Leo's Chance(27)

That’s when I feel it happen. I snap. I think I even hear the sound effect of each thought in my head bending and finally breaking as the cloud overtakes every cognitive function. Suddenly I am nothing more than pure anger, my brain filled with, and controlled by, a roiling tumor of fury. And it’s metastasizing by the minute, cells multiplying, spreading, and overtaking.

"Because I hate her!" I yell, picking my food tray up off the table next to my bed, and flinging it violently at the wall. Uneaten food splatters and the tray hits the floor with a clang.

"Who do you hate, son?"

"Lauren! I f*cking hate her! I hate her!"

I sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I’m vaguely aware of this and yet my rage is so all-consuming, I don’t care. Fury rules and I am just along for the ride.

I swing my legs off the side of my bed and start sweeping things off every surface in my room, grinding out, "I hate her. I hate her. I hate her," with every crash. My breath is coming fast now and I feel the words starting to hitch in my throat. I feel crazed with rage as I hobble from one side of the room to the next, yelling and destroying, a pain-cyclone of anger and bitterness. Hurricane Leo. Category five.

"Who do you hate, Jake?" Dr. Fox's voice comes to me through the red noise pulsing through my brain.

"I told you! I f*cking told you! Lauren! I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!" I continue to half grind out, half yell, and half pant. My voice is coming to me from what seems to be very far away. I can't feel my body any longer. I feel like one big whirling ball of emotion, completely out of control.

In my peripheral vision, I briefly make note that a nurse with a stricken look opens the door halfway to see what is causing what must sound like a barroom brawl in my hospital room.

Dr. Fox holds his hand up to her in a stop gesture and nods to her, and she backs out of the room quickly, her eyes wide.

"I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!" I grind out, overturning the table next to my bed.

"Who do you hate, son?" Dr. Fox asks again, quietly.

I whirl around to him and my father's voice, that bastard who called himself my father, comes to me suddenly. I see his face in front of me, filled with disgust, swimming in my cloudy, fury-riddled vision. I feel the rage bloom larger in my chest and I pick up a chair and hurl it across the room. It bounces off the tall, plastic garbage can in the corner and clatters to the floor, one leg snapping off. "My father!" I bellow. "I hate him! I f*cking hate that rat-f*cking bastard! I hate every bone in his disgusting body! I want to f*cking kill him! I want to bash his f*cking head in!"

I continue chanting my mantra of hate, turning to my bed and punching the high, completely upraised end of my mattress again and again and again. I grunt with every blow, an inhuman growl coming from deep in my chest.

"Who do you hate?" Dr. Fox's voice comes from directly behind me, still gentle and controlled.

"Stop asking me that! I told you! Aren’t you f*cking listening to me? My father! My mother! Lauren! I hate them all! I f*cking hate them! Fuck! Fuck them all! Fuck them! I hate them!" My voice cracks at the end and I’m breathing so hard that I feel like I might hyperventilate. A lifetime of built up rage over selfishness that steals dignity and cruelty that preys on the weak is coursing through my veins, a fire looking to consume me from the inside out.

"Who do you hate, son?"

My blows become softer, my defenseless mattress getting a momentary reprieve from my rage-filled beating. My breath hitches in my throat again, and now I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes, wanting to fall. This spurs my anger again and so my blows become harder and I am almost choking now. The rage begins to abate, and just beyond it is the grief and I feel it coming at me like a wave. I'm powerless to fight it. All I can do is wait as it washes over me, drenching the fiery ball of anger, putting out that flame, but dragging me under, tossing me, flailing and defenseless against its unrelenting power. It is bigger than the rage, bigger than the bitterness, bigger than the guilt, and I can do nothing but submit to it. I choke out, "Me! I hate me! I hate myself! I hate myself! I f*cking hate myself!" And now the tears are coming, and I'm choking on my words and sputtering and punching and yelling. "I f*cking hate myself! I hate myself! Fuck! Fuck! "I hear myself sobbing and muttering, and somewhere, from a distance, I think the words I hear are, "Why? Why? Why wasn't I enough? I'm worthless. Why did I do that? Why did I let her do that? Why did I do that? Why? Why? I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I'm worthless. I hate myself."

"Who do you hate, Jake?" Dr. Fox asks one final time.

"Me. I hate me," I say through panting, hitching breaths. "I hate me. Oh God. Oh God. I hate me."

Then I feel his hand grip my shoulder and he leaves it there as I bury my face in to the upraised pile of pillows that miraculously held their position through my pounding, and I finally wail for the first time since Evie held me in her arms on a rooftop under a summer, night sky and told me I had the heart of a lion. I wail for Seth, and I wail for all the hope I held onto day after day, year after year that my parents would find something in me worth loving, I give in completely and let the grief and longing for Evie consume me, wailing for my loss and my own feelings of self-hatred at my abandonment. I wail for what I did with Lauren, my disgust with myself, and all the hatred that has filled my heart for so many, many years. I wail until my voice is hoarse and I am drained of emotion. When my head clears and my own hiccupping and sputtering has trailed away, I come back into myself and note that Dr. Fox's hand is still gripping my shoulder tightly, anchoring me.