Trophy Wild

May Darling’s legs burned with the rhythm of the peloton, each revolution of the pedals matching the steady beat of the instructor's voice booming through her wireless earbuds. Sweat dripped down her temples, her lungs filled and emptied with the precision of a well-tuned machine, but despite her body's automatic compliance, May's mind was elsewhere. “Push harder! You’re almost there!” the instructor’s enthusiastic voice grated against her nerves. Her eyes flicked to the timer. Four more minutes. She clenched her jaw and **** her legs to keep moving. Her breath grew heavier, not from the exertion, but from something clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach. The air in the room felt too thick, the rhythm of the pedals too fast, the instructor’s voice too loud.

“Keep going! Don’t stop now!”

Suddenly, she couldn’t. Her feet stopped, the pedals spinning as she ripped the earbuds from her ears. Her heart pounded in her chest, but not from the workout. With a sharp cry, she swung her leg off the bike and, with both hands, pushed it over. It crashed to the floor with a clatter.

May stood there, chest heaving, staring down at the toppled machine. The anger lingered, coiling tight around her. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her face. A decade ago, this would have been unimaginable. She had been fresh out of college, full of hope and ambition, without a car in the world. And then she met Roger.

She hadn’t planned on falling in love with him. It had happened quickly. He was older by fifteen years, a successful lawyer with the kind of charm that could sway juries. He had swept her off her feet, and before she knew it, she had traded her studio for a luxury penthouse. In recent years Roger was more absorbed in his work. Late nights at the office grew more frequent. Her own days had become monotonous. Charity events, lunches with society women, yoga classes, and shopping sprees filled the hours. It was as though her life had been put on pause, and she had been left to wither in the silence.

May dropped her hands and opened her eyes, staring blankly at the expensive exercise bike lying on the floor. It was ridiculous, she thought, to get so worked up over something so trivial. Maybe I should go shopping, she thought. The idea only deepened her sense of despair. She took a deep breath and walked over to the large mirror that dominated one wall of the room. Her reflection stared back at her—a woman in her early thirties, still beautiful, but with a new hollowness in her eyes. She took in the sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her workout clothes clung to her lithe frame. Then she turned away from the mirror and moved to her walk-in closet, searching for something that would make her feel more like herself, the self she wanted to be, not the one she had become. She pulled out a silk blouse, a pair of tailored trousers, and black heels that added an inch or two to her height. The outfit was one of her favorites, simple yet elegant, and she slipped into it with practiced ease. She ran a hand through her long, chestnut hair, tousling it slightly, and allowed herself a small smile.

Without another thought, she grabbed her purse and keys and walked out of the apartment. The doorman nodded to her as she passed, but she barely noticed him. She stepped out onto the street, the late afternoon sun warm on her face, and began to walk.

The streets were busy,but May felt disconnected from it all, as though she were moving through a world not her own. She walked faster, trying to outpace the frustration clinging to her like a shadow. It wasn’t until she found herself standing in front of a familiar building that she stopped. It was an art gallery, one she had frequented in her college days. The windows were filled with paintings and sculptures, and through the glass, she could see the familiar layout of the gallery. White walls and polished floors tugged at her memory.