ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(16)

It started at the base of my spine, growing like a red-hot poker until it was so hot, it was like my every breath was fanning the internal flames causing them to grow bigger, hotter, and higher. I paced back and forth in my room, wringing out my hands and pulling at my hair while adding to the already worn path on the light blue carpet.

Depending on the severity of my mood, some nights when I felt the heat start, I could escape up to my room and pace the floor until it died out. Sometimes that took hours. Sometimes minutes.

Sometimes it didn’t work at all.

The embers of my anger grew until it invaded my nerves, muscles, limbs and mind, taking over like an alien possession. At that point none of Cody’s written rules, no positive thinking, no deep breath could rein me in.

I paced over to the window as the heat reached my ears, burning with the need to unleash the demon beckoning to me. I flung open the window, pushed at the screen until it popped free of the frame, and then leapt. My feet hit the wet grass and I took off into the night, hopping the back fence and running out into the dense woods behind our house. There was no light to guide my way, but I didn’t need light. Cody and I had explored every inch of the woods, creating forts and hideaways since we were barely out of diapers.

I ran until my lungs burned and then I only ran faster, needing to push, to feel the pain, to feel anything other than the bubbling anger exploding inside of me like fireworks. Needing to expel the anger from my system.

When I reached my destination, I felt around the base of the tree for where I’d kept a switchblade between the overgrown roots. I was breathing hard when my hand connected with the metal handle. I pulled it from its hiding place with a roar and with both hands on the blade, I plunged it into the trunk of the tree over and over again, screaming through my anger. Wood chips sprayed out all around me, sap dripping from where I’d wounded the tree.

Scars in the bark from prior trips to the same tree on similar nights peppered the trunk. Nights when I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening to me. When all rational thought left and all that was left was the urge. The need.

The Rage.

Male voices in the distance caught my attention, snapping me from my tirade. A branch snapped. I tightened my grip on the knife and crouched down beside some brush, snaking my way closer to where the voices were coming from. I lay on my stomach, peering through a gap in the leaves where the dense brush gave way to a small clearing. The absence of trees overhead allowed the moonlight in. I could clearly see the scene playing out in front of me.

Two men in black leather vests and dark jeans were standing across from one another. The shorter man with greasy blonde hair had a big smile on his face as he chewed on a toothpick. He held a shovel casually across his shoulders, which was what led me to notice the large hole in the ground in the far corner of the clearing. The other much larger man with black hair to his shoulders and matching beard, was glaring hatred at a third man who was on his knees with his wrists tied behind his back. His mouth was duct taped shut. A dark wet stain formed on the front of his pants.

A gun to his head.

My heartbeat raced. My anger turned to adrenaline, surging through me.

The larger man, the one holding the gun, spoke, his voice deep, and rough, spreading over me like a thick blanket of darkness. “You thought you could f*ck with us and get away with it, Jerry?” His nostrils flared. The air shifted as well as something inside of me and instantly, I wished it was my hand holding the gun. Pulling the trigger. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and down my spine. I shivered.

He cocked the gun and I gasped. Not out of surprise, but out of sheer awe.

“No…no, Smoke. Don’t do this. I promise, I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Jerry sputtered.

Smoke chuckled, low and throaty. “You didn’t mean to hurt her? She was a kid motherf*cker. You raped her, sliced up her virgin cunt, and gave her a f*cking concussion. So don’t f*cking tell me you didn’t mean to f*cking hurt her just so you can spare your own life you weak piece of shit! It’s too late for that now.” Smoke raised his gun and brought it down, smashing the side of it against Jerry’s head, sending him falling sideways onto the dirt floor. “Mugs, pick this shit-bag off the f*cking floor. I want him upright when I blow his f*cking brains out.”

I was no longer in control of my movements. Of my thoughts. It was like I was hovering above my own body, watching myself down below. Without thinking I raised up to my knees to get a better view over the brush. The two men in leather dragged Jerry over to the hole and kicked him inside. I’m not sure if Jerry was on his knees or standing, but I could only see him from the neck up.

I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away from the men. Just like when I felt the anger start, I felt cloudy, consumed, except it wasn’t anger that was consuming me.

It was WANT.

NEED.

Pure and primal.

I didn’t realize I’d stood up, or that I’d stepped out over the brush, or that I’d walked directly into the center of the clearing until it was too late.

Jerry noticed me first, watching me as I approached and stopped directly behind the two men. When they noticed Jerry staring behind them they turned around abruptly. Mugs dropped the shovel and drew a gun from under his vest. Smoke turned his gun from Jerry to me. I leaned to the side, looking past the men and trying to get a better look into the hole where Jerry was bleeding from his right eye. He looked up at me and with his eyes, he made a silent plea for my help.