Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  “Tyson! No! Please, no! Stop! Please, just stop!” Sydney starts screaming, but I ignore her. In the back of my head I realize that I’m fucking out of my mind, but I can’t stop.

  Fury is suffocating me. When I hear the man to my left in the club scream at Sydney to take more of her clothes off, I look for my next target. Picking up the glass-topped coffee table, I lift it over my head and then slam it to the ground. A web of cracks appears, but unsatisfied, I hurl my fist through it so the glass breaks completely. It’s jagged and rips my skin making bright blood spurt from my hand, but I don’t feel any of it. The red only intensifies the flame; the pain takes its place alongside all of the other, deep inside.

  Hearing another man in my mind, comment on how ‘luscious’ Sydney’s tits are, a new, giant wave, a firestorm, rolls in like a beast hell-bent on destruction. My DVD shelf is my next target. It holds more movies than I can count. I don’t give a shit about any of them. I knock it over and breathe out a sound of triumph when it and the contents scatter everywhere. Another prick comments on how he bets Sydney ‘has a pretty pink pussy’ and the fury intensifies. Entering the kitchen, I hurl chairs through the room and grab the items on the counters, determined to mercilessly destroy everything in my path. In the back of my mind I’m aware of Sydney screaming, and someone else. Maybe the neighbors have joined the party. This fire is unable to be contained and I do not care.

  When I’ve finally swept all the items from the counters, I go to the wall and punch it with my hand repeatedly. The pain is really sharp now and I welcome it. Nostrils flaring and satisfaction streaming from every pore, I hit it more times than I can count.

  Until I hear something that begins to extinguish the fire, even if only a small amount.

  And it stops me cold.

  Whipping my head to the side, it takes a moment for my eyes to clear. The red slowly fades as if a water hose is being used to wash it all away. Sydney is standing there, arms wrapped around her body, tears streaming down her face and it makes my heart ache with something I’ve never felt before. Next to her stands Rowan and Jax. Jax is tightly holding Rowan, who appears to be trying to gain access to me to stop my tirade. Seeing Rowan and Jax here is shocking enough, but that is not what penetrates the fury. What penetrated my crazed mind was Lily.

  Held tightly in Rowan’s arms, she’s crying. Face red and a terrified look on her face, she’s scared beyond comprehension at what they’ve walked into. Backing up, one step at a time, I shake my head. “No. No. No.” I utter over and over again.

  “Take Lily to the car. Now.” Jax says sternly when Rowan resists at first.

  Rowan looks at me and in that moment, in her eyes I see it. I close my eyes immediately at the sight and when I open them again, she’s gone, but Sydney still stands there. She looks broken and she’s wearing the same look in her eyes that Rowan was. It’s fear. Oh god, it’s fear.

  “Sydney,” Jax says softly to her. She can’t take her eyes from me and doesn’t even acknowledge Jax when he speaks. Louder this time, “Sydney.” Her head turns to Jax but even I can tell from here that her eyes are unfocused and full of tears. “Why don’t you go on out with Rowan. I’ll be out in a second to take you home.”

  She shakes her head, “No.” Walking over to me on unsteady feet, she looks down at me. Jax is right next to her and holds her slightly in both a protective and comforting manner. While I’d never lay a hand on her, or any other woman, I don’t blame him. “Whatever this is, you need to get a handle on it. You can’t …or won’t hear me. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry that you found out like this. I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to rid myself of any blame, but this,” she gestures around the room, “and you,” she looks back at me. “I didn’t bargain for this. Let me know if you ever get this under control and you’re ready to listen. Until then, just stay away from me.”

  She walks out the door, and my heart twists in my chest. “Sydney,” I call, but my voice has no sound anymore and it comes out as a whisper instead. Looking around the room now that the ferocious flames within me have died down, only the glimmering embers are left, shrouded in ash, and I realize that I may have just extinguished all hopes of having the life I have wanted. As the consequences of my actions penetrate my mind, exhausted and embarrassed, tears fall slowly down my cheeks.

  Jax squats down and gets in front of me, “What can I do, brother?”

  Looking at him, totally depleted, feeling at a loss, I shake my head. “Help me. Oh fuck man, please help me. I’ve become the exact thing I’ve been avoiding all along. Fuck, no. Please no.” As I continue to look around the room, my acts plainly strewn across every available surface, I can hardly comprehend the ruin. It’s a quick journey from there to my heart and even my condemned soul.

  Jax takes out his phone and taps something on it then pockets it before helping me into a standing position, then into a chair that he turns upright. He disappears and comes back with towels and bandages. “I’m going to wrap this the best I can, but we need to take you to the hospital to get it looked at.”

  Nodding my head, I grimace as he allows the hydrogen peroxide to run from the bottle. “They will never talk to me again. Or trust me. I’ve lost them.”

  “No. Just calm down. You need separated right now. You need to get your shit under control. But, you know how she feels about you and you will talk later. Until then, let’s handle this and I’ll distract you by asking you why the fuck you are involved in underground fighting.” I look at him, not feeling surprised he’s found out. Part of me has been waiting for this moment to happen. “I found out tonight,” he says answering my unasked question. “I insisted on storming over here to kick your ass,” he laughs. “Rowan wouldn’t let me come alone because she wanted to yell at you too.”

  I laugh at that. And then as if I’m as fucking crazy as I feel, I can’t stop laughing for a solid sixty seconds or more. “Oh god, she’s going to kill me.”

  “Fuck yes she is,” he laughs. “You’re going to need to get a handle on yourself first though. If I’m right, I’m guessing this,” his eyes roam around the room, “is the reason you were doing the fighting.”

  “Yeah,” I nod. “Safe to say I have some unresolved issues.”

  “Fuck, man. You think?”

  We both laugh, even though it’s anything but funny, and somehow it works to make me feel and think a little more clearly. “Yeah, I definitely think. And I know exactly what I have to do about it.”

  The first month after Tyson left, I was indignant. How dare he not listen to my explanations! How dare he judge me! How dare he leave without a word. And who was this person anyway? He was a totally explosive maniac, a goddamn Jekyll and Hyde. And anyone who would fight in secret, keeping it from his friends and jeopardizing so much – nope, that’s a totally separate demonstration about his true personhood. Not worth the risk. Absolutely not what I bargained for. Many of us have shit in our lives - but we have to deal. That’s what being an adult is all about. You don’t see me acting that way. Nope. Not cool. Anyway, I took that job to support my brother – to garner us a better life. And I did not purposefully try to be deceitful. So, I determined to stop thinking about him; determined to close off my mind and heart. And talking about him? No fucking way. That was entirely off limits. Rena was incredibly curious and at various times would inquire about what happened, how I was feeling and even lecture me on how holding all of it in was bad for me. I ignored her. I avoided her. I would not give a second thought to anything she said. After all, I reasoned, I did nothing wrong. Saying I felt self-righteous is an understatement.

  The second month, the tears set in. I cried when I woke up, when I thought I was deeply engrossed in activities that would distract me, and especially when I was alone at night. A myriad of thoughts would creep in. I asked unanswerable questions. Searched for reason and truth. But I always came up empty. When I wasn’t awake and thinking about him, the thoughts would follow me into my dreams. I was continuously haunted by memories
of the two of us doing simple everyday tasks like awakening in the mornings, eating together or just holding hands. One moment I would long for him and would miss him so severely my heart would literally hurt and I would wonder if I would ever catch my next breath. The next, I would plead with my mind, heart and soul to let go and to move forward without him. I’d pray for an ability to forget about him all together, the strength to start a new life, yet again. Other times, I prayed for his return. In brief, I was miserable.

  It was during this time that I chose to open up about my feelings and share my description and perceptions of that night. And when the first droplet fell, it proceeded like an avalanche. The stories would gain momentum and power and by the end I’d be inconsolable. I could only see disaster and destruction and ruin where there should have been nothing of the sort. Rena knew the whole sordid story and had suffered through the tale countless times. Inevitably, I contacted Rowan initially feigning to check on her, Lily, Jax and the guys. But secretly, I wanted to plead my case, determine if she thought there was any hope, and to find out anything and everything she knew. Eventually I asked about him directly and came to find that Rowan and I were in the same informational desert. She didn’t know any more than me. Tyson had paid ahead on his rent and left only one message to her, which merely stated that he’d be gone for a while. He told her not to worry. She said he’d occasionally send her a text to say hi and tell her to kiss Lily, but even those texts went unanswered when she would reply. He wouldn’t give details, no one knew where he’d gone. Or at least no one was saying. One time I asked Rowan if he ever asked about me, she never answered me, but the look of sympathy and regret that crossed her face at my question, was answer enough.

  Month three brought self-reflection. Cried out, emotionally expended and self-pity long passed, I started thinking about my accountability and responsibility. I sought painful truth, self-exposure, and ownership. I determined to learn and grow and move forward with whatever life I was going to choose to make for myself. The introspection seemed endless: what could I have done differently; what could I have said differently; were there other reasons for my choosing to become a stripper? What was my role really supposed to be with Sammy – was I helping him, enabling him and ensuring that he maximized his potential or creating dependence and further disabling him? What role did I want and need from a man in my life? How did my repressed anger at my mom and dad play into the choices I was making?

  Having no closure with Tyson, the process of finding answers seemed overwhelming, so I made the difficult choice to find a therapist whose confrontational tough manner was exactly what I needed. I realized I needed to talk to someone about what I was feeling. Someone that was uninvolved and had no loyalties to either of us seemed the way to go. It ended up being the best thing I’ve ever done. He offered me a safe zone. When I was finally able to seek and reveal the truth about these items and what feels like a zillion others, clarity started to occur. I understood that Tyson’s rationale for fighting underground was not vastly different from my choice to be a stripper. We both used the experience to deal with our demons. I was responding as a child from a dysfunctional broken home and the secrecy and embarrassment it brought. The perceived negative foreshadowing I had connected to my past life created a myriad of voices in my head. Voices of guilt, shame, remorse, and not being deserving of love.

  I realized I never had time to confront any of those things. Rather, I had assumed responsibility for me and Sammy, sometimes, angry and grudgingly and unbelieving that my life would be any different than what I had always known. I had been struggling to allow myself to create the life I wanted. And in fact, had unwittingly been sabotaging myself. And I didn’t realize the volume of concerns I possessed in my heart. During one particularly hard therapy session, I realized how much I fear something happening to me. Not because I’m afraid of getting sick or fearing death, but because I don’t know what would happen to my brother. Who would take care of him, what would his fate be? With that fear, came the construction of walls. Walls to keep me and Sammy safe. Walls that hindered me to make more friends, to trust others, and that even prevented me from having fun. Learning healthy ways to respond to and manage those voices, concerns and fears and appreciating my self-worth was new territory for me. And ultimately, with his help and lots of hard work, I was genuinely starting to like myself and realized that the world – my world – has a lot of possibility.

  Tyson’s been away for one hundred days today. One hundred days of drifting between more emotions than I can count and while I still miss him, and at times even long for him, I’m finally able to function now. I remain hard at work, confronting and conquering my own issues like the horrible parents I had, my mom kicking us out, Sammy’s attack, the fact that I froze and didn’t throw myself between him and my dad, the devastation of Sammy’s new personality, and the constant weight that I bear on my shoulders of taking care of the both of us. I have new courage and confidence about the life I can have, though. And can even acknowledge that there should be more to my life than Sammy and more to his, than me. And that’s all good. Sometimes I feel so different, I wonder if I’m a person that Tyson would even like. And I have also wondered what has happened to him and if my heartfelt view of him will be altered when, and if, he ever returns and I see him again.

  Working through so many feelings in a healthy, productive way has been great for me, and while at times I wish I could go back in time and make different choices, they’ve led me here and right now, I’m a healthier me. If nothing else, I can at least thank Tyson for that.

  Upon reaching my destination, thoughts of these last few months flee my mind as I walk up to a front door and ring the bell. I’m only waiting a few moments before the front door swings open and I’m greeted by the smiling face of Rowan. “Hi! Come on in.”

  “Hi,” I say back and follow her inside. “Is she ready to go?”

  “You bet she is. I just need to grab her extra blanket really quick, just in case.” I follow Rowan further into the house and when Lily sees me, she starts waving her chubby little arms and squealing, making me laugh. “She’s happy to see you,” Rowan chirps.

  “Hi sweet girl,” I say to Lily while unbuckling her from the bouncer seat she’s in. “You want to go read some books today? Does that sound good?”

  When Tyson left, after a while I determined to take up the book reading dates that Lily had always loved with Tyson. Calling up Rowan one day I shyly asked her if she would be opposed to me taking her daughter on reading dates. She was very quiet at first and I could hear the emotion in her voice when she suggested we get together. That first time was just the two of us and it wasn’t easy. Not long after Tyson took off she stormed into the club and demanded answers from me about what happened. I told her everything, but it did nothing to make her feel better and she left with as much ire as she had when she’d arrived. Picking up the phone to call her about Lily, wasn’t easy, but I’m so happy I did. We quickly bonded over our love for Tyson, and it doesn’t hurt that we genuinely get along and like each other too. Initially I tried to tell myself that doing this was more for Lily than for me, but that was a lie. Truth is, I feel closer to Tyson through her and this activity; he so enjoyed his special time with her and it feels like I’m connecting to him in some small way. And it’s comforting, silly as it may be.

  Bouncing Lily on my hip, I turn to Rowan as she walks back into the room. “We’ll be gone our normal amount of time. No special plans today. This morning they’re supposed to have story time at the store, so I thought we’d listen to that, then read a few books together. Afterwards, I’d like to treat her to a small cup of ice cream if that’s okay?”

  “Of course!”

  “Great. Then we’ll be back after that.”

  “Sounds perfect, you just take your time, okay? There’s absolutely no rush at all.” She says enthusiastically making me laugh. Apparently she can use some time to herself. “I’ll be here when you get back, eager to hear all ab
out your date.”

  “Okay, sounds great.” Rowan hands me Lily’s bag and we head off. I buckle her into the seat I bought just for her and I talk to her the whole way to the store. She babbles and answers me in her special way. Once we’re inside the store, I get us all situated at the designated spot for story time. She remains in her stroller, and I fold myself into a child’s seat next to her. She happily views the room around us and points and says, “book” at everything she sees. Grabbing a few off the shelf, I let her hold them while we wait. It’s funny how she has taken to enjoying holding small stacks of them, but then it’s as if she can’t harness the anticipation any longer, and opens them with delight. She gets so engrossed in the pictures as I turn the pages and wants to hold them, quite tightly at times. Her little fists seek to crumple the pages and her mouth is always eager to taste the print, so I have to carefully monitor her and keep the pages smooth.

  “Hello everyone, thank you so much for joining us for story time today.” We set our open book on the stack in front of Lily so she can enjoy the presentation. There are several other moms seated throughout the area with their little ones and I enjoy watching the children and can’t help but smile at their antics. “Today we have a special guest to read a story for all of you. He’s made a donation to our little store in order to do so, and he’s a friend of mine. When he’s finished, be sure to thank him. We will start in one moment.” Everyone claps and I resume helping Lily with her book while we wait. When her pacifier pops out of her mouth and onto the floor, she starts fussing just a little and points at the floor saying, “binky.” Looking around for it, I find it under a chair in front of us and rummage through the diaper bag looking for a wipe to clean it off, and dig out a replacement.