Chapter 3 #3
As adults, we’re responsible for our own choices, our actions and the consequences that come with them.
Mental illness isn’t something to be used as a crutch, it isn’t an excuse for the way your life has gone or is currently going, but it’s not always that simple.
If you’ve never been properly diagnosed, if you’ve never had anyone care enough to help you find treatment or taught you to care enough about yourself to do it on your own, it makes life a hell of a lot harder to navigate.
While we’re capable of changing our circumstances and trying to make them better, in big or small ways, sometimes our circumstances can dictate how hard something like that is going to be.
I can’t help but wonder what Rodney’s life has been like up until this point.
Was he alone most of his life, or was there a family who loved him but didn’t know how to help him?
Did he grow up on the streets and survive by any means necessary?
Was he born this way, genetically doomed to struggle with his mental health, or is he a product of an environment that he never asked to be a part of?
Did he use substances to combat what he didn’t understand about himself?
Has he tried to change his situation but failed without support and the tools to do so, or was this all self-inflicted by some kind of complex developed over time?
Just like Mandy.
My mother had the perfect life.
She was born into a pack full of love and support.
Her needs were met, she was healthy and happy, and given every opportunity life had to offer.
By all accounts, she was a relatively normal, well adjusted omega with a lot of friends and a bright future, but Gran said as she got older, Mandy developed a twisted sense of entitlement all on her own.
Something my grandmother referred to as wannabe spoiled brat syndrome and every doctor she saw said there wasn’t anything wrong with her aside from being unwarrantedly jealous and envious of everyone around her.
As time went on it got worse, and when my grandparents didn’t give into her every demand, my mother started seeking alternative ways of making that happen.
Which is how she ended up money hungry, addicted to several substances, used and abused by more men than I’ll ever meet in one lifetime, and it’s how she eventually ended up selling me for the better part of my eighteen years of existence.
Mandy’s lifestyle was self-inflicted on all three of us. I'm convinced it’s what killed Gran, and it was definitely going to kill me if I hadn’t left.
That’s why I’m curious about Rodney and his lifestyle.
Is he like Mandy, or is he in another category entirely?
“There!”
I blink several times as I snap out of my analytical assessment of the viking across the room as he shouts, his arm shooting out over the priest’s shoulder as his entire body goes tight with anger.
I follow his line of sight as Father Guy tries to redirect him, my eyes landing on a tall, scrappy looking male as he walks out of the shower room hallway, but it’s too late. There is no stopping Rodney as his anger becomes palpable, and the alpha acts on instinct alone.
He grabs the priest by the shoulders and tosses him to the side as he starts to run, jumping over beds and shoving lockers out of the way.
Rodney charges toward the other man, catching him off guard as he heads in his direction like a raging bull seeing red.
The other man drops his towel and darts to the right, tripping over the bed next to him before he gains his footing and starts to run down the aisle my bunk is sitting in.
My heart starts racing as they barrel toward me, Rodney gaining on the unknown man until he’s finally within his reach.
He uses bed number thirteen as a launch pad and lunges through the air, one hand gripping the back of the man’s head while the other grasps his arm and twists.
They come crashing down at the foot of my bed as I jump to my feet mere inches from them, Rodney nearly crushing the much skinnier man beneath him and as soon as his knees touch the floor, he flips the stranger onto his back and sneers down at him.
“Found you,” he growls as he repositions to pin the man down with his knees. Rodney’s chest heaves as Father Guy and a few other men run toward him but he ignores everything but the stranger underneath him. “Found you, you bastard, and now you have to pay.”
Just as the first security guard enters the aisle, Rodney pulls off his helmet and shouts something at the top of his lungs, letting out some distorted battle cry as he drives the left horn through the center of the man’s face.
“For Odin!” he yells as he yanks it free, raising it above his head as he sends bits of flesh and blood spraying in an arc that paints the foot of my bed. “For Asgard!”
Rodney stabs the other horn into the side of the man’s skull, ripping it out, spattering chunks of blood soaked brain and shards of bone all over me, repeating the action what feels like one hundred times before he’s finally tackled to the ground.
I blink several times as I watch Rodney peacefully submit to security, letting the four men move him around without resistance, offering his wrists and ankles to them as they pull out zip ties.
My eyes move to the man he just murdered in what seems like cold blood, his face completely caved in, nothing left but a puddle of blood and pulp, an unrecognizable mass of hair and skin encompassing it like a river running through a valley at the base of a mountain range.
“Odin is satisfied.”
My eyes shift again, my stare clashing with Rodney’s as he smiles wide from his position on his stomach, his face smashed into the floor and slick with the stranger’s blood.
“You’ll be safe now,” he whispers to me, directly to me and no one else. “Odin is satisfied and he’ll keep you safe now that I’ve found what I was looking for.”
I look at Rodney for a few moments then turn to the nameless, faceless corpse at the foot of my bed before dropping my eyes to my once white t-shirt now stained in red.
I reach up and remove my glasses, examining the drops of blood all over the lenses, then search for an unmarked piece of my shirt and start to mindlessly clean them.
I should be traumatized by that.
Terrified.
Mortified and ready to get the fuck out of the shelter, but I’m not.
For some strange and probably fucked up reason, I believe Rodney.
I don’t know why, but something in my gut is telling me that by murdering that stranger, he just made my stay here safer than it was going to be before Rodney showed up.
I don’t feel the need to leave because of that murder, but now I have to hope the shelter doesn’t close down completely for the same reason.
Who would have thought that after everything I’ve been through, that was going to be what put me at ease and helped me transition into what I’ve been hoping is my fresh start.
Welcome to Minnesota, Tav; where the vikings are way more than the state’s football team, and the blood of Christ isn’t the only kind you’ll find at church.