007 [DWF]

July 1, 2017

Kasey Summers was beyond exhausted, trudging down the hallway of the hotel with the key-card already in her hand. The first thing she planned to do was take a super long shower. By then, Ak would be back with the food she'd sent him out for and they could enjoy a leisurely dinner in private. The hallway was too quiet and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She turned around, looking back the way she'd come only to find nobody there. She turned back and almost jumped out of her skin. Suddenly Max Ironside was just there, right in front of her. The expression on his face left nothing to the imagination. She said nothing, pushing past him, hoping to make it to her room just so she could slam the door in his face. A small victory, sure, but it would serve to make her feel a lot better.

"Kasey," he said her name softly, but his voice cracked regardless, betraying him. His eyes moved quickly over her before up to the elevator behind her.

"He'll be back any second," Kasey said, "and if he finds you here, he'll probably kill you."

Max sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of that red and black hoodie he always seemed to be wearing these days. "I'll take my chances." His eyes slipped past her again, "can we talk?"

"Haven't you done enough damage?" The sharp-tongued redhead glared at Max, staring daggers into him as she put her hands on her hips. When he didn't respond, she sighed and walked into the room, leaving him no choice but to follow.

He did, albeit rather reluctantly, expecting an ambush. He closed the door behind them, not bothering with the lock. "This would've been easier if you'd just answered your phone." He began, his eyes lifting to her as she kept her back to him. "Wouldn't have had to chase you here."

"I didn't want to speak to you." She added, "still don't wanna speak to you, let alone look at you, but since you're here I guess I can tell you that to your face, since you don't seem to take hints too well."

"I can't do this any-"

"Don't you dare try and pin that 'lost your smile' shit on me!"

He muttered, letting his head hang, "lost everything..." he cleared his throat but she stomped over and slapped his face, cutting him off.

"You're the worst! Don't you come here with this guilt trip bullshit! God, you're so damned pathetic it isn't even funny!"

He stood there for the longest time, that red hand print there like a brand on his stubble-covered cheek. There were so many things that he could have told her, but pride kept him from opening his mouth. "So," he finally said, "that's it then?"

"Don't give me that shit, Max," she stood her ground when all she could think was that he was going to hit her for it. "I don't love you. The more you push, the more you make me hate you. We can't be friends. We just can't."

"Not gonna argue anymore," he muttered.

She shrugged, "then don't. I've got nothing left to say to you."

"Don't." He had nothing left to say as he felt the rest of his world crumbling. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to rip apart the room in a childish temper tantrum. He needed to rage and explode. Instead he bit his lip, letting that pain bring him back from the edge.

"I think you should go, Max." In her determined eyes there was sadness, but whether it was over him or the fact that she'd just lost another match was hard to know.

He muttered under his breath, resting his forehead against the door as his hand closed over the handle. "I'm sorry I said loved you." He realized she heard him by the change in her breathing.

She bit her lip hard, shaking her head as she said, if nothing more than to simply hurt him, "yeah, I'm sorry I wasted so much of my life trying to be a friend to a shitty person like you."

"I'm not. Every second meant more to me than anything else." He said nothing more as he opened the door, never letting her see the anguish written all over his face as the knife twisted in his guts. "Bye, Kasey." He stepped out into the hallway, and the fact that he let the door close on its own spoke volumes. He made it to the elevator before the tears started to fall and he kept going towards the stairwell, not wanting to run the risk of bumping into Kasey's boyfriend now. "Stupid, stupid, stupid asshole," he muttered, hitting the door so hard he nearly broke something.

"Sometimes the choices we make define the outcome despite what we really want. Sometimes lying to yourself is the worst disservice you can do – worse, really, than buying into the hype. How did your match against Damon Graves go? Don't answer. I don't actually care since it has as little bearing on the present as your match against the lost-and-found again Heidi does. Go nuts. Tell me how my time is OVER. Tell me how you're going to burn me alive and piss on the ashes like you get off on doing on television. No-sell my accomplishments and gloss right over the fact that I've lost TWO single match since I've been here. Can you say the same? We both know you can't. We both know your biggest claim to fame so far, and the thing you're remembered most for is that victory over Kasey Summers at the very first show. And what did you do with that, hmm? Nothing. That was the closest you ever came to reaching Aidan's level, Trixie. I took her to the LIMIT. She tapped out, for crying out loud – sure, it didn't count. Shit happens. That's your claim to fame, isn't it? You beat Kasey. She couldn't buy a win to save her life in this company but you want to act like that means something? 

I will walk out the winner against you because that's what I'm supposed to do. I've got my sight set on that new gold and while I fill my days representing DWF in a tournament and an invitational MMA match overseas, I'll pretend not to notice that empty locker room, knowing she won't come even though I left tickets for her at the box office. We all have things that we do automatically, without thinking. I keep finding myself needing to go through those motions even though it's futile. I'm sure you get that, don't you? Much like the nonsense you babble on about, trying to convince the world that you're good at this. I've been doing this too long. Like Trixie, it's in my blood. We have that one thing in common, despite the vast personality differences. We're both chasing glory. That's where the roads fork."

Max shakes his head.

"I'm old-school. I remember a time when it wasn't about money, politics and charisma. When it wasn't about all these silly nicknames and trying to sleep your way to the top. When skill was enough to drive you to the top of the heap, without having to resort to these sick and stupid little games. Trixie seems to have forgotten what this is truly about. She hops from company to company, looking to collect moments in the spotlight like Pokémon characters. Oh, she'll deny it, of course. She likes to be busy. She's spreading the love. She likes to wrestle and those of us who've chosen to work for a single company are just lazy, right? Sure. And I'm the damned King of Spain, too.

Listen, Trixie, I know what I need to do out there. I know how to avoid your kick. I know how to dissect and dismantle all your cheap little backhanded compliments that are actually insults. History repeats itself, and I realize Kasey was right: I am pathetic. Eat your heart out. You don't need to poke fun. I did it for you. I know I'm a joke. I know most of the men in this business are bigger than me – half the women too. In Bowling Green, I beat Adalynn Duncan and Coral Rose. That's the only thing you got right in that mess of gibberish you spouted off. I'm not on a win streak. If you'd been paying attention you would have seen my losses – my Lord, I have nothing. Tank empty. No insults to throw. No observations. Tell me what you want. Tell me who you want me to be. Tell me that it's not enough. It's never enough."

Max stares forward, his blue eyes as cold as ice. There's no smile. No traces of good humor. He's unbelievably serious, absolutely pissed off beyond belief.

"Fuck it. I'm done. You win. All of you."