Violets Are Blue

CHAPTER ONE

TROUBLE

VIOLET FORTEZA

I've been feeling like a volcano lately. Calm on the outside, yet so full of boiling rage in the inside. Rage that if I can no longer contain, will burst out into a devastating explosion without warning.

The most frustrating thing about me is that... I pent up rage like hoarding magma in an underground chamber. Hell, I'm good at it. I'm good at hiding my emotions, but I'm better at expressing them in ways that stuns people and at the same time... make them wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I believe it's my expertise - surprising the people around me. I'm good at surprises - not the good kind, though. I'm also great at being misunderstood.

Here's an example - when an underestimating comment from my seemingly perfect father infuriates the hell out of me, and then my mother suddenly has the audacity to project her frustrations on me after abandoning us makes me even more infuriated, I swallow and bury the rage that's itching to snake its way out of my mouth, push it down deep inside to keep the calm on the outside.
I swallow the emotions down like poison and feel it slowly kill me inside... everyday. I do this because I don't want to make an even messier mess by fighting fires with fuel. I couldn't possibly douse a fire with fuel, could I? When my rage turns into words, it burns worse than a third degree burn. And the damage that it would make is not gonna be a good sight.

And so the calmness and the silence I portray makes people around me act as if there's no chaos I am struggling to keep within, because they couldn't hear the rage, because I do not let them see. I do not let them see the truth. I can't make them understand.
So, just like a volcano, I keep burying the rage the world is giving me inside until it boils in its maximum height and finally explode, bringing its chaos into the calmness on the outside which I keep trying so hard to maintain. I thought keeping the rage inside would make everything, if not feel better, at least look better.

But having a handcuff slapped on my wrists for the second time this month just made me realize what pent up rage really does when it explodes.

I avoid expressing my rage with my words, but my actions speak loud. It reveals so much about how messed up I am, but it don't really reveal why I am the way I am. What makes it even worse is that the gravity of my actions actually brings way worse punishment than my words.

Pent up rage and unexpressed words sometimes makes me go clubbing all night with strangers, start a commotion, jump into my car to escape arrest, exceed the speed limit, get chased by cops, and crash on a careful driver's car. And... find myself incarcerated in a dingy old cell. Again.
With a DUI, again.
With another lawsuit against me. Again.

But don't get me wrong, I loooove explosions. Explosions make me feel better. It makes me feel light and alive... for a while. It makes the adrenaline cruise in my veins. The downfall is that, the adrenaline is short-lived, which makes me want to do the explosion all over again despite the aftermath. It's my only escape from my mind.

Explosions make me load off some rage... only to make room for more.

"Catch you later, boss." I patted him on the shoulder.

The police officer gave me a disapproving look.

"Hey, we do the catching here. Not the other way around."

"And you're making a good job doing it." I gave him a Cheshire cat grin and saluted him with every dose of sarcasm I possess in my being. He just shook his head in disbelief and went on to do his regular police tasks.

I let out a big yawn and did a little stretching as I walked out of lockup which gathered me more disapproving looks from the police officers at my favorite precinct.