I'm Here to Fix You - Broken Souls Series #2

Angels With Horns

This first chapter of this new adventure is dedicated to my Mama Bear, fenia87 :D I remember you were particularly curious about this character, so...here he is :P

CHAPTER 1- ANGELS WITH HORNS

JAKE'S POV

Hi, my name's Jake Watson. I'm 28 years old, male. Dirty blonde hair, hazel-green eyes, six foot four tall, 180 pounds more or less.

I'm well versed in four different martial arts, including krav maga. Plus boxing and kickboxing. Basically, I could tear you down with my left arm, but I like to think I'm brains too not just muscles.

I'm an overly privileged white spoiled rich American boy according to some. A deranged and dangerous threat to society according to others. 

I  suffer from heavy anger management issues, I'm a sociopath with masochistic tendencies and an unconscious death wish. That means the only way for me to feel anything is through self harm, and that I voluntarily put my life on the line at least half of the time.

Last week I was released from Rikers Island's federal prison, New York, where I served  2 years for battery and assault. I have fully recovered and am glad to have found my place in society again. Thank you for understanding.

Doesn't sound too reassuring for an introduction, huh? Yeah, that must be why my uncle incinerated me with his cold stone glare when I recited that to him.

Hey, he said I would need a statement to introduce myself to my new employees, and that is the utter truth. Shouldn't people be warned I am oh, so dangerous and could basically snap and slaughter them all at any given moment?

I mean, that's what the judge that put me away thought, and the prison's shrink backed up his idea. I suppose it's true. 

I did lose my shit a lot in the past. I have been close to killing someone more than once. I did coldly plot a murder. I did beat the shit out of some guy voluntarily. I did plan to take his life with my bare hands. I did cause him to be on the brink of death and be hospitalized for three months.

But hey, I swear, I'm a pretty nice guy when you know me. 

There's just that one little detail ... I'm as fucked up as fuck. With a life like mine, a curse like mine looming over your head, you'd be too. I mean, if you'll excuse me, aren't I allowed to lose it now and then because the nonexistent God up there decided to make of me his favorite squeaky toy and not grant me a single fucking break ever since I breathed my first breath?

But I'm on a new lead. I am, really. So don't you flee just yet, I promise I'll be good.

After all, it's been a full week since I returned to Boston, and I haven't flipped out yet. I suppose that's an achievement. A milestone, the prison's therapist would call it, but too far from the final goal.

He says I need to work on my issues by cutting down or off the three elements in my life that I have been using to fend off depression and suicidal thoughts as well as nightmares.

One: violence. Work out, Jake. Blow off all the steam you've got at any hour you need, doesn't matter where, but that is the only violence you're allowed to use. That's what Dr. Schroeder said. I suppose that for him it's better if I destroy gym equipments other than beat a man black and blue. He's got a point there, huh?

Two: alcohol. No drinking, Jake. Not one single ounce of alcohol in your system anymore. You're not you when you're drunk, he said. Ah...if only he knew I'm worse when sober.