Page 2 of Falling for Fury

I don’t want to be here anymore. This life—this shitty, pathetic life—this is what we all fight for? For loneliness, failure, and mind-breaking work that still leaves you broke, alone, and exhausted? For me, at least that’s how it feels. People like Mom and Dad, Matt and Ava, they seem to have it all worked out. The perfect balance, while I remain perfectly imbalanced. I lay there, feeling my tears merge with the water, and let that deep aching sense of defeat soak into my bones.

I am done.

I just, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to.

What are you doing, Addison!?

I jolt up at the terrifying realisation of where I went in my thoughts, gasping for air.

You defeated this, Addison. This is not you. We are stronger than this.

We left that dark emptiness behind.

I give myself a second to gather my thoughts before I slap the laptop closed and drag myself from the bath.

Not today, Addison, today we push on.

I force myself to get up early, pulling on my running shorts, sports bra, and cropped puffer vest, and head for Central Park. It’s March in the City, the sun is shining and the blooms of spring show, the breeze carrying happiness with it. This is my favourite place to run. There is usually so much to see and it keeps my mind busy and distracted. I take a huge breath as I step outside the building, hoping some of that happiness finds its way into my soul.

I am unsuccessful.

Instead, it is the same spiky fury rumbling under my skin. The only upside is that the darkness has receded. Enough so that I can at least try to pretend it isn’t there. I don’t give myself the time to spiral further or analyze my thoughts from last night.

I had booked an appointment with my therapist after I slid into my cold sheets, after my not so settling bath, which I quickly canceled when I remembered that I was fired and officially can no longer afford my therapist. I decided instead I would be active. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Physical exercise is good for raging depression?

What I know isn’t good is the procrastination on my Law School assignments and prepping for May exams, which is probably adding to my growing spiral. Instead of starting college straight after high school, I spent twelve months wallowing in not knowing what to do with my life. I attempted travelling, telling myself I didn’t have what it took to finish a degree and just moved from job to job. Until, in a rare moment of one of my highs where I felt invincible, I decided it was such a great idea to grab life by the balls, completed my Bachelor of Economics at NYU, and was accepted into Columbia, picking the most impressive degree on the path to becoming a lawyer. That ought to make Dad proud.

Depression, anger, and anxiety, mixed with Law School though—God, what a recipe for disaster.

Mid run my phone buzzes, and taking the excuse to pause the exercise, I answer Ava’s call without hesitation. “Hey!”

“Hey Addy!” Ava says cheerily. “Mia, do you want to say hi to Aunt Dadi?” she calls out to my 4-year-old niece, who I can hear shouting in the background. The name stuck when Mia kept getting confused trying to say, ‘Aunty Addison’, which turned into ‘Aunt Daddison’, and thus, Aunt Dadi. It is much cuter when said by a 4-year-old.

“Oh yes, please, I could do with a dose of curly cuteness!” The FaceTime request comes in, and I accept to be met by big brown eyes and a mop of dark curls, a mirror image of her Italian father, Matteo.

“Dadi! Are you coming to my party tomorrow?” Mia screams. A theatrical discussion of Mia’s party ensues, descriptions of which friends are coming and who she is most excited to see. She can’t wait for all her presents. She informs me she is helping her mom decorate her birthday cake. “I’m adding sprinkles AND marshmallows!” Although, I can very much tell the decorating is being handled completely by Ava as I watch her eye roll in the background, which triggers a giggle from me. The conversation is cut short when Mia finds something else interesting and discards the phone on the counter for Ava to pick up.

Her short mom-cut blonde hair filling my screen with her perfect pale skin, bright blue eyes, and thousand-watt smile.

“Switching to normal call so I can leave the phone alone and chat.” I bring the phone to my ear as it switches back from FaceTime.

“How are you Addy? Everything okay?” Her intuition when it comes to me has always been scary accurate. Ava can see deep into my mind without me so much as sighing. I deflect as much as possible, but there is no use denying that my mood today is complete dog shit.

“I was fired yesterday,” I say abruptly and prepare for the onslaught of pity, sadness, and Oh Addison, are you ok? There is a pointed silence from the other side, and I make a quick glance at the screen to make sure we haven’t been disconnected.

“Oh Ads, I am so sorry. I know how much you hated that job, anyway, but it sucks to have to go through this again.” My guess was close enough.

“Well, anyway, I am trying not to think about it right now. Casey said she will keep an eye out and Rosie has offered up revenge on Geoff, so there is that,” I say matter-of-factly.

Ava scoffs, and I can practically hear her roll her eyes. “I love Rosie, although, I don’t know if revenge is the right way to go about this. There will be something else, Ads. Anyway, it’s Friday, we have Mia’s birthday tomorrow, and the trip to Maplewood Lodge in a week to look forward to. Put the job search on hold, focus on your studies for this coming week, then let yourself enjoy the break. You can’t be too hard on yourself; it is okay to put self-care first,” she instructs in her usual Mom voice.

I had forgotten about the trip to Maplewood. An annual trip our family has done forever for Spring Break. A huge lodge, surrounded by wilderness and a private lake, with countless bedrooms, a pier, and plenty of trouble for teenagers. It always reminds me of the house from the movie Grown Ups. I thought the annual tradition would die out once we all became adults, but it so happens that it is the one time a year you’ll get all of us Jenkins’ together. Luckily, Mom and Dad still foot the bill for us kids to come, like they assume if they don’t, we won’t attend—which is probably true—especially for my brother Jessie. He is all broody, ‘just leave me alone with my books’; he isn’t one for family time. Especially not since his high school sweetheart left to become a Patisserie Chef in Paris and said the whole long-distance thing ‘wasn’t for her’. From what I hear, they haven’t spoken in two years, and Jessie hasn’t been the same since.

“What day are you and Matt heading up to the Lodge? Do you mind if I hitch a ride?” I ask Ava.

“Sure, can you meet us here at 9am on Monday? We want to hit the road as early as possible.” It is only a two-hour drive from Ava’s to the lodge where our family stays every year. Mom, Dad, and our younger sister, Riley, who is freshly twenty-one, will drive up from our childhood home in Great Falls, and will probably just meet us there.

“Sounds great! I’ll see you then,” I finish, glad to be done with the pity.

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