I looked down at the gloves in my hands and the boots on my feet, at an absolute loss.
“Sorry. I’m confused.”
He walked over to the back wall of the shed, where a few sledgehammers had been propped up.
“This one’s light and well-balanced.” He grasped it by the neck and held the handle out to me.
Tentatively, I took it in both hands, feeling the weight of it.
“You’re carrying a lot around,” he said gently. “And I wanted to help. But I can’t imagine a bubble bath is enough to do the trick, so I set this up. You can let it all out here. There’s no judgment. No pressure.”
My eyes heated and gratefulness washed over me. I opened my mouth, my instinct to minimize, to make a joke, or to say this was unnecessary kicking in, but I quickly snapped it shut again.
But maybe it was necessary. I was drowning. And he’d noticed.
And he’d tossed me a life preserver.
He didn’t ask me to explain, to tell him what had been eating at me. He didn’t expect me to package my emotions up for him to consume.
He just noticed and did something about it.
“So I just…” I looked up at him, emotion clogging my throat.
“Swing it and break shit,” he said, crossing those thick arms again.
“But I’ll make a mess.”
“I’ve got a dumpster.” He lifted one shoulder easily. “I’ll clean it up later.”
“But—”
“Get swinging, Matchstick.” He took a step back, then another. “I promise it will help.”
He was so strong and calm. I’d never say it out loud, but his presence helped soothe my anxiety. Josh couldn’t solve my problems, but when he was nearby, I felt a little tougher.
Hefting the sledgehammer, I studied it. “I don’t know if I can.”
He stepped in again and took it, holding it out at a different angle for me. “We both know you can smash the shit out of anything. Now be a good girl and break something. It’s cathartic.”
Self-conscious, I put on the safety glasses, repositionedthe sledgehammer in my hold, and surveyed the clearing. The sledgehammer was heavy but not too heavy. And he’d gone to all this trouble.
So I walked tentatively toward a stack of wooden crates and swung.
Wood splintered, flying everywhere, and the loud crash made me jump.
My heart rate kicked up, but not in a bad way. Okay, this might be fun after all.
I swung again and again, cracking plastic containers, bending metal, and shattering wood. I laughed, cried, and got one hell of a workout.
My fingers stung, signaling that blisters were forming, but I didn’t slow. This was the most fun I’d had in a very long time.
Most days it felt impossible to shed the person I’d once been. The woman who had slowly unraveled. Who’d lost herself and was too dumb to even realize until every recognizable trait was gone.
It started in little ways, skipping plans with friends because he didn’t like it. Going to his mother’s when I knew she wouldn’t be kind or sitting through one dumb action movie after another, all of which I hated. At the time, it had felt like compromise. Like maturity.
I convinced myself that I was bad at laundry when he’d complained one too many times.
Maybe the turkey meatloaf I made for dinner did taste like shit and my tastebuds were just messed up.
