Post by Admin on Nov 9, 2016 1:12:06 GMT -5
The muffled sound of his wife's voice rose and fell in his ear like waves, making him feel sleepy. "He's fine, Ellie," Lyv murmured into the phone, reaching out to touch his shoulder to reassure herself. "I know you're worried but he didn't—"
"Don't..." Jackson trailed off as he looked up from the floor, eyes completely bloodshot, pupils dilated— probably concussed, if nothing else. "Fuckin'... goddamnit, jus' gimme the phone," he snapped, reaching up to rub the back of his head, checking his fingers for blood. They came away clean and for that he was almost grateful. He'd expected to find gray matter leaking out with how bad it was pounding.
Lyv pushed it into his shaking hand and he brought it to his ear. "Ell, hey."
"Daddy?" She sounded on the verge of tears, her voice all sharp edges that stabbed into his ears. "Are you really okay?"
His eyes were on the blood-soaked t-shirt in his lap, his tongue probing the hole clean through his cheek where the glass had cut in from that opening punch. He chuckled softly; bowing his head, he took a slow breath as the dizziness returned with darkness on the edges of his vision. "Really," he cleared his throat, "I won... held my own, s'at what y'wanna hear?" He sounded drunk— his tongue felt thick and sluggish.
"You sound funny," his daughter persisted, "did you get checked out?"
Nope. The ambulance had been for show and if there'd been a single EMT lurking around the tattoo parlor or the bar, they'd been invisible. "Uh huh," he nodded, regretting that immediately as the woozy feeling intensified, "shitfuck. Ell, I gotta go—" he shoved the phone at his wife, dropping it before she could get hold of it. It smashed against the floor.
"Daddy?" Eleanor's voice came tinny from the speaker as he staggered up, feeling the saliva flooding his mouth.
He barely made it through the propped-open door into the alley before he was bent double, puking up a foul mixture of beer and bile all over his own bare feet. At the end of the alley, he could hear the crowd clamouring but he couldn't make out the object of their admiration through the watering in his eyes, their words drowned out by the pounding in his head and then Lyv was there, crouched beside him. He was sitting on the pavement without any knowledge of losing his balance.
"Stay with me," Lyv murmured, pressing that bloody tee— it was soaking wet now— against the back of his neck. "I got you," she began, testing him.
"We got each other," he finished, echoing the words she had tattooed on her wrists that had been part of their wedding vows. As if he suddenly realized something, he squinted up at her, "what'd y'do with the phone?"
"Told her I was taking you to the ER—"
"No."
"Yes," her fingers crawled through his hair like spiders, checking for knots on his skull. A breath hissed between his teeth when she caught the tender spot behind his ear. "Spyder wants to you face that Bullshit—"
"Bullrush," he corrected, "guy who won the Banned Title?"
"Mmmhmm," she pressed her lips to his forehead. "I think he said Main Event again, too."
The Main again? They love me. They really do.
"This' where I belong, babe. It is." He looked at the brownish liquid drying on his feet and ankles, still feeling queasy but elated. He started to peel the tape off his knuckles, his voice unsteady, "t-there's a bottle... brought it for Deuce but—"
Lyv turned around, spotting a grocery bag hanging on a hook inside the door. Inside was a bottle of Patrón Añejo. "Jax—"
"Give it." He crumpled the used tape in his fist, feeling the bits of glass still on it digging into his palm— validation of reality. He barely had time to register that before she was pushing the bottle into his hand. He fumbled with the cap, letting it fall. The liquor burned like hell in his mouth and he turned his head, spitting red on the dirty pavement before pouring it over his gouged up hands. "Listen," he said finally, "I'm alright. I don't wanna..." he trailed off, knowing he didn't need to explain his fear. If they found something wrong, they'd drop the hammer— he NEEDED this and Uncensored already felt too much like coming home to lose it now.
"Don't..." Jackson trailed off as he looked up from the floor, eyes completely bloodshot, pupils dilated— probably concussed, if nothing else. "Fuckin'... goddamnit, jus' gimme the phone," he snapped, reaching up to rub the back of his head, checking his fingers for blood. They came away clean and for that he was almost grateful. He'd expected to find gray matter leaking out with how bad it was pounding.
Lyv pushed it into his shaking hand and he brought it to his ear. "Ell, hey."
"Daddy?" She sounded on the verge of tears, her voice all sharp edges that stabbed into his ears. "Are you really okay?"
His eyes were on the blood-soaked t-shirt in his lap, his tongue probing the hole clean through his cheek where the glass had cut in from that opening punch. He chuckled softly; bowing his head, he took a slow breath as the dizziness returned with darkness on the edges of his vision. "Really," he cleared his throat, "I won... held my own, s'at what y'wanna hear?" He sounded drunk— his tongue felt thick and sluggish.
"You sound funny," his daughter persisted, "did you get checked out?"
Nope. The ambulance had been for show and if there'd been a single EMT lurking around the tattoo parlor or the bar, they'd been invisible. "Uh huh," he nodded, regretting that immediately as the woozy feeling intensified, "shitfuck. Ell, I gotta go—" he shoved the phone at his wife, dropping it before she could get hold of it. It smashed against the floor.
"Daddy?" Eleanor's voice came tinny from the speaker as he staggered up, feeling the saliva flooding his mouth.
He barely made it through the propped-open door into the alley before he was bent double, puking up a foul mixture of beer and bile all over his own bare feet. At the end of the alley, he could hear the crowd clamouring but he couldn't make out the object of their admiration through the watering in his eyes, their words drowned out by the pounding in his head and then Lyv was there, crouched beside him. He was sitting on the pavement without any knowledge of losing his balance.
"Stay with me," Lyv murmured, pressing that bloody tee— it was soaking wet now— against the back of his neck. "I got you," she began, testing him.
"We got each other," he finished, echoing the words she had tattooed on her wrists that had been part of their wedding vows. As if he suddenly realized something, he squinted up at her, "what'd y'do with the phone?"
"Told her I was taking you to the ER—"
"No."
"Yes," her fingers crawled through his hair like spiders, checking for knots on his skull. A breath hissed between his teeth when she caught the tender spot behind his ear. "Spyder wants to you face that Bullshit—"
"Bullrush," he corrected, "guy who won the Banned Title?"
"Mmmhmm," she pressed her lips to his forehead. "I think he said Main Event again, too."
The Main again? They love me. They really do.
"This' where I belong, babe. It is." He looked at the brownish liquid drying on his feet and ankles, still feeling queasy but elated. He started to peel the tape off his knuckles, his voice unsteady, "t-there's a bottle... brought it for Deuce but—"
Lyv turned around, spotting a grocery bag hanging on a hook inside the door. Inside was a bottle of Patrón Añejo. "Jax—"
"Give it." He crumpled the used tape in his fist, feeling the bits of glass still on it digging into his palm— validation of reality. He barely had time to register that before she was pushing the bottle into his hand. He fumbled with the cap, letting it fall. The liquor burned like hell in his mouth and he turned his head, spitting red on the dirty pavement before pouring it over his gouged up hands. "Listen," he said finally, "I'm alright. I don't wanna..." he trailed off, knowing he didn't need to explain his fear. If they found something wrong, they'd drop the hammer— he NEEDED this and Uncensored already felt too much like coming home to lose it now.
