Cocaine

Ryann arrived at Imbir Restaurant exactly on time. Strangely enough, she was there before Jackson, which she discovered looking around the room for his familiar face before she let the hostess lead her to a seat. She informed the woman that she was waiting for someone and gave a description of Jax before the woman walked away to fill her drink order. She soon received water and a glass of wine as she sat there, waiting, glancing out the window. It wasn't long before Jackson walked through the door, and the hostess led him back to her table. The contrast between now, and the last time she'd been out to dinner with him was like night and day. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and clearly hadn't spent more than ten seconds getting ready. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of a black hooded sweatshirt, and his jeans looked like he'd slept in them. He took the seat across from hers, failing to meet her eyes as he did so.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice more hoarse than usual, "sorry I'm late."

She looked him over, her brows lifting as she peered at him. She wasted no time in asking, "What happened to you?"

He cleared his throat, ripping away a piece of ragged skin from his chapped lip with his teeth. Clearly he was avoiding the directness of the question.

She slid the water across the table and said, "here... "

He lifted his hand from beneath the table, reaching for the water. It wasn't until his fingers closed over the glass, and he splashed some of it on the table before getting it up to his lips that she noticed how badly it was shaking. He took a small sip of the water. "Nothin' happened." He set the glass back down, staring at her, almost defiantly. "I'm here... you're here... should be a great time." He barely bit back the sarcasm, as if it mattered. He knew the old 'fuck you' talk was waiting in the wings. That was the only reason he'd showed up in the first place. Just one last moment to see her beautiful face before she kicked him to the curb.

She sighed and shook her head, she didn't want to start an argument and she could hear the tone and feel the emotions bubbling in his mind. She could tell he was making no effort to keep her out of his head. Pushing away from the table, she stood and told him, "I'm not going to sit here if all we're going to do is fight."

"Ry." He shook his head. "Don't go. Please... don't." Reduced to begging already. Great. He couldn't help himself. She'd been here for ten seconds already, and he wasn't about to lose her again. Not that fast. Two weeks since he'd last seen her. Just the sight of her right now was enough to make his chest hurt. Today had been bad. He hadn't slept more than an hour or two, and it was killing him now. He was craving a cigarette violently. He could smell it in the air, and it was making him angry. "Sit down, baby. I'm sorry."

She stopped, and looked down at him. Blinking a couple times, she returned to her seat and continued to look at him as though she was trying to dissect him. "Fine. If you want me to stay, you need to start being honest with me. What's wrong with you, besides the obvious stuff going on with me, you and Mark?"

"Truth or dare," he replied, reaching up with one shaking hand to scratch the back of his head. "You going to tell me what the hell's going on with you?"

Sighing heavily, she shook her head, "There's nothing going on with me, Brad, really. Why is it so hard to believe that?" She took a sip of the wine, "why can't you just accept it?"

He sighed, finally broaching the subject that was on his mind when they were on the phone. "Drugs, Ry?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Since when do you take anything harder than Tylenol?"

"Since when do you care?" she replied, checking her nails absently, "just means now you'll have someone else you can snort the shit with. Not like I need it, Jax… it was just a little bit of fun. What's the big deal?"

"Special K's addictive, babe..." he looked away from her. "And so is coke..." he laughed bitterly, "haven't had any since the night with the hospital thing... haven't had... anything. If you're gonna be snorting it, you'll have to..." he broke off, shivering suddenly. His hands clenched into fists, and he looked back into her face. "Fuck it, Ry. Why don't you just tell me what you came here to say and get it over with? I get what you're trying to do. You want me to know that I don't own you... good, great... I know. I know that you hate who you are when you're with me. He makes you feel young and free. I know that you're not mine. I have to deal with that every time I wake up in the middle of the night alone."

"Why are you shivering so mu-..." She stopped suddenly, furrowing her brows, she blinked absently as she realized what he'd said. "Wait, you quit? All of it?"

"Yeah," he admitted, "I'm not as cool as he is now. Body looks great though, since all I've been doing is working out, and puking." He rolled his eyes, "you'd think you would have figured it out sooner. I was a little messed up the last time you saw me. Guess you were too busy messaging him to notice."

She shook her head, "I haven't been the fairest in all of this to either of you, but maybe you'll start to notice that I'm not the same kid I was. I'm so tired of living in that shadow, Jax, I really am. I'm not some cutesy goody-goody, but that doesn't mean you should stop doing what you've been doing all along."

"Shadow? Fuck that, Ryann. You're not the kid you were when we met. I already know that. You're a grown woman. Is that what this is? Are you trying to prove yourself wrong... or me? I know who you are." He winced as a pain stabbed through his stomach. He'd probably be in the restroom dry heaving soon enough. "Don't you remember that fight, the night in the car... back when we were in that GCW place? You told me that I needed to quit. I changed for you..." he sighed, looking away. He felt a prickle in his sinuses. Damned if he was going to start to cry in public, let alone in front of her. "I just want to be good enough for you, Ry. I want you to need me like you used to. Why can't you... just..." he fell completely silent, staring down at his white knuckles.

"I don't know, Brad..." She almost knew what he was going to say, and answered him, despite him not finishing the sentence. She made a face and then said, "I'm here now though, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he muttered, "for how long? How much more stolen time do I get? How much... closeness are you going to give me before you run back to him, and rip me apart on your precious Twitter? How many hours will you grant me now before you go back to his bed, and his huge cock that makes you so happy?" The words were vulgar, but he couldn't dial back the hurt. Every part of his body ached, for her, because of her. He shook his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he looked at her. She could tell just how much damage her actions had done to him. "I don't want your hate, Ry. Can we... can... you... just go back to loving me like you used to? Fuck it… don't answer that. I can already read it all over your face." Before she could answer, he pushed to his feet, eyes moving over the interior of the restaurant before he spotted the sign in the back corner, indicating where the restrooms were. A split second later he was gone, moving swiftly in that direction.

She was lost for words, but wouldn't have had time to say anything before he'd run off anyways. Her head turned, following him and seeing him disappear. Chewing on her lip, she pushed up from the table and made a move to follow him. She didn't even heed the image of a male on the door before she pushed it open. Good thing it was empty, save for the sound at the end of the stalls. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him get sick, and something took over as she made her way to him. Taking her place at his side, she did what she could to console him, rubbing her hand over his back trying to comfort him, if even just a little. She could feel the tremors wracking his body as he coughed a few times, spitting a wad of sour phlegm into the bowl. "You didn't have to come back here," he said finally, his voice stripped of all emotions but pain.

She nodded, "I know, but yet... Here I am, just the same." She didn't stop moving her hand, caressing and rubbing his back. She wasn't pushing or rushing him. She simply let him take his time with what his body needed to do.

He heaved a few more times, nothing coming up but a bit of drool before he reached up and grabbed the handle, flushing the toilet. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sure this isn't as romantic as Disneyland…" she could hear the jealousy in his voice, buried under the rasp of his raw throat.

"Stop... Just stop," she told him, sitting on her knees on the tiled floor of the bathroom, "do you feel any better? Do you want to leave?"

"If you want to eat we can stay." He looked up at her, his eyes more bloodshot than they were before. Tears were drying on his cheeks, likely brought on by the vomiting. He'd never admit otherwise. "I just... can't. I'm sorry, Ry... I should have canceled, but I had to see you."

She shook her head, "I don't want you more uncomfortable than you are. I can eat later. We need to get you back to your hotel room."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak past the catch in his throat. Pushing up off the floor, he leaned against the wall of the stall for support as his head started to spin. Her hands reached out and steadied him, pushing against his sweaty chest. His eyes opened, fixing on her, dazzlingly blue as they bored into hers. "I love you so much, Ry." He lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I can't even tell you how hard these last few weeks have been. This stupid competition. I don't want to try to buy your love. I shouldn't have to." He fell silent for a long while, eyes closing again. "Don't leave me."

For the first time in a couple weeks, Ryann looked conflicted, she felt so sorry for Jackson and knew he was doing this to prove a point. Holding him up with her hands firmly against his chest, she just took in the feel of his hand on her face. Looking upwards some with her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she mumbled, "it's not that easy, Brad." Shaking her head, she looked down and licked her bottom lip, "I don't want to fall right back into who I was, and I know if I come back to you, that's what's going to happen."

"I never asked you to be something you're not." He said, letting his eyes close as he took a few deep breaths through his nose, trying to steady himself. "What's wrong with who you were, Ry?"

"I'm tired of being looked at like that, I'm sick of your friends, and people around me, pushing me around. Looking at me like I'm some rug or something. I'm so sick of being walked all over because I don't stand up for myself." She swallowed and stopped a moment, looking back up at him, "I'm so sick of being a goody-goody."

"You're not that, Ry... you're a decent person. Running around and doing what you've been doing... isn't... fuck. Are you serious? Is that what this is about? Some stupid fucking image you've got in your head about how people see you?" He sighed. "I never fell in love with you because you were a goody-goody little girl. You were my... shit, I don't even know how to say this..." He let his hand drop away from her face. "You're so much more than that, Ryann. You're the girl who's broken my heart and fixed it in a million ways since we met. You're the girl who cried for days when she accidentally ruined a life in that ring. You're the reason I wake up in the morning with the desire to endure another day. You're the girl who's always gone to bat for me when the world's been more than happy to shit on my head..." He took a step back from her, sadness in his eyes. "You're the one who pushed me out the fucking door. You're the one who stood there in Kyoto in that restaurant, and had the backbone to tell me it was over- that you just wanted to be… friends." He made a disgusted noise, and turned away from her, shouldering past her to get out of the stall. He crossed to the sink, cranking on the cold faucet and splashing the water on his face. His eyes met hers in the reflection as he stood there with water dripping down his features. "So that's it then. This is my fault. I made you into a doormat. I made you weak, and Marky-Mark's putting the wind back in those sails with his drugs and good times..." He laughed bitterly, "fuck that."

She took a few steps forward after him, watching his reflection in the mirror for a moment or two before she said, "I didn't say that. You have nothing to do with who I am, or was, or anything like that." She sighed and put her hands on his back, "everything I am, and I've done, has been on my shoulders, but... It's all been things I've done with you. Don't you think I needed to figure it out? So what, I did things with Mark that I never did with you. It's not a big deal, but that doesn't mean you have to try and prove a point to me by stopping everything cold turkey. Christ sakes, your body can't take that."

"I wasn't proving a point to you. You weren't even here." He snapped defensively, his voice dropping low. "I was proving a point to myself. I'm the one who's weak. You leave... and I... fuck, it doesn't matter. What's done is done. Eight fucking days, Ryann..." he shook his head, "it's been eight days since I had a cigarette... or a drink... all I've done is sit in a room, watching shit on the television that makes no sense, and watching your little messages flash by on my screen. You want to feel bad, fuck off. I'm not trying to make myself into a martyr. That's your deal." He turned around, catching her wrists before she could pull away. He set her hands over his heart, holding them there. "The only thing keeping me here is you. My heart beats because of you. It breaks because of you. I just wanted you to stay. I wanted to make everything work. If that's not who you are anymore, I'll just have to accept it. Stop being fuckin' pathetic and lowering myself to these levels. Groveling. I can't go back to the ranch. Sat there when you left trying to figure out how the place was different. Same room we laughed in- that we made love in now feels like a suffocating wound of sorrow and depression." He sighed softly, shaking his head. "Listen to me. God, the shit that I keep saying like it's going to magically fix this. Put a band-aid over a severed limb. Fuckin' stupid."

Her eyes searched his as she stood there quietly, she was looking for something, thought it remained unsaid as to what that actually was. She didn't move her hands from his, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes were stormy at best as she stood there, and without saying anything to reply to what he'd just said to her, she pulled her hands out from under his own and slipped them around his neck, pulling up onto her toes and pressing herself close to him. She didn't say anything, she couldn't.

"Talk to me," he ground out, staring down at her. "Tell me..." he blinked finally, out of necessity, his eyes watering again, the tears mingling with the water still dripping from his face. "Tell me where the hell I went wrong."

She shook her head, "I don't know, but it's not just you. Somewhere something happened to me. I couldn't stop it, and I don't want to. I need to figure it out. I... I promise, by the end of the week, I'll make my final decision."

"Come back to the hotel with me?" He said the words softly, closing his eyes as he began to shiver again. "I need more than a few hours, Ry. Just... stay with me tonight and pretend like everything's perfect... can we do that?"

She furrowed her brows a little, thinking. She had just spent nearly two weeks with Mark, along with his kids, Maria and his friends. Sighing softly, she nodded, "alright. Only if you promise me something."

He didn't bother to lift his head, or open his eyes. "Anything you want." He said the words softly, almost a tortured whisper as he struggled to hold himself in check.

"Don't keep going cold turkey like this," she chewed on her lip, and then continued, "I can't keep watching you be sick like this."

"Fine." He looked up at her then, and she could see how broken he really was. He leaned against her for a moment, resting his chin atop her head before pulling back. "Let's go then. I need to get out of here before..." the rest was better left unsaid. He could smell the aromas of food, and it was turning his stomach again. Ryann let him leave the room first, slipping out after him. Grabbing her things from the table, she moved to the register and paid for what she'd had before following him out into the cold. She kept close to him, her arm wrapped around his waist as they made their way towards their hotel.


"You disgust me," Petrov's voice was as harsh as a whipcrack as he kicked Jackson in the ribs, waking him from his passed out slumber on the couch in his office.

The last thing Jackson remembered was the knock on his hotel room door, about a half an hour after Ryann had disappeared from his bed. He thought she was coming back with food, and had forgotten her key. Probably should have looked through the peephole before opening the door. Love had rendered him both stupid and blind. Instead he'd been greeted by Pasha's meat hook fist crashing against his face, breaking his nose for the thousandth time.

Jackson tumbled to the floor, limbs still numb enough that he didn't break his fall. The wind was driven from his lungs as his stomach clenched painfully. Petrov's Italian loafer moved through his field of vision again, connecting with his stomach again.

Don't puke. Don't puke.

The mantra failed, and he made a gagging sound before the stream of bitter bile came from between his lips, barely missing Petrov's shoe. He heaved again, feeling the pain twisting in his guts. His arms shook as he tried to push away from the soiled carpet, but Pasha's boot caught him in the back, driving him face down into the wet, stinking carpet.

"You make me sick, Comrade Jackson. I give you this golden opportunity. You can get perfect revenge, and this is the way you repay me." Petrov knelt beside Jackson, grabbing a handful of the hair at the back of his head and lifting his face from the floor. Puke rolled down Jackson's cheek, mingling with the blood that was still dripping sluggishly from his broken nose.

"Haven't done anything to you," Jackson muttered, eyes closing as he clamped his lips shut. Petrov felt Jackson's shudder as his stomach clenched again. He almost admired the man's control as he managed to contain his vomit, swallowing hard.

"What is this I see then, hmmm?" Petrov released Jackson's head, letting the man roll away from his bodily waste. "What is this I hear about my best fighter being sick? What is this I see? You have dropped twenty pounds since your last fight. You think this does not concern me?"

"I'm fine." Jackson mumbled, wiping his hand down his cheek to sluice off the sickness. "Just a little flu bug."

"I do not appreciate the lies, Jackson." Petrov chuckled, his eyes moving to the goons around the room that clearly had their weapons pointed at Jackson's head. "I could have you killed right now. I could kill your girl."

"Maybe you should." He said, touching his nose with probing fingers. It had been broken enough for him to know that it was again. Before Petrov could say something else, Jackson grabbed the bridge of his nose and jerked it to the left. More blood flowed down from his nostrils, over his lips, but he did nothing to stop it, simply glaring up at Petrov with those dead black eyes.

"It is not O-K." Petrov said with a sigh, turning his back on the former Heavyweight Champion. "I am expecting certain things from our agreement, and if you do not follow this one through for me I will be very disappointed."

"I'll win." Jackson replied in that same hollow voice. "I'll hurt him. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"You cannot promise me that. Not when you can barely stand up. Not when Pasha can get so lucky to put you down with one shot." The Russian scoffed, "you will make me promise, right now. You will do this for me, or I will go down to women's locker room and kill her right now." Before Jackson could object, Petrov snapped his fingers and his female bodyguard moved out of the shadows, following him out into the hall.

"Wait!" Jackson's voice broke on the word, but it was useless as Petrov was already gone, leaving him alone with Pasha, and two other faceless, nameless Russian thugs. "Shit."

A small part of him almost hoped that Petrov would put a bullet in his head, or in Ryann's. It might make things easier. He leaned back against the couch, breathing shallowly through his mouth. Everything swam in his vision, sparking with red and black as he tried not to pass out. He was fighting in less than an hour. He needed to get his shit together.

His hands shook as he tried to flex his fingers, trying to make fists. With effort he lifted his head, looking at Pasha. "Give me a cigarette."

A moment later a pack of some unidentifiable Russian shit fell into his lap, accompanied by a book of matches with a naked woman on the cover. He pulled one out and slipped it between his lips, barely able to light it. The first match when out. So did the second. Steadying the third with both hands, he finally dragged the sickeningly sweet smoke into his lungs. The first exhale was a sigh of near bliss. Despite the pain in his body and the ache in his guts, the head rush was awesome.

He smoked it down to the filter in silence, and then followed it with another. He was midway through a third when Petrov returned to the office. He could smell the man's expensive cologne.

"I did not kill her." Petrov's voice was soft as he looked down at Jackson with a mixture of pity and anger.

"Goody." Jackson snapped, looking up at Petrov, only to find himself watching with detachment as a baggie of cocaine flew through the air and hit him in the chest.

"Do I need to force you to do it? I'm sure Pasha would love to."

Jackson snorted loudly, pulling the bloody snot from his nose and spitting it on the floor. "Fuck you." Through sheer force of will he pushed up to his feet, the baggie sticking against his sweaty palm as he moved towards the desk in the corner. He could feel the guns on him as he dumped out the white powder there, dividing it into lines with the edge of the cigarette box. Plugging one nostril with his finger, he snorted two lines with his chin dragging against the wood, rubbing it raw through the sweaty stubble. The rest went up the other before he let his head fall back, tilting it to look at Petrov.

"You want me to break the kid, get me a fuckin' drink… and somewhere I can shower. Now."

Famous last words.