Chapter 2 -The Unraveling
1893 Words
Renee Morrison
THREE MONTHS LATER
My fists slammed into the heavy bag with a rhythm born of desperation.
Blood seeped through my hand wraps, warm and sticky, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
The basement was dark except for the single bulb hanging above the bag, casting shadows that danced with each swing. 2:47 AM, according to the clock on the wall.
Another sleepless night. Another few hours until I had to pretend to be a functioning human being.
The dreams wouldn’t let me rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that truck. Metal screaming. Glass shattering.
My father’s blood on my hands—in the dreams, I could never reach him. I was suspended by that seatbelt, screaming his name while he died below me, and I couldn’t do anything to save him.
I threw a brutal uppercut, and pain exploded through my knuckles. The wrap had torn completely through. Blood dripped onto the concrete floor in fat drops that looked black in the dim light.
Physical pain was clean. Simple. Not like the grief that lived in my chest like a parasite, eating me from the inside out.
I unwrapped my hands with shaking fingers. The skin across my knuckles was split in several places, bruises blooming purple and yellow up my forearms. Coach Danny would lose his mind if he saw this. But I hadn’t been to the gym in two months. Couldn’t face the place where everything had been perfect right before it all went to hell.
The basement stairs creaked, and I spun around.
My mother stood on the bottom step in her bathrobe, her face pale and drawn. She looked like a ghost, all sharp angles and hollow eyes. We matched now. Both of us haunted.
“Renee.”
I turned back to the bag, reaching for the first aid kit.
“Go back to bed, Mom.”
“It’s almost three in the morning.”
“I’m aware.”
I wrapped gauze around my knuckles. The white cotton turned red almost immediately.
“You need to sleep. You have school tomorrow.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Her audible sigh struck deep in the heart. “What? Renee!”
I lowered my head. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted saying them.
“I'm sorry mom, that was... uncalled-for.”
“Your father wouldn’t want...”
“Don’t!”
The word came out sharp as broken glass. My mother flinched.
“Don’t tell me what Dad would want. You don’t get to use him to make me act the way you think I should.”
Her face crumpled, and for a second, I thought she might actually say something. Fight back. Show some sign of life. But she just pulled her robe tighter and climbed back up the stairs without another word.
The sound of her bedroom door closing echoed through the house.
I pressed my forehead against the bag. It smelled like sweat, violence and the truth I couldn’t escape, my father was dead, my mother was a ghost, and I was drowning in a grief so deep I couldn’t see the surface anymore.
****
School was a special kind of torture.
I slouched at my usual table in the back corner of the cafeteria, picking at food I had no intention of eating. The noise of hundreds of teenagers talking, laughing, living their normal lives pressed against my skull like a migraine.
Three months ago, I would have been in the center of it all. I’d had friends... real ones who knew about my boxing and my Olympic dreams.
Now they sat three tables away, occasionally glancing in my direction with expressions caught between pity and discomfort. They’d tried at first. Texts and calls I’d ignored until they stopped trying.
I watched Marcus Thompson get shoved into a locker by Tyler Brennan and his pack of followers.
Marcus was a Freshman, scrawny, quiet, the kind of kid who kept his head down and tried to be invisible. It never worked. Guys like Tyler could smell fear.
Tyler said something I couldn’t hear, and his friends laughed. Marcus scrambled to pick up the books that had scattered across the floor.
I should look away. Mind my business.
But Tyler kicked one of Marcus’s books down the hallway, and something in my chest ignited.
I was moving before I made the conscious decision, my chair scraping back with a screech. The cafeteria conversations dimmed as I crossed the space, my boots heavy on the linoleum.
I stepped between Tyler and Marcus.
Tyler’s grin widened into something ugly. “Well, well. Morrison decided to join the land of the living. What, you finally run out of dead dad sympathy points?”
The cafeteria went silent. Phones came out.
“Walk away, Tyler.”
He leaned down, getting in my face. His breath smelled like energy drinks and cruelty.
“Or what? You gonna cry on me? Maybe if you ask real nice, I’ll give you a hug. I know you’re all alone now without Daddy to...”
My fist connected with his jaw, a left jab before he finished the sentence.
The impact sang up my arm, pain and satisfaction mixing into something that felt almost like being alive. Tyler stumbled back, shock blooming across his face.
Then he lunged. He was bigger and stronger, but I was faster and smarter.
My body moved on instinct, slip left, hook to his ribs, step back before he could grab me. He swung wild, and I ducked under his arm. My elbow found his solar plexus, and he doubled over.
Hands grabbed my arms, teachers appearing from nowhere, pulling me back. Tyler was on his knees, gasping for air. Ms. Rodriguez, the vice principal, had my right arm in a grip that would leave bruises.
“My office. Now.”
I didn’t resist as she marched me down the hallway. Behind us, the cafeteria erupted in noise, excited chatter and phone cameras.
As we passed the windows, I caught my reflection in the glass. Split knuckles. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair I hadn’t bothered to brush. I looked like someone who’d been in a war.
I looked like I felt.
The principal’s office smelled like stale coffee and disappointment.
Principal Vega sat behind his desk with my file open in front of him. My mother occupied the chair next to mine, her hands folded in her lap, her face that careful blank mask she’d perfected since the funeral.
Principal Vega cleared his throat. “Mrs. Morrison, this is Renee’s third altercation this semester. The second one that resulted in another student requiring medical attention.”
My mother said nothing.
“I understand Renee has been through a tremendous loss. We’ve tried to be accommodating. But we have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to violence, and I’m afraid we’re running out of options here.”
“He was bullying a kid half his size.”
Vega’s eyes shifted to me. “That may be true, but there are proper channels for reporting bullying. Channels that don’t involve assault.”
That's when I lost any composure I might have had. “This is bull-s**t! Nobody said anything when Tyler knocked Marcus around. Nobody said anything when Tyler taunted Marcus, or when Tyler taunted me about my dead father.”
My mom put her hand to her forehead. “Renee…”
“No! Don’t Renee me… this bully culture has gone on too long with nobody doing anything about it. If I’m getting in trouble for sticking up for the little guy, then the bullies need to be punished too!”
My mother’s hand moved to rest on my arm. Her fingers were cold through my hoodie. Her tired eyes looked at Principal Vega. “What are the consequences?”
Vega leaned back in his chair. “This is Renee’s third incident. One more, and we’re looking at suspension, possibly expulsion.” He paused. “Your point Miss Morrison is taken into consideration. For now, we have resources available. A grief counselor on staff. I’d like to recommend...”
“I don’t need a counselor.”
My mother’s grip tightened. “Renee.”
“I don’t need someone to talk to about my feelings. I’m fine.”
Vega’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve been in three fights in as many months, your grades have dropped from A’s to C’s, and you barely speak in class anymore. That doesn’t sound fine to me.”
My jaw clenched. Fine, I wasn’t fine. I was drowning. But talking to some counselor wasn’t going to bring my father back or make my mother remember she had a daughter who still needed her.
“Due to the nature of today’s events, I will be lenient. However, one more incident, and I’ll have no choice but to take serious disciplinary action. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”
Vega closed my file. My mother stood, pulling me up with her. She nodded as we walked out in silence. In the parking lot, my mother stopped and turned to face me.
For a moment, I thought she might actually say something. Yell at me. Ground me. Show any sign that she was still capable of being a parent.
Instead, she just looked at me with those hollow eyes. “I can’t lose you too.”
The words were so quiet I almost missed them. Then she got in the car, started the engine, and waited for me to get in.
I slid into the passenger seat—the same seat I’d been sitting in three months ago when my entire life had shattered. We drove home in silence.
Her words echoed in my head.
I can’t lose you too.
The problem was, she already had.
We’d lost each other the night my father died, and I had no idea how to find our way back.
***
That night, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. My phone buzzed. A text from a number I didn’t recognize.
That was badass today. Tyler had it coming. Thank you Renee, you're my hero. - Marcus
I stared at the message, then deleted it without responding.
I wasn’t a hero. I was just angry, so angry it lived in my bones and bled out through my fists whenever someone gave me a reason.
I rolled over and pulled my father’s old sweatshirt over my head, the one that still smelled like him if I buried my face in the collar. Morrison Construction Company across the chest in faded letters.
Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did anymore. The nightmares were relentless. It was the same every night, a replay of the worst night of my life.
So I got up, crept down to the basement, and wrapped my hands.
The bag was waiting.
It was always waiting.
My fists met leather, and the night stretched out ahead of me, dark and endless and full of all the things I couldn’t say.
I miss you, Dad.
I’m sorry, Mom.
I don’t know how to do this.
The bag swung back and forth, keeping time with the cracks forming in my carefully constructed armor.
Somewhere in the darkness, I wondered how much longer I could hold the pieces together before I shattered completely.
- Writer
