Page 54 of Inglorious
“Sad. Anxious. Like something’s hanging over my head, and an axe is about to drop.”
“Has anything happened at Merritt?”
“No. The building and everything is going well. The club is settled, although still grieving. Nanci is performing the president’s duties,” I mused and racked my brains. Why was today affecting me so badly?
“Is this an anniversary or similar?” Janet asked, and I stiffened.
“Mouse’s birthday,” I whispered as a knife stabbed me in the heart. He’d have been forty.
“And you forgot?”
“Yeah, and I feel fuckin’ guilty now. Shit.”
“From what I remember, the club always celebrated birthdays.”
“They were important. As president, I ensured nobody’s birthday was ever missed. Some of the brothers hated that, but Mouse loved celebrating. He enjoyed the cookout and big blowout we held to celebrate.”
“You were uneasy because you’d not remembered, but subconsciously knew you’d forgotten something,” Janet stated.
“Yeah. How the hell could I have forgotten?” I slumped down in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees and dropping my head into my hands. Memories of Mouse laughing and joking, a beer in hand, head tilted back, and a woman hanging off his arm, assaulted me.
Mouse had appreciated life and had lived it to the full. I was blessed to have known and loved him—and cursed that I ended his life.
“I killed Mouse,” I muttered, voice breaking.
“Inglorious?”
“They died because of my choices. Fuck, I murdered my brothers,” I said, and a sob escaped.
That seemed to loosen a knot in my chest that I didn’t even realise existed. I’d not cried since I was a tiny boy, and now, I couldn’t stop. A cry of sheer pain emerged, and a second sob broke free. I kept my head in my hands as tears streamed down my face. Sobs tore from me as I finally released the agony and guilt that I’d been experiencing.
Janet sat beside me, rubbing my back, as I wailed my grief and didn’t give a fuck who heard. This had been building since the war, and now my emotions had found freedom. There was no stopping the anguish from being released. Perhaps I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t, because this was genuine. Whichever prick stated guys don’t cry was an asshole. Men shouldn’t be frightened to show emotion. Jesus, we had feelings too.
Minutes ticked past as I allowed my rigid control to lapse. The whole time, Janet never spoke a word but rubbed my back and handed me tissues. She provided a warm and calming presence, and I felt safe and unjudged. Finally, the tears stopped.
“Guess you didn’t expect that today,” I muttered dryly.
“Nobody can ever predict what happens during therapy.”
“Is that the standard response, Doc?” I asked, and Janet laughed as she rose and moved to her seat again.
“No, that’s a Janet answer. Clients are human and can’t be predicted. Sure, behaviour could lead to certain types, but there is always that small percentage who will buck the trend,” Janet replied. “How are you feeling?”
“Right now? Empty but balanced. I didn’t know that was built up inside,” I admitted.
“You didn’t?” Janet asked.
“You knew?”
“Inglorious, you were deep in grief and also in denial. The liquor addiction helped bury your feelings, but didn’t deal with them. Alcohol is no longer a barrier. That meant it was a mere matter of time before the dam burst. My concern is that you might feel raw and open for a while, which will increase the urge to drink.”
“No, I’m done with that. I’ll not touch booze again because that leads the wrong way. I kissed Nanci,” I said, and Janet blinked.
“Okay, that was an abrupt change of subject, and I’m guessing that’s the rawness I explained you experience. Normally, I’d challenge you, but considering what just happened, I don’t think that is wise. So, Nanci, you kissed?”
“Yup, she’s mine.”
“Just like that?” Janet asked.
