The Rage(49)

I step up in front of Ryan and bend down, looking him straight in his swollen, fucked up eyes and remind him, “I fuckin’ love her, motherfucker.”

I go at him for a long while and I’m not even tired. Every brother here still stands in the same spot, showing me they are here as long as I need this. I never parted with my knife, using it to cut off every one of his fingers, sawing them off one by one. I’ve cut things off and sliced him from head to toe. His blood covers practically every inch of me and the ground below him, and my hands are still twitching for revenge. I promised him slow and painful, and he’s getting exactly what I promised him.

“I wonder if Lala left our home thinking she was gonna die.” I don’t really want an answer. Not sure I could handle that truth. “Did she scream? Did she beg? Did she cry?” I slam my fist straight into his already broken as fuck nose. His blood loss is making him fade fast and I still don’t feel like I’ve done enough, so I take my knife and slam it into his eye socket.

When I pull the knife out of his eye, I reach down shove it into his stomach and twist, watching more blood just spill out of him. Idly I wonder how the fucker has any blood left in him, but I remember Sis telling me once that the human body holds somewhere between 1 1/2 to 2 gallons of blood. I plan to make sure he doesn’t have a goddamn drop left.

“How we gonna end this, man?” Stitch asks. It’s been a few hours and I need to get back to my girls. Walking behind Ryan’s limp, sad fucking body, I smile again. He’ll get what he deserves.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, I rip his head back and look down at his mutilated face. This one’s for you, Lala. I smile from ear to ear as I let my blade run across his neck. Not deep enough to kill him, but deep enough for him to choke or bleed to death. I’ve made sure it was painful, and now I’m making sure it’s slow. I want it long and drawn out.

“Let the motherfucker bleed out or choke to death.” I get nods all around the yard. “I gotta get goin’ and get back to my girls.”

The last thing I hear from Ryan are gurgling, gagging, gasping breaths, and I’m as satisfied as I can be. If I could, I would bring his ass back and do it all over again, but fuck him. I pray to God that shit is painful. I hope he’s as scared as Lala was. I think she would be proud of me. I’m stepping up in my role as a family man, all for my family.





21


Letting Go




To say Sis and Tank were shocked would be a goddamn understatement. Fuck, I’m still shocked even though I knew what the results would be. This is my little tiny human, and the damn DNA test proves it. Hell, the little snot looks just like Lala and me. Once the results were in, they handed her over to me. That was it. I have a fucking 5 month old daughter, and believe it or not, I am a proud fucking Daddy.

“What are we gonna do?” Lil asks, holding Georgia. There are those fucking tears I hate streaming down her face.

“I don’t know.” I tell her. I don’t fucking know. I wish I had a goddamn answer to give her. I wish I had something good to say, but I don’t have shit.

Lala hasn’t gotten better. Nothing has changed. The bruises have faded, the cuts are scabbed over, bones have healed, but her brain is still stuck. There is no eating, no talking. Fuck. She doesn’t even blink. She doesn’t move. She’s stuck and I fucking hate that I can’t help her. I hate that I can’t save her.

I talk to her. I hold her hand. I lay Georgia with her, but not one fucking thing I do changes shit for her. At this point, I’m desperate. I’ll try anything. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to bring her back to me.

“Rampage, let me take Georgia home with me. I’ll take care of her until Lala starts pulling through this, because she will soon.” I’m not sure I can let my baby go. I’m not sure I can let her out of my sight.

“Sis, not sure I can do that.”

“If I have her, you can focus on Lala and help her get better.”

Sis, the eternal optimist. Her words fucking hurt. The tears in her eyes and the shake in her voice fucking kill me. She’s preaching it, but she doesn’t believe it. She knows, just like I do, that Lala’s not getting better. She’s not coming back to me.

“She’s not gettin’ better.” I tell her plainly, because it’s the goddamn truth. Lala isn’t healing.

“Shut up. She is. I’m taking Georgia home with me. You help Lala get better and then you bring her home, you hear me?” Lil grumbles at me around a sob. I do what I always do when these girls start crying − I agree.

“Okay, Sis.”



I agreed to let Sis take my baby home, but not before letting her say goodbye to her Mom, not before letting Lala feel her one last time.

“Here, baby.” Sitting on the edge of Lala’s bed, I lay Georgia next to her. My baby’s little feet are kicking around in that little dress Sis had to put on her.

The worst feeling I’ve ever felt settles in my gut. I know I have to let her go. I know we have to tell Lala goodbye. I know in my fucking heart this is it. I got the best kind of life a man like me can ask for because she was in it. I got it all and Lala gave it to me selflessly.

“Georgia, tell mommy bye. Tell her you love her.”



I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing anymore. I have no fucking idea. I feel lifeless and lost sitting here looking at my goddamn heart lying in this hospital bed. I don’t feel like me. I feel like a goddamn shell of a person. I’m on autopilot all the time. I’ve sat by Lala’s bed day in and day out, and nothing I do works. Nothing, not a fucking thing.

I’ve been given opinions and options. I’ve been told stories. I’ve been preached to and I’ve had hope shoved down my throat and optimism shoved in my face. I’ve been handed pamphlets and paperwork. I’ve been given medical advice of every kind from every fucking specialist, doctor, nurse, and person. None of it makes this shit any easier for me. None of it makes me feel any less empty, or any less guilty. She’s slowly dying on me.

I can’t let her go, but I can’t keep her like this. Lala’s had a hard life. She’s been though more than she ever should have been. She’s so goddamn strong all of the time, but now it’s time for her to let go and rest.

The doctors keep her heavily medicated, saying that she’s still in pain as she fades away. She’s still not the same. She’s never going to be the same. I can’t fix her and I can’t keep her here like this.

I can’t keep her anymore. I got my time. I got all of the Lala I was ever going to get, and I’m fucking thankful for that time. She gave me more than I ever deserved. She gave me her love and her heart, and that makes me one lucky motherfucker.

Kissing her forehead I breathe her in, sweet like always. I feel her skin under my hands, touch her hair, remembering the softness. I stare at that beautiful as sin face and those heart shaped lips, always happy and smiling. I remember her content and happy laugh.

“I’m sorry, Lala.”

I let the tears go. I fucking sob into her hair and hold her to me one last time. “Thank you for the beautiful surprise. Thank you for loving me and always being my Lala.” I’ll never truly let her go. I know it’d be impossible, but I have to let her rest. “Baby I don’t want to let you go, but It’s time.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope and pray this isn’t it for us. I hope like fuck she’ll find her way back to me, back to us. “I love you, Lala. I have since I first saw you.”

Kissing her one last time, I soak in as much as I can. I have to tell myself to let her go. Walking to the door, I can’t look at her again. I remind myself I have to do this. “I’m sorry. I’ll always love you. It was always you, baby.”





Three years later. …


Rampage




“It’s today! It’s today Daddy!” A mess of dark hair and big blue eyes run toward the kitchen, clutching a doll for dear life. She’s smiling from ear to ear, looking exactly like Lala.

Coming to a stop in front of me, she smiles and nods enthusiastically. Patience isn’t her thing. She got that shit from me.

“It’s today, right?” She asks me again. Like she’s got to ask me. She knows. She puts her X’s on that calendar at the club ever goddamn day.

Sometimes it’s hard to look at her. She looks like Lala, yet she looks like me. She’s a perfect fucking mix of the two of us. She’s so goddamn beautiful. Everyone tells me she looks like me, but to me she’s all Lala. She’s all long dark hair and big blue eyes. She’s all sweet, perfect face, big smile, and a heart of fucking gold. She’s Lala through and through.

“Baby, yeah.” She jumps up and down a few times and squeals. Above all other days; Christmas, Halloween, Easter, even her own birthday, today is her favorite. Today is Lala’s birthday.

“You didn’t forget the cake, did you Daddy?” Forget it? That would be fucking impossible and unlikely. She would never let me forget that shit. She’s been collecting shit at every store for the past two weeks for this day. Hell, she hasn’t stopped talking about today. I’ve been reminded every day for the past six weeks. It’s our day for Lala.