Page 18 of The Fire We Make

This was always the best part.

When they realized that their prey was really a predator. When fear and apprehension replaced the bravado and arrogance men had when their opposition was a woman. That moment when they realized that they’d been fooled by the stilettos and jewels.

Her blood sang from the power she felt. Part of her said she should stop. That she’d made her point and she should shoot him and leave. But she wanted to play.

She sent blow after blow to his face. Bone slamming against bone. Skin breaking and blood flying with each swing until the only way to identify him was by his teeth or fingerprints. Until he was only a few breaths away from the afterlife he deserved.

“Piece of shit,” Joy spat.

After several deep breaths, Joy’s breathing slowed and her vision cleared, becoming present in her body once again.

She turned, seeing the woman sitting on the concrete with her knees to her chest, staring on in horror.

Joy took a step towards her, panic rising at the thought of accidentally hurting her. A quick sweep of the woman’s appearance revealed no harm, letting Joy relax a bit.

The relief was short-lived.

The moment Joy stepped in the woman’s direction, she frantically scooted back, scrambling away like she’d seen a monster.

“Stay away from me,” the woman sobbed, getting up onto her wobbly feet to back away.

“I’m not gonna hurt y–.” Joy’s reassurance was cut off when the girl ran in the opposite direction.

A familiar pang hit Joy in the chest watching the woman run away from her. It settled deep within her, creating a kind of bone-deep sadness that made her want to weep.

Instead, she stepped over the bodies and used her hair clip to pick the lock to the back door and slip back inside.

Careful to avoid any eyes, she slipped into the women’s bathroom, ensuring the stalls were empty, then locked the door behind her.

She rested her head against the door and heaved a deep sigh. Her eyes burned with tears she wouldn’t set free. She felt lethargic and heavy, like she’d binged when she told herself she’d only have a bite. Rejection slammed into her making her whole body ache.

Once the desire to cry no longer overwhelmed her, she made her way to the sink, turning the water nozzle as hot as it would go. She washed her hands, watching the blood on her knuckles run down the drain then wet a paper towel to clean her face.

The moment she found her reflection in the mirror, she huffed out a sharp breath. Shame crept up her throat at the sight.

Blood splattered her perfectly painted face and her lipstick was smudged. She looked crazed and dangerous. She looked every bit of the monster they labeled her as – the monster they made her.

“Ms. Thibodeaux you have an abnormal case of psychogenic blackouts. This disorder causes a loss of consciousness triggered by psychological stress, intense anger, or fear. In most cases, these blackouts happen in the form of fainting or seizing but your body doesn’t do that. It fights for you. Essentially, your mind shuts down and your body takes over, protecting you through violence. That’s why you experience intense headaches and memory loss after you have an… episode. You have been half unconscious for the duration of your spell. Can you tell me if you ever get lightheaded or blurry vision before you blackout?”

Joy blinked at the doctor slowly. She was hearing her words but they weren't registering.

Blackouts? Episodes?

She’d been trained to endure combat and come out the victor regardless of her opponent. Learned to evade police and enemies. To suppress emotions that would cloud her judgement. Desensitized to taking lives if necessary. She’d acquired a reputation of being cold, calculating and feared. To now be sitting in front of this psychiatrist and being told that her mind was working against her had her in a panic.

But most of all, it made her angry. She’d become all of those things, learned all of those things, done all of those things because of him. This was all his doing. A consequence of pushing his weapon too far without maintenance causing it to jam and misfire. But instead of cleaning it off and firing again, he sent it off to be melted down and picked up a new one.

Joy sighed.

She’d run from her too.

A fleeting thought popped into her head and she wondered if she’d ever get back to normal. If anyone would ever look at her with anything other than disgust, fear, and pity again. She pushed those thoughts aside. She had no choice.

When she finished cleaning her face and fixing up her appearance as best she could, she walked out the restroom and back to the table.

She pasted a smile back onto her face but the muscles took much more coaxing to complete the act than before.

“Sorry, there was a line,” she said once she’d approached. “Y’all ready?”