Fighting Shadows!

Unveiling the Shadows

My mind raced with memories of the past, of the countless times she had let me down, of the pain and disappointment she had caused. I knew deep down that giving her another chance would only lead to heartache. Yet, a part of me couldn't help but feel a flicker of compassion for the woman standing before me.

"No, you had your fucking chance to make things right, and you chose to walk out of my life," I replied firmly, my voice laced with a mix of disappointment and resolve. With that, I closed the door in her face, feeling a burning sensation twist inside my stomach.

"Who was that?" Emily opened her eyes.

"No one, the couch must be uncomfortable. Why don't you sleep in my bed?" I changed the subject, but I can see she's not buying my bullshit story.

"Blake?"

"It was my mother, but you don't want to meet her," I muttered, my voice barely audible as I lowered my head, desperately trying to avoid her gaze. I knew I had hurt her deeply by saying those words, especially since she had just lost her own mother. But she didn't understand the turbulent relationship I had with my own.

"Blake, she's your mother. It doesn't matter what she did in the past, everyone deserves a second chance."

"Will you give your stepfather a second chance?" I asked, annoyed.

A question lingered on my lips, but fear paralyzed my voice. How could I ask her anything when her face was visibly bruised?

Frustration welled up inside me as I called out to her, desperation tainting my voice. "Em, I'm sorry," I pleaded, hoping she would hear the sincerity in my words. But my apology seemed to dissipate into the void, swallowed by the heavy air that hung between us.

"I'm going to bed," she said turning around and walking towards the bedroom.

"Em, I'm sorry," I called out desperately as she walked into the bedroom, her shoulders slumped and her face etched with sorrow.

"Em, please look at me," I pleaded, grabbing her hand and gently turning her around to face me. Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, were now filled with tears that threatened to spill over.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice filled with remorse as I reached out to stroke her tear-stained cheek. The pain in her eyes cut through me like a knife, and I couldn't bear to see her hurting like this.

"My mother tried to turn her life around," she began, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sadness. "I don't know why she never left. She promised me over and over that she would leave him, and she never did. I wish I had the chance to ask her why. Why would she stay if he was abusing her?" Em's words hung heavy in the air, her voice cracking with emotion.

I knelt down beside her, my heart aching for the little girl inside her who had witnessed such darkness. Her tears were now streaming freely, tracing a path down her beautiful face.

Unsure of how to comfort her, I found myself grappling with my own emotions. Growing up, I had never been taught how to navigate these raw, vulnerable moments. My mother left me and had never shown me how to express or process my feelings. And my father, a hardened man who believed that fighters should never show weakness, had only reinforced that stoic facade.

"I'm sorry, Em. I don't know what to say to you," I admitted, my voice betraying my own sense of helplessness. She lifted her head, her swollen yet still beautiful face adorned with a bittersweet smile that spoke volumes of the pain she carried within.

"Tell me about your mother," she requested softly, her eyes searching mine.

I realized that she wanted to know that she wasn't alone in her traumatic childhood, that someone else had experienced their fair share of hardships. Gathering her fragile form in my arms, I gently laid her down on the bed, our bodies entwined in an embrace that offered solace in the depths of our shared pain.

I don't know how to tell her, and I've never told anyone about my past. The weight of my secrets has burdened me for far too long, but with her, it feels different. With her, I feel a sense of trust and understanding that I've never experienced before.

As I sit across from Emily, her eyes filled with compassion and her fingers nervously playing with her messy hair, I contemplate whether I should finally open up. She leans closer, her voice soft and comforting, "You don't have to feel ashamed or strong with me. I'm here for you, no matter what."

A flicker of hesitation passes through me, but I take a deep breath and decide it's time to share my story. "My mother was pregnant with my sister, and my father was angry," I begin, my voice wavering slightly. "He wanted a son, so he started seeing other women. My mother went into a deep depression, and in her desperation, she begged my father to stop seeing other women. She promised that she would give him a son."

Emily's eyes widen, and her hand reaches out to touch mine, offering comfort. "That's a heavy burden for your mother to bear," she says softly.

I nod, grateful for her understanding. "Three years later, my mother conceived a son, me. My father was elated, finally having the son he desired. But his happiness came at a great cost." I pause, feeling a lump forming in my throat. "He trained me to be a fighter, starting from the moment I could walk. My mother, of course, didn't want that for me. She wanted me to have a normal childhood, filled with love and happiness. But my father didn't care about her wishes. He continued seeing other women, disregarding the pain he caused."

Emily's eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I pull her gently towards me, allowing her to rest on my lap. She clings to me, seeking solace in my embrace. "Are you okay?" I ask, concern lacing my voice.

"I'm okay," she murmurs, her voice muffled against my chest.

I took a deep breath before I continued to tell my fucktup childhood story.

"My mother begged for years, pleading with my father to stop his destructive behaviour. However, he believed that women were only meant for pleasure and that showing any weakness was unacceptable. So, my mother turned to drinking and drugs as a way to numb her pain. And I, well, I followed my father's instructions, watching kickboxing movies with him and training relentlessly every day until I became the best."

I paused, taking a sip of water to calm my nerves before continuing. The memories were still so vivid as if they had happened just yesterday.

"But my father never showed any love towards my sister or mother. He would bring women home while my mother was high on whatever substance she could find, and my sister locked herself away in her room. I kept myself busy, focused on becoming stronger, shutting out the chaos that surrounded me. Until one day, I heard my mother's cry for help."

My heart pounded in my chest as I delved into the painful recollection, a memory I had tightly locked away for years.

"I was fifteen years old, and my sister was eighteen. While I spent years training, and honing my skills, my sister was out on the streets, indulging in a life of partying and making choices she wasn't supposed to. That fateful day, my mother opened her bedroom door, only to find my sister had overdosed on heroin. It was too late to even call an ambulance. My mother's world shattered, and she lashed out at my father, blaming him for our family's downfall. I escaped to my room, shutting out the chaos around me, but I could still hear their screams echoing through the walls."

As I spoke, tears welled up in my eyes, surprising me. For so long, I had shut off my emotions, vowing never to feel anything again after that devastating day.

"I promised myself that day that I would never let my fucking emotions get the best of me again. I buried my pain deep within, focusing solely on becoming stronger, faster, and better in every aspect of my life."