chapter 55
Larry smashed violently through the wall. It was now the recipient of years of rejection.
“That’s for calling me stupid,” he yelled, pushing the drill in even farther. “And for not giving me a chance.”
Bits of wall and white dust flew forward. He didn’t care. The destruction was freeing. A sense of great power came over him as the hole in the wall enlarged. Larry pushed into the cinder block with all his might watching with glee as the wall was destroyed. For once, he was the master of his universe, the controller of his destiny.
“AHHHH!” he let out a primal yell, abandoned the drill and began clawing at the wall, pulling apart the dry wall with his bare hands, ripping down the horrible memories. The white walls became spattered with blood. Larry looked down at his hands, they were badly cut up, but there was no pain. The sight of the blood did, however, prompt him to stop the rampage. He didn’t want to stain the wall permanently. Quickly, he ran to the kitchen and wrapped paper towels around his hands. He then wet more paper towel at the sink, brought it back to the wall and furiously began scrubbing. The redness faded, but a faint stain remained. He scrubbed at it even harder, but he could not get it out. The paper towels his hands were wrapped in were growing wet with his blood. Larry realized he needed to tend to himself.
“I’ll just paint over it,” he muttered and ran upstairs to the bathroom. He found the bottle of hydrogen peroxide under the sink, just where it should be, behind the alcohol, and poured the clear liquid over his bloody hands. He winced in pain as he felt a cool sting foam over his wounds. The blood persisted. “Damn,” he said pouring more peroxide over his hands. The last thing he wanted to have to do was go to the hospital for stitches. He grabbed a bath towel, sorry to have to ruin it and wrapped it over his left hand. He then grabbed the other bath towel with his teeth and used his body to wrap it around his right hand. Like a boxer with terry cloth gloves, he emerged from the bathroom, incapable of continuing.
He’d lost the battle tonight, but he would not lose the fight.