Three Words

Chapter 4 - Four

I sigh, and get up from the couch and head to the bathroom. I showered at the dojo, but right now, all I want to do is stand under the hot water and try and ease the tension in my neck and back. The hot water has helped, but the knots in my shoulders still refuse to relax. I finally step out when the water begins to get cold, and wrap a towel around my waist. I go to the sink and wipe the mirror with my hand. My eyes look almost black at the moment, and that alone begins to terrify me.

My father's eyes looked just like that before he would beat me. His words begin to echo inside my head, "Useless! Pathetic! You little bastard! This is for your own good!" I grip the sink, closing my eyes, and begin shaking my head back and forth trying to rid the monster's voice and pain that comes with it from my mind. His voice only becomes louder, "Who would love you? No one! You're the reason your mother left. She never loved you!" I can hear the whistle of the belt slicing through the air as it heads toward my back. The scars on my back begin to burn as the memory of the belt comes down. I look up into the mirror, hoping that seeing myself might free me from this nightmare, but when I look up, I don't see my image. The monster is staring at me with black eyes and a belt at his side. I can't be him! "No!" I scream. My reflex is immediate as I hit the mirror with all my remaining strength. His image shatters and pieces of the mirror are littered across the sink.

I don't hesitate as I leave the bathroom. I'll clean up the mess later. I quickly go to sit down on the edge of the bed, trying to control the shaking and erratic breathes I'm taking. I don't know how long I've been sitting there when I notice the large amount of blood that has pooled around my foot from the cuts on my hand. "Shit," I mutter. I wipe off most of the blood that ran down my arm and mop up the rest with the towel. I grab a pair of sweats, not bothering with a shirt since it would end up with blood all over it, and head into the kitchen where I keep the first aid bag. I clean the cuts, pull out the glass, and bandage it as best I can. It's not until I'm returning the bag that I notice the pill bottles. Most of it is strictly over the counter stuff, but I notice one bottle that must have been hidden behind Nita's medication and has now been knocked over in her hast to leave. I pick it up and notice it's a half full bottle of pain killers from where I broke my hand two years ago.

That's how Nita and I had met. I had noticed her in the gym before, and had been trying to gather my courage to introduce myself to her after I finished with the punching bag. She was an ideal sort of beauty. She had long, dark hair, killer curves, skin that appeared tan even in the winter, and was tall enough that she would look natural standing next to my 6 foot 2 frame. Nearly every man in the place seemed to have their eyes on her, often trying to make advances, but she turned all of them down, hence my hesitation of approaching her. I could tell she loved the attention though.

I should have been paying better attention, but was distracted by her curvy figure on the tread mill. I missed the punching bag completely, stumbled into the weight rack, landing on my ass. That wasn't what broke my hand. The fifteen pound weight that fell on top of my hand was what did it. I tried not to unleash a torrent of curses, instead sucking in a breath through my teeth, and exhaling a growl of pain. Nita was one of the first ones over to try and help, even offering to take me to the hospital. I should have known that a meeting that started with pain would end with it.

I grab the bottle, shutting the cabinet, and then get the bottle of Scotch out of the top cabinet over the fridge before finally sitting down at the table. I look at the bottle in my hand, rolling it around, hearing the pills clatter together. Looking back on our relationship, there were signs I should have ended it long ago. While she said she loved me, it never really seemed to reach her eyes. It was like she was saying it just because she knew it was what I wanted to hear. I wonder if I really ever loved her. Was I just saying it because I was so desperate for affection? I don't really remember feeling anything when I said it. Amar and Zeke always told me I would know if it was truly love. Anytime I got her a gift, or took her somewhere, it never seemed to be good enough. The way she always relished in the attention other men gave her, even though she knew she was taken.

Am I even worthy of love at this point? My whole life has been filled with heart ache and pain. I'm beyond broken, not worth fixing. No one seems to have truly ever cared for me. Never cared about who I was or how I turned out. Sure, I have friends, but they aren't the same. They have their own significant others to be with. I'm always the third wheel. If I wasn't here, they wouldn't have to deal with my miserable presence.

I look at the bottle as a dark thought comes to me. If I took the whole bottle, the pain and suffering would end. The hurt would stop. Do I really want that though? I take a swing from the Scotch, feeling it burn my throat, when my eyes land on the mail that it sprawled over the table. The stranger's letter sits on top. Curiosity gets the better of me as I reach for it. It's probably someone asking for money, or got sent to me by mistake. Whatever is inside, it's not going to help me.

I take the letter out and unfold the paper. Small, neat hand writing meets my eyes, but then I begin to register the words 'Dear Four'. My eyes race across the page taking in the words. I read the letter several times just to make sure I have understood exactly what has been written. All while gripping the paper as if it were my life line. This woman, whoever she is, has lost everything like I have, and yet she still decided to keep going. She even wished me happiness when she doesn't even know me. I flip the envelope over with shaky hands and see the return address is in Atlanta. Something begins pulling inside me, telling me I need to find this woman. That it wasn't just a random chance that she sent this letter. I need to find out why she chose me of all people. It has to be fate.

I look at the pills one last time, and almost feel disgusted that I was willing to end it all just because of everything that happened today. I get up and throw them in the trash. I go back into the bedroom and pull the phone out of my pants pocket. I need to call Amar. I need to tell him I have his answer.

"What's wrong? Is everything ok?" He asks, concerned laced in every word.

"I'm fine Amar, really. I've made my decision."

"About what?" He asks confused.

"About the job in Atlanta."

He pauses. "Are you sure Four? I know you're going through a lot right now with everything that happened today. You don't have to give me an answer right now."

"No. I've made up my mind. I want to go."

"Four, it's ok. You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Please think it through first before you give me your decision."

"Amar" I say so he knows I'm being serious, "I've had all the time I need to think it through. I'll do it."