006: Pessimistic Lines [OCW, Block Party Tournament Finals]

MY PESSIMISTIC LINES are probably going to end up etched on a tombstone, the worst sort of epitaph to leave behind. I went for a walk tonight and I stayed out there to watch the sun come up. I saw it peek over the horizon before the clouds rolled in, choked out that new day glory before I could really witness it – I guess I needed to know that the world was still turning after I did the unthinkable. Is that strange? I feel like a tourist in my own life, memory running out on my phone because I have to capture everything and preserve it in this time capsule of electronic parts and glass. We watch the world through those little screens. We experience so much with our eyes downcast while sunrises and sunsets happen regardless if anyone sees them. They don't care. They do their thing, audience or not. Sure, they're beautiful but they serve a purpose of transition, a reminder of the Earth's rotation. We're so tiny compared to that truth, so insignificant. I needed that today. I needed that reset so bad but the clouds were in the way. I needed to see something that wasn't ugly, something that didn't make my heart hurt. Instead I got rained on. I got soaked for my troubles and the longer I lingered, the better that cold deluge felt. 

I feel like there's a message in all this somewhere.

They say acceptance is the last stage, right? Inevitability is something we can't deny. Is that half-full or half-empty thinking? I can't really tell. I can debate on either side and come up with good points. Knowing that I could easily be considered a weak link in this tournament alongside Hall of Famers, Champions and veterans isn't lost on me. I've never held gold. I've never been inducted. I've been busting my hump for years at this singular pursuit and when do you draw the line and start to recognize and separate futility and insanity from perseverance and heart? I don't know where to draw it, let alone what medium to use. Water? Sand? Indelible ink on paper? Do I want it to be permanent? Do I want it to be another tenebrous barrier, set up so I can pretend I'm testing myself? Where does it end?

I don't know. I guess that's what I'm still chasing: the perfect definition of myself.

She woke up from the doze she didn't remember falling into, seeing vague bluish light filtering around the sheer curtains and hearing the white noise hiss of morning traffic on wet pavement. The patter of rain on the roof made her snuggle in deeper under the blankets and then the floor creaked as Max crossed the room. He was walking heavier than he usually did, that hint of a limp a little more pronounced now – she could tell he was exhausted and probably hurting from the match. It didn't help that he was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone. Awkwardly, he unzipped the thin track jacket he had on, letting the warmer air of the room hit his skin even as the discarded coat hit the bottom of the empty hamper with a splat. He wanted her to hear, wanted her to know that he'd snuck out again even after promising he wouldn't.

"What time is it?" Rayna murmured, squinting at the clock through her blurry vision.

"Late." Max replied, "or early, depending on your outlook, I guess. Which one is pessimistic?" His chuckle was as dry as his clothes weren't and he slowly peeled the soaked tee from his body as well. He didn't as much as glance in the direction of the bed, crossing the room with singular intent. There was a coffeemaker on the counter in the bathroom – it was a running joke to him. After so many years spent in hotels, he said it felt weird not to have one there. Now it was actually handy since he didn't have to haul himself back downstairs when he felt like he was going to keel over and die.

It still hadn't sunk in.

He'd beaten Chad Vargas.

He couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror, fearful that it would pull him from the dream-like stupor he was in right now. He felt ten feet tall. Invincible and bulletproof and he rifled through the pods in the bowl, choosing one at random. He popped it into place and pressed the button, listening to the water gurgle and feeling the ache in his bad hand. He flexed his fingers slowly, trying to concentrate as he closed his eyes.

Rayna tossed aside the covers, making her way across the room silently. She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling his tension as he pulled the cup out before the last few drops fell. They splashed on the steel trap, mimicking the rain still pattering against the window as he brought the cup to his lips, still ignoring her as he swallowed a mouthful of warm coffee. It was too sweet, tasting like caramel – he didn't care. It would buy him a few more hours before he had to crash.

She reached for his shoulders, digging her fingers into the knotted muscles, bringing a sigh from between his lips. The cup rattled against the counter, splashing over the side as his hand shook. He pushed it away before he made more of a mess, leaning in lower to rest his arms on either side of the sink. Her deft fingers found all the knots, forcing the tension from his body.

"James Raven, right? That's who you'll face next?"

"August 2017," the words came out softly, "in Defiant – Coral Rose was there too. Raven was on the apron. She came at me with a kendo stick and I dodged. She knocked the wind out of Raven and I rolled her up. I didn't pin him and I doubt he even remembers it happening. He didn't seem like he even cared, like he'd already written the place off. Maybe he could see writing on the wall that none of the rest of us could."

"Maybe he's bad luck."

"Ravens are harbingers," Max straightened up and turned in her embrace, meeting her eyes.

"Then eliminating him is essential," she murmured, running her fingers over his chest to his heart, feeling the coarseness of the hair there. "Let him go back wherever he came from empty-handed and take what you've earned."

"Bunny," he sighed, "I have to get past Raven first. Then past the winner of Bifford and Duce – both incredible talents in their own right. If I can do that… then I have to beat whoever makes it to the final from the other side of things. We're talking three matches. I've never fought that many in the same night in my entire career." His expression was guarded, that muscle flexing in his jaw as he stood there, expecting her to berate him for being pessimistic at the worst time. She said nothing. His eyes fastened on hers while she touched him tentatively at first, growing bolder when he didn't pull away. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks ruddy from sleep. She was so beautiful it took his breath away, making him tear his gaze away from her.

"Shit," he muttered, "don't do that."

"What?" Her hands froze on his shoulders, confusion written all over her face.

"I…" he shivered, goosebumps crawling over his skin.

"You're freezing," she chided, shaking her head. "Were you outside?"

"I took a walk. To…" he bit his lip, looking away from the concern in her eyes, "clear my head." The words were muffled slightly as he tried to keep his teeth from chattering, failing miserably. He felt like a drowned rat. Now that his adrenaline had faded, he could feel the aches that the numbness of that cold downpour had been masking. "I can't do this, Bunny. They're gonna have a heyday when I fail. I don't want to be the laughingstock-"

"Shhh," she put a finger to his lips. "Don't worry about that now." She laced her fingers with his bad hand simply because it was on the side closest to the door. "Come on." She led him over to the bed as if he was an invalid or a child, nothing cruel in those actions whatsoever. She could tell he was on the verge of collapse although she couldn't tell if he was just the exertions of the match taking their toll or his own doubts eating him up from the inside out.

"Come here," she murmured, taking control. Her tiny fingers slipped to the waistband of his damp jeans, unbuttoning them and letting them drop to the floor as well, leaving him in nothing but a pair of briefs. She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him to step back until he was beside the bed. "Get in the bed… under the covers," she ordered, watching while he complied, too exhausted and cold to argue.

She crawled in beside him, settling the blankets in place before she cuddled up to his side, pressing her body against his. "Body heat," she explained, as if he needed it. "I love you," she whispered, kissing his neck. "I don't care if you lose every single match from now until the end of time, Max. I don't think anybody does. Watching you... it gives me so much joy. I don't think you realize that and how much it means for others to see you out there, giving everything you've got so fearlessly and selflessly. It doesn't matter if your hand is raised in victory."

"Actually, it-"

"No. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"You think James Raven is worried about this?"

"I think he'd be crazy not to be." Rayna said, stroking Max's cheek gently. "I think he needs to make sure his insurance is paid up and he's got all his affairs in order – you’re gonna make what you did to Choad Vargas look like child's play."

He couldn't help the ghost of a smile at the joke on Vargas' name. It was fitting, after all. "Sure. He's probably shitting his pants right now at the prospect of another trip up Cripple Creek with no paddles in a leaky canoe. He doesn't have the excuse of someone else taking the fall this time."

"That's the spirit!"

He tried to keep the banter going, trading quips until his eyes got heavy and his voice started to fade. Anything was better than the numb certainty that he was in over his head. He tried to hold her faith close, to feel the warmth where she was pressed against him and know that somehow, some way, this one good thing was still going strong. He wanted to tell her that he believed her, that he had faith in himself and his talent – he knew this was what he'd been working at for so very long. To finally have it here and deny that it had been earned felt cheap. It felt wrong. He wanted to say a thousand things but instead he just closed his eyes, feeling the heat of her skin against his own. It was too easy to drift off right then. She had that effect on him – she made him forget how awful the world really was. That was dangerous and frightening and he wanted to protect that fragile thing at all costs. 

This is the end. Oh, dear God, it's the end and I'm not ready for this at all.

He had no idea he'd murmured that thought aloud until Rayna laughed softly, her breath tickling his ear as she kissed his neck before whispering, "no, Max, no. It's the beginning."