We Are Enemies

I have never hit anyone in my life.

A good friend pushed me in college because I was dancing with a boy she supposedly liked and I pushed back and another time, I slapped a guy for being crude, but that has been the extent of my physical altercations.

I don't even know how to make a proper fist.

But believe me when I say that I would go full on Fight Club on Infertility if we ever met in a dark alley.

It wouldn't even need to be dark.

Or an alley.

She could be walking out of a 7-Eleven in the broad daylight and I would kick her ass beyond recognition.

Any battle ground will do.

I just want to meet her one day and have my way.

I want to beat that bitch to a bloody pulp and show absolutely zero mercy.

She wouldn't either.

I know this for a fact.

Infertility and I are enemies of the worst kind.

I would relish hearing bones crack and draw pleasure from wiping away my own blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. I would spit it right in her face.

It would be a heart pounding workout like I have never experienced, throwing blow after blow, advancing and retreating with more power and strength each time.

This would be no cat fight, no pussy hair pulling or nail scratching, what would be the point? I want to do real damage, full frontal contact with loud, hard shots square to the jaw and the ribs. I want to feel our legs and arms tangled.

Duck, kick, twist, punch, repeat.

Sweat and spit flying.

Deep guttural screams.

The loudest thing in my head, besides the ringing in my ears would be the cheers of encouragement from the dozens of women I personally know and countless others, I don't, who wish they had gotten to her first.

Even though I could go at it for days, eventually we would both reach a point when we had had enough, but just when she'd think I was surrendering, I would muster the strength from a place deep down inside my soul and go after her one last time and bring her to her knees once and for all.

When it was over, I would sit down on the hard gravel, wince from the pain and though tears I didn't think I had left would ask, "why?".



Tonya writes Letters For Lucas and at any given moment can be found changing a diaper or enjoying a glass of Cab while Dave Matthews plays in the background.

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