Post by Admin on Nov 9, 2016 1:19:46 GMT -5
"A fuckin' curtain jerker," the Primo Champion snarled, shaking his head as he stared out the window at the passing scenery, "and that guy was the most talentless fuckin' sack of shit since..."
"Adam Stryker?" Lyv supplied the first name she could think of and he ignored her completely.
For once he was thankful that his so-called legend status still came with perks like limousine rides even when the company wasn't footing the bill anymore— the way he was feeling, he might have been inclined to go full Grand Theft Auto behind the wheel and start mowing down pedestrians. He stonewalled Alyvia with silence for the rest of the ride, barely even acknowledging her even when they got back to the hotel room they'd been calling home the last few weeks.
Instead he'd gone straight to the kitchenette, raided the freezer, grabbed the chilled bottle of Glenlivet and parked himself on the balcony in silence. He was brooding, chewing at the ragged skin on his chapped lips as he sat there; trying to deny how much his knees ached after only ten minutes of exertion was an exercise in futility, but he was still trying to screw that game face on out of sheer force of habit. He was probably going to have to see the doctor about getting another round of cortisone shots or something because none of the homeopathic hippie bullshit was working anymore. He was broken and that goddamned 'broken-down old man' moniker Kirsta had slapped on him more than SEVEN years ago was actually true. That truth rankled more than it should have and it made him want to break things in the worst, the most childish way imaginable.
Kirsta's gonna see right through it no matter how you try and put the PR spin on it, ol' hoss. Taking the next show off is like a bright RED beacon, a neon sign flashing in the night and that glorified hooker won’t be able to keep herself from jumping all up on your dick to ride you into that very last bang— spent. She's gonna take you out back and put you outta your misery, render you down into glue and a stack of pre-signed 8x10 glossies.
"Fuck off," he growled, clearly talking to himself now but that voice in his head never quit these days when there was no cocktail to dull its sharp wit.
Be honest, chief. You want this. You do. Maybe this is what you've been looking for all along. Legacy didn't get the job done. Chris Madison didn’t put that last nail in your coffin. Spiral’s gone and Columbia was a wash. You want to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe the goddamned Hellcat will do what nobody else could. Think about it—
"Aw, hell no. Not her. Never her." He stared down at the belt in his lap, looking at his own distorted features in the reflection. The last time he'd been the first to hold a belt had been the TV Title back in HOW, back in 2011— a shiny little bauble gifted to him by Lee Best inside a briefcase in a match that he'd been handpicked to win. This belt though? It hadn't been some bullshit prize. He'd legitimately fought for it and dropping it to that smarmy little cunt seemed like the worst thing imaginable. Thinking about Kirsta Lewis had his mind circling back over the shittiest things in his past. Georgie Nickles and TFWF. Ryann Hardy. Lee Best. That rat-infested, garbage-filled solitary confinement cell on Alcatraz— "fuck no. Not that."
Think about the rats.
His fingers stole up to the puckered scar on his shoulder and he dug them into it, tracing the edges as a way to bring himself back to the present. The scars were part of it all, even when the holes in his memory were huge enough to lose himself inside. He remembered Tyler Boyd, remembered CWC and the old days in PWX— another title in the long list that used to mean something before the bottom had dropped out.
"Jax?" Lyv's voice was so soft he didn't even hear her. He was lost in the roar of that crowd and the remembrance of the look of utter disgust on Christopher America's face right before that metal pole came slamming down. He wasn't dead inside their ring, impaled with the American flag. He was still lacing up his boots, still doing what he'd always been the best at.
A small sound shattered his reverie and he looked up to find his wife standing in front of him, obscuring the view. Lyv's arms were wrapped around herself as though she was chilled in the humid air. Her brow was furrowed, her hand frozen in the action of reaching out to touch him as her eyes locked on his. A brittle smile was on her lips in a second and she did her best to keep it from going sour. "Honey? Do you wanna come in where it's cool? I could run you a shower or something." The concern for Jax was clearly in her eyes and the need to reach out and touch him was there as well but she seemed more cautious than usual. "Maybe order up some food?"
He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to get a read on that subtle little hesitation but her book was in another language tonight and he gave up with a frustrated sigh. "Not hungry. I'd kill for a fuckin' cigarette right now though, if I'm being honest."
Nodding, Lyv leaned back against the balcony's banister, looking down at her husband, "I can go out and get you some if you really want." When he was like this, there wasn't much she would deny him.
He shook his head. "No. I've gone this long without. I can do it." He didn't bother to tell her that he'd smoked one a few weeks ago from a stale-as-fuck pack he'd found in the side pocket of his gear bag. He didn't bother to mention how much it had made him cough to the point where he'd ended up puking. Some things she didn't need to know— weakness was at the top of that list. "I asked Spyder to keep me off the books for next show."
"How come?" She was still, looking at him.
"Need a break," he muttered, breaking eye contact. It was a lie and if she was paying attention, she'd probably call him on it, too. "Show after that's gonna be the DVD taping... first defense so I gotta rest up, prepare."
"Uh huh." It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him something else, but she fought the urge. Walking towards him, she knelt in front of him and rested her hands on his knees. She heard the hiss of air between his teeth and then she knew. The pain was back again. "Baby?"
His blue-blue eyes were so bright they almost looked black in the poor light as he stared at her. His voice belied his exhaustion, coming out as a gravelly rasp. "What, Lyv?"
Looking up into that face of his she loved so much, Lyv exhaled deeply and decided to let it drop. "If you're off for the week, why don't we take a trip? Us and Christian... kind of a vacation to recharge? Disney, maybe?"
He shook his head, thinking of the crowds and how little he wanted to be recognized right now. All those ungrateful assholes clamoring for an autograph and getting pissed off when he asked for a little peace and quiet? No thank you. "Pass."
"Well somewhere else then. Some place quiet. We could lay on the beach and just veg."
He chuckled softly, looking past her to the view of the moonlit beach. "We've got one down there, babe. Why waste money on a trip?"
"Then let's just veg out here— shut out the rest of the world." Frowning, she brought a hand up and rested it against his cheek.
"What?" He sighed, reaching up to tuck her blonde hair behind her ear before running his callused fingers across her furrowed brow. "What's that look for?"
She caught his hand with her own and tilted her head slightly to the side, studying him with an intensity that was almost scary. "Are you happy, Jax? Doing this, I mean. Are you?"
"What else'm I gonna do?" He threw the question back at her and that was a better honest answer than any lie he could have spun.
"Anything," she whispered without hesitation. "Whether it's this you want or something else— you can do it. I've got your back one hundred percent of the way." She'd told him this a hundred times over, but she still meant it just as much as when she'd said it the first time and he'd laughed it off.
His eyes dropped to the belt still resting across his thighs. "This means I can still do it, Lyv. Doesn't it?"
"You wouldn't have that belt if you couldn't. Spyder wouldn't have booked that match between you and JXD for it if he thought you didn't still have it—"
"Reputation's still there, babe. People cling to that and it's not really true anymore. I'm a big name and nothing—"
"Fuck that!" Standing up, she leaned in and kissed the top of his head. "You're still one of the best goddamn wrestlers out there and you damn well know you've still got a hell of a lot of fight left in you! And when you're ready to stop? You'll know it before any of them do, that's for sure."
"I can't let her win." He said the words with conviction, staring down at the raised letters that spelled out his name before running his fingers over them the same way he had the scar earlier, "feels too much like letting the past finally catch up. They said I was shit, I was nothing—"
"And you've held six belts since then, four of them top tier—"
"Doesn't matter." He sighed, "I just— she's fucking terrible, Lyv. She's the worst goddamn bottom-feeding slut I've ever—"
"And you 'll beat her again just like you did in—"
"Don't say it—"
"—you will get her." She placed her fingers gently on his chin and tilted his head up so he had to look in her eyes. "You've got this, Jax, and that belt is proof. Don't think about those other places, okay? Think about now. Think about how you took Bullrush to the limit and came out on top. Think about how you put that asshat out of his misery tonight without even breaking a sweat. You're gonna go out there, mop the floor with that little bitch and when it's all over— I'm going to fuck you like the champion you are." A smirk was playing across her face and there was determination in both her eyes and tone. "You've GOT this."
"I love you," he said softly, "you know that?"
She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. "Without a shadow of a doubt."
"Adam Stryker?" Lyv supplied the first name she could think of and he ignored her completely.
For once he was thankful that his so-called legend status still came with perks like limousine rides even when the company wasn't footing the bill anymore— the way he was feeling, he might have been inclined to go full Grand Theft Auto behind the wheel and start mowing down pedestrians. He stonewalled Alyvia with silence for the rest of the ride, barely even acknowledging her even when they got back to the hotel room they'd been calling home the last few weeks.
Instead he'd gone straight to the kitchenette, raided the freezer, grabbed the chilled bottle of Glenlivet and parked himself on the balcony in silence. He was brooding, chewing at the ragged skin on his chapped lips as he sat there; trying to deny how much his knees ached after only ten minutes of exertion was an exercise in futility, but he was still trying to screw that game face on out of sheer force of habit. He was probably going to have to see the doctor about getting another round of cortisone shots or something because none of the homeopathic hippie bullshit was working anymore. He was broken and that goddamned 'broken-down old man' moniker Kirsta had slapped on him more than SEVEN years ago was actually true. That truth rankled more than it should have and it made him want to break things in the worst, the most childish way imaginable.
Kirsta's gonna see right through it no matter how you try and put the PR spin on it, ol' hoss. Taking the next show off is like a bright RED beacon, a neon sign flashing in the night and that glorified hooker won’t be able to keep herself from jumping all up on your dick to ride you into that very last bang— spent. She's gonna take you out back and put you outta your misery, render you down into glue and a stack of pre-signed 8x10 glossies.
"Fuck off," he growled, clearly talking to himself now but that voice in his head never quit these days when there was no cocktail to dull its sharp wit.
Be honest, chief. You want this. You do. Maybe this is what you've been looking for all along. Legacy didn't get the job done. Chris Madison didn’t put that last nail in your coffin. Spiral’s gone and Columbia was a wash. You want to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe the goddamned Hellcat will do what nobody else could. Think about it—
"Aw, hell no. Not her. Never her." He stared down at the belt in his lap, looking at his own distorted features in the reflection. The last time he'd been the first to hold a belt had been the TV Title back in HOW, back in 2011— a shiny little bauble gifted to him by Lee Best inside a briefcase in a match that he'd been handpicked to win. This belt though? It hadn't been some bullshit prize. He'd legitimately fought for it and dropping it to that smarmy little cunt seemed like the worst thing imaginable. Thinking about Kirsta Lewis had his mind circling back over the shittiest things in his past. Georgie Nickles and TFWF. Ryann Hardy. Lee Best. That rat-infested, garbage-filled solitary confinement cell on Alcatraz— "fuck no. Not that."
Think about the rats.
His fingers stole up to the puckered scar on his shoulder and he dug them into it, tracing the edges as a way to bring himself back to the present. The scars were part of it all, even when the holes in his memory were huge enough to lose himself inside. He remembered Tyler Boyd, remembered CWC and the old days in PWX— another title in the long list that used to mean something before the bottom had dropped out.
"Jax?" Lyv's voice was so soft he didn't even hear her. He was lost in the roar of that crowd and the remembrance of the look of utter disgust on Christopher America's face right before that metal pole came slamming down. He wasn't dead inside their ring, impaled with the American flag. He was still lacing up his boots, still doing what he'd always been the best at.
A small sound shattered his reverie and he looked up to find his wife standing in front of him, obscuring the view. Lyv's arms were wrapped around herself as though she was chilled in the humid air. Her brow was furrowed, her hand frozen in the action of reaching out to touch him as her eyes locked on his. A brittle smile was on her lips in a second and she did her best to keep it from going sour. "Honey? Do you wanna come in where it's cool? I could run you a shower or something." The concern for Jax was clearly in her eyes and the need to reach out and touch him was there as well but she seemed more cautious than usual. "Maybe order up some food?"
He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to get a read on that subtle little hesitation but her book was in another language tonight and he gave up with a frustrated sigh. "Not hungry. I'd kill for a fuckin' cigarette right now though, if I'm being honest."
Nodding, Lyv leaned back against the balcony's banister, looking down at her husband, "I can go out and get you some if you really want." When he was like this, there wasn't much she would deny him.
He shook his head. "No. I've gone this long without. I can do it." He didn't bother to tell her that he'd smoked one a few weeks ago from a stale-as-fuck pack he'd found in the side pocket of his gear bag. He didn't bother to mention how much it had made him cough to the point where he'd ended up puking. Some things she didn't need to know— weakness was at the top of that list. "I asked Spyder to keep me off the books for next show."
"How come?" She was still, looking at him.
"Need a break," he muttered, breaking eye contact. It was a lie and if she was paying attention, she'd probably call him on it, too. "Show after that's gonna be the DVD taping... first defense so I gotta rest up, prepare."
"Uh huh." It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him something else, but she fought the urge. Walking towards him, she knelt in front of him and rested her hands on his knees. She heard the hiss of air between his teeth and then she knew. The pain was back again. "Baby?"
His blue-blue eyes were so bright they almost looked black in the poor light as he stared at her. His voice belied his exhaustion, coming out as a gravelly rasp. "What, Lyv?"
Looking up into that face of his she loved so much, Lyv exhaled deeply and decided to let it drop. "If you're off for the week, why don't we take a trip? Us and Christian... kind of a vacation to recharge? Disney, maybe?"
He shook his head, thinking of the crowds and how little he wanted to be recognized right now. All those ungrateful assholes clamoring for an autograph and getting pissed off when he asked for a little peace and quiet? No thank you. "Pass."
"Well somewhere else then. Some place quiet. We could lay on the beach and just veg."
He chuckled softly, looking past her to the view of the moonlit beach. "We've got one down there, babe. Why waste money on a trip?"
"Then let's just veg out here— shut out the rest of the world." Frowning, she brought a hand up and rested it against his cheek.
"What?" He sighed, reaching up to tuck her blonde hair behind her ear before running his callused fingers across her furrowed brow. "What's that look for?"
She caught his hand with her own and tilted her head slightly to the side, studying him with an intensity that was almost scary. "Are you happy, Jax? Doing this, I mean. Are you?"
"What else'm I gonna do?" He threw the question back at her and that was a better honest answer than any lie he could have spun.
"Anything," she whispered without hesitation. "Whether it's this you want or something else— you can do it. I've got your back one hundred percent of the way." She'd told him this a hundred times over, but she still meant it just as much as when she'd said it the first time and he'd laughed it off.
His eyes dropped to the belt still resting across his thighs. "This means I can still do it, Lyv. Doesn't it?"
"You wouldn't have that belt if you couldn't. Spyder wouldn't have booked that match between you and JXD for it if he thought you didn't still have it—"
"Reputation's still there, babe. People cling to that and it's not really true anymore. I'm a big name and nothing—"
"Fuck that!" Standing up, she leaned in and kissed the top of his head. "You're still one of the best goddamn wrestlers out there and you damn well know you've still got a hell of a lot of fight left in you! And when you're ready to stop? You'll know it before any of them do, that's for sure."
"I can't let her win." He said the words with conviction, staring down at the raised letters that spelled out his name before running his fingers over them the same way he had the scar earlier, "feels too much like letting the past finally catch up. They said I was shit, I was nothing—"
"And you've held six belts since then, four of them top tier—"
"Doesn't matter." He sighed, "I just— she's fucking terrible, Lyv. She's the worst goddamn bottom-feeding slut I've ever—"
"And you 'll beat her again just like you did in—"
"Don't say it—"
"—you will get her." She placed her fingers gently on his chin and tilted his head up so he had to look in her eyes. "You've got this, Jax, and that belt is proof. Don't think about those other places, okay? Think about now. Think about how you took Bullrush to the limit and came out on top. Think about how you put that asshat out of his misery tonight without even breaking a sweat. You're gonna go out there, mop the floor with that little bitch and when it's all over— I'm going to fuck you like the champion you are." A smirk was playing across her face and there was determination in both her eyes and tone. "You've GOT this."
"I love you," he said softly, "you know that?"
She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. "Without a shadow of a doubt."
