Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  “You don’t have to tell me anymore,” Tyson says. The grip he has of my hand is tight and I know he’s seeing my story in his mind as well due to the vivid picture I’m creating. I can’t stop now though. Blinking several times, I give his hand a squeeze and continue.

  “I turned to Sammy and saw him lying on the ground, face up, with my father over him. He must have gone after my dad after he hit me because I remember later that my dad was bleeding from his temple. My dad kept hitting and kicking him over and over. Every time Sammy tried to move or take cover, he would strike him harder. I tried to pull him off. I tried,” I whisper. “He pushed me away…hard… and then he… he started choking Sammy. His hands were wrapped around his throat and Sammy was choking. His face was turning purple and I was scared. I was so scared that I remember screaming and screaming and screaming. But, we didn’t have a phone. I couldn’t call nine-one-one because we didn’t have a phone.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tries to soothe me, his thumb running circles over the back of my hand.

  “A neighbor or someone heard my screaming through my open window and the police were called. By the time they got there, the damage was already done. They were able to revive Sammy with CPR, but he lost oxygen to his brain. The effects have been irreversible and he’s never been the same since. He’s twenty-five years old. Twenty-five. But, he’s forever stuck in the mind of a little boy.”

  “Oh, Sydney. I’m so sorry. I understand more than you could possibly know.”

  “My dad went to jail. I had to testify against him, recalling what I saw. My brother stayed in a coma for one month. I was so excited when he woke up and then devastated again when I realized the extent of the damage to his brain. My mom played the victim. Since she wasn’t there when it happened, she pretended to be the sad, abused wife and mother that had been struggling against her husband’s abusive behavior. I was too caught up in Sammy to tell anyone she was a lying bitch.”

  Rubbing my eyes knowing, but really only slightly aware or caring that my make-up is likely running wildly all over my face. I let the tears flow, having decided that I have no will or desire to stop them. I don’t have the energy to care. Aware of how exhausted I feel after getting all of this out, I feel even worse as I realize I’m far from finished.

  “My mom left the care of Sammy to me. He was in the hospital for a while, but when he was released he had rehab and therapy sessions to attend and I was the one that always helped get him there. And then, the day I turned eighteen, the fucking day, she told me and Tyson to leave.”

  “What?” Tyson sputters.

  “She told me she was done supporting us, which is a laugh in and of itself, and that it was time for us to leave. I was eighteen and an adult, Sammy almost twenty and she said we had drained her, and that she couldn’t take it anymore, that in truth we were and had always been nothing more than pains in the ass. She said we had ruined her life. Somehow managing to still graduate from high school though it all, it was up to me to find a job and try to support us.”

  “How in the world did you manage to do that?”

  “I found out, quite by accident actually when I was cleaning out Sammy’s things to pack and take what I could, that he’d been saving money. We always planned to take off eventually and I found that he’d been planning for it all along. He had enough saved that we could get an apartment and make it a couple months, which was more than enough time for me to find a job and apply for aid from the state.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I was fully intending to drag us from shelter to shelter. Whatever I had to do in order for us to survive, I didn’t care. It hasn’t been easy, but through it all Sammy remains the one bright thing in my life. The road hasn’t been easy at all, but I’d walk over glass for him. I’m all he has.”

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me? He’s so important to you, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want me to meet him.” Tyson asks softly, concern lining his eyes.

  “Because Sammy and me, we’re a package deal, and most guys can’t handle that. I’ve dated guys that I’ve really liked and as soon as they would meet Sammy, they would take off. Some were weirded out by him and our past, or they didn’t understand why I’d drop anything for him if I had to. You see – when I receive a call that he needs me, I come to him, I don’t care what I’m doing. Some people can’t handle that. One guy even made fun of him.”

  Tyson shakes his head in disgust, “What an asshole.”

  “You’re telling me. I punched him in the nose.”

  Tyson barks out a laugh and it makes me start laughing too. The laughter helps wash away the remaining sadness from reliving such a traumatic time in my life. I’ve long since dealt with the fact that it is what it is.

  Looking shyly at Tyson, my heart melting at the sweet and understanding look on his face I confess, “I really like you. I was afraid that if you found out about Sammy that I could lose you and I didn’t want that to happen.”

  His brow furrows, “I don’t really like that you’d think I’m that shallow.”

  “No, no, god, I’m sorry. I see why you say that, but this was more about me and my fear and projecting my past experiences with jerks onto you. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “I understand why. I don’t really have the easiest past myself and I am very aware of how that can mess with you.” He looks troubled with his statement and I find myself scooting my chair closer to him.

  “What do you mean?”

  I’m surprised when he suddenly stands and runs his hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you, but we’ve been out here long enough. How about we go back inside and spend some time with Sammy? Afterwards, we can chat, okay?”

  Nodding, I stand too. “Sure. That sounds good.”

  He leans forward and kisses me on the lips. I press my palm to the side of his face and hold him there as I deepen the kiss needing to feel a connection to him right now. He indulges me and kisses me gently, all soft lips and slow movements. When he pulls away he smiles at me and I return it.

  We start to walk back to Sammy’s room, me leaning into him slightly, but something occurs to me and I stop. Tyson looks at me questioningly, “How did you know where I was?”

  “It’s kind of a long story, and I’ll explain, but I followed you here after Nikki told me you spend your time with some other guy.”

  “Nikki? What the hell?” That girl is seriously asking for a nasty girl fight with me. I will punch a bitch -I don’t even care. She needs to be knocked down a peg or two. Ugh.

  “I’ll explain when we get back to my place, okay?”

  I nod my agreement and as we walk back inside to Sammy’s room, my heart feels much lighter, but in the back of my mind I know my secrets haven’t all been told quite yet. Pushing the guilt that knowledge brings from my mind, I tell myself that I’ll talk to him about my job later. I’m done with confessions today.

  My mind is still reeling from finding out about Sammy. My heart rate accelerates and my chest still aches each time I recount even fragments of Sydney’s story and I wish more than anything I could take her pain away. I know all too well how much shit like that can fuck you up. It’s crazy how similar our stories are. She’s spent years of her life supporting and taking care of her brother and I did the same for my sister. It’s almost as if the universe purposefully pushed us together because of our similarities. And the universe did so quite literally, reflecting on how I ran into Sydney at the bookstore.

  We spent the afternoon hanging out with Sammy. He’s really great. Loves baseball, checkers and his sister. I can understand why. He took to me immediately and seeing the look on Sydney’s face as we interacted both melted me and saddened me. What assholes she must have been with before to make her fear my leaving once I found out.

  When it was time for us to leave, Sydney looked like a mother saying goodbye to her child on their first day of school -a mix of pride, concern, and sadness. I offered praise about the great job she
is obviously doing, her commitment to him, and complimented the place he lives – which has to be expensive. I’m not sure how she’s doing it. I’ll have to ask because maybe I can help. But before I talk to her about that, I have some story telling of my own to do.

  I take her back to my place, and as soon as we walk through the door, I direct her to the couch. “Would you like something to drink?” I ask.

  “No, thank you. I’m still full from the lemonade Sammy kept pouring us,” she laughs at the thought and my heart feels close to bursting at the sight. Her hair is long and loose around her shoulders and her blue eyes are sparkling with happiness. Her body is banging in a plain skirt and tee and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful.

  “I’m in love with you,” I blurt.

  Did I seriously just say that? I need to find my man card and just hand it the fuck over. Hell. That is not at all where I wanted to start this conversation. I wish my words were floating in the air and I could somehow take them back and stuff them in my mouth. Staring at her, I feel frozen. I may have confessed my feelings to her at some time, but sure as hell not now. A sense of raw overwhelming vulnerability overtakes me at the confession I just blurted out. Hell, isn’t the girl supposed to say the I-love-you’s first? What did I do? Have I screwed this up? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. This is why guys like me don’t do relationships.

  Her expression takes on that of a child who just received their unexpected heartfelt desire for Christmas, . She opens her mouth and closes it again. When she opens it once more, I place a finger on her lips, barely touching her, but the gesture is enough to keep her quiet. For now. “Don’t say anything. Not yet, okay? There’s something I need to tell you. You may decide not to be with me when you hear what I’m going to say and until then, I don’t want a reply. It could maybe only make things worse, okay?”

  She nods her head, eyes wide and I take a deep breath. Sharing feelings, going far below the surface, isn’t usually my thing. Nor is telling people about my shitty upbringing but hell, apparently this is going to be a day full of discomfort and firsts. “When you were telling me about Sammy, I told you that I understand more than you know, do you remember?” She nods. “Rowan and I had it shitty growing up too. Our mom was big time into drugs and alcohol and like your parents, she’d also go on benders that lasted days. As if that’s not bad enough, she hated us. And I don’t just say that off handedly, I mean it. We heard it straight from her lips to our ears regularly. And when she wasn’t telling us, she showed us.”

  Sydney shakes her head and lowers her eyes at my words, remaining silent. “From my earliest memory, my mom told us we were devil children that ruined her life. Looking back, when we were young, I’m surprised that Row and I didn’t think our names were bastard; she called us that all the time. She never demonstrated anything but disdain for us. I finally figured out at some point in late junior high, that she likely kept us around because of the state aid we were worth. That was our value. She’d say all kinds of cruel things to us, but the horrific, disparaging things she’d say to Rowan were even more unkind for some reason. She’d also tell her how we’d never find love, how we weren’t worthy of love. But the worst is when she’d go off on a tangent about our dad. You never knew what would set it off. She’d spew all manner of brutal things at us; blamed us for his absence. She told us that when my dad found out she was pregnant, that he took off. Instead of blaming him, she blamed us. She may have been a nasty bitch when she was drunk and high, but she was just as sick and nasty when she was sober too.”

  Standing, suddenly feeling like I just need a little space, I try to cover by asking Sydney again, “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “No, thank you.” I nod and walk to my kitchen to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator. My mouth is Sahara desert dry, so I gulp half the bottle before going back to the couch and set my water down on the floor.

  “Rowan and I did our best to carry on with our lives the best we could, I made sure of it. It wasn’t always easy, but somehow we made it work, getting enough to eat, attending school never having anyone ask questions mostly because we never drew attention to ourselves. We depended on and trusted only each other. We learned how to keep secrets. ”

  “I know what that’s like. Fake it til you make it, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s fitting. That’s what we did. When my mom got wasted, she would have all kinds of people over to join her parties. That made it interesting, to say the least, because I never knew what we could potentially walk into when we’d get home. I tried to always be with Rowan, but when I was not quite 15 I got my first job after school. I worked for a mean son of a bitch that liked to slap me around and tell me what to do, but I put up with it eager for every cent I earned. You see, Row and I made a pact to take off as soon as we graduated high school. She wanted to leave before that, but I wanted to take the time to save up enough money and I insisted she needed to graduate first.”

  “Because you’re a good brother.”

  “That’s the least Rowan deserved after the shit card we drew. My mom would have had a fit if she knew I was working because she’d have insisted that she get the money I earned to help pay for her habits. We made up excuses whenever she’d notice I wasn’t around, which really wasn’t too often.” With a sigh, I sit back on the couch again and realize I’m having trouble being still. Sydney places a hand on my knee, an act to offer comfort and it works. I settle a bit and continue. “One night I came home from my job and found people all over the house. They were passed out in every available space. It wasn’t an uncommon sight and exhausted, I really didn’t care. I just wanted to check in on Rowan and go to bed.”

  Starting to feel anxiety aware of where the story is headed, I start shifting again. I see myself in my mind stepping over smelly bodies all pressed together throughout our small living room. “Doing my best to stay quiet, I made my way to Row’s room to find the door open a little. Peeking through the space it left, not wanting to wake her, I saw a shadow hovering over her bed.” Storming into her room, I remember yanking the guy by his collar and shoving him out of her room. I remember the disgust that rolled over me when I saw his unzipped pants and I dared to think about what may have happened had I not come home in time. “He was… he…”

  Her hand tightens on my knee and I hear her mutter, “Oh no,” and I turn to look at her.

  “I beat the shit out of him. I’m not even kidding – I beat him bloody. I left him on the floor bleeding, went into Row’s room and locked her door, soothed her back to sleep and then fell asleep on the floor next to her bed. After that, I insisted if Row couldn’t be at a friend’s house until I got off of work that she stay in her room with the door closed and locked. I even installed a dead bolt lock on the door. It offered me a little peace when I couldn’t be there to know she was at least safe. I stole the lock from the home improvement store because I didn’t want to waste a cent of my hard earned money. I should probably be ashamed of that, but I’m not. I’d do it again.”

  “Of course you would,” Sydney states reassuringly. “And eventually you got away.” .

  “Yes,” I nod, “we got away, but it took time. That’s when the fire was ignited.”

  Sydney looks at me in confusion, “The fire? I’m confused.”

  “The fire of anger that burns inside of me.” I tap my chest hard. “The embers got stirred each time even small things happened. A negative comment here and there, coming home to my mom drunk, feeling angry at the shit life we were dealt. Over time, sometimes, with little to no provocation, the flames raged wilder ---burned brighter and higher – until eventually they consumed me and became capable of engulfing whoever I perceived as sparking the fire.

  “You mean, like a bad temper.”

  “If only it were just a bad temper. But, it’s more than that. So much more. It feels uncontrollable. This behavior… it requires little fuel and the flickering pilot turns into raging flames. I become
an oppressive beastly inferno fueled by all types of accelerant – present and past – that devours everything in its path. I get crazy angry and I know I’m out of control and fucking enraged. I don’t know how to explain it, other than to simply say, I have demons. Ugly, controlling, demons that I’ve been living with so long I don’t know if they will ever go away.”

  “Anyone that went through what you’ve-“

  “No. Let me finish,” I cut her off abruptly feeling stirrings of anger and then regretting it immediately. “I’m sorry, I just want to get this out. I want you to know all the facts about me right now, because you need to know what you’re getting yourself into with me.”

  “Tyson-“

  “No!” I say loudly and then add “Please,” a little softer. She nods although she doesn’t look thrilled, and folds her hands in her lap, maybe giving me a little bit of space to continue. I shift in my seat a few times. “A different night I came home from work to find my mom passed out on the couch. I made sure she was breathing, although part of me didn’t care, and was grateful Rowan was spending the night with a friend. I grabbed a trash bag to start cleaning up because I protected Rowan from our reality any chance I got. God, I can’t even tell you how many times I did that.”

  I stand up and start to pace. Walking to the window, I place my hands on either side of it and look outside, not really seeing a thing. “My mom started muttering in her sleep and then she said a name in a sentence. I knew she was talking about my father. You see, for years she would never speak of him other than with profanity and she would never answer any of our questions. I honestly have very few memories of Row and I when we were in grade school. I mean, I‘m sure we had to ask my mom questions about him at some point, right?” Shaking my head, I close my eyes. “Maybe the result of our questions was so bad I’ve suppressed it. Who knows?”

  I walk to the other side of the room and fiddle with my keys that I tossed on the counter when we walked in. “I froze when she said it at first, but later, when she wasn’t home, I started snooping. I’m not sure why I never thought to do it before, but never the less, I did then and I hit the jackpot. I found a box that contained old photos, our birth certificates, and letters. I verified that the name she said was in fact my dad’s name. And I felt excited.”