Consume Me Whole

The Edge of Control

Monty stood at the edge of the football field, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass. The sounds of football-shouts, the sharp crack of pads colliding, and the distant whistle of the coach-surrounded him, a chaotic symphony that usually grounded him. But today, the noise grated on his nerves, an irritant that coiled tighter and tighter within him.

As he watched his teammates huddled together, joking and laughing, a knot of envy twisted in his stomach. He felt like an outsider, hovering on the periphery, trapped behind a wall of anger that he couldn't seem to break through. With every laugh, every playful shove, the memories of his father's rage resurfaced-uninvited and relentless.

"Aye, Monty! You coming in?" One of the guys called, snapping him from his thoughts.

He forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like glass ready to shatter. "Yeah, I'm here."

The practice started, and Monty went through the motions, his heart pounding with each play. Yet the unease simmered beneath the surface, a cauldron of unresolved feelings waiting for a spark. That spark came sooner than he expected.

During a particularly rough tackle, one of his teammates, Kyle, barreled into Monty a bit too hard, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Monty's irritation flared, a switch flicked inside him, and before he could stop himself, he was on his feet, his fists clenched at his sides.

"What the hell, man?" Monty shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

Kyle shrugged, a smirk on his face. "Relax, Monty. It's just practice."

But Monty couldn't hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat, the blood pounding in his ears. "You think you can just push me around? Think you can treat me like I'm nothin'?"

The other players stopped, their eyes shifting between Monty and Kyle, sensing the tension in the air. Monty took a step forward, the heat of anger boiling over, ready to fight. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, the familiar rush that had become both a comfort and a curse.

"Whoa, easy there!" Kyle raised his hands defensively, but Monty could see the challenge in his eyes, the provocation just waiting to explode.

"Back off," Monty hissed, the growl in his throat echoing with years of pent-up rage, years of feeling powerless and unseen.

"Monty, chill!" someone shouted, but it felt distant, as if muffled by the fury rising inside him.

Just as Monty moved to shove Kyle, a familiar voice cut through the haze, pulling him back from the brink. "Monty!" Winston's voice rang clear and commanding. Monty turned, his heart racing as he met Winston's gaze.

"Let's go, man," Winston said, stepping closer, his expression a mix of concern and resolve. "You don't want to do this."

The sound of Winston's voice broke through the haze, and for a moment, Monty faltered. But the anger still roared inside him, and it took everything in him to take a breath, to step back from the precipice. "I'm fine," Monty snapped, but even he could hear the crack in his voice.

Winston shook his head, stepping into Monty's line of sight, blocking him from Kyle. "You're not fine. Let's just walk away."

The anger was still there, but Monty felt the tension ease slightly as Winston reached for his arm, guiding him away from the field. With each step, the shouts of his teammates faded into the background, and he felt the weight of Winston's presence anchoring him.

Later that afternoon, Monty slumped into the chair across from Dr. Brooks, still reeling from the fight that nearly happened. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration pulsing through him. "I don't get it," he began, his voice strained. "I thought I was getting better. I thought I was in control."

Dr. Brooks leaned back, studying Monty with a thoughtful expression. "Anger isn't the enemy, Montgomery. It's a symptom. A reaction to something deeper. Let's explore what triggered you today."

Monty huffed, crossing his arms. "It was just Kyle being a jerk. I don't need to dig deeper."

"But you do," Dr. Brooks pressed gently. "What were you really feeling? What scared you?"

Monty looked away, the familiar shame creeping in. "I don't know," he muttered, the words catching in his throat. "Maybe I'm just sick of feeling weak. Sick of feeling like I'm just... there."

Dr. Brooks nodded, his expression encouraging. "What if I told you that anger often comes from fear? Fear of being vulnerable, fear of being seen, fear of losing control?"

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that cut deeper than Monty anticipated. "I'm not afraid of being vulnerable," he shot back, but even as he said it, he felt the lie unraveling.

"Are you sure?" Dr. Brooks continued, his tone gentle but firm. "What about losing Winston? What about your fears around your sexuality? Your anger isn't just about someone pushing you around; it's about feeling trapped."

Monty clenched his fists, frustration boiling over again. "I don't want to feel trapped! I want to be normal. I want to be like everyone else!"

"But what does normalcy mean to you?" Dr. Brooks asked, gaze unwavering. "Is it hiding who you are? Is it pushing people away?"

Monty's breath hitched, realization settling in. "I don't want to be angry," he confessed, his voice cracking. "But it feels like it's all I have. It feels like... it feels like if I don't hold on to it, I'll lose everything."

"Anger can feel powerful, but it's not the only way to protect yourself," Dr. Brooks said. "You can learn to embrace vulnerability. You can learn to let people in without fear of being devoured by your emotions."

Monty nodded, a mixture of understanding and denial swirling within him. "But what if I hurt them? What if I push them away?"

"You won't," he reassured him, her voice steady and calm. "You're already making progress. It's okay to be afraid, but you can't let that fear control you."

As the session came to a close, Monty left feeling raw and exposed, the layers of his anger peeling away to reveal the fear hidden beneath. He still had a long way to go, but for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope-a glimmer of possibility that maybe, just maybe, he could learn to navigate his emotions without losing himself in the process.

As he stepped outside, the cool air washed over him, and he could see Winston waiting for him, a steady presence in the chaos. Monty took a deep breath, feeling a shift inside him. He was still a work in progress, still learning to confront the shadows that lurked within, but he wasn't alone. And that made all the difference.