Strawberry skies

Chapter 9

The room was cold and industrial, with concrete floors and gray padded walls designed to contain chaos. Bee had driven us here, parking just outside the building. As soon as she led me in and signed us up, I had a feeling this wasn’t just some random idea. She had a plan.

A staff member approached us, holding out a bundle of gear—safety goggles, gloves, and a thick black apron. “These are for you,” they said, handing them to me.

I glanced at Bee, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not joining?”

She shook her head, leaning casually against the wall. “Nope. This is all you. I’m just here to supervise and make sure you don’t smash yourself in the foot.”

I sighed and put on the goggles, the elastic strap pressing tightly against my temples. The gloves felt awkward on my hands, and the apron was heavy, but I didn’t care. Bee watched me the whole time, her arms crossed over her chest, a small smile playing on her lips.

The staff member rolled a cart into the center of the room. It was piled high with plates, vases, and even an old TV. “Choose your weapon,” they said, gesturing toward a rack of tools on the wall: a crowbar, a sledgehammer, and a baseball bat wrapped in duct tape.

Without hesitation, I grabbed the crowbar. It felt solid and cold in my hand, a strange kind of comfort.

I took a deep breath, sizing up the stack of plates on the cart. They sat there too perfectly, too neatly, like they were mocking me.

The first swing was hesitant, the crowbar smashing into a single plate. The crack of porcelain breaking echoed through the room. A shard flew across the floor, and for a moment, I just stared at the mess I’d made.

It wasn’t enough.

I swung again, harder this time, and the entire stack of plates shattered in an instant. Pieces flew in every direction, clattering to the ground in a chaotic symphony.

“She went out looking for me,” I muttered, barely realizing I was speaking. “We fought that night. I was being a stupid, selfish kid, and she—she went out to find me.”

Bee stayed silent, watching from her spot by the wall.

“She wouldn’t have been out there if it weren’t for me,” I said, swinging the crowbar into a vase. It exploded on impact, shards raining down like jagged confetti.

“She loved you,” Bee said softly, her voice steady but distant.

“She shouldn’t have,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “She should’ve stayed home. She should’ve been safe.” My hands trembled as I tightened my grip on the crowbar. “But she wasn’t because of me.”

The old TV sat on the cart like a challenge, its scratched screen staring back at me. I brought the crowbar down with all the force I could muster, the glass splintering into a web of cracks. Again. Again. I swung until the crowbar slipped from my hands, clattering onto the concrete floor.

The room felt emptier as the echoes of destruction faded, but the weight in my chest had shifted—lighter now, though still present. I stood there, staring at the shards scattered across the floor, each piece a reminder of something broken that couldn’t be put back together.

Bee approached me cautiously, her steps soft against the concrete. She didn’t say anything, just opened her arms and wrapped them around me. I froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, but then I let myself sink into the warmth of her embrace.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. “You’re allowed to feel this, Louis. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “I don’t know how to let it go,” I admitted, my voice cracking.

Bee pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still resting on my shoulders. “You don’t have to let it go all at once. Just... take it one day at a time.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

As we left the building and walked back to the car, the cool evening air felt like a reset. Bee handed me the keys this time, silently telling me to take control. I slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel, staring out at the darkening sky.

Before I started the engine, I turned to her. “Why did you bring me here?”

She smiled softly, her expression unreadable. “Because sometimes you need to break something to start putting yourself back together.”

Her words lingered in the silence between us, heavier than they should have been.

I looked at her ..I really looked at her

She had sad eyes beautiful sad eyes I wonder if she knew that

She looked at me cautiously "is there something on my face?"

Um yeah I said quickly to cover up the face I had been staring

I acted like I was removing a shred of something

Thanks she said softly adjusting her tubes

“We should head back,” she said. “Don’t want to miss my vest therapy.”

The mention of it hit me differently now. I glanced at her tubing again, at how easily she mentioned something so necessary for her survival. It was a reality I didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore.

“Right,” I said, starting the car.

The drive back was quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel heavy but reflective. When we pulled up to the hospital, Bee turned to me with a small smile.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes searching.

“I think so,” I said honestly.

“Good.” She paused, then reached out and squeezed my hand briefly before stepping out. “See you tomorrow, Lou.”

I watched her walk into the hospital, her pace steady despite the weight I knew she carried. Something about her made me feel like I could keep going too, one step—or one swing—at a time.