FIFTEEN: Obsession [CGW]

...::~FIFTEEN~::...

There were many things Bruce McLeod could be thankful for this year. He'd overlooked them all – today had begun with a pounding headache that hung over him even after taking a few pills. He wanted a cigarette so damn bad but he wasn't about to backslide on that now. Instead he'd spent the day in a sullen sort of silence and by the time they'd made it to the arena, Charity was starting to get desperate to break through to him.

She'd thought that dressing up would work – knowing how important the match was to her husband, Charity wanted to make sure she looked good for him. Decked out in a pair of black leather pants, a red sleeveless low-cut blouse, and red stiletto pumps, she knew she looked fantastic. He hadn't said a word, hadn't even noticed she was wearing the little diamond earrings he'd given her for their first Christmas together. It had been strained between them for the past few days and she'd let it slide, knowing how much he wanted to beat Clarissa Claire. Truth be told, she was getting to the point where she wanted to knock the bitch out herself. As supportive as she tried to be, Charity was tired of the whole thing.

The show was already underway, cameras rolling for the online stream and they were in his locker room. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional click as the heating system cycled between warm air and the fan. The silence was weighing on her, irritation growing by leaps and bounds as she watched him stare at his phone, scrolling up and down on Clarissa's Twitter feed as though he was trying to tattoo each word onto his brain.

"Bruce?" Her voice sounded loud to her own ears and she winced, not at all surprised when he didn't even react. "I was thinking," she said, hoping to get Bruce to put the phone down as she shifted the topic to one she knew he was excited about. They'd found out earlier in the week that she was having twins – the news hadn't broken yet as both were worried about jinxing it with an early reveal. Her last two pregnancies over the years had both ended tragically.

"Mmm?" He didn't look up.

"We could tell Sam about the twins when she comes home for Christmas – what do you think?"

"Sure. If yeh want." He was barely listening to her, scrolling back through the last few zingers he'd nailed the cocky little bint with over the last few weeks. He'd been trying to knock the girl off her pedestal since he'd signed with the company. She'd always rubbed him the wrong way with her entitled attitude.

Charity could feel her annoyance grow as she knew he wasn't listening. Part of her wondered if he'd even notice if she went back to the hotel. "Oh, and I called a shelter in Vegas. When we get home, we're going to foster five dogs until they can find them forever homes. But I'm thinking we can just keep them."

He glanced up at her, shrugging. "That's fine."

Even though he had looked up at her, he still wasn't listening. Pushing herself out of her chair, her annoyance had grown into irritation. "Bruce, please put the phone away until after your match. What you're doing right now is just…" she trailed off, unable to finish that statement. She didn't want to admit that she was starting to grow jealous of the attention he'd been throwing in that girl's direction lately.

"Am up right before the main event," he replied, glancing at the monitor on the table, "there's time yet."

Exhaling, she tried to keep calm, but her mood had plummeted. "I don't care. Get off Twitter. Put the fucking phone away." She snapped at him, her hands on her hips. "I'm serious."

He rolled his eyes, "oh yeah. Can tell." He heard the last part and something in her tone made his hackles rise. It was getting close to zero-hour, time to take the fight to that lousy cunt who'd cost him a trip to the championship finals. "Yeh wouldn't understand," he muttered, wishing he could impress upon her how much besting this little gobshite actually meant to him. Charity should understand that he needed his focus centred on one thing. He minimized Twitter but didn't put the phone down. A part of him almost wanted the fight that he could feel brewing just to get his blood pumping past the dread that had settled into his guts.

"Why do you need to keep obsessing over her feed? Seriously, why?!" She hadn't meant for jealousy to show through, but there it was.

Bruce frowned, shaking his head. "Tae get in her head. Jesus fuckin' Christ… yeh think I'm enamored with her? She's the same age as Siobhan…" The scorn was thick in his voice as he stared at her, "if I was gonna lust after someone, it'd be her Ma more than Twiggy McGee."

She didn't even think about it, stalking over and smacking the phone out of his hand. It crashed against the wall and skidded across the floor.

"What the bloody fuck?!" Bruce shot to his feet, looking for a moment as though he was going to backhand her.

Her irritation boiled over to anger as she glared right back at her husband, almost daring him to even though a voice in her head was saying she'd gone too far. "I'm sorry but you've been obsessing over her for weeks and I'm tired of it. Actually, you know what? I'm not sorry in the least. It needed to be done."

"Obsessing?" He laughed sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief. "Did yeh miss the part where she came out an' disrupted my last match? Did yeh miss the part where she gloated about it every chance she got?"

"I saw it," she snapped back. "And that just proves my point! She came out and what did you do, Bruce? You were so busy worrying about her that you didn't even see that-"

"Don't." He cut her off with a growl of frustration, stepping so close that was almost bowling her over.

Her hands came up against his chest and she pushed him back, her eyes locked on his. "You know I'm right."

She was right. Absolutely. He knew it but he wasn't about to admit it in a place where that may very well be overheard and used against him later. "What would yeh have me do, love? Lay down an' let the little minge walk all over me? Hand her the keys to the fuckin' kingdom on a silver platter? This is a chance for me tae turn it all around… already lost that perfect record an' I've wrestled three goddamned times. Three, Cherry. Can't even win three in a row. What's that say about me?"

Her anger softened as she placed a hand on his arm. "It says you're human."

"Oh tae hell with that!"

"You're in the best shape you've been in years – you've got a lot more matches in your future. Tonight, you'll be back on track and prove to everyone once again how amazing you are."

"Oh aye," he rolled his eyes. "Best damn wrestler tae never win a championship," he shrugged her hand off, "don't blow smoke up my arse, Cherry. That's the last thing I need right now is some well-wishin' mollycoddling nonsense cloudin' up me head. Go out there an' that Twiggy little twat'll eat me alive." He glared at her, "mebbe that's what yeh want though, isn't it?"

"Why in the hell would I want that?!" She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"How the hell should I know?!" He threw his hands up in the air, turning away from her. In the process, he caught sight of the monitor and realized how late it was getting. With his blood pressure up like this, and the anger boiling at the surface, there was no way he was going to be able to keep the match clean like he'd wanted. "Go back tae the hotel," he muttered, shaking his head, "don't want yeh out there with me tonight."

"But…" she stumbled over the protest, "I'm always here for your matches." She looked at him wide-eyed, but not entirely surprised. "You don't want me here?"

He stormed towards the door without looking back, not even stopping to retrieve his fallen phone. "Not tonight."


Shaking and sweating like a junkie, he limped down the hallway, watching the pattern in the carpet undulate like waves on the ocean – if there was anything in his stomach, he'd have puked his guts out the moment he'd gotten off the elevator. It took him six tries to get the lock to work but the anger was all spent. He'd thrown everything in the tank at Clarissa, finally coming out on top. He'd actually knocked her out, expecting to feel a sense of accomplishment. Instead he felt empty. It just felt wrong. The door swung open to complete and utter silence; he felt his heart drop to his stomach. Had she left? Was she at the airport, already boarding a flight back to Vegas without him?

Curled up with a novel in the other room, Charity had been almost dozing. She'd managed to catch the final moments of his match by the time she'd gotten back to the hotel and managed to get the WiFi to work. The thump of his gear bag hitting the floor pulled her back to wakefulness and she got out of bed, hearing him sigh as he flopped down on the couch in the living room.

"Hey," her voice came out soft, tentative and when his head snapped up, she thought she saw relief there for a moment.

"Cherry, I…"

She waved him off, crossing the room and pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. He looked like he was about to fall over, still in his ring gear so she knew he hadn't dallied any in the locker room after the match. "Congratulations," she held the bottle out to him, watching as he cracked it open and took a gulp of it. "I caught the end."

He nodded, not wanting to say anything more. He'd let his anger and pride carry him through the match and he'd knocked the little bitch out. It was over, finally and definitively with an exclamation point. Now all that remained was the tag team match he'd requested, provided the powers that be remembered to even book it. When he looked up, she was still staring at him as though waiting for him to say something. "Yeh know why I didn't want yeh there, don't yeh?"

"I guess," she retreated to the chair in the corner, arms folded protectively across her chest. The fight had been stupid and she knew it was her fault, but she couldn't get over the look in his eyes when they'd stood toe-to-toe. It had scared her. "It is what it is."

"Cherry-love. Look at me," he leaned forward; no traces of anger remained. He'd burned it all during the match, using it as fuel to finally put Clarissa down. "One less thing tae worry about. That's what it is – goddamnit! Can't…" he shook his head. "Don't wanna take any chances, put yeh in harm's way. Did yeh see what happened with Trace an' the Moss girl? Yeh think I want that for-"

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she could follow the context well enough to get the gist. She felt like an idiot for thinking he'd banished her as a punishment for the argument. "Bruce… I-"

He got up with a groan. "Nice guys finish last. Isn't that what they say? Can't…" he knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees, despite the discomfort he was in. "Yeh were right. Was bein' a numpty… lettin' her get in my head like tha'. Should know better, aye?" Bruce sighed and rested his forehead against her knees. "Forgive this stubborn arse?"

Before she replied to him, her hand came down and her fingers intertwined with his. "It was my fault, too." Her other hand came down and stroked his cheek gently. "Nothing to forgive." Tilting his face up towards her, she leaned in and kissed him. "I'm sorry about the phone."

"It's fine." He chuckled, flashing her a grin. "Jus' a little cracked, a wee bit damaged. Still works…" he shrugged, "kinda like it more now. Reminds me of meself."