Page 222 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I push off the railing, trying to outrun my own brain, trying to outrun what demons live inside me, inside my head.

I grab my keys off the dresser and walk downstairs, ignoring the eyes on me as I walk out the front door. I can’t quiet the anger; it needs somewhere to go…and I have the perfect place in mind.

I start the engine and just drive. The anger feels like a volcano ready to explode inside of me. And if I can’t drown it the way my body wants me to, then…well…let’s just say,somebodywill be feeling it.

It’s pitch dark when I pull up to the building, and I put the car in park, just staring up at it.

It looks like power, likehim, like disgrace.

I get out and look around before grabbing the bat that’s sitting in the trunk of my car.

Walking up to the entrance, I don’t even bother with my keys; I just swing the bat and smash the glass door.

The sound is loud and satisfying. It’s like my chest has a little more room to breathe now.

I let out this small laugh that feels good; it feels like a big fuck you.

The alarm starts wailing immediately, and I flinch at first, then laugh again, feeling drunk in this moment without the needfor any alcohol. I step through the broken glass carefully with the bat tight in my grip, ready to put my anger somewhere new tonight. Alarm lights start flashing now, and a recorded voice comes through every speaker saying that the authorities have been alerted.

I don’t care. I’ll be done by the time they get here.

I walk over to the reception area and start swinging the bat again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing is safe—picture frames shatter, lights get slung off the counter, and everything in sight is smashed. Every hit feels like releasing something that’s been trapped inside me for years. It’s not even rage anymore; it’s relief, it’s therapy in the ugliest form.

I stalk down the hall like I own the place, likeI’mthe monster now.

I see his office once I get off the elevator, and smile.

When I reach his door, it’s locked, so I swing the bat straight through it until I’ve put gaping holes in it, and it comes off the hinges, swinging open in front of me. His office is pristine, expensive, and cold. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city like he owns it. He doesn’t. It ownshim; it controls him. He’s the real puppet in all this, and he doesn’t even realize it. He’s let the world control him for so long that he wouldn’t know what normal looked like if it slapped him in the face.

I swing at the windows first, and they cave in. The cold air rushes in, and the alarm screams louder. We’re so high up that it should scare me to be so close to the edge, but I can’t seem to care. I just keep swinging. I turn to his desk next. Computer—gone. Monitor—gone. Awards—fucking…gone. The stupid little pen holder with his initials on it? Gone. I knock over his chair and start hitting it, imagining he was in it. I don’t stop until myarms burn and my breathing is ragged and the room looks like something exploded in it.

Then I hear sirens getting closer. I freeze, bat still in my hands, chest heaving from the exhaustion and pain I always feel because of one man.

Fuck him, and fuck this place.

I take the bat and back out, stepping over glass, and walk slowly down the stairs and out the same broken entrance, cutting my hand on a shard of glass that I don’t even bother putting pressure on.

I get in my car and drive away as the sirens start to pull up, slipping out through a back road.

It doesn’t really matter—none of it. He’ll know who did it, if he doesn’t already. He probably sat at home and watched me do it on his security system. And I couldn’t care what he does about it. I got what I needed out. I’ll take whatever he wants to throw my way.

By the time I get home, the adrenaline has worn off, and all that’s left is exhaustion so heavy it feels like it’s pinning me to the ground.

I stumble into my room and collapse on the bed.

My body is buzzing, and my brain is still loud, but the exhaustion starts to win.

If I can’t get peace, I’d rather be unconscious.

So I let it take me.

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