Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  Walking back to the couch I sit next to Sydney again and look at her, “I felt excited, Sydney. I actually thought that maybe he didn’t know our circumstances. That she exaggerated and that if I could find him, maybe, just maybe, things would be better. He’d rescue us.” I take her hands and half plead with her, “I swear I’m not a stupid man.”

  “Of course you’re not,” her brows are lowered and she almost looks angry at my statement and I can’t help but lean forward and place a soft kiss on her lips.

  “God, I love you.”

  “I-”

  Cutting her off, I continue. I can’t stop now. It’s like a leaky faucet that starts as a drip, but as it goes unattended it becomes faster, continuous full stream, until you have to turn the water off to get it to stop. I can’t stop now that I’ve started. “I found him. I could not believe that he lived so close to us. It didn’t take me long to drive there. I felt sick the whole way and thought about turning around more times than I can count. My hands were shaking and I wasn’t even sure I could get my ass out of the car when I got there, but somehow I did.”

  “What happened?” Sydney whispers, and I can hear the dread in her voice.

  Smiling sadly, I tell her something that no one knows. Not even Rowan. “I finally got out and walked toward the house. It was quite the house too. I remember this tree in the front yard with this swing on it and thinking it would be perfect for Rowan. I didn’t care that she was in high school, I could picture her sitting there, hair blowing with each back and forth motion, feeling happy; free.” Blinking away the picture in my mind from years ago, I focus on the rest of the story. “As I was making my way to the door, a light came on in a front room and I saw a woman and two children walk inside and set food on a table. When my father appeared, I was so startled at our resemblance; I could tell you see, even from that distance. I must have moved closer though without realizing it, because his head swung my way and he looked at me. He came to the front door and as the light shone at his back, it cast his face in shadow and I imagined he was smiling at me, I just couldn’t tell. And in that moment, I felt…” I falter.

  “It’s okay, Tyson. I’m here. I’m here and I love you too. No matter what. No matter what you are going to say. I love you too. I need you to know, I love you too.”

  Her words almost bring me to my knees. As it is, I feel a sharp sting in my eyes and I sniff at the intense feeling. Leaning forward I capture her mouth in a kiss. How could I do anything else after those words? I tentatively reach my tongue out to taste her and when she emits a small sound of pleasure, I press a little harder and try to tell her everything I’m feeling with my actions.

  When we pull apart she cups my cheek and nods, silently telling me to go on. Brushing her cheek with my thumb, I realize in that moment how glad I am that she told me how she feels before I tell her the rest of this story. I was wrong in telling her not to say anything, because matter what, I’ll always remember that she told me how she feels before she heard the whole sordid tale. Her feelings aren’t derived from guilt or pity; it’s genuine. And that gives me strength. “He wasn’t happy to see me,” my voice comes out gravelly and I laugh without humor because that’s an understatement. “He demanded to know how I found him and accused me of trying to sabotage his family.” I shake my head at the memory and at the shock and hurt that ran through my system, stoking the fire within.

  “He went inside and came right back out with a checkbook. He asked me how much he could give me to make me go away and never come back. He told me that my mom, sister and I were a mistake he wanted to forget and he thought he’d already gotten rid of us.” I shake my head at the memory. “I tried to appeal to his paternity – and reminded him that Row and I were family. He only sneered and laughed and so I tried to threaten him. I threatened to march right into his perfect house and tell his perfect wife, and to sue him for back child support, and to do everything possible to make him take responsibility. But he told me she already knew. He said he’d been sending money to my mom all these years to keep us away from them.” I laugh at the thought. “It’s no secret where that money went - down her throat and up her nose. He saw my astonishment and so he offered to write me a check to get rid of me and Rowan once and for all. And I let him.” Looking her in the eyes so she sees the pain in my mine, I confess again, “He paid me off and I let him because I knew I could take the money and get Rowan and I the hell out of there. I thought it would make things right. I sold our birthright. I made a decision for both Rowan and me. And took the money. I took the money,” I say again, this time softer.

  “Of course you did. I would have too. Anyone would have.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well I sure do. And he owed you a hell of a lot more than that. And if it helped you get away from your awful mother, then thank god for it. You shouldn’t even give it another thought. I’m sure Rowan agrees.”

  Shaking my head I admit, “She doesn’t know.”

  “So you’ve carried this around – this secret around - all this time?”

  I shrug, “I guess.”

  “She deserves to know too, Tyson. But that’s your call. But I can tell you as someone who loves you, she wouldn’t want you carrying this shame and guilt alone. And what you did? You did it because you had to in order to take care of yourself and your sister. You were trying to protect her in that act just as you’ve done in never telling her. No one in their right mind would blame you for that.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I shrug. In truth, I’m blowing off her words and I know it. The funny thing is, she knows it too. “I’m serious. There’s something wrong inside of me. And that act – that payoff – just turned up the flame. I’m telling you this because I’m damaged goods, Sydney. I’m not the kind of man you should love or want to be with. This is my fault, I never should have been such a pain in the ass and pushed you into being with me.”

  She startles me when she stands up and places her hands on her hips. I’m pretty sure if steam could come out of her nose and ears it would. “Fuck that. I’m with you because I want to be. No one, not even you, can make me do anything, and I will not tolerate you trying to tell me any different.”

  “You don’t get it. There is something wrong with me inside.” I pull at my shirt as if I can rip my chest open and show her the evidence. “Those demons I told you about? They don’t leave me alone. Ever. They whisper bad things in my ear, and add gasoline to the fire inside of me. And sometimes, I listen to them!” Getting angry now, trying to make her see, my voice raises, “These bruises you’ve been seeing on me? They’re from underground fighting. I’ve been beating the shit out of people, no holds bar, to soothe some fucked up shit inside of me. Why would you want to be with someone that does that? I’ve been lying to you; I’ve been lying to everyone. I act like I’m fine and that I’m dealing, but most days I feel like I’m barely hanging on.”

  “Welcome to the fucking club, Tyson. What? You think that you’re special and different from everyone else in the world? News flash, you need to wake fuck up. We all have shit. We all deal with it in different ways. Some people eat their feelings. Some people buy things to make them feel better, other people cry their hearts out and some Tyson, some don’t have it so lucky. They don’t have outlets like that and take their own lives because they can’t deal. Is your outlet the best? No, but it could certainly be worse.”

  “You don’t get it!” I yell, “Sometimes I don’t want to stop. I want to hit and kick and hurt someone. They become all the people in my life that have done me wrong and I lose control and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.”

  “But you do. You have. And you know what? That’s life. It can suck, and it can be hard, and we can want to give up or give in or wish that shitty decisions we’ve made could be changed, but you know what? Those things make us who we are. All the things you’ve been through, the stuff with your mom, protecting Rowan, your dad and the money, the fights, all of it, has made you who you ar
e. And you are not just some demon. No, you are funny, smart, kind, sexy as hell, loving, protective, and so many more things and all of them are because of the things you’ve experienced in life that have helped shape you into this amazing man standing before me. And I for one, am grateful for them.”

  Standing from the couch to face her, I practically tackle her into a hug. “God, who are you and how the hell did I get so lucky to have you?”

  She pulls away from me and cups my face in her small hands. Looking deep into my eyes, she pauses for a moment and I can see the depth of her feelings. I can see that she loves me. They aren’t just words, I can see them right there in her eyes, wide, vulnerable and open. “No more fighting for you, not underground, okay? You will be an amazing opponent in the MMA, you’ve worked so hard. You need to do it on the up and up, okay? It’s alright to be angry because of the things that have happened to you, but let’s get you a healthy outlet, one with rules and regulations, not an atmosphere where assholes are going to take advantage of you and feed off of you because they see you’re struggling with something inside.” I nod agreeing with her assessment. “And as for the rest, let me help make them better.”

  “Don’t you see silly girl? You already are,” I kiss her on the lips. “You already are,” I say again. Kissing her softly again, I pull away before it can go further, having one more thing to say. “No more secrets, okay? Let’s be honest going forward. We deserve that much.” She opens her mouth to say something, but I shut it with a kiss. And for the first time in ever, I think I may actually be able to be demon-free with Sydney’s love, support and help.

  Picking her up I bring her into the bedroom and we slowly undress each other. We make love, slow, sweet and intense. Staring into each other’s eyes, we whisper words of love, promise and devotion.

  A few hours later, I’m woken by my ringing phone. Reaching automatically for Sydney, I frown when her spot on the bed is vacant and I feel a piece of paper crumple. Holding it in front of me I answer the phone, hoping it’s her.

  “Hello?”

  “Tyson, hey, it’s Eli. Fight tonight, dude. This one’s at the parking garage on the corner of Lincoln and Center, the third level. Starts in an hour.”

  “Eli, look, I’m done with the fighting, man. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “What the fuck man? You can’t just leave me in a lurch. If you want to quit, fine, but I need more notice then right now.”

  “I don’t know…” I hesitate and quickly read Sydney’s note. She said she has to work tonight, and will call me in the morning, that she wants to get together first thing if I can. I smile at the three little words she added on the bottom. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to that?

  “Tyson, are you even fucking listening to me? Come on. Just this last fight, alright? If you’re done, fine, no skin off my nose, but I don’t have anyone that can replace you tonight. Can you please do me this solid?”

  Well, considering Sydney is working, I can’t talk to her about it, and I don’t want to leave Eli hanging either. “Fine, Eli. But this is it, okay? I’m done after this.”

  “You got it man. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  He hangs up and I get up with a sigh and start getting ready.

  How I wanted to stay with Tyson after such an intense afternoon, but I had to leave for work. I laid next to him for as long as I dared, watching him as he slept. His face while sporting some pretty black, blue, and purple marks, was relaxed. Tracing a fingertip over his features, I marveled at how he could be at such peace after rehashing so many emotional memories, but perhaps that’s exactly the reason. His body appears completely at rest, and I wonder how frequently that has been the case. Is he really experiencing a new-found peace? I truly hope so. The quiet tracing of his face led to my exploring his tattoos as well, and he never stirred at my touch. Not once. I confess I contemplated waking him so I could have my way with him before leaving, or to at least tell him goodbye, but I figured his rest is needed and hard earned. Instead, I eased out of bed as gently and quietly as possible and like a burglar in an occupied house, lightly tiptoed around the bed and into the bathroom as I searched for and collected my clothes. I almost surrendered the quest for my panties until I found them hanging from a picture on the wall, no idea how the hell that happened, but I stifled my laugh at the sight.

  At home in the shower, I couldn’t help but recall our time together in bed. His hands roaming and exploring my body as if in quest of some long-lost treasure, his mouth generous with licks and kisses, his eyes looking deeply into my own as he moves in and out. He certainly worshipped at the altar of my body, and I felt, and still feel, incredibly cherished. Yet, accompanying the physicality was sweetness, an innocence. The way he snuggled close and whispered in my ear; how he took my hand and kissed its palm and then took my fingers and placed them to his lips and gently kissed them. I tingled, then shivered as exposed to an open window on a crisp winter night. It was electrifying then and even now, the recollection makes my body ache. While he’s certainly not the first man I’ve ever been with intimately, he makes me feel like there was never anyone before him.

  Now, walking into work feels painful. Giving Bruce a half-hearted smile as I walk to the back entryway, I pause when he tilts his head at me, “What’s ailin’ you tonight girl?”

  Giving him a weak smile, I pat his arm, “Just not feeling it tonight, Brucey.” He huffs in exasperation at my failure to honor his wishes of not calling him by my pet name and it makes me laugh a little as I walk inside.

  Beginning the evening’s rituals by placing my belongings in my locker, I look around to determine who’s working tonight. I haven’t seen Rena in a few days, our schedules have been opposite and just as I’m hoping that we share tonight’s shift, I spot her. She sees me at the same time, breaks out into a grin and runs over.

  “My girl! Long time no see! How are you? How’s the bump and grind going with that man of yours?”

  The question brings a genuine smile to my face, “It’s good. Really good.”

  “Great! So you finally told him about being a stripper? Did you totally take my advice about how to tell him? You did, didn’t you? Look at that smile.”

  My face immediately falls at her questions. Keeping this secret from Tyson is weighing heavily on my mind and heart. I need to tell him the truth, but every time I try, I’m unable to find, let alone, spit out the words. My tongue suddenly feels thick in my mouth, or I make some stupid excuse up in my mind as to why it isn’t the right time. Why is it so difficult? I mean, he respected me enough to be honest about his fighting; don’t I owe him the same in return? The answer is yes, and the truth is I just keep taking the easy way out because I know with every fiber of my being he’s not going to like it. And will he be deaf to the rationale of my choice? And if he hears, will he really listen and attempt to understand?

  “Oh no, that’s not a good look,” Rena states the obvious.

  I sit on the bench in front of my locker feeling defeated. Rena follows my lead. Looking around making sure there aren’t any big ears around I confess. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Name it, and I’ve come up with the excuse.”

  “Well, maybe it just isn’t the right time yet. It’s really not a big deal anyway. Just tell him when you’re ready and don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  I hear her words, but I’m not sure she’s even really buying them. She’s just trying to make me feel better. “I wish it were that easy. I feel incredibly guilty that I haven’t told him. And I am so worried about the outcome.” Pausing, needing to change the subject, I finally look at my friend fully. I admire the deep blue lace push up bra and thong number she’s wearing. It’s an electric blue that looks great against her skin. “You look great,” I tell her truthfully.

  “Thanks, love, and I put something special in your locker for you to wear tonight.”

  Opening it, I pull out the nude bra and thong she’s placed ins
ide. It’s made to mold perfectly to one’s body, eliciting a faux-naked look. Were it not for the generous, well-placed sparkles it would be hard to tell the difference. It’s definitely more eye-catching than flashy and will look great under the lights. “Wow, this is really pretty and will look great on stage tonight.”

  “It is. As soon as I saw it on the rack, I snagged it for you. You’ll look striking for your number.”

  Emitting a groan, I start taking off my clothes to change. “I’m so not in the mood to be on stage tonight.”

  “Are you ever?”

  “No, I guess not,” I giggle a little at the truth.

  “Then I’m glad I got you that new little number. And you know the trick. Once you get up there, get into the moment by letting the music engulf you and you’ll lose yourself in the act and be done before you know it.”

  “I hope so, but neither my head nor my heart are in this anymore. So who knows how my body will perform. I know I need to do this to support Sammy and get through college, but hell Rena it’s just getting old, you know? This life isn’t for me.”

  “I think it’s the conversation you know you need to have with Tyson that’s making you feel that way.”

  “You’re probably right. Or maybe it’s just how I feel about Tyson. Either way, whether I like it or want to or not, I have to tell him. It’s not right to keep this secret, to be deceptive and avoidant. I justify it sometimes by reminding myself that at least I’m not lying to him. And that’s true, technically. But I know the truth. I may not be doing so outright, but I’m lying by omission and it’s the same thing. I can’t convince myself of my righteousness any longer.”