A Fistful of Therapy

Arthur had never been in a fight before.

It's was something he’d thought about often. Despite being someone who generally avoided conflict at all costs, he would find himself pondering how he would handle himself should the situation arise, and whether he could hold his own. Part of him wondered whether deep down he wanted to be be in a fight, maybe to prove himself, maybe just to say he had.

These thoughts ran through his head as he felt John knuckles connect with the soft tissue below his cheek, forcing his jaw back in the opposite direction in what felt like a grotesque slow-motion picture of extreme violence.

It hurt.

A lot.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting it to feel like, but the reality of that first blow bought him back to the present moment in an absolute rush.

It was on.

Arthur stepped back, his face numb, his eyes wide, and the sound of his heart beat rising up through his ears. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

No chance of backing out now.

John stood back, face set in a stare scowl, determined, his fists at the ready. He was someone who had been in a fight before. Quite a number. Arthur knew this because he’d often been on the sidelines watching him when he had. 

They were best friends after all.

What had brought them to this point was something convoluted and about 99% Arthur’s doing. In fact that was an understatement - it was 100% Arthur’s doing. He was acutely aware of that as he stood there staring down the barrel of a pummelling at the hands of his friend.

And he didn’t regret it one bit.

Right now, at this very moment, he was alive. More alive than he’d felt in a very long time. That it had taken such measures to feel that way was unfortunate, but necessary. The emptiness he had been feeling for a very long time was unrelenting, leading to an overwhelming sense of apathy with the intermittent burst of existential dread. And it was killing him.

Ironically, the prospect of a physical beating from another gave reprieve from the regular mental beatings he had been giving himself.

“Well, are we doing this?” He heard his friend say through his fog of his own thoughts and slightly pounding head, “What are you waiting for?”

Arthur felt his vision focus and narrow, clearly seeing John in front of him. He tasted the metal in his mouth, bleeding from the force of the bunch, he heard the murmurs and whispers of the bystanders, nervous and excited, and he smelt his own sweat, a build up of nervous energy and perspiration. It was all very real.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

The two men began to circle each other, stalking, prowling. John’s face was a mixture of focus and angry confidence, Arthur’s excitement and determination.

The speed at which John came at him was frightening, but Arthur was ready. As ready as any amateur could be in the face of experience. John swung his right hand, aiming again directly for Arthur’s face. Anticipating, Arthur ducked his head, causing the blow to glance off the top of his head. It was a grazing blow and not bothersome. In response, he lashed out with his left hand and caught John in the ribs. The sudden exhalation of air indicated he had at least managed two muster some force behind the blow.

John’s right elbow came down instinctively to cover the area as his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. He hadn’t liked that. Arthur suspected it was more his pride that was hurt, rather than anything physical.

Arthur felt exhilaration at having connected, with his first punch now less. He didn’t get to enjoy it for long, as John recovered instantly to throw a flurry of blows. Arthur didn’t know which was up as he felt contact after contact. Jaw, head, ribs, stomach, kidneys. The worlds most violent massage was a whole body affair.

That Arthur found the sensation almost pleasurable would probably be cause for psychological analysis, but right now he had to roll with it. He found himself alternating his hands between covering his face and his body respective to the immediate threat, but in reality he was just following the punches, as he was always one step behind.

It was a massacre.

Arthur backpedaled in an attempt to catch his breath, and it seemed that John relented for a moment. Had it been someone else he may not have given him a breather. Arthur suspected that despite being invested, his heart wasn’t necessarily wanting to turn his friend into pulp.

Arthur sucked in deep gulps of air, filling his burning lungs and trying to steady his heart rate and calm himself. He was battered, bruised and loving it. He couldn’t tell if the lightheadedness he felt was because of the blows to the head or the drug-like effect of the exhilaration. He was high on the abuse.

Months of languishing in a depressive state, where he felt like everything was moving at half speed, his body and his mind barely present. Like he was looking at his life through a lens. Right now he felt everything moving at double speed, his senses heightened, his body alive.

“Have you had enough yet?” John said, “ I don’t know what you are trying to prove, but you know you can’t win this. Whatever is going though your thick skull at the moment is a mystery to me, but the way you’ve been acting lately is nothing if not bizarre. You need help.”

Arthur smiled in spite of himself.

“I’m getting the help I need. You’re giving it to me.”

“What are you on about? Get this over with will you.”

Arthur came at him. From the outside he likely looked like a mad man, flailing his arms and rushing head long into the fire. To Arthur though, he felt like a ninja on the attack, fluid and graceful, attacking with precision.

Didn’t matter though, John was ready of him. He stepped into the attack, grabbing Arthur by the wrist and spinning him, dragging him to the ground. It was a strange sensation for Arthur. One minute he was sprinting toward his destiny, the next he was watching the ground come up to meet him.

It hit him hard.

He felt the air rush from his lungs and his eyes bulge from his head. He could only feel passively as the weight of Johns body came down on top of him. A snaking arm wrapped around his throat, a gradual and intense pressure compressing his throat. At the same time he felt John’s legs wrap around his body, squeezing him and scratching him to a point he could barely move. All he could do was squirm.

“Tap” John whispered in his ear, “Admit defeat goddamn it, don’t make me do this.”

Arthur just grunted. It was all he wanted to say, although he probably couldn’t have gotten anything else out if he’d wanted to.

He only struggled for a moment. He then felt the tension in his body slowly dissipate. Starting at his head, the feeling gradually made it’s way down through his body, relaxing every muscle, sinew and fibre as it went until in reached his toes. It was at that point an immense feeling of peace came over him.

It wasn’t a feeling of nothingness like he had been feeling everyday for months. It was peace, a gentle feeling of things being right and his fears and worries leaving his body. It could have also been effect of a reduction in oxygen reaching his brain causing a euphoric feeling of asphyxiation, but the first explanation sounded better.

Arthur embraced the feeling as he saw the edges of vision creep in, and inky blankness drawing into the centre of his vision, the effect of which was to narrow his sight to a tunnel. All he could see was the sky, brilliant and blue and expansive.

Then it all went black.

“You know you’re not right in the head, don’t you?”

These were the first words Arthur heard when he came to. He was lying flat on his back in the grass, still looking up at the sky. For a moment he was unable to move, not matter how much he willed his muscles to listen to him. Every part of him hurt, but it was more than that. His body just didn’t want to move.

Eventually he rolled himself to the side and dragged himself onto his elbow. He looked up to see his friend sitting next to him looking down at him. There was no one else around as any bystanders had clearly lost interest. John’s face, which had previously expressed anger and ferocity was now replaced with a mixture of curiosity, concern and genuine confusion.

“Don’t think I haven’t been able to see what you’ve been doing,” John continued, “You’ve been pushing for a fight for a while now. Why? You’ve been acting strange, and aloof and basically been a downright arsehole. Why? I know you’ve had some shit going on, but making life hell for those close to you doesn’t seem to be the right thing to do.”

Arthur rolled back onto his back.

“If I could explain it I would, and I probably would have done so before now,” Arthur said, “But I can’t and so I haven’t.”

“Have you tried maybe, I don’t know, talking to someone?”

“Tried,” Arthur admitted, “Didn’t really get anywhere with it. Just kind of made me feel as though I felt like shit for absolutely no reason. Like I was some idiot with a great life who was just miserable. I walked away feeling worse because only was I completely empty, I felt I had no reason to be.”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. “So you thought pissing me off so much that I’d want to bash your head in was a good second option?”

Arthur shrugged. “Yeah, kind of.”

“That’s really messed up. You resale that? You’re not right.”

Arthur let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

“So what now?” John asked, “We’re supposed to be friends and we are sitting here having a therapy session after I’ve just choked you unconscious. You’ve also said some weird and messed up shit. Are we just supposed to forget that?”

Arthur sat up. He felt foggy in the head, but clear in his mind, which was an odd combination. “No I guess not. In a weird way, it now gives me some stuff I have to make up for.”

“So that’s the answer? Give yourself a heap of shit to have to fix so you can avoid working on yourself, or to stop yourself coming top with reasons to feel shit?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s a bit messed up.”

“So you keep saying.”

“We might need to find a better strategy for you,” John said.

‘Like what? You regularly punching me in the face?”

“Tempting, but I’d probably get bored of it after a while and the effect would wear off.”

“True.”

“Well why don’t you start trying to make amends with me now,” John said.

“How?” Arthur asked.

‘Promise me you’ll speak to someone. Someone different I suppose, but find a therapist,” he said, “the last few months has been exhausting and strained for all of us. We care about you and don’t want to see you like this.”

“is this an intervention?”

“Of course it is. It started 20 minutes ago when we decided that you trying to fight me was a good idea.”

“Point taken. Does that make you my therapist? Maybe you should market this as a service. A physical and mental working over.

John scoffed, allowing himself a smile.. “Not sure that’d be an accredited service.”

“I guess not,” Arthur admitted.

“And you need to do one other thing for me,” John said.

“And what’s that?” Arthur asked.

  “Come and train with me. Learn some skills.”

“Ok… …why?”

“Because you fight like shit.”