#DAMAGE [06/06/2014]

For the entire match, Lyv had been expecting her husband to come out for the save. Twice, she'd lost her focus, glancing up the ramp to see if he was coming— it had to be a bad dream. By the time she made it backstage, she'd managed to convince herself that he'd be waiting with open arms, ready to console her after the loss. Instead she found the locker room empty, her bag the only thing sitting in the middle of the couch. She'd been mortified when she managed to flag down security, only to discover that he'd signed out right after she'd gone down to the ring. The hurt she felt was indescribable and it only clashed with the anger that was self-directed for losing. All she had wanted when it was over to go to the back and hug Jax, but he hadn't been there. How could he leave when she needed him? She'd always been there waiting after every match for him but he couldn't be bothered to return the favor?

With her poker face on and the duffel bag with her ring gear slung over her shoulder, she took an elevator up to the floor that their suite was on. Unlocking the door, she was all ready to rip a strip off her husband for bailing on her— she froze in the doorway, having trouble believing the wreckage she was walking into.

The room was a mess— completely trashed— as if Axl Rose had spent the night there. The living room furniture was overturned, their luggage had been strewn around, clothing and possessions scattered everywhere, and the television was tuned to some pay-per-view porno that had the sound muted. The duffel dropped from her shoulder, forgotten as she stood there and gaped in horror. Biting down hard enough on her lower lip to taste blood, she looked around for any sign of Jax as her mind immediately went to worst-case scenario, wondering if someone had broken in and trashed the place. Clay was dead, but she still felt that momentary panic and once that seed was planted, she was unable to stifle the uneasy feeling. Pulling out her cell phone, she checked the messages, feeling her heart race when she saw she had a new one. Pulling it up, that hope turned to disappointment when she realized it was just condolences on her loss from her brother. The Riot Championship wasn't even on her mind as she pulled up her contacts, sending a message out to Sabra: 'call me when you can,' she wrote, 'something's happened to Jax'.

Tiptoeing through the minefield the hotel suite had become, she held her breath until hitting the bedroom doorway. With a shaking hand, she reached out to snap on the light and immediately gasped. At first glance, she thought he was dead, sprawled on the mattress which was halfway off the bed. Swallowing hard, she knelt down beside him, feeling his neck for a pulse— his skin was warm and clammy but she couldn't feel anything.

"Jax, baby..." her voice broke as tears flooded her eyes, "wake up." She wasn't speaking loud— fear had almost rendered her speechless. "Baby, come on," she shook his shoulder, tears dripping off the end of her nose as she leaned over him, "wake up."

One bloodshot eye opened, fixing on her for a second even though his stare was glassy. "M'awake," he mumbled, his left arm twitching as he tried to gesture and instead knocked the nearly empty bottle of Scotch over so that it rolled to the floor, the remains of the liquor soaking the already mangled sheets.

"What happened to you?" Confusion clouded her face as she gently caressed his cheek with her hand. "I went to the back after my match and you were gone," she sniffled, feeling her heart break at the glazed look in his eyes.

"What match?"

"Against Harmony," she said softly, "defending my belt, baby... remember? You were supposed to come out—" she broke off when she realized he was staring at her as though she was speaking Swahili.

"My match was over," he said softly, a vertical line carving a deep furrow between his brows as he continued to stare at her, "so I left."

"You weren't wrestling," she replied, feeling her heart sink, "I was a-and..." her voice broke, "I really needed—"

He made a soft sound that was halfway between a laugh and a snort, shaking his head.

"I lost the title," she said quietly, the disappointment and anger apparent in her voice. "I did need you there, Jax; I needed you to hug me."

"Welcome t'the club," he slurred his words, letting out another of those sarcastic laughs, "shackin' up with a loser... guess it rubbed off, huh?"

She pulled her hand back, almost feeling as though she'd been slapped. "Ouch," narrowing her eyes, she stood up. "Just kinda figured since I've always been there for you, you'd have stuck around."

He lifted his hand, almost as though he was reaching for her only to fall short. The silence that dropped between them was painful at best. "Yeah...." the word came out as an exhalation, followed up with nothing further as he let his hand fall back to his side. "Sorry," his eyes closed as he made no effort to move or offer anything further— the apology was about as insincere as he could be.

She didn't even reply to that as she went to work cleaning up the room. From the way she was slamming things around, it was obvious she was even more pissed off than before. This was actually the most angry she could ever remember being at him since they'd gotten married two years ago.

Every crash, every slam was like an ice pick stabbing into his brain, making him wince. "Stop it," he ground out between clenched teeth, turning his head to look over at her.

Not looking back at him, she shrugged her shoulders. "I"m just trying to clean up the mess you made. If you don't like it, tough shit." She knew that once she had a chance to think about things, she'd feel bad for how she was speaking to Jax, especially when he felt so low but right now she needed to vent.

She didn't even realize he'd moved with surprising speed given his state of inebriation until he was almost on top of her. The empty bottle she'd picked up fell from her hand as he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it as hard as he could. "I told you to fuckin' stop," he growled in her face, "got a hell of a headache—"

If he squeezed any harder, her bone was going to break. The instant pain made her gasp. Twisting her wrist, she tried to get out of his grasp but his fist was like iron. "Jax," her voice came out small, "let go." The look in his eyes reminded her too much of her stepfather, making that panic claw its way to the surface again. "Please, baby— you're hurting me."

"Shut up," he muttered, twisting her arm sharply.

She gasped as she felt something give, the pain immediately flaring. Distantly, she was aware of her cell phone going off in her pocket, the sound muffled by the blood rushing in her ears. She was tempted to lash out at him, but that dark look of hatred in his eyes made her stop— he'd never looked at her like that before. Breathing in through her nose, she willed herself to stay calm, hoping she could reach him. "Jackson... please... let go."

"Why?" He continued to stare at her, his eyes bloodshot— pupils were pinpricks and that's when she knew it wasn't just the usual painkiller cocktail he was on. She had no idea what sort of chemicals he'd been polluting himself with. Jackson moved in closer, actually stepping on her toes as he shoved her up against the dresser, "you wanna go somewhere, huh? Go on out and party it up, huh?"

"You're hurting me," she repeated softly, looking up at him. Her tone stayed even and her expression calm even though her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Maybe if she didn't fire off and freak out, she could get him to calm down as well. The pain from his grasp was making it hard to focus as she swallowed hard. "Lemme make you some coffee," the words came out through clenched teeth.

"Not lettin' you go," his grip didn't change as he continued to stare at her, almost like he was trying to look right through her. "The glory's gone again— now you're gonna bail on me too, aren't ya? Go back home and shack up with some country-fried jackass... suck me dry for alimony an' child support—"

"What're you talking about?" She sounded dumbfounded. "Baby, I love you." Her eyes were pleading with him to believe her, "I don't care about belts or the wins... just you, you and me and Christian." She tried to pull her arm free, the pain making those tears fall.

"Can't do it anymore," he finally let his grip on her wrist relax, "you're bitching and moaning about me not being there at the arena to scrape you up off the floor after you crashed and burned like the fuckin' loser you are. Well, I'm here now. Right here, baby... right up in your face and you can't even make eye contact. What the hell's up with that, huh?" His hand shot out and he grabbed her face instead of her wrist, fingers digging into her cheeks as he forced her head up so his eyes met hers. He could almost smell the fear coming off her in waves, and it was doing things to him that he couldn't explain. "I'm here... you want me to kiss it better?"

"We um..." her voice was shaking as she swallowed hard. "We just need to calm down. I'm sorry I got upset." Him calling her a loser had stung, but it didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. He was right. Clay had told her that at least a thousand times growing up— at least Jax was finally clueing into the reality.

"Go write a fuckin' song about this," he muttered, releasing her face as he lifted that same hand to rake it through his disheveled hair.

It was then that she knew exactly where his head was and who he thought he was talking to. "Jackson, look at me," she needed to snap him back to reality, "what day is it?"

"The twenty-ninth," he replied, sounding petulant. "You know what day it is—"

"Of what month?"

"April." His eyes were locked on hers now, but that certainty was faltering. "Your hair's blonde... I... I didn't notice."

"It's February, baby... you wrestle for SCW now, not MWA." Her free hand came up and rested on his cheek, "you lost the Global title to Lucy Jones a couple days ago. Do you remember?"

He stared at her, his gaze still unfocused before his eyes slid shut. "No. I..."

"It's okay, baby. We're okay... let's just go sit down on the couch and calm down—"

"Calm down?" He echoed the words, his voice taking on a nasty tone, "is that what we need to do? Just sit back, relax and everything'll be fine... right?"

Lyv ignored the tone, focusing on the words he'd said. "Yes, exactly." She smiled reassuringly at him, "we'll just take a time-out and forget about tonight."

"It's not fine," he snarled the words in her face, shoving her back against the dresser again, "you think I'm gonna just forget how stupid that little bitch made me look? You think I'm gonna just suck face with you and it's all gonna blow over? What the fuck's wrong with you, huh? This is my goddamn," he drove his knee into her side to punctuate his words, "career," over and over again.

She couldn't find words; she couldn't even breathe as she hunched over, putting her arms over her sides to protect them. She felt dizzy from the pain and was trying to say her husband's name. "Ja-" Swallowing hard, it hurt to inhale and exhale as her eyes clenched shut.

"Shut up," he snapped, pulling away from her as though he was oblivious to the pain he'd just inflicted. "Why don't you just leave— sick to death of you crawlin' back all the time, fuckin' with my head."

"I love you," she whispered frantically, her eyes staying shut. Her mouth closed, because if it hadn't she would have either been screaming or whimpering.

He froze at the sound of those three little words, his hands curling into fists at his sides, "that's what it takes... just say those magic words and I'll forget how you turned on me over this baby bullshit. Forget how you went crawling to Jared Baker an' told him that I hit you... that's all it takes, baby. Just tell Jax that you love him an' it's your get outta jail free card— who gives a shit if he lost the title because—"

"Jax, what?" She was still whispering, her side feeling like it was on fire. "What're you talking about?" Luckily she was still next to the dresser and could lean against it for support.

"You know what I'm talking about," he put a hand to his forehead, feeling the throbbing intensify as the room started to drift out of focus. "Don't try and fuck with me, Ryann. Not havin' any of your bullshit. You're gonna get the hell outta here and just leave me alone."

Lyv tried to meet his eyes, shaking her head. "I'm not Ryann... It's Alyvia, your wife." Her voice cracked, the pain making her want to rip her hair out. "I'd never do to you what she did. I love you, Jax."

He turned away from her, shaking his head and instantly regretting it as he grew so dizzy he went down to one knee. "Shoulda killed you when I had the chance," he muttered, pressing his hand against his eyes, trying to blot out the light.

Not wanting to stay propped up any longer, Lyv slid to the floor and leaned against the dresser. "You love me," she said to herself as well as him. "I know you do."

"Shut up," his voice cracked, trailing off into a hoarse whisper as his other hand came up to grab his head. "Goddamn, it fuckin' hurts."

"Lay down, baby... just rest your head." Her own eyes were closed as she let her head fall back against the dresser, trying not to pass out from the pain. "It'll be better in the morning." She watched while he crawled back towards the mattress, actually obeying what she'd said as he sprawled on it, groaning softly.

The last thing he heard was the ragged sound of her breathing and it left him wondering why she was fighting off tears. And then the darkness came, pulling him under.

With shaking hands, Lyv pulled out her cell phone, debating calling someone for help. Instead she saw two missed calls from Sabra before a text message. Tears blurred the words as she tried to type out a reply, failing miserably before giving up and sending it as is— Sabra was fluent enough in her typos to get the gist of it. The phone slipped from her hand as everything went black.