Act 43: Sara

I take deep cleansing breaths then start delivering powerhouse punches in the bag in front of me. I keep at it until I can move my arms. I wait a minute then start again.

I'm slipping, I know I am.

All that rage I'm trying so hard to repress is surfacing and slowly taking over.

Rage. Incommensurable, boiling rage that fills me completely, swallowing every little part of me. A rage I can barely contain, that's my father's legacy.

My dad was a caring and loving man. He would always look on the bright side of things. I don't remember a day he wasn't smiling that little benevolent smile of his. That smile was soft, and it radiated with love whenever directed at his wife or any of his children.

He'd laugh, he's sing, he'd made us feel safe. He was a loving father and husband, devoted to his family, proud, with values and fair. He was a good man.

My dad died with Eleanor.

At least the man he was died with her, for a while after that he was an empty shell. That shell was then filled with resent, spite and rage. We didn't realize it at first, so when the first blows came, we overlooked it. We were too shocked to make anything out of it. It wasn't like him, it wasn't like our dad.

We forgot and forgave, because grief makes people do regrettable things.

So does love.

The metamorphosis was slow and insidious. By the time we finally acknowledged that the father we once loved was long gone, things were beyond the return point by miles.

I've dealt with the trauma and the physical pain. The scars, the visible and the invisible ones, map the ways to my memories. I've learnt to tame those memories, to keep them secured in a vault. Sometimes though, they slip through and come back to the surface, oozing with this uncontrollable rage.

I hate feeling like this.

I wish I could believe that I couldn't hurt another human being, but the truth is that I know I can. I did, on several occasions. It got really out of hand several times, and if it wasn't for Sidney and cheer damn luck I'd probably be locked up with my mother.

Sure I could comfort myself in the knowledge that on those occasions I only defended myself or one of my siblings. However if I'm honest those times I wanted to hurt the person on the receive end of my ire, and when I was hitting them I felt a sickening sense of satisfaction. I could have killed them on the spot so much I was blinded by my rage.

I think what scares me the most, the knowledge that in the end there's nothing making me better than my father. He was a good man who crossed a line and lost his way. I did cross the line, but I found my way back.

Who's to say that I'll never physically hurt someone again? What if it was Lindsey or Catherine?

I see it every day at work: the good natured, kind, every day Joe losing it for a second and committing the unspeakable. People like to think they have high standard and would never resort to do horrific things but it's an undeniable, ugly truth, everyone is capable of the worse. Everybody is walking on that thin line.

I deliver another series of punches into the bag until I'm exhausted then leave the gym to shower and change.

I wish I could somehow let go of this rage. I wish I could be like me siblings, normal.

Once I'm changed I return to the lab. I'm examining evidences when someone knocks on one of the windows of my lab. I know it's Catherine before looking up to find her leaning against the doorframe.

"Question: have you eaten yet?" she asks.

"Nope."

"Perfect," she beams and approaches me, but stops so there always a metre between us. She produces a bag from behind her back and puts it on the table. "Your favourite."

I grin at her gesture. "Thank you."

Our eyes meet and I know that I'm yearning to kiss her, but we're at work so that's out of the question.

"I was looking for you during the break," she states. She leans against the edge of the table.

"I was at the gym. I have to stay fit to keep up."

"With what?" she frowns in confusion.

"Your healthy appetite," I smirk.

It takes a second for her to get my drift, when she does her cheeks reddens a bit and she tries to suppress a smile. "I'm not that bad."

"Oh you're not bad at all," I keep on and wink at her. "And for the record, it was not a complain, far from it."

"Alright…" she clears her throat to try and compose herself again. "Enough."

I chortle, I know that I've put her mind in the gutter for a little while.

"So… hum… how is your shift going?" she changes subject.

"It's slow at the moment, catching up with paperwork and waiting for some trace back. Yours?"

"Meetings, meetings, meetings…" she huffs.

"Sounds like fun."

"It's on my 'funniest things to do' list, right in between setting my hair on fire and gauging my eyes out."

I chuckle at her wit. "Hang in there."

"Trust me, I'm thinking about it," she quips. "Alright, I have another one in ten, so I'm going back to my office."

"Okay, see you later."

"Later," she rests her hand briefly on one of my shoulders then leaves.

I look at the paper bag on the table and smile. Catherine doesn't know it but with the simplest things she manages to placate all this latent rage I'm struggling with.

As quickly as it came my smile vanishes and my mood swings without so much as a warning. I was feeling good but now I feel down.

I sigh deeply.

I'm slipping.

Fuck.