Chapter Twenty-One (The Addict) [OWF]

My name is Jax. Most people call me that – I call myself that because I hate my first name and my middle name belongs to my father so I go by Jackson when I'm wrestling – professionally – I guess that's how I ended up here, really. I... I've listened to everything and I feel like a huge piece of garbage right now so I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to say. You all have these incredibly sad stories and I don't want to take that from any of you. I don't. So let me start over. Can I do that?

Twelve step programs were never his thing. Making plans, making long term goals and mapping everything out to the finest detail was, though, so it wasn't much of a mental shift. On February 21st, it had been two years clean and he'd celebrated that milestone in silence. It had taken him seven days in those circle-jerk group sessions, with everyone talking about what they'd done to end up there. Meth heads with scabs and rotten teeth. The Patrick Bateman lookalike with the coke twitches. The mousy little girl who said she'd been grinding up her little brother's ADHD meds and snorting them for years. He'd sat back and judged them all, weighing his story against theirs like it was another sad-as-fuck dick-measuring contest. So many things were these days, as if comparing damage was the new trend. It was. Fucking millennials. They all had tattoos now. They all had those giant plastic disks in their earlobes big enough to shoot basketballs through and these manufactured bullshit soap opera lives. Tragic hero backstories, these cute little blurbs perfect to put on the back of a novel as a teaser, but nothing of actual substance he could sink teeth into.

A sigh passed his lips, eyes feeling gummy when he closed them, even though he'd showered at the arena until the water had run ice cold. He still felt dirty. Gritty, like the grime of a thousand years of crawling through the dust and the muck was still oozing from his pores. The sound of the tires humming on the interstate was calming, a sort of Zen that served as a balm to his tattered psyche – the open road had been a thing before he'd started up the frequent flyer, jet-setting superstar shtick that had made him a household name for so many years. He'd insisted on hiring the limousine – regardless of outcome – because the thought of getting doped up on Xanax to the point of incoherent on the heels of another bullshit cage match was too much to even fathom. He wasn't sure he could take it right now. He'd spun it as a sort of reward, promised Missy champagne and strawberries like they were royalty of some kind, knowing she could read him well enough to pick up the subtext beyond the words spilling out of his mouth. Habits were so hard to break, some things ingrained in him for so long that they were nearly reflex. Deflect. Redirect.

Her nails tickled against his scalp, her lap warm under his head, softer than the seat under his aching back. "Oregon next week," he muttered, only because he had to keep that reminder in the forefront. "Sunday, I think – Easter? Who the fuck books a show on a holiday weekend?" He wished he'd never signed up for the damn tournament, knowing that he wouldn't have opted not to if given the mulligan – his ego, that desperate need to crush and maim and claw his way to the top to plant that metaphorical flag so deeply ingrained in his damned lizard brain it was like breathing. Like blinking. He did, a few times, feeling his lashes stick before lifting one hand to rub the gunk from the corners of his eyes. "Guess it's better than chocolate and that plastic grass and..." he fell silent again, looking up at Missy. From this vantage point, she was still gorgeous but different, like the Mona Lisa reimagined by Salvador Dali – the same but slightly altered in a way that gave him pause. His breath caught, the hint of a smile curving his lips.

Hi. I'm Jax. I'm an addict.

"Not so big on holiday junk, baby." Missy murmured, her fingers gently massaging his scalp. Her eyes half closed, he knew her well enough to get she was going over in her head the whole match he'd endured. She tried a smile, a bare curve of those lush lips. "Got my mind on things better than chocolate."

"Mmm," it was so easy to fall into that banter with her, slipping into that like throwing on a perfectly broken-in pair of shoes. "Do tell, Miss. What's in that gorgeous brain of yours, hmm?"

"Getting my hands all over you. The ultimate full body massage." Missy bit her lip, releasing it slowly to seem teasing. "I'd hide a few gold stars for you, too. My bad ass man." Her voice lowered to an almost murmur.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Only he would have noticed that tremor she tried to hide by lowering her voice.

Jackson lifted his hand, trying to pretend it wasn't shaking and the fingertips weren't so numb that the contact with the curve of her cheek gave him pins-and-needles. "Hey," his voice came out as low as hers, gently, almost cautiously probing. His first thought was that she'd seen something watching on the screens, seen some horrible fuck-up that he'd be dealing with going forward. "What?"

"I felt like such a bitch." She didn't raise her voice, and her fingers didn't stop their soothing motion for an instant. "Because this time you didn't fall like...before. This time, you got to show that little twunt Ana she's never going to be near what you are...and I know baby, she's like this fucking dumbass lamb that put on his owner's helmet and now thinks he's a bad mama-jamma or some lame shit but some people. They aren't ever going to be what they want, and Jesus Christ that fucking sucks. Speaking from experience."

Her voice trailed off, and she shifted just enough in the seat so she could press a light kiss to his forehead, her lips cool against the heat of his skin. When she sat up her eyes shone suspiciously. "But having that bit of sympathy, didn't stop me from wanting to kill her after, for trying to take this from you. And I don't mean that belt, Jax. I just need to learn to stop feeling so homicidal towards people that do that, because I understand this is what you need to do. I just grit my teeth and smile, when you know deep down I'd rather erase them."

"Not a fan of Orange Is The New Black," he replied, forcing a smile that did nothing to banish the pain and exhaustion written all over his face. "She can try, they all can try, but what's there to take from me? I mean, really. Realistically?" His shoulders twitched in a parody of a shrug, fingers splayed against his stomach now as he tried to force the stiffness from them. "What can they take that I'm not putting out there on display? Pride? Reputation? That fuckin' spotlight that does nothing but burn me every goddamn time? I dunno, Miss... what do you think they can actually take?"

She thought about it for a moment, considering not dodging his question. Missy could have done a million things right then to distract him, but she felt he needed this more than a minor endorphin rush. "They could take your exit." She paused, closing her eyes and her lashes made strangely pretty shadows on her cheeks until she blinked them open again. "You're the only one that should determine how you want to go out. This isn't that fucked up thing the Spartan women were supposed to say when their men went off to war either, Jax. I'm not going to hand you a sword and tell you to come back carrying your shield or on it... this isn't that. And yeah, part of me knows you don't want to ever stop, because you have this clawing thing that tells you from the spot it's crouched that you'll never have enough. Like it's whispering in your ear. But this is yours to have, Jax. You can do it, how you want it, unless some dumbass takes it from you."

He pulled in a deep breath.

I've been an addict for years because there's a hole inside me. It's always been there. It's always going to be there and I used to go out there with the intention of breaking myself, like this suicidal swan dive off the cliffs, into the rocks as the ultimate act of defiance. I was always in pain. I had to take more and more and more to just keep that at bay and now I'm slipping. I can't stop. I've ruined everything I've ever touched and I hate myself so damn much.

"Miss," his voice splintered, shattered before he ever got that single syllable out. "Fuck. Baby... that's not..." he couldn't even bring himself to put that lie into words. There was no misdirection here because she was right. They could take that from him. He could wake up tomorrow and not be able to walk. He could die in the middle of the night from some undiagnosed bloodclot. He could end up with cancer from all the years of smoking. "I've got a reason to push back," he licked his lips, staring up at her, wondering just what she was seeing on his face. "I do. Not this fuckin' belt or this company or winning that goddamned tournament. Honestly? I could find something else to fill that hole. I could give the beast something else to claw at, something else to chew on. Exit stage left and none of those fucks would miss me for a second but I won't because this is who I am. This is the only thing... this is all I do. All I'm ever going to be good at. So it goes. But that's not the exit I care about, Miss. You get what I'm saying?"

"Jax." A soft murmur, as she inhaled a breath in that way that usually meant she was going to yell, but she let it out slow. He'd know anyway, he knew her better than anyone ever had but then he was the only one to ever get let in that far. "Kills me a little, when you sell yourself short that way. I mean I know, what you're saying. I do get it, baby... I swear to Christ I fucking get this and you know I won't lie to you even if I could. But I could also name more than a few things you're better than just good at even though..." She broke off for a second with a little smile that seemed to surprise her. "Well you're not going to be making a living doing any of that because you're mine and I don't share well with others. I'm just telling you, that ...shit." She blinked her eyes rapidly, and turned her face to look out the window instead of down at him. Trying hard to not let a single tear get past her lashes, because she never wanted to be the sort of woman that would use something like that to win a fight. "Look, I don't give a flying fuck about those people, or who else might miss you or any of that. Why do you have to do anything, baby? Just be. It could be enough, because you are." She shook her head, still looking away. "Let me be clear, I mean for me Jax. I know goddamn well you couldn't sit on a deck chair in Miami poolside drinking beers and ogling me in swimsuits for more than a week before you got antsy."

"Two, tops." He replied, the laugh that came on the heels of that sad and bitter. "There are always going to be holes inside me, Miss. That's not something I can change. And we can maybe patch those up, we can maybe renovate and slap on a fresh coat of paint and to everyone else, it'll pass muster. I'm sure of that. But the weakness will always be there and when the quakes come, the damage will show. I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to be reduced to some stupid-as-fuck meme with a picture of a vase and some inspiration quote about how they fix things in Japan because damage has value. It doesn't. I don't want to be the one waving that like a goddamned flag. So, this... this doesn't..." he couldn't even finish the thought, lapsing into silence before he started tearing into her for have the nerve to feel too deeply. That aversion, the way she was still staring out at the scenery made him feel low.

I hate myself because I'm never going to be good enough to live up to an unrealistic and completely vague expectation that has been hanging over my head for damn close to forty years. I'm broken. I've always been and I guess part of standing up here today means that I'm self-aware enough to realize that.

"Missy." His voice was hoarse, strained past the lump in his throat and he wanted so badly to sit up and pull her into his lap but he knew he was still too overworked to move. "Baby. Don't do this to yourself."

She took a breath, lifting up one hand to wipe under her eyes before she turned her face back to him. Missy started to say something then took a breath before pulling his t-shirt up so she could use the soft material to dab the rest of the tears off her face. She sat up with a sigh, and shook her head. "I know, dammit. I know. But you know what, you... I was going to yell, but I can't and it's all because you said one fucking word at me I can't ...you said, we. That's ...I can't hear that, and goddamn I know, and I fucking love you and that's all that matters."

"We." He said it again, eyes closing as he ran his hand over the damp spots on his shirt, knowing they were his fault for pushing her buttons when he hadn't really meant to. "Are solid, Miss. You know that. I know you know that. And I'm not... I'm not pulling away from you. I'm not going to let go, not going to let you fall. I just don't want to be that cinderblock tied to your ankle that pulls you under. One of us has to..." he sighed, pressing his hands into the seat cushions on either side of himself before lifting his left to grab the backrest, clawing his way upright with a groan. Turning, he leaned forward, putting his feet on the floor, letting his head hang as his elbows dug into his thighs. "I'm just talking shit. All this garbage in my head, stirred up, swirling around and maybe it's gotta be purged. I don't know. I just..." he sighed again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't baby, don't be. You do need to get that all out, and it matters to me that you can. But you got something wrong, and Jax you need to really listen to me. You're not the fucking cinderblock, Jax. You're the lifejacket. You've never pulled me down, you've given me things no one else has and I don't mean a million goddamn orgasms but it wouldn't be a lie..." Her lips quirked just a little as she reached over to lay a hand gently on his shoulder. "I know, you'll never let me fall. If I slip, you'll tackle me right back on the roof and never let me go. I know this. So don't you forget that. Jesus Christ." She suddenly bit her lip, thinking back to that nightmare she'd had months back, but let it go and shook her head again. "You know what I'm sorry about? Not meeting you before. As fucking stupid as that sounds, because the moment you caught me with those blue eyes... fuck that sounds sappy as hell. Never mind. I mean... it's not like you don't know."

I am an addict. I'm always going to be an addict. I am not defined by my mistakes, by my relapses. I am defined by my commitment to keep trying as long as it takes to get clean and stay that way. My name is Jackson and I... I need to be sober.

"I know." The words were muffled by his hands as he lifted them to his face and for a moment he just sat there, breathing in deeply through the gap between his palms. When they finally fell away, he turned his head slowly, feeling his neck pop with the movement. "Sic transit gloria." He said the words softly, "glory fades. And it's not you I worry about when it does, Miss. I believe you when you tell me you'll stay." He fell silent, letting that linger for so long that he really didn't even need to articulate the last part. "I worry what I'll do when it does."