TEN: Hello Darkness

Since the night he'd run into Charity in that shithole dive bar in Vegas, he hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time. He also hadn't been lubricating himself to the point of blackout drunkenness on a nightly basis, so that probably had a lot to do with it. In the last ten years, he'd become quite dependent on that particular crutch. His sister-in-law Hannah knew the most about what he'd been through between April of 2009 through April of 2012 and he'd sworn her to secrecy years ago. He still had nightmares about that tiny little cell of a room, about his head being plunged into vats of ice water until he thought his lungs might explode— the Russians were creative in their punishments, after all. He lost a lot of fights he wasn't supposed to. He'd lost money that wasn't his to lose. He would have lost his life if Interpol hadn't raided the fights that night and carted Petrov and his cronies off to whatever the international version of Guantanamo Bay was.

He didn't talk about those years. Nobody who'd come out the other side did— his cousin Kitty Petrova denied that she'd ever been there.

The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.
The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club!

He did his best not to think about those years. He did his best to pretend there weren't stamps for Russia and Monte Carlo and Greece on his passport when he'd never even seen a single sight in any of those places. He had a postcard from Paris, one of the Eiffel Tower at night, all lit up like a Christmas ornament. He'd only seen it from the air, from the grimy window of the plane. He bought it at the terminal, thinking that Charity would like it. He still had it somewhere, yellowed and faded now as it had spent years on his fridge collecting dust. 

The nightmares had been worse the last few years and he'd tried to deny that, to bury himself in working the tag team circuit, in helping to serve as fodder at a training camp, putting the fresh faces through their paces. When he'd left Texarkana, going back to Vegas seemed the only logical choice. It was easy to disappear there, to fade into the background of the tourist trap. 

He'd spent a year and a half in the bottle, in the back of that bar watching time slide away at lightning speed. The darkness lived deep down inside him and it always seemed to rear its ugly head once the sun went down. He'd kept it at bay with the whiskey, finding that perfect balance between soused and blackout. Going clean and sober right now wasn't the best idea. The anxiety was worse now that he'd signed with a new wrestling company. The prospect of getting between those ropes again was daunting, made him think about all those punishments for not being good enough.

He'd woken up in a cold sweat, legs and arms aching from tension in his sleep. He knew what that meant and he'd found himself downstairs, going through the kitchen cabinets in the hopes that he could find something strong enough to put him down for the count. It was as dry as a Utah gas station and he had no idea where the nearest store was. Wasn't even sure if there was anything in this neighborhood and with this heart pounding hard enough that he felt like he might pass out, he wasn't in any shape to drive. That was how people got killed.

Shirtless and barefoot, he went outside in a pair of old sweats that he'd found in the closet of things Charity had kept. He'd been sitting by the pool for hours, watching ripples cross the surface, waiting for sunrise. The last cigarette he'd lit had burned down to the filter between his fingers, the long column of ash hanging precariously as if in defiance of gravity. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt that tightness in his chest, relieving that pressure that was almost unbearable. He'd failed that test so many times, breathing in the water, waking up later on the floor with the knowledge that someone had pulled him back from the brink. They'd threatened to hurt Charity, to hunt down his daughter and make sure they both knew why they'd been targeted. He couldn't allow that promise he'd made before they'd even married to be broken. He'd sworn to protect them always, no matter what.

Back in those days, he'd thought love was everything. It was all he'd ever wanted and he'd thought that he was destined to live happily-ever-after in his own little fairy-tale— reality had reared its ugly head and even now, he believed that their stillborn son Jaxan's death was on him. It was his fault. He hadn't done enough. He hadn't been good enough to tip the scales. The moment the look on her face had mirrored the self-loathing he felt, he'd known it was time to go. That was the real reason he hadn't taken anything with him but his bike and the few things he could fit in that old duffel bag. He didn't deserve anything else.

"Always gonna be there," he murmured, shaking himself from his reverie. Ashes fell from his fingers like snow on the patio and he dropped it into the old coffee can he'd found full of rusty nails in the garage— old habits died hard.

Charity had been asleep for a few hours when she awoke to an empty bed. Having thought he'd gone to use the bathroom, she waited and listened for the tell-tale signs of pipes running. When she didn't hear anything, she got out of bed and went traipsing through the house. Finally, when she got to the kitchen, she saw the outside lights on and lit up. Sliding open the patio doors, she peered out.

"Sweets, what're you doing out here?" Charity was leaning against the patio frame, studying him. With the help of the outside lights, she could see just how exhausted he was. There was something else that clouded his face and the closer she got, the more worried she got. "Baby, what's wrong?" Grabbing the chair that was next to his, she took a seat.

He didn't look over at her as he dipped his finger into the hole in the cigarette pack, only to realize it was empty— he'd smoked them all without even realizing it. Crumpling the paper in his fist, he squeezed it tight until he felt his knuckles crack on their own. "It's nothin'," he finally said, only to break the silence before it became too much to bear. "Can't sleep is all."

Charity studied him, her eyes narrowing. She'd seen him plenty times when he hadn't been able to sleep and this was different. Something had changed. Something was off and it kicked her worry into overdrive. "Bruce, I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Nodding, he lifted a hand up to his face and rubbed at his burning eyes. "Am listening, Cherry. Tae everything."

"No lies, no hiding things." She reached out and grabbed his hand, bringing it to her chest where she held it over her heart. "We are not going to work if we aren't open and honest with each other. Whatever you're going through, for the love of God, please let me in." There was desperation in her voice and in her eyes. "This is more than just not being able to sleep. Whatever this is, I've got you. You have to trust me, though."

Finally, he looked at her, his bloodshot eyes filled with torment. "Bad dreams, Cherry. That's all it is." He kept using her name, almost as if he needed to remind himself that he was actually here, that she was back in his life. The last thing he wanted to do was drive her away with the garbage in his head. The last thing he wanted was to tell her about the things he'd done in those dirty dives and the acts that were even too vile to contemplate— he'd suffered more for those.

She knew he wasn't telling her everything. Sighing, she kept hold of his hand as she got out of her chair. Charity got onto her knees and kept his hand against her heart. "I have loved and known you for over half my life. I know when you aren't telling me everything." Looking up into his eyes, seeing the pain that was in them, she could feel her heart breaking under his hand. "I know there's stuff you haven't told me and I'm not going to pressure you to tell me everything tonight. You will have to let me in at some point, Bruce." Bringing his knuckles to her lips, she gently kissed them, one by one. "You have to trust that no matter what it is that I'm not going anywhere... you're stuck with me for the rest of your life."

"Don't fear that, love." His words came out softer than expected as he forced himself to maintain eye contact. "I believe in this... in..." he faltered, clearing his throat, "in us. Just wanna be here for it all. Doesn't make sense. I know this. Can't sleep. That's when they come for me. I wanna do it right this time." He knew he wasn't being clear but everything was muddled in his head thanks to the sheer exhaustion. "Life. Career. Our family. They can take it all away."

"I won't let them get you." She knew about nightmares; she'd had plenty after Bruce left. "I'll stay up all night with you, however many nights I have to." She sounded desperate to help him, to make all the unpleasantness go away. "What can I do to help you sleep? Name it and I'll do it."

His chuckle was bitter, "knock me out. Turn off the fuckin' brain... it's the only way. Tryin' me best here, Cherry. Clean. Sober. Ready tae fix what we did wrong but I can't..." he sighed, looking away. "Whiskey works. Enough tae slip past dreamland. Mebbe it's time tae see someone about it."

Getting to her feet, still holding onto his hand, she maneuvered so that she was sitting on his lap. She placed his head so that it was resting against her chest. "Tomorrow, first thing, I will start looking for a doctor for you and we'll get that figured out. Until then, I will go buy you some whiskey and anything else that can help you shut down and sleep."

He closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion pulling at him. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that every little thing she did made him feel so grateful and so damned worthless in the same breath but he couldn't find the words.

She held him close, vowing that she was going to do everything in her power to get him through this. "There is a twenty-four-hour store like five minutes away. I'll head there and get a couple bottles." She kissed the top of his head, his cheek, and then his lips. "I'm gonna get you through this. If whiskey is what helps you sleep? I'll go buy it happily, until we can find a better solution. I love you, Bruce, and there isn't anything I won't do for you."

"Don't deserve yeh, Cherry," his voice came out strained; he sounded so broken and exhausted that it broke her heart. "But am gonna do everythin' I can tae fix that... tae earn yer love."

"You earned my love a long time ago." Cupping his face, her thumbs caressing over his scars, she looked into his eyes. "My heart has your name tattooed on it." She pressed her forehead against his. "Let me take you inside and run you a bath in the jacuzzi tub. I can go get the whiskey."

"Sounds marvie," he replied, feeling significantly better about the whole thing now that she knew what was going on and hadn't balked at the weakness.

Getting off of his lap, Charity grabbed both of his hands tenderly and pulled him to his feet. "Let's get you relaxed." Leading him into the house, her only concern was getting Bruce to sleep. She knew he couldn't keep going like this. If drinking whiskey was what it took for him to go to sleep, she'd gladly buy every bottle in the world. He was the most important person in her life and there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him.