(Author's note. I want to put a warning on this chapter as i briefly address Merle's racism. I've painted Merle in quite a good light. But i think it's important not to sidestep the fact that he is indeed racist. I apologise in advance if i upset or offend any of my readers.)
"Come on, i want at least two more," Merle says as he reads his book, his feet up on Rachel's chair.
Rachel nods, sweat pouring off her body. Her muscles ache, but she refuses to give in as she does another chin up, even though her arms and shoulders are screaming at her.
"Come on, shortie. One more and you can come sit down," Merle says, his head still in his book.
Rachel pulls herself up once more then drops from the doorway of her apartment, her breath heavy. "I.. hate exercising."
"Good," Merle smiles. "You can get started on this then while you rest," he throws a hand grip on the table.
Rachel's face drops as she tries to catch her breath. "You're evil, you know that?"
Merle smiles. "Yep! I sure am. Come on, sit yourself down."
Rachel sits at the kitchen table and takes the hand grip, slowly squeezing it. "I'm rubbish at all this."
"Don't sell yourself short, sugar. You're doing a hell of a lot better than i thought ya would. Don't forget, it won't be this extreme forever. Ain't try'na make you into no bodybuilder. Once your strong enough, it's all just maintenance after that. Ain't that hard to maintain something once it's there."
Rachel nods, taking a sip of water as she continues squeezing the grip. "I'm getting better with these grippy things."
"I can see that. Remember, if you're out there, you'll have to improvise. Ain't hard," he says, closing his book.
"What you reading?"
"A clash of kings, it's pretty damn good. Woulda made a good movie if the world hadn't gone tits up," Merle smiles.
"Did you have a favourite film?"
"Nah. Never did like watching television, rots your brain," he says.
"You must have watched something?"
Merle tilts his head. "I quite liked westerns, but that goes without saying."
Rachel attempts to hold in a laugh.
Merle raises an eyebrow in mock offence. "Something funny bout that?"
"No," she struggles to hold back a smile. "So like, Clint Eastwood? Stuff like that?" She asks, trying to show an interest.
"Meh, John Wayne was a helluva lot better," he says.
"I've never seen a western.. unless you count Shangai Noon," she says.
Merle frowns. "That piece of shit? That ain't no western."
"It's got cowboys, and Indians. How is it not a western?"
"Cos it ain't realistic. That China man wouldn't a lasted five minutes in the real west," Merle points out.
"Why?"
"Cos people like that didn't mix with us back then, just didn't happen. Much better time if you ask me," Merle sneers.
Rachel throws the hand grip at his chest.
"Ow! What the hell!" Merle yells.
"Don't say stuff like that!" She frowns.
He stares at her confused. "Why not?"
"Because it makes you sound like a stupid piece of shit! That's why," her chair screeches as she gets up, storming off to the bathroom. She sticks her head out of the door. "And, Jackie Chan would've kicked you right into next week!" She shouts before slamming the door.
