Wrath

The driveway is free. He almost parks the car on the street as usually but since she brought hers to the garage two weeks ago he can almost dock to the house with the nose of the car. One more breath. He gets out and grabs his bag. Another breath. A knock. She turns off the TV, gets up carefully to not wrinkle her negligee and rushes down the stairs. One last look in the mirror and she opens the door. Her smile meets his smile. Her kiss waits a hesitating second before meeting his kiss. As usually. For a second he searches his mind for doubt. Should he retreat? Another second goes by while he considers it. Not for himself, for her. Are some last minutes of pleasure worth the pain or will they intensify it? He puts his hands around her hips and feels her sucking in her stomach. As usually. For the first time today he feels a sting in his throat, he can already feel her pain because for now it's still his. Gently he kisses the head he will break, throws his gym bag in the corner and pushes her against the commode. She enjoys his touch for a while, but then slightly turns her head, takes his hand and leads him upstairs.

He tries to keep his eyes on her, everything else would be cowardice, but they keep sliding away, across the bedroom, to the closet, over the frames on the wall. He tries not to think. To feel her for one last time. It's not necessary to think, every thought has already been thought through. Why do thoughts keep coming back if they already have been thought? She knows when his mind starts wandering, she always does, she can feel it, and he wants to please her tonight, but the thoughts keep coming back. However there is no need to open closed files again, he made up his mind and now is not the time to overthink it. He closes his eyes, pulls her hips closer and tries to listen to his heartbeat to find a rhythm.

He doesn't feel like he deserves the rare moments when her face looks peaceful. She has her eyes closed and searches for his hand stroking her hair. It's time. Gently he pulls on one of her golden brown strands of hair and sits up. „I need a drink.“ Without waiting for an answer he stands up, puts his pants on and grabs his shirt. When his arms pull it over his head, his feet have already reached the stairs, hastily, on the run. He can hear her. In the kitchen he reaches for the bottle of whiskey on the top shelf. The bottle is almost full. As he closes the bottle again she comes through the door with bare feet, slowly, confused. „We have to talk“, he says, squeezing his glass like a calming hand. She stops at the door. „What's wrong?“ He takes a sip and starts at the beginning of his script. „This just isn't working for me anymore. I can't continue coming here, this just isn't working.“ In his head he didn't mean to say „working“ twice but that doesn't matter anymore. Her eyes widen. „Alex, what's going on? What's wrong with you?“ Knockdown. He empties his glass. „I just don't love you.“ Her facial expressions don't change, but he sees her body cramp. Count. „Actually, I don't think I ever loved you.“ Every expression in her eyes vanishes. They sink down, somewhere to his chest, but they don't see him, they are empty and dead. Knockout. With both hands he tightens the grip around his glass. Without moving her lifeless body she painfully raises her eyes, almost to his face. „I knew it.“ Damn it. There was the pain. He could have dealt with many answers, but not with this one. He should have expected it, he should have known that she never fully trusted him, in spite of everything. He turns his face away from the breaking happening before him, from the healed cracks he just tore apart again, irreversibly this time. He puts his glass on the table and flees. Cowardly. He wanted to leave slowly, solemnly, with her sad but dramatic look on his back, but now he runs, grabs his gym bag that was supposed to stay in the hallway overnight, grabs his shoes and runs.

He can't remember the thirty kilometers he must have driven. It should not have ended like that. In his head there has been a vague script, according to which they would have moved to the living room, arguing, even shouting, and he has been ready for pain. But not for unconditional surrender, and now he sits in his car in this empty parking lot and presses his fists against his stomach. This pain was not part of the schedule. But what is done is done and he will finish the thing according to his plan. He just needs to find a way to control this screaming pain.

On sundays not even the reception desk is occupied. Not a single locker is taken, and the quiet howl of the ventilation remains the only noise. His own steps echo through the deserted gym. The punching bags in room three hang in rank and file from the ceiling, quietly and patiently. Without wrapping his hands, he clenches his fist and punches one of them. “Alex?” He turns around. Alexej is standing at the door, arms crossed.

“Private lesson or what?”

“Um no, not at all.”

“Hey, didn't want to interrupt you.”

“No, it's not that. I'm quitting.”

Again against the script. He didn't want to say it like that, not right away. Unlike her, Alexej immediately comes to life. He doesn't ask again, he doesn't seem to be confused at all, for that he is too sure of himself, he trusts himself in having heard it right.

“Is it because of last week?”

“Yes. No. Not only.”

Alexej relaxes his arms and comes closer. “Alex I told you, these things happen. The whole team is behind you. There are literally only two witnesses, chances are low that it'll pass. And even if, you can still plead on crime of passion, that's six months max, no matter how often it happened before.” He knows that that is not true, but that doesn't matter now.

Alex shakes his head. “No. I just have enough. I quit.”

Alexej crosses his arms again and gives Alex a stern look, from top to bottom. “Come on, we're gonna sit down and talk a little.” Behind the reception desk is a small room with an even smaller fridge in it. “Beer or whiskey?” “Whiskey.” Alexej hands him the bottle. It's half full. “You can get a plastic cup from the machine outside, if you want. Or just take the bottle.” He takes a sip out of the bottle. Alexej sits down on one of the folding chairs, opens a can of beer and sighs.

“Is it because of her? Does she want you to stop?”

Pain. Alex grits his teeth to endure the feeling. It almost looks like a smile. “No.”

“Then why? Why so suddenly?”

“I just don't want to anymore.”

“Alex, my best guy doesn't decide overnight to simply give up a part of his life.”

“Sure.”

“No.”

Alexej tightens his grip around his beer can. “What's wrong? Do you want to leave all of this behind? The training? The people? This is your life.”

Alex tries to ignore how much Alexej means himself, but Alexej doesn't let him.

“Since you were fourteen, Alex. Do you remember how it was in the beginning? Look what has become of you. Do you know what I said to you back then? You'll be someone one day. Look at you now.”

“I know. But my life is different now.”

“So what? All of our lifes are different now. But you need this. You need us. You don't have any other community.” Takedown. This one from Alexej. “Do you really want to become who you were before?”

The almost theatrical note on his words is enough to bring Alex back up. “Al, I'm 34. There are no teenagers to beat me up after school this time.

Now Alexej turns quiet. “You are a machine”, he says. "Nobody can hurt you, you are indestructible. Do you really want to throw all this away?”

Alex stands up, without the bottle of whiskey in his hand. He draws back, out to the reception desk. He doesn't want to see the disappointment that Alexej doesn't want to believe yet. “There are other ways to protect myself”, he mumbles.

Alexej stands up, with the beer can in his hand, and follows him outside. “They will destroy you!” He is getting louder. Only now he realizes that Alex is ready to jump off the edge. “If you go now, your shield will break.”

“I can protect myself with words.”

Alexej laughs. Loudly. Hurt. “You want to protect yourself with words, sir lawyer? You should have stayed in your law school. Show me how you'll land an upper cut with words!” His voice breaks. Takedown, as he slowly starts to realize what is happening. Alex doesn't want to see this. Not another breakdown. “Show me your sidepunch!” Alex doesn't want to go down that road. He feels the need to flee again.

„If I tell your daughter she's ugly, she'll believe it for the rest of her life.“ Not in a million lifes he would have written that line in any of his mindscripts.

„Bullshit.“ Alexej slowly shakes his head. „You were always like me. You never believed shit before you tested it yourself. Punch a guy, he's down. How do you want to prove that with words?“

„Trust me, I can.“

„In your old days, you wouldn't stop until you were 100 percent sure he was down. You needed to feel it, to see it with your own eye. To get the strongest proof possible.“

He grits his teeth again.

“The strongest proof possible”, he repeats. “I have it, the strongest proof possible. I don't need you. I can destroy. Alone.”

„Hoya, my gold“, he says as she enters the room. Silently she climbs on his lap, takes the glass out of his hand, puts it on the table next to the open notebook and folds his hands over her tiny belly. The bottle of whiskey on the table is almost empty, but he won't buy a new one. He doesn't like drinking when Hoya is around. He reached around her to close the bottle.

„Are you sad?“, she asks and takes his hands back into hers.

„Why do you think I'm sad?“

„Because you are drinking whiskey.“

„Do you want me to stop?“

„No, it's alright. Mommy does it too.“

„Does Mommy drink a lot of Whiskey?“

„Yes, a lot.“

Alex takes a deep breath, slowly, before he lifts Hoya up to turn her around. She wraps her legs around him and places her head on his chest. For a while he thinks about what to say but he can't think of any words that would make it easier for her. „Hoya my gold, are you looking forward to school?“, he asks instead. She doesn't respond, but burries her face deeper into his shirt. „Hoya, what's the matter?“ Silence. „Are you scared?“ He feels her nodding. „What are you scared of?“ Silence, then she lifts her head up a little.

„Maya told me the other girls waited for her after school, hold her down and ripped her hair out. She has a bald patch here now.“ She points towards the back of her head.

He presses her little body against his. „You don't have to be scared, my gold. Nobody is going to hurt you. Kids like Maya always exaggerate.“

„No! I saw the bald patch on her head! She showed me!“

Alex strokes over her golden brown hair and smiles. „If anyone tries to hurt you, I will come to school and beat them up.“ „Promised?“ „Yes.“ „But you can't just show up at school.“ „Sure as heck I can. But that won't be necessary. You can protect yourself with words.“ Hoya places her head on his chest again. „But what if they don't listen?“ „Of course they will. You can destroy people with words“, he says quietly. „You can destroy them with your words and nobody will hurt you.“