Tarnished Silence

Destructive Tendencies

CONTENT WARNING: Self-harm ideation

My most destructive tendencies always correlate with my father.

I never realized that until I had to witness the woman I loved have a complete mental break because of my actions.

We like to tell ourselves we're okay when things hurt us, that we'll be fine, it's just a bump in the road. We don't realize that not taking the time to heal from those wounds only allows them to fester and infect not only ourselves, but everyone else around us.

Unhealed trauma.

It's not an excuse, but it is a catalyst.

It doesn't make our choices for us, but it tends to play a part.

Hurt people, hurt people.

I've heard it before, but never put much thought into it until I hurt the last person in the world I ever wanted to.

I sit in the middle of the destroyed shop with my head buried in my hands.

Now that the anger at myself has melted away, I'm left with a mind too heavy with self-loathing and regret.

I'm sure this would be when others would reflect on their actions, trying to figure out why they chose the choices they did.

I don't need to think about that. I always pursue maximum destruction when it comes to my father.

I haven't spoken or seen him since I left home at sixteen.

Finding out the man I idolized, the man I looked up to, the man I hoped to be someday was nothing more than an illusion, was the biggest disappointment of my life. It was the moment I began living with this slice of hostility and resentment under my skin.

It's all ironic, really, considering I'm now a cheater, just like him. The only thing missing is a complete second family.

I'm sure he'd be so damn proud.

With a bitter chuckle, I climb to my feet and stare around at the destruction of the shop.

Suppose it's a good thing I'm part owner, otherwise, I wouldn't have a job tomorrow.

The music cut off hours ago, leaving me with the echoes of Deya's agonized screams to haunt me.

When I got the call from Mom to tell me Dad was gone, I felt myself already shutting down. I thought she meant he'd finally decided to leave her to be with his other family. It wasn't until her words registered with me that I understood she meant gone.

What do you say to that? How do you respond to the death of a man who had died on you so long ago?

My condolences, I remember muttering to Mom, causing her to let out a shocked sob.

When she told me the news, I should have felt something. Instead, I was filled with a cool numbness that seeped into my core.

I didn't feel anything.

Even when Deyanira came home all smiles and sunshine, her dulcet tone did little to bring me to the peace it usually does.

I did my best to put on a front so she couldn't pick up the swarm of rage and resentment as it rolled in, but I don't think I hid it well enough.

When she opened herself to me that night and every night since, I buried myself in her warmth, trying to hold on to the one thing in my life that made sense.

Trying to hold the storm at bay was useless once I got the call this morning from Mom begging me to meet her at the lawyer's office. I didn't want to go and wouldn't have if Mom hadn't told me she needed me.

Like always do for her, I caved, not giving a shit what the lawyer had to say.

A lot of good it did because I ended up walking the fuck out anyway, not ready to deal with the shit my father left behind. I was unprepared to deal with the fact that my brother and sister weren't the same little kids I saw that day at the restaurant.

My second destructive action today was not wearing a helmet on my sports bike as I raced through the crowded streets as if I were invisible.

Every time Deya called or texted, I ignored her. Darkness continued to creep in throughout the day, this destructive energy building up and up.

The note from my dad burned from inside my pocket, taunting me.

So, when the woman came in wanting the inside of her thigh tatted, close enough to her pussy that I'd basically have to be buried in it, I jumped on the maximum destruction level eagerly.

In that moment of wanting to forget, in needing to get rid of this chaos burning hotly inside of me, I forgot the single most important person in my life.

At that moment, my need to self-destruct outweighed my need to protect the precious heart of my sweet girl.

Her screaming tore something open inside me. Something deeper than whatever trauma I have left over from my father. Her painful howls will haunt me forever, a clear reminder of how easy it is to break precious things.

I don't slow down in my cleaning because if I do, my brain will latch onto realities I'm not ready to face yet. It also means going home to an empty house devoid of the one person who brought it to life. Because there's no way in hell Deyanira will go there.

You'll never hear my words again.

Deyanira's promise before she left the shop tonight swarms my brain, stopping me in my tracks.

Squatting down, I wrap my arms around the back of my head and try to breathe through the panic at the thought of never hearing her sweet voice.

I fucked up in the most hurtful, most painful, most destructive way possible because I could never admit that somewhere inside me, I've been hurting.

I've been hurting since I was a sixteen-year-old boy. The day I saw my dad at that restaurant with his other family and had him look straight at me before turning away as if I didn't exist, it killed something inside me and warped my view of the world.

For three years, Deyanira brought me peace. She taught me love, and she made me crave the future.

But all it took was my past colliding with my present to knock my beautiful life off its axis when I didn't know how to cope.

Fuck.

I drop to my ass when her screams echo in my head again, and a tear falls down my cheek.

My fingers shake, the need to find a blade and dig it into my skin overwhelming me, but I fight it off as hard as I can. It won't give me the thing I truly need. It will only bring me a quick reprieve from the negative energy pulsing through me.

Instead, I try to find anything else to anchor me. My eyes catch on to the tattoo along the length of my arm.

You're my sunshine on a rainy day.

It's in Deyanira's handwriting from the note she wrote me on one of my darker days. I carry it in my wallet, but I also wanted it on my arm.

The guys thought it was fucking cheesy, but I'm so goddamn thankful for it right now because it's the only thing keeping me from seeking out the quick hit that cut will bring.