Mercy's Fight

by T L Gray

  Matt noticed my concerned face and kissed my cheek. “I’m sure it’s fine, Grace. Don’t worry so much.” I forced a smile, trying not to overthink things. If Marcus was being hurt, surely he would say something.

  I stood next to Marcus and prepared for an intense battle of table soccer. We beat Matt handily, and after high-fiving Marcus, I wrapped my arms around him, forgetting Matt’s comments completely until Marcus flinched in my tight embrace.

  I drew back sharply. “Did I hurt you?” I went to examine his side, but he backed away so quickly, I missed my chance.

  Marcus scrunched up his nose and looked around the crowded restaurant. “Girl cooties, Ms. Covington. You want me to get teased for the rest of my life?” His voice was full of mirth, but his eyes told a completely different story.

  Matt and I exchanged a quick glance, but instead of calling him out, Matt just rubbed Marcus’s head. “One day you’ll like those girl cooties,” he promised. “Let’s finish up. It’s almost time to go.”

  Marcus ran ahead to our table for one last piece of pizza, and I tugged on Matt’s arm, trying to get some explanation.

  “Not here, Grace. When Marcus trusts me enough, he’ll tell me what’s going on.”

  “But—”

  “Grace.” His voice was dismissive and sharp. “I know what I’m talking about.”

  There were emotions storming in his eyes that sent a fierce pain to my heart. They weren’t the eyes of a man trying to figure out the best way to counsel an abused child. They were the eyes of a man who had been that abused child.

  Chapter 25

  * * *

  MATT

  Grace was uncharacteristically quiet. She barely said more than good-bye to Marcus after we left Pizza Kitchen, and she wrung her hands in her lap most of the way back to the center. I knew she was worried about him, and I was, too, but cornering Marcus would only cause him to retreat or fight back. Neither of which I wanted.

  I pulled into the parking lot at the center to get my bike, waiting for Grace to say something. She finally looked up when I put her Mercedes in park.

  “Will you come over for a while?” Her voice was soft and careful, like she was dealing with some wounded animal.

  “Of course.” I reached out to touch her cheek, trying to reassure her. “Hey, Marcus is tough, but I’m close, Grace. Just give me a few more weeks to find out what’s going on. For all we know he got into a fight in the neighborhood.”

  “Was that the excuse you would use?” Her eyes teared up as they met mine, and I drew my hand back sharply.

  My shock at her bold question left me speechless and she nodded in response, determining the answer for herself. Suddenly the car felt hot, blazing hot, and I wanted to escape, get away from that expression of pity on her face.

  “I’ll meet you there,” I muttered, jumping out of the car for air. I watched as she moved to the driver’s seat and caught her swiping at her tears. The small gesture should have touched me, but I only felt fury and embarrassment. I didn’t want her to see me as some weak victim. I’d overcome my past, redefined my future.

  My hands shook the entire way to Grace’s apartment as I tried to find any possible way to avoid the conversation ahead without actually lying to her. Because I wouldn’t do that. I learned the hard way that lies in a relationship only lead to anger and angst. Maggie’s face filled my mind, a haunting reminder of my failures. It was as if Grace’s words opened the floodgates of hell and all the demons that were buried in my dreams suddenly resurfaced. Memories, horrible memories of the fear and helplessness, flooded me. Memories of my father’s raised hand, and of knowing that pain was coming while also wondering how bad it would be this time.

  I yelled, my voice reverberating in my helmet, then released in the wind. I realized I couldn’t be around Grace tonight. My control was slipping inch by inch and I couldn’t let her see me this way.

  She had beaten me to the apartment and was waiting patiently by her door. I removed my helmet and shut off the engine, but made no attempt to step away from my bike. “Listen, it’s late. I’m just going to head home.”

  I knew Grace could see right through me, especially when she moved closer, but I didn’t care. My breathing was coming in short, hot waves. I expected her to yell at me, to demand answers I wasn’t ready to give. Instead, she slipped onto the bike behind me and just held on, squeezing me tightly while she kissed my back and neck. They weren’t kisses for seduction but for comfort.

  “Grace.” I tried to pry her fingers from my waist, but she just tightened her grip, getting closer to me.

  “Please don’t go,” she begged. “You don’t have to talk about it, and I won’t ask again. Just please don’t put those walls back up, not after we’ve come so far.”

  I hung my head, my heart and my mind telling me to do opposite things. My heart finally won out and I moved closer so I could see her face, pulling her in for a kiss that seemed to calm my racing pulse. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

  Grace grabbed my hand and led me into her apartment, not saying a word. Awkwardness and unanswered questions hung in the air as she moved across the kitchen to get us some water. I found a spot on the sagging couch, reminded once again how much I hated her living this way. She’d done a lot with the dingy space, including refinishing, recovering, or repainting practically every piece of furniture in the apartment. No amount of touch-up, though, could change the fact that her place was a vivid reminder of everything I had despised about my life growing up.

  She was suddenly next to me, curling up her bare feet beneath her as she always did when she cuddled. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

  She was willing to let it all go, to pretend she hadn’t just discovered something about my past that explained almost every reason I was afraid to be with her. Suddenly I was hot again, my thin T-shirt sticking to the sweat now prickling my back.

  “My father was a drunk.” The words flew into the silence, shifting the tension from uncomfortable to downright stifling. I hated remembering it, hated being in the same type of apartment that had been my prison for so long. I stood, then began to pace short, furious steps across Grace’s dim living room. I needed to create some space between me and the girl who deserved so much more than what I could offer as her boyfriend.

  Grace was thoughtful as her blue eyes watched me, though she didn’t say a word. I knew she wanted to know more, but she was keeping her promise not to ask. As always with me, denying her was impossible.

  I continued, “I don’t know if he was always that way, or just later in life, because my mother was completely devoted to him despite everything. He didn’t start off hitting me. As a young kid, my memories are all of my mom, like she kept me hidden or safe somehow from his wrath. But then I started noticing bruises on her, and sometimes she’d have a wrap around her arm. She always gave excuses or called herself clumsy, but deep down I knew better. One night I snuck out of my room—I was probably six or seven—and heard them fighting. He was screaming at her, accusing her of lying to him, and then I heard a crash.”

  Stopping for a second to get my beating heart under control, I looked back toward Grace, who was clutching a pillow in horror. Her face said it all. She’d never known that kind of life or abuse—a fact I was grateful for. But I also knew that it meant I was bringing in a darkness she could never fathom. Maybe it was better this way, to let her hear all about the violence so she could walk away somewhat untouched by it all.

  “I, of course, barged into the room terrified. My mother was on the floor, bleeding, and my father was standing over her with a belt in his hand. She screamed when she saw me, got up, and ran to protect me, but she wasn’t fast enough.” I had to stop the tears that threatened. Missing my mom could still creep up and cut me off at the knees.

  “That was the first night I understood pain, real pain. I understood helplessness and fear. She kept me home from school that week, claiming I had the flu, and begged me not to tell anyone. She said they w
ould take me away from her. She promised to protect me, that it would never happen again. But that night opened the floodgates for my father. He’d always start with her, but if he didn’t get enough, he’d come after me, too.”

  My voice was calm, my words matter-of-fact, but Grace’s hand flew to her mouth and tears trailed down her cheeks as she watched me. “Matt . . .” She stopped, not knowing what to say.

  Taking a deep breath, I continued to pace. “When I got to be about fifteen or so, I shot up and bulked out. I learned how to fight back. After one night when I overpowered him, he stopped coming near me. He also stopped hitting my mom when I was around.”

  Calmer now, I walked back to the couch and pulled her close to me. She fell easily, holding on for comfort. “Grace, this is why I’m so insistent about you learning to protect yourself. It’s why, despite having a wait list of seasoned athletes, I choose to work with the underdogs at the gym. The small guys who get bullied, or the heavyset kids with low self-esteem. I never want anyone to feel that kind of helplessness. You don’t have to pity me. I’m a survivor.”

  Her head shot up, tears still shimmering in her eyes. “I don’t pity you, Matt. I admire you. I’m in awe of you, actually, and have been since the first night you growled at me.” She smiled as she recalled our first meeting. “You have it so together despite your past.”

  I closed my eyes, lying back and pulling her next to me. I didn’t tell her about the nightmares or about my mom’s death. I’d let her believe for a little while longer that I was no longer scarred by my past. I’d overcome the nightmares before. I would again. I just needed to fight harder.

  Feeling emotionally and physically exhausted, we just lay there together. Grace turned on the TV, but I didn’t hear a thing except the soft beating of Grace’s heart next to mine. I squeezed tighter and told myself I’d only close my eyes for a second.

  I stared, my heart racing in my chest, at the woman I loved in the arms of another man. I would do anything for her—kill for her if I had to. He stood quickly, and she attempted to cover herself back up.

  Raising his hands, he backed away from my murderous glare. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Well, trouble wanted him. I rushed him, knocking him to the floor with one blow. Adrenaline surged and the punches kept coming until I heard Maggie scream, “You’re going to kill him!”

  Finally able to breathe, I forced myself off him, but was still shaking from the rage. He could hardly move, so I picked him up by his shirt and threw him out of the apartment. Slamming the door with outrage, I turned my stony stare back to the woman who had betrayed me.

  “What do you expect when you leave me home all day?” Her words were harsh, aggressive, and full of hate. She eyed me with suspicion, as if waiting for me to come after her.

  I yelled back, accused her of giving herself away, and reminded her who paid the bills. I was so conflicted and furious, yet still wanted to protect the girl who was shaking with emotion. Her emotion soon turned to rage and she came at me, crazed.

  Her green eyes blazed with fire as her hand slapped my face. Then she started clawing and screaming. I grabbed her hands, my stomach already on fire and my heart racing out of control at this point. I wanted to shake her and demand that she love me the way I loved her. But her screams and slaps kept coming until the edges of my vision turned red. Fury and frustration hissed through me like a snake before the strike and I snapped.

  I knew the minute my hand made contact with her face that I was cursed. She fell immediately from the slap, huddling in the fetal position as if ready for more blows. I stared at the hand that had just done the one thing I swore I never would, and almost retched on the spot.

  “I’m so sorry,” she cried, looking up at me. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have provoked you.”

  Her words ripped through my gut, tearing apart the very fabric of who I was. They were my mother’s words . . . only now I was the monster.

  “Get out,” I whispered, barely able to keep down the bile in my stomach.

  “No, Matt, please!” She stood, grabbed ahold of me, kissing the very hand that just hit her. “I’ll be better, I promise.”

  I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t breathe. Pushing her through the door, I then slammed it hard despite her cries. I barely made it to the bathroom before the disgust and self-loathing came up with everything I had eaten that day.

  Grace’s voice pushed through the haze, and suddenly I was awake and aware of the fear on her face. Jumping off the couch, I stared at her wide, terror-filled eyes, and felt the bile in my throat all over again. “Oh, Grace, no!”

  Chapter 26

  * * *

  GRACE

  I didn’t know how to respond. Matt was shaking uncontrollably, staring at me as if he’d just seen a ghost. I tried to approach him, but he backed away from me, terrified of my touch.

  “Where did I hurt you?” His raspy voice was full of remorse as he tried to control his erratic breathing.

  I knew he was having a nightmare the minute his body started jerking around next to mine. At first, I thought I’d let him sleep it out, but he looked like he was in pain, so I woke him. Now I wondered if that was a bad idea.

  “Matt, it’s okay. You were having a nightmare, that’s all.” I tried to approach again and this time he let me come close. Suddenly his hands were everywhere, examining my arms, face, neck, everything for some kind of evidence that I wasn’t hurt.

  “I didn’t hurt you?” He seemed desperately relieved when I shook my head, and he pulled me against him so tightly, I thought he might break me in two. “Grace, baby, I’ll never hurt you, I promise. I’m so sorry.”

  Matt was still shaking. Completely gone was the steady, calm man I knew. I embraced him back, rubbing along his spine to reassure him. “I know you won’t. It was just a dream.”

  He suddenly pushed me away, moving across the room. His face hardened, the distance and wall between us reappearing so quickly it startled me. “It wasn’t, Grace. That’s the problem. I shouldn’t be here, doing this with you. I’m a monster . . . just like my father.”

  “No, you’re not,” I argued, getting worried. “You’re kind, affectionate, and the most gentle person I know.”

  “Stop it! You don’t know me. I’m my father’s son. I’m doomed to repeat his mistakes. He loved my mother, but it didn’t stop him from hurting her over and over again. It didn’t stop him from taking a gun and shooting her because he’d rather die than lose her. And despite everything, despite hating him and swearing I’d never do it, I still became him!”

  The sheer volume of his voice scared me almost as much as his words did. But I wasn’t scared of him—I was scared for him. Awareness hit me as I remembered him telling me that his parents were dead.

  “He killed her?”

  Matt just nodded. His eyes remained distant, but the hardness was gone. He looked lost, broken. The helplessness that he said he never wanted to feel radiated off him as he stared at me.

  My heart broke for him. He’d been beaten, abused, neglected, and then abandoned. “I’m sorry, Matt.” I tried once again to touch him, but he wouldn’t let me near. Frustration gripped me. “Why are you pushing me away? Why won’t you let me comfort you?”

  His gaze pierced me, dared me to respond. “I hit her, Grace. The last girlfriend I had. She cheated on me and I . . . I. HIT. HER.”

  My mouth fell open. Everything made sense. His distance, his resistance to our relationship, his incessant need to keep me safe. I searched my heart for fear but didn’t find any. Somehow I knew he would never hurt me. I walked toward him despite his protests and took his head in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “I’m not afraid of you. I know you would never do that to me.”

  “How can you know that when I don’t?” The hurt and fear in his eyes said it all. Here was a man who feared no one, who would stare a dragon in the face to protect the ones he loved, and yet wouldn’t let himself be free from his own mistakes.

/>   Very softly, I pulled him closer and touched my lips to his, then to both of his eyes and cheeks. With every feathery touch, I felt him relax and pull me tighter.

  He buried his head in the crook of my neck. “I don’t know how to walk away from you.”

  “Then don’t. Instead, tell me. Trust me. And I promise, if I’m worried at all, I’ll walk away from you.”

  He didn’t move, just continued to hold me. Eventually he nodded and we sat, hand in hand, while he told me everything. The horrors of his childhood were many, as was the confusion he faced after his parents’ deaths. He told me how he met Maggie, and that she, too, had been abused. He told me about the night he lost it and how he’d never let himself care for another woman since. Not until me.

  He told me about the chaos after that night, how he picked fights, looked for trouble and often found it. He became lost in a world of robbery, underage drinking, assault, vandalism, and anything else that would dull the pain. He told me about getting arrested and being put in a juvenile detention center.

  “I truly thought my life was over that day,” he admitted. “But then I met Bruce, and everything changed.”

  “How so?”

  “Bruce ran a prison ministry at juvie. He’d come down once a week on Sundays to do a Bible study. We didn’t have to go, but we got out of work detail if we did. Some buddies and I went for that reason alone. The minute I saw Bruce, I wanted to run. The guy was built like a brick wall and completely intimidating. We listened out of fear, but soon, I don’t know, I started going because I wanted to know more. I wanted to understand who Jesus was and how He could fix all that was broken in me. In that small room I gave my life to Christ, and a year later Bruce sat waiting when I walked out the doors of my prison. I owe him my life.”

  The admiration and respect that Matt had for Bruce was unmistakable. All I could think of was how badly I wanted to meet him and thank him for being there for Matt. “He sounds like an amazing man.”