Amar calls me just as I'm getting ready to leave and informs me to meet him at his and George's dojo instead. He normally doesn't teach on Friday, but he is making an exception tonight. Amar has me in one of the smaller classrooms, usually used for smaller classes or kids that are just beginning Aikido. He runs me through a series of stretches, balance, and meditation exercises, forcing me to focus on the task at hand instead of what just happened. He advances to blocks, throws, kicks, and tumbles. Two hours later, I'm sore, sweating and tired, but my mind is as active as ever now that my body is exhausted. It just wasn't enough to dull the hurt, betrayal, and anger I feel toward Nita right now.
The bar across the street, however, has proved to be more helpful. Unfortunately, Amar is keeping a close tab on how many beers I take in. He knew I drove here, and doesn't want me killing myself or anyone else on the way back home.
Amar and George keep trying to convince me that it will get better, giving me bits of advice, and even throwing in the occasional joke to try to lighten my mood. They are usually good at helping me when I get in one of my moods, but it just wasn't working this time. Amar and George had been together for nearly 23 years now, and were the definition of a happy couple. While it may not have followed traditional standards, and they had their own struggles to deal with, the problem was they cared for each other, and I had no one.
I thanked Amar and told him I was heading back home. He asked if they should go with, just to check to make sure she wasn't still there, but I told him no, I should be able to handle it now. My main reason for going home was because while I did have a slight buzz, I knew I could get completely shit faced, forget about what happened today, and not have to be under Amar's watchful eye. Some sadistic part of me wanted Nita to still be there, hoping she would beg for my forgiveness, to take her back, just so I could say no once more. However, when I opened the door to the apartment, it was completely deserted of Nita and her belongings.
I sit down on the couch, holding my head in my hands. The problem wasn't just that I was hurt because I had caught Nita cheating; it was the fact that, right now in my life, I felt like no one truly has ever cared or loved me for who I was. Every relationship in my life was cringe worthy.
My father told me nearly every day I was worthless and pathetic. Never in my memory had he ever told me he even cared about me, unless we were in public, but I knew it was a ruse to keep up his appearance as a public official. My mother had left me with a monster because I was told she never truly loved me. I remember she would tell me I was her world when I was small, but then she left when I was 8. I'll never truly know her real reason for leaving, though I'm sure it had to do with his cruelty. I just don't understand why she left me with him when she knew he was evil, why she didn't take me with her.
I tried looking my mother up when I was in college; only to find out she had passed away in a car accident when I was thirteen. I'm not sure if I was more upset that I knew that she was dead, and my last hope for any kind of reconciliation was gone. Or if it was my last hope to prove Marcus wrong was now gone. I would never know if she truly loved me or not.
Of the few girlfriends I had over the years, none stayed in my life for more than a few months. Often breaking up with me because they felt I was too closed, too secretive, and often too cold in my affections. Nita was the first person I've ever lived with. I even considered taking the next step with her, but something always held me back. I had never even told her my actual name. She knew Four was a nickname, but I told her one day I would tell her about my dark past, but I never confided that secret, which now I'm grateful I hadn't. I guess I was afraid she would leave if she knew the truth. After looking back at all my past relationships, I feel as if I am incapable of love. Who would want someone as broken as I am?
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."