CHAPTER 7DENISE
CHAPTER 7
DENISE
“Welcome to All Rage. I’m Naya.”
I’d heard of rage rooms and seen photos of people taking bats to a TV or stereo, but I’d never been in one before and it wasn’t what I’d expected. The lobby felt industrial. It was full of shelves and trophy cases highlighting broken items, some of them signed and dated. There was no one else inside as we signed our release forms and handed over our personal items.
The woman in front of us was in her late thirties. She was gorgeous. With piercings on both sides of her nose, her lips, and the rows of hoops hanging from each ear, she fit right into the ambiance.
Hugh had set out a comfortable outfit for me that morning. He’d planned all of this. For me. To help me. Emotion welled in my eyesas I stood there looking at the cases.
“Alright ladies, these are your helmets, jumpsuits, shoe coverings, and gloves. Be sure to always keep them on for safety. We also have chest protection and knee covers, but those aren’t required.”
“Follow me,” Naya said, throwing her long hair over her shoulder. She talked as she walked. “We purchase everything second-hand or from a few electronics recyclers in the area.”
Once we reached the end of the hall, she opened a door to our right and we followed her in. The walls were painted plywood, and the ceiling was blood-red. But what really caught my attention was the stuff stacked over to the left: plates, bowls, cups, televisions, computers, monitors, chairs, and a full-size couch. All kinds of tools hung on hooks right next to it all.
“You’ve got the whole place to yourselves this evening. And, I have some playlists that you can control from here,” Naya said. She pointed to the paint-splattered wall that read: scream as loud as you fucking want!
“Last thing,” she said, pulling out a sharpie and walking toward me. “I opened this place so that people had a space to express themselves. You’re safe here. There are no cameras and no windows. Only you and your friend and these walls will know what happens here.” She handed me the marker and I gazed at her, confused.
“Sometimes writing down our pain can help free us from it,” she regarded us in turn. “I’m here if you need me.” She backed away and silently closed the door behind her.
The second the door closed, Cleo turned to me and threw off her jacket. “Alright. We’re here. Talk to me.”
She motioned to the jumpsuit in my hands as she shook hers out and unzipped it to slide it on. I stepped into mine.
“I don’t even know where to start, Cleo,” I sighed.
She smiled at me as she slid on the booties.
“Hugh’s taking care of you?” she asked.
“Yeah, he is.” I put the face gear on.
She grabbed my shoulder, “Here.” She handed me a plate and growled, “Smash it.”
Grabbing the plate, I held it, examining my reflection on the milky surface before hurling it at the wall and watching it shatter.
I watched the shattered pieces roll around on the ground, feeling something simmering beneath the surface as I stared at the pieces.
“Hand me another one,” I laughed, motioning to the stack beside her.
“I know that’s fucking right.” Cleo handed me another plate and another, each shattering as I used both hands to throw them at the wall.
My laughing waned and slowly became that rage I’d quashed earlier. After the next plate, I turned to her.
“He called me and tried to convince me to take him back. The nerve. The gall. The gumption. At fucking work!”
“He—oh. Hell fucking no. Shit, hold on.” She grabbed a bat off the wall and set up an old, chunky computer monitor. I grabbed the bat, flexing my fingers against the handle before swinging and smashing it against the screen. A sense of satisfaction filled me as it cracked. I brought the bat down again and again. The crack became a hole and I could see the motherboard through the shattered glass.
“He’s fucking awful,” I screamed. I swung the bat again, cracking the plastic and feeling the bat vibrating against my hands and up my arms.
When I stopped, Cleo crept around the edge of my vision.
“This muthafucka had the audacity to apologize. And then try to convince me I was the reason he lost his shit!”
A look of astonishment covered her face.
“That negro has lost it. Marbles? Gone. Logic? Absent. Brain cells? Never met one.” The outrage was wearing off and she was getting mad. Really fucking mad.
She pointed to the cabinet and grabbed a bat off the wall as I walked over.
“Ladies first,” she said, squaring up and doing a practice swing off to the side.
I brought my bat down and felt the particle board crack and give away.
Stepping back, I watched Cleo tighten her grip as she swung her bat at the next shelf, smashing it to pieces. We took turns, both of us channeling our frustration into that cabinet and then the monitors and the desktops. Once we’d made our way through those, I picked up a chair as she grabbed the other. We were both sweating and breathing hard.
“One,” I said.
“Two,” she replied.
“Three,” we said in unison as we brought the chairs down to the floor. Wood splintered and exploded as we smashed them to bits. I was heaving as I grabbed a mug and threw it, watching the glass rain down. I threw another and another before her hand grabbed mine and a gloved hand wiped the tears I didn’t realize had fallen past my chin.
“Deeds. Take a second,” she said.
“I can’t,” I said, my heart aching as much as my lungs. “There’s just—it’s so much. I feel like I’m being punished. For what?” I closed my eyes to try and steady my thundering heartbeat.
“We’re in this together. I won’t let you fall apart if you keep me together too,” she said, her hands rubbing my shoulders.
Her words gave me the strength I needed to take one breath and then another. When I opened my eyes, I gave her a watery smile.
“That… sounds a little codependent,” I said.
“Fuck you,” Cleo responded, pushing me away from her.
There was a half-second of silence before we both started laughing until we were wiping tears of mirth from our eyes. After a few more deep breaths, I felt like I was ready to go again. The fury was quieting, and now it just was time to have fun. I glanced at the couch.
“Do you want to see how it feels to rip a couch to shreds?”
She looked at me and said, “Bitch. Call me Cur– you know what? Please don’t. Fuck that bitch ass bitch .”
I threw my head back and laughed.
“Let’s write it all down on the couch before we get to business.”
“Yes. And yes!” she yelled.
Cleo walked over to the couch and gave her best Vanna White wave. “The category? Ain’t shit busters.”
Shaking my head, I uncapped the marker. It was time to get to business.