Later that afternoon, after Logan had whipped my ass in Xbox more times than I could count, my punching bag arrived! Finally! It was pink and had "go girl" printed down the side and I squealed with excitement when I saw it. I couldn't believe Damon had really gotten it for me! I know he said he would, but I still wasn't used to people buying things for me. I wasn't used to consideration.
"Can we put it up now?" I asked excitedly, but the staff were bringing out the meals so Damon shook his head.
"After the meal," he said.
"Now? Please?" I begged, giving him my best puppy dog eyes but he wouldn't be persuaded.
"No," he growled.
I was about to ask him again because I really couldn't wait, but Jack came up behind me and led me to my seat with his arm around my shoulders.
"Let's enjoy our meal, darling girl. There's time for all that later. It's been a couple of days since we've all eaten together as a family and I've missed it. I've missed you."
Jack always knew what to say to cheer me up so I gave him a half smile and sat down on my chair between him and Logan, where I always sat.
Like always, the meal was delicious.
Alex and Logan took care of the dishes while Nick, Rocco and Jack put my boxing bag up. They had to install a big hook into the roof and then suspend the bag from it on a big chain and it took them a little while to get it up there. Or maybe it just felt like it took a while because I was so impatient. Just as they finished, Damon came in to check on their progress. He threw a combination of punches at the bag, making it swing wildly, but it held firm.
"Good," he said, impressed. Then he looked at me seriously. "I expect you to use this every time you get angry and need to punch something. I've ordered two more, which should arrive tomorrow, for downstairs. No more punching your brothers when you get angry, all right?"
I nodded.
"Verbal answer, Carrie," Damon reminded me, but he didn't sound stern like he normally did when I forgot to reply properly. I think he could tell I wasn't meaning to be rude, I was just excited.
"Yes. Thank you for my punching bag!" I told him, smiling at him. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, thanking him in the best way I knew how. He hugged me tightly in return, then picked me up and spun me around.
"You're welcome, Carrie-girl. I hope you use it."
Then he, Rocco and Nick all left the room. Jack stayed and taught me how to use it safely, without hurting myself. He held onto my hands and showed me the correct way to form a fist. He guided my wrist as I threw it at the bag, and showed me how to punch properly. He helped me punch with both my left and right hands. Then he held the bag steady for me while I punched it a couple of times.
"Good, you're getting the hang of it well," he said, pride evident in his voice.
"Can you teach me how to box?" I asked him hopefully. I knew that all my brothers knew how to fight. They sparred in the gym, and I'd seen Alex knock out Dominic. But I didn't really know how much formal fighting they actually knew. Jack just smiled.
"I'm not much of a boxer, Carrie. Talk to Rocco or Nick. Both of them do kickboxing. I'm only trained in martial arts."
I nodded. "I'll talk to Nick." After bouncing with me down the stairs today, I figured Nick was the more approachable brother. And I knew he could punch - he'd injured his hand the first day I arrived, when he'd punched the wall outside when he saw the signs of my abuse. I still wasn't completely confident around Rocco yet, so seeing him punching and kicking something, even if it was to teach me, might just frighten me more. I knew in my heart he would never hurt me, but the fear was so deeply ingrained in me, sometimes I worried it would never leave. Would I be like this forever, terrified of every little thing? I really hoped not.
Channeling my fear into anger, I made both hands into fists and threw them at the bag, one after the other, over and over again. I didn't have the strength to make it swing wildly as Damon had done, but I was able to punch it hard enough to make it move, and a feeling of immense satisfaction washed over me as Jack held it to steady it for me so I could work out the rest of my pent-up anger.
His face appeared in my head and I punched the bag ferociously, pretending it was him I was pounding to a pulp. Again and again I punched him, so hard that I grunted with exertion each time. As I continued punching, my anger and aggression increased and I started yelling with each punch. It was like I was in some kind of a trance; I had so much anger I needed to let out. My years of abuse came to the fore and all I could feel was violence. Aggression. Pain.
My vision blurred with tears but I kept punching. I wasn't calm enough to stop, yet. I remembered the cigarettes. The whippings I had endured with his belt. I remembered being hungry. I remembered stepping over him and my useless mother, asleep in a pile of vomit, surrounded by needles, squalor, filth. I remembered trying to dull the pain with whatever alcohol I could get my hands on. Pain inflicted by him.
The awful memories rose up around me, making me think they were real, and I punched harder and harder, faster and faster. Maybe if I could just punch him enough, the pain would stop. If I could punch enough, the fear, the memories tormenting me, would leave. Maybe if I could punch enough, I would be a normal teenage girl and I could leave all the baggage from my past behind.
I couldn't even see the punching bag any more, through my tears, and I screamed in anger, fury, with each punch. But with each punch, I took back a little bit of my power.
I kept punching.
My hands were hurting, but still I kept going. There was so much anger and pain inside of me and I had to let it out.
I punched and screamed and yelled over and over and over. I don't know how long I punched for, but it simultaneously helped, and made me realise I could punch forever and it still wouldn't be enough. Punching a pink vinyl bag was never going to be enough to take away the pain and the trauma of what had been done to me. It would never remove the memory of him I still carried with me. It would never bring back the mother who had once been so loving, that addiction had stolen from me.
I was completely oblivious to the broken expression on Jack's face as he held the bag steady for me. I was oblivious to the rest of my brothers who had gathered, after hearing my screams of anguish as I worked out my agony, and stood just inside my doorway, watching me lose it completely.
Punching and screaming was cathartic, and exhausting. I punched until I could punch no more. I punched until my legs couldn't hold me up anymore and I fell to the ground, my hands still clenched tightly into fists, helplessly pounding the carpeted floor of my bedroom as I curled into a distressed ball, still screaming out my fury.
I sensed someone crouch down beside me, felt a gentle hand on my back. I'm picked up in strong arms..
"Come on sweetheart, up you get. Don't lie down there on the floor." It's Jack, and he's cuddling me close, speaking softly in my ear.
Around me, I can hear the low tones of a conversation between my brothers. I can't really pick out much of what they're saying but it's obvious they're talking about me. I hear the word therapy and I freak out.
"I'm not going to therapy!" I yell through my tears, clutching Jack's shirt tightly.
"Shhhh," he whispers to me. "That's not what Alex said. It's okay. Breathe, darling girl. Calm yourself down and then we can talk."
He carries me to my bed and sits down on it with me still wrapped in his arms. I press my face up against his chest and listen to the hypnotic rhythm of his heartbeat. My brothers leave the room, their hushed tones fading away as they disappear back downstairs.
We never get to have the talk Jack promised because I'm so worn out from all the punching, and the emotions that accompanied it. I stay snuggled up against Jack, secure in his strong arms, and let the sound of his heartbeat lull me off to sleep.