound came up from the floor.
I toppled to the left, my arms flailing out, unable to keep my balance. I hit the side of a cycling machine. Pain jolted up my right arm as it braced the impact.
The floor shook underneath my body never allowing me to get hold of it. What the heck is happening? The bum’s sign flashed in my mind. End of the world.
From my position on the floor, I realized the equipment was shifting and sliding. I gripped onto the seat of the cycling machine, but it too was moving, as though the room had been tipped on its side.
My next thought was terrorist attack. The twin towers. The whole city tumbling down.
The rumbling became deafening. My ears rang. Like my head had been stuck in a fishbowl. I didn’t even hear the crash of the TV as it fell to the floor. The lights stayed on just long enough for me to see the ceiling in the right corner of the room start to crack.
A scream ripped out of my throat but I didn’t hear it. There was no where I could go, nothing I could do fast enough as the ceiling collapsed.
Something smashed into my face, knocking me backward. All was blackness.