Page 2 of Their Chosen

I struggled to lie to myself, that this was all I'd ever need. That if I kept going like I was, I would eventually find peace and maybe a little happiness. Today, I wasn’t finding myself to be very convincing, the darkness threatening to take me over. I assumed it was because I was approaching another birthday. Twenty-five and with very little to show for it. There was nothing like a birthday to remind us of our mortality and that we had so very little time on this Earth to accomplish anything. Pressuring us to do better, be better. To find happiness. I didn’t know if that was a possibility for me, not with the abyss within me that yawned its open maw whenever I thought I was making progress, only to pull me back down into the shadows.

It all seemed like there were a lucky few who fell into situations of greatness. And then there were those who had more bad luck than good. That no matter what they did or what decisions they made, they were doomed to find nothing more than pain and darkness. That luck guided us; whether good or bad, we were all subjected to its whims with very little choice in the matter. That concept terrified me, because if we didn’t have a choice, then any control I thought I had was only in my head. And if we didn’t have any options, then what we really had was a form of slavery. My greatest fear was that the suffering I had known was all I would ever know.

The weirdest part of it all was that no matter how dark or painful things had gotten, there was always something that wouldn't allow me to give in. Everyone who knew me said it was simply stubbornness, but I felt it was something more. Something that whispered to me, something that I could never make out, but it pushed me to put one foot in front of the other, to take one breath at a time until I found I had made it through the worst of the darkness. And it was then, when I was at the bottom, that I finally felt at peace and could sense just a little bit of hope. That just maybe this would be the last time I had to face this darkness. That this time, I would finally find what was missing and could move toward my future.

A shove against my shoulder pulled me from my maudlin reveries, snapping me back to the present. I turned to find one of the guys I trained with at the gym, another fighter, smiling at me. When I pulled the headphones from my ears, he asked, “Wanna get your ass kicked?”

I laughed at him. “Like that'll ever happen,” I teased back as I moved to pull my gloves off. I hadn’t realized the time, but if I was going to go through with this reunion, I needed to get ready. “I can’t tonight, Josh. I've got plans.”

“Ah, come on. It can't wait fifteen minutes? Just a few rounds?” he begged, both of us knowing it would still be another thirty minutes before any others started arriving to train. His face looked so earnest and hopeful, but I couldn’t spare the time.

“Trust me, I would much rather knock your teeth out than have to deal with this,” I told him, hating the look he got as if I had just kicked his puppy. He was new to the gym and fighting but was eager to learn. He was going to go far with an attitude like that.

He huffed out a breath of disappointment, crestfallen, as he said, “Fine. I get it. What about drinks later, then? A bunch of us are planning to go to Murphy’s after working out.”

I hesitated, not really wanting to go hang out and be surrounded by all his douchey friends. Having gone out with them before, I learned that lesson. They all seemed so young and innocent in comparison even though there wasn’t much of an age difference. A drink sounded good, but I knew that I wouldn't want to be around anyone else after dealing with my mom. “Sorry. Not tonight, but maybe next time. Have fun though,” I told him as I grabbed my gear and headed toward the door, ready to get home.

I walked from the gym, only living a few blocks away. Being that I lived so close, I didn’t see the sense in driving. In fact, everything I needed was within walking distance. My junker of a car usually sat in the parking lot behind my apartment complex. I reached said parking lot, noting the rust bucket still sitting in its place with the hazy streetlights barely illuminating the area. I scanned my surroundings, same as every night, unable to recall the last time I felt safe enough to relax, even in my own home. Not finding anything of note, I climbed the stairs leading to my apartment.

I glanced over my shoulder, ensuring no one was behind me as I let myself in through the door, shutting and locking it behind me. While I enjoyed working at the gym, it didn't pay much. Neither did fights for women with most female professional fighters having to maintain a day job. Which meant, I lived in a crappy apartment in an area that wasn't exactly safe. Even less so for women. Crime in this area kept me on edge. The ambulance and police sirens were my lullaby at night, but it was close to the gym and within my budget. Being that I was a fighter and well-trained, I didn’t have as much fear as others, but nothing would stop a gun if it were pulled on me. Always, it was better to be safe than sorry.

I turned the light on and walked through the living room to my bedroom, tossing my gym bag down on my unmade bed. I stripped my soaked gym clothes, ready to rinse the sweat from my body, wishing it could be all my thoughts instead. If only those memories were as easily wiped away. I went through the motions on autopilot, my mind racing the whole time, dreading dinner but knowing I had to do this. My mother had no one besides me and those who fed her habits. We both needed this. The little girl inside me would always yearn for the connection with my mother, even if adult me knew it was a long shot.

Mom happened to be stable for once, or so she sounded the other day when she reached out to me, wanting to have dinner and catch up. I wasn’t holding my breath that she'd be able to remain sober for long. I had been let down one too many times in the past, falling for her promises and bargains. However, my conscience wouldn't allow me to brush her off or completely cut ties with her. As long as she remained sober, I would let her back in. She would always be my mother. I knew I would never forgive myself if there was ever an opportunity or moment to provide support, and I didn't.

It was just one more way for an addict to control their loved ones, creating a toxic relationship if the loved one wasn't careful. It had taken me a long time to find my balance in our complicated relationship and to give up on ever having the relationship with her that I had dreamed of as a child. I had accepted the reality of what we had and why I found myself in the situation I was in tonight. Though, logic and feelings often didn’t go hand in hand.

I turned the water off, grabbing a towel to dry myself off. As I stepped over the edge of the tub to exit, a sharp pain jolted through my body, causing my knees to buckle. Collapsing to the floor, I curled into the fetal position as my body cried out at the sensation of being stabbed a million times in a thousand different places. The pain was everywhere all at once but seemed to shrink in on itself, concentrating until a burning sensation took over, with the focal point being my left shoulder blade. I felt like I was being burned with a fire poker, branded on the sensitive flesh that covered the bony prominence. Many of the fighters had tattoos, something I had never felt the need for before, but they often said that the skin was thinner over the bone with more nerve endings to elicit and report back to the brain. This pain felt like that, only a hundred times worse.

As the pain started to recede, my mind began to race as it was able to focus on something other than the blinding agony and tried to make sense of what had just happened. I gulped in a deep breath of air, not having realized I’d been holding in that last gasp, every muscle frozen while enduring the torment. Even my lungs had stopped functioning properly as my breaths sawed in and out in an attempt to combat my darkening vision from lack of oxygen. I curled my fingers into the bath rug that I was currently lying on, every single joint stiff after the assault, and pushed to my back, my body unfolding slowly as I stretched out my aching muscles. I focused on slowing my breathing, taking a deep breath in, holding it, and then exhaling as I placed my hand over my heart, feeling the thrum of my racing pulse in my fingertips.

“What the absolute fuck was that?” My voiced thoughts seemed to echo in the bathroom and caused an inkling of fear to creep along my spine because nothing good could have caused that kind of pain. My brain scrambled for a logical explanation but was coming up empty. Once my heart had slowed and the pain was a distant throb that echoed through my bones, I rolled to my knees. Fuck, how long have I been lying here?

I reached my feet and stumbled like a newborn colt out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, my limbs protesting the movement and staying locked. My eyes found the alarm clock on my nightstand just as my knees gave out again, and I tumbled onto my bed. 7:25. I wasn’t sure what time I’d gotten out of the shower, but I’d gotten home about 6:30. By my estimates, I had lost almost half an hour in excruciating pain like I’d never known before.

The only thing I had ever heard of that could cause this kind of reaction, centered around the left chest or back, would have been a heart attack. Though I had heard the pain was intense, there was no way a heart attack would have allowed me back up again after incapacitating me for so long. So, what the hell just happened to me? I felt my hands start to shake and my heart pick up pace as fear started to take over. A panic attack wouldn't solve anything, but logic didn't often have any relevance to emotions.

Nothing I could think of would result in such a reaction. Whatever it was, it had me shaken to my core as I sat up in my bed with a groan and took mental stock of my body. Going through a checklist as I rolled and flexed each joint and muscle in my body, starting with my toes, to make sure I was whole and intact. Other than the weakness, fatigue, and tenderness, nothing lingered, and my body felt about the same as it would after a brutal fight.

Glancing at the clock again, I noted I’d been sitting on the side of my bed for about thirty minutes, my hair almost dry now, lost in my tumultuous thoughts. I was sure my hair was a complete mess, resembling how I felt on the inside right about now. My mom was supposed to show up soon, and I was still in nothing but a towel. The last thing I wanted to deal with now was the tenuous relationship that connected us, but it was too late to cancel. Besides, I wasn’t a coward. I’d get this over and done with, and then I could worry about what the fuck had just happened to me.

Getting mad at myself for allowing this, whatever it was, to shake me so badly, I stood, locking my knees when they threatened to give out on me again. Taking a deep breath to help center myself, I started to get ready for my mom's arrival. I moved about my room, throwing on a razor-backed tank top and leggings, something comfortable that wouldn’t restrict my movements since my muscles were still tender. The routine motions helped settle me and allowed me to push my experience to the back of my mind to wrestle with later when I wasn’t so exhausted and could think clearly.

In what felt like no time at all, my doorbell rang. I climbed from my worn-out, secondhand couch to answer the door. My mother was on time for once, and I couldn't help the small burst of joy that accompanied that realization. I reminded myself to stay hesitantly optimistic and to control my expectations. Hope for the best but prepare for the worst, I chanted to myself.

I reached for the locks I had set as I peered through the peephole, verifying that it was, in fact, my mother. Upon seeing her waif thin frame and blonde hair with new streaks of silver running through it, I released the locks to open the door. Holding the door open for her to enter, I waved a hand in the direction of the living room and stated, “Come in.”

I could sense her hesitance and insecurity as she shuffled in slowly, peering into the apartment. While it wasn’t in the best shape, it was mine, ratty furniture and all. Which was a lot more than I ever had while growing up. She glanced around, taking in the kitchen that was designed in the 90's and hadn't been updated, the table barely large enough for two people to sit and eat, and the living room that had a recliner, couch, coffee table, and small flat screen that was rarely used. Shutting the door behind her, I followed as she sat down on the couch. “It's nice,” she stated awkwardly.

“It's mine.” I shrugged in response as I sat on the other side of the couch. “I never needed much, just enough to make do. Besides, I don't spend much time here anyway.” My voice came out harshly as I defended my place and belongings. I knew they weren’t designer or even well-worn. Most of the items had been rescued from the dumpster and given a little TLC until they were functional.

She ducked her head at my unintended jab, wrapping her arms around her middle, apparently unable to respond. Sighing at the sight, I knew my anger had temporarily gotten the best of me. I hated passive-aggressive bullshit, preferring to face things head-on, and could admit when I was a hypocrite, even if just to myself. “Sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound as mean as it came out. I just meant that I don't value superficial things the way most other people do. I prefer to do something more with the money instead.”

Mom nodded her head in response, as if in acceptance, but I could still sense the shame just under the surface, seeping into the air to hang heavily between us. As we sat there awkwardly, I spoke to fill the silence, hoping the tension would fade. “I hope you don't mind, but I ordered pizza. After work, I realized that I wasn't really up to going out, so I thought we could just hang out and catch up,” I murmured, hopeful that we could start rebuilding our relationship. Maybe one day, we’d be able to talk about why she hadn't been able to get clean so we could be a family. About why I had to grow up among strangers. Understanding would be the only way I could move forward and maybe let go of all the anger that seethed and roiled inside me.

“That sounds good. I'd like that very much.” A small smile graced her face, and it seemed to take ten years off her appearance. The addictions had truly done a number on the once-stunning woman. We sat awkwardly for a moment, neither really knowing where to start, both avoiding eye contact and shifting slightly in our seats.

“Sorry, would you like something to drink?” I offered as I jumped up, needing to do something with the anxiety I was starting to feel. Heading for the kitchen, I called over my shoulder, “I have soda, milk, water, or lemonade?”

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