Let It Go [06/13/2014]

Jackson stood in the doorway to the walk-in closet, holding the over-sized Florida State sweatshirt between his hands. The memories were overwhelming as he looked at the ragged cuffs and the cigarette burn on the left sleeve— it had already been well-worn when his wife had claimed it as her own. Lifting it to his face, he breathed in deeply, feeling an ache in his chest as her scent filled his lungs.

I can't do this, the voice screamed in his head, only staying internal because he was biting his lip hard enough to taste blood. Even with the Xanax he'd taken, he still felt on edge— it didn't really help that his heart was racing. He hadn't told her that he'd done the last of the cocktail while she'd been bathing Christian. Even now he could feel it rushing through his bloodstream, bringing that pleasant euphoria with it— there was guilt too, but he figured he could swallow that back until he was on the road. This whole thing had been a joint guilt trip between Lyv and Sabra but he'd gone along with it. The fact that there was still a huge black hole in his memory for the night of Lyv's PCW title loss bothered him— that was nothing compared to the reality that his job with SCW was now in peril. Sabra had been understanding, sure. She'd offered to give him as much time as he needed to get well, assuring him that he'd be covered as long as he needed it.

The biggest suitcase they owned lay open on the bed, half-full of haphazardly folded clothes— mostly t-shirts, socks and underwear. He knew that once Lyv took a look inside, she'd be fussing over the contents, trying to make sure that everything was wrinkle-free (as if it mattered). He didn't even care. He was simply selecting items at random and tossing them inside, trying to guess what he'd need for a thirty-day mental vacation. The creak of the floor in the hallway betrayed her stealthy approach and Jackson spoke without turning around, his voice muffled by the sweater he was still holding in front of his face. "I called Richard. Since I'm pay-per-appearance with PCW, I'm having him cancel all future bookings... should go down smoothly enough. He said he'd get you the time off you need for the ribs too— do a little press release about how you were injured in the match with Harm—"

"I don't want to cause any trouble," Lyv said softly, looking down at the threadbare Bad Religion tee she held in her hands. Her ribs still ached horribly— not quite 'broken' but there was a hairline fracture that had shown up on the x-rays.

"Trouble?" Jackson lowered the sweater he held in his hands, folding it before laying it back on top of her dresser. "She'll probably see that as a crowning achievement, babe. Took your title. Sidelined the lethal Lyv Jackson—"

"Jax." The tone of her voice cut him off, making him turn around to finally look at her. She was twisting the shirt between her hands with a sheen of tears in her eyes. The only thing keeping her chin from quivering was the fact that she was biting her lip.

The look on her face cut right through him. "Baby, please don't—"

Her eyes moved to the sweatshirt that he'd been holding. "Y-you can take that if you want." Something about this whole scene felt wrong to her, as if he was walking out of her life forever and the fear she felt was threatening to send her spiraling into a full-blown panic attack. Looking down at the shirt in her hands, she seemed surprised to find it there, almost as if she'd forgotten she was holding it. "I washed some stuff for you. I figured you'd want to have—"

"You can hold on to that one if you want," he cut her off, his eyes fixed on the tee in her hands.

"Oh. O-okay." Her eyes averted from his as she tried not to burst into tears. "D-did you want me to get some pictures of Christian packed?"

"Got more than enough pictures of him on my phone and the laptop," he replied, that tremor in her voice cutting right through him. He reached out and pulled his favorite Sons of Anarchy hoodie off its hanger, dropping it on top of the ratty sweatshirt that smelled like her before scooping both up. He was limping when he made his way towards the open suitcase.

"Are you hungry?" She suspected he was— he hadn't eaten much over the last few days. She recognized the pattern but she was powerless to snap him out of the dark depression he'd fallen into. "It's no trouble, really. I could make you something for the road." She was desperate to do something to bridge that void she felt yawning between them. "I could make you a burger... those pork chops you like... a drink... anything."

He turned around slowly, that cold, hard look that he usually wore when he was walking down to the ring on his face. "Lyv, don't—"

She visibly shrank back and looked at the floor. "Sorry..." she murmured, shaking her head, "I'm sorry. I'll just... um," she couldn't do it, couldn't hold it together any longer, "I'm gonna go c-check on Christian and l-let you finish..." tears slid down her cheeks as she turned away from him, slowly moving towards the bedroom doorway.

He sighed, shaking his head as he tossed the sweatshirts into the suitcase, the action betraying just how close he was to the edge. "If you're trying to make me feel worse about leaving, you're doing a hell of a job— you know that?"

She closed her mouth, wrapping her arms around herself as she froze and stared at the floor.

"Lyv?"

She flinched as though he'd struck her, looking up with a soft gasp. "I'm trying," she whispered, her voice breaking, "so very hard to make everything okay. I-I just wanna make sure you have everything you need—"

"I packed my phone charger and an extra battery," he replied without looking at her, "I've got unlimited calling and we can Skype every night. It won't be too bad—"

"Yeah, it'll be fine," her voice was hollow, "no worries." She faked a smile, trying to sound positive as she turned her head to look at him. "You'll go get better and come back home to us—"

"That's the plan," his hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out and comfort her. Instead he stood rooted to the spot, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Something's wrong with me, Lyv. You know that—"

"You're okay," maybe if she assured him, he wouldn't leave.

His hand fell back to his side as he glared at her, "it's been a year since you found me drooling on the floor in that hotel room— you remember how badly I ruined our first anniversary, don't you? You think I want him to see me like that? What're you gonna tell him, Lyv? 'Stay away from Daddy— he's having one of his bad days again'—"

"You'd never hurt us— hurt him." She wasn't meeting his eyes, afraid he'd get angry if he saw how badly she was breaking down.

"It's for the best," the words lacked any sort of conviction as he moved towards the dresser, pulling open the drawer he kept his jeans in. "Probably should've done this years ago instead of just ignoring it. Could've avoided a lot of bullshit if I had."

"You might never have gotten with me, though." It made perfect sense to her but by the way he stiffened, she knew he hadn't made that same mental leap she had.

"What?" His head whipped around so fast he felt his neck pop, "is that what you think I meant? I was talking about CWF and FTW— all the fuckin' mistakes I made just to prove that what happened in HOW was a fluke— to prove to myself that I wasn't some fucked up... walking wounded goddamn zombie." He started pulling his pants from the drawer, letting them fall at his feet, "for the last twenty years, that's been my life, Lyv— the cameras, the lights, the training— everything leading up to that fight that would bring me one step closer to having another belt around my waist. It's always been about the glory... the fuckin' spotlight shining so bright that it burns away all my inadequacies."

"You're not—" she began but he cut her off with a derisive snort.

"Yeah. I am, Alyvia. I'm greedy. I break people out there. I run 'em down, verbally and physically. I'm no better than that sack of shit who sired me."

"Don't say that," her eyes were burning as she glared right back at him, tears already drying on her cheeks. "Don't you dare—"

"Why the fuck not?" He rolled his eyes, "it's the truth. I haven't been a husband, a father... wasn't even a good boyfriend most of the time. The glory... the fuckin' limelight was all I had and all I wanted for so long," he paused, turning back to look at her, "before you came into my life."

"I wouldn't change anything, Jackson." Her voice was firm as she met his gaze. At a flare of pain in her ribs, she winced, giving him the chance to cut her off again.

"Yeah? And if I wasn't such a waste of skin, you'd probably still have that Riot Championship. Hell, you'd probably be facing Chris Madison for it— you fuckin' know that guy only bailed because of that clusterfuck of a match—"

"Bullshit." Blinking was a necessity and when she did, more tears spilled over her cheeks. "Chris Madison's a bitch. He left because he knew he couldn't hang—"

"And I could?" One dark brow rose as he chuckled, "your brother's the one holding MY—" he broke off, correcting himself, "the belt."

"You don't need gold to be the best," she sighed, shaking her head. Just like that, the defiant fire was snuffed and she just looked vulnerable and broken as she stood there, hugging herself. "You're a legend, Jackson."

"Don't want to talk about this," he shook his head, "you're the one who told Sabra I was sick, remember?"

She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't be mad," she whispered, "I was worried. You..."

"I know—"

"You keep telling me that things happen for a reason," her voice shook as she lifted her head to look at him, "so maybe you're meant to take this time off. Maybe... this is what's supposed to happen right now, Jax. I know you don't like it but—"

"It's shit." He grumbled, shaking his head, "that fuckin' cunt has my belt." It was so easy to think of things in terms of theft— Lucy Jones had robbed him. Everyone had wronged him over the years. The martyr complex was never really his deal. That had been more Ryann's schtick. He knew that he was the root cause of every bad thing that had ever happened. It was just admitting that truth that he had issues with. "So if this is meant to be, what's the point, Lyv? What's the big picture I'm not seeing... huh?"

She licked her lips, averting her eyes. "I... I don't know. I just..." she sighed, shaking her head, clearly at a loss for words to explain this so he would understand. "I just mean... everything we've gone through has made us strong. I wouldn't change any of it—"

"I would," he muttered, looking down at the pile of pants at his feet, "that's what I'm saying, Lyv. If I'd known how things were gonna be, I'd have avoided all the stupid mistakes I made over the last two years."

Not saying anything, Lyv walked over to the bed and took a seat, leaning forward. Her ribs were starting to bother her, but she made no attempt to soothe them. "Everything happens for a reason, sometimes we don't know what the reason is until later." She looked at him, her red-rimmed gaze cutting right through him. "All I know is, whether you believe it or not, my life has been better with you in it."

"Yeah," he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he knelt down, picking up the jeans before turning towards the bed. "The fact that you're trying to pretend you're not in pain right now... that's improving your life, right? That's meant to be?"

The question caught her off-guard and this time she didn't lie or defer it. "What'm I supposed to do?" She was starting to tear up, but didn't want him to see. With her eyes downcast, she exhaled carefully.

Depositing the armload into the suitcase, he let out another ragged sigh, "you want me to honestly answer that?"

"Yes," she said quietly, still not looking at him.

"I'd have hit the door running a long time ago. Probably that day they called the cops on us in Liverpool or wherever in the hell we were," he shrugged as if this wasn't really a big deal, "and that's why people have it out for you, babe. That's why they think you're a doormat— you're still here, putting up with my shit."

"It's 'cause I love you." She brought her sleeve up and wiped away tears that were falling. "If that makes me a doormat, fuck it— I don't care." Finally she did look up at him, her bottom lip quivering.

"You're stubborn..." the sight of those tears on her face was gutting him, "you damn well know I never deserved any of the chances you've given me. So if you're not here at the end of that month... I won't blame you."

"Are you fucking serious right now?!" The words exploded from her lips as she shot to her feet, immediately wincing.

"I know I did this to you," he replied, looking away from her, "maybe you don't want to admit it or tell me what the fuck happened... but I know, okay?"

"Jax—"

"Stop making this harder—"

"No." She stared at him, breathing shallowly through her tears. "You think I'm going to walk away from you? After everything?"

He winced, putting a hand to his temple, "that's not what I said. You're twisting it around. I'm just sayin' I—"

"Do you think it?"

He shook his head, realizing she'd backed him into a corner. There was no 'good' answer to the question. "There's always that voice in the back of my head, whispering things I don't wanna hear— sometimes I go months without hearing it— it's been really loud since I cut ties with CWF. Been even louder since I lost that belt to fuckin' Lucy Jones. It's karma, babe. I still have a balance due. It's never gonna be paid off."

Slowly, she moved towards him, almost afraid he was going to reject her. "Jax," her hands came up and rested on his chest. "I'm still here," her voice broke, "and I have no plans to go anywhere."

Jackson closed his eyes, biting his lip for a second. "I don't want you to leave. I need to make that perfectly clear to you— I don't, okay? I'm just saying if that's what happens... no hard feelings. I won't rake you over the coals— you can take half of everything. I'll still support Christian—"

"Goddamn it, Jackson! You already make it sound like we're splitting up." Her arms folded across her chest, "fuck, I'd at least fight for you."

"You think I wouldn't fight?" His voice came out hoarse as he stared at her, "you think I wouldn't get down on my hands and knees and fucking beg you to stay? You..." he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, "don't really know me too well, do you?"

"I can't do this," she backed away from him, shaking her head until she collided with the wall. Letting out a ragged sob, she sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her body. "I can't... I can't."

"Can't what?" Jackson turned towards her.

"...I can't breathe." Was she having a panic attack? Was it possible?

He crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out to touch her face. "You can breathe... just do it slow."

She felt like she was drowning and instead of air, she was sucking nothing but water into her lungs. "God... it burns."

"Goddamnit," his voice broke; the emotions he'd been trying to bury spilled out when she flinched away from his touch. "It's okay, baby. It's okay... I won't hurt you again." Gently, he pulled her into his lap, kissing her forehead. "I'm gonna fix this, Lyv. I promise," he could feel tears burning in his sinuses, his chest getting tight. "Please don't cry."

She pressed her face against his chest, sobbing as she clung to him. "You d-didn't..." the words were muffled, "d-do... a-anything."

His arms wrapped around her gently, pulling her closer as he rested his cheek against her hair. "I'm sorry," he rasped, "I'm so very sorry." He closed his eyes, letting her cry it out as he tried to contain his completely self-directed anger. There was no way in hell he was going to step foot back in a wrestling ring until he got himself clean. If he'd done this much damage to the only person he cared about... what would he do to the next oiled-up stranger that had the balls to step between the ropes? "I'm gonna fix my head," he whispered, "I'm gonna get better." He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in deeply. "Nothing else matters, Lyv. Fuck it all."

In that moment, he realized he had no idea how many days it had been since he'd lost the SCW Global Title to Lucy Jones. The most disturbing part was that he honestly didn't care.