Cry Me A River (Denial) [SCUM]
Nov 27, 2020 1:43:11 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 27, 2020 1:43:11 GMT -5
LOCATION: Napa Valley, California
DATE/TIME: November 26, 2020
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
The wind was gusting, making the weeping willow branches flutter – if she closed her eyes, it sounded like the rush of tires on wet asphalt. Reminded her of that night after a show in Paris or Brussels… the fine details were ephemeral. She remembered stepping out from the recreation center and seeing the haze of rain and not a single person around. She remembered the strap breaking on her bag, her boot falling into a puddle and that beautiful man with the soulful eyes bending to pick it up and holding it out to her.
“Mikhail,” she murmured his name, feeling a stab of pain that cut right through her. She’d gone months without thinking about him, without trying to wrap her mind around the loss.
“Tell me why you’re thinking of him now.”
She turned away from the screen of her laptop, from those sympathetic and liquid brown eyes of her therapist and she watched the view beyond the glass blur as the wind lashed through the trees again. It was Robby’s tree. Planted with his ashes and even though it had only been five years, it was already the tallest one. It leaned towards the house, as though reaching for her and she vacillated between finding that comforting and finding it downright eerie when none of the others on the small rise did. Silver rain sluiced down the glass, and the trees outside seemed to melt as readily as brown and green crayons.
“It was a year ago today that Hunter asked me to marry him.”
“I see.”
“I walked away from Action Wrestling then, too – always seems to be this time of year that spurs me on.”
Her therapist chuckled. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
She didn’t answer him, twisting the simple platinum wedding band on her finger until she found that tiny flaw in the metal, fitting her ragged thumbnail into the defect because that was somehow far more comforting than the rain or the familiar face on her laptop screen.
“Kaitlynn,” that cultured accent cut through her reverie like a hot knife through butter.
She jerked as though she'd been doused with a bucket of cold water. “Huh?”
“Are you feeling alright?”
She forced a smile, nodding as she lifted her other hand up to push the hair back from her face, scratching her dry scalp. She’d touched up the roots again last night. It had started to become a bi-weekly thing these days. Running away from the certainty that she was getting too damned old for all this nonsense. She’d had to look up the name of her upcoming opponent for SCUM three times, and it kept slipping away the moment she did. Jones Ventura – something like that. She’d written it down but couldn’t find the Post-It now. The desk was a mess, just like everything else in her life. “I’m fine. It’s just this time of year. It’s been worse, ever since…” she trailed off, not wanting to sound like a child, whining over something she had no power over. “This year, you know? It’s been hard. I’ve been clinging to familiar routines because everything else is so chaotic and now I don’t even have that. I feel like the next time I lace up my boots, I’m off to war instead of throwing some random stranger around a wrestling ring. Deep in enemy territory and I just…” she sighed.
“And now?” He prodded her gently.
“And now, the GHB holds all the cards. I haven’t heard anything from Bam – if he’s even alive still. I can’t fight for a cause when I don’t see what we’re even fighting for. There’s nothing left. So, what do I do now? Let them break me for a box of ashes and a burned-out, condemned husk of a building?”
“I can’t tell you what to do,” the voice was different now and when she looked up, she realized she was sitting in the window seat, staring at the blurred view as if trying to make sense of it all. Her laptop was closed and she could smell cinnamon and cloves even before Hunter pushed the cup into her hand. “Much as you want me to, I’m not going to make that choice for you.”
“I know.” She took a sip, finding it lukewarm, just the way she preferred it. With a grateful smile, she looked up at him and then caught hold of his hand before he could move away. “Sit with me. Please?” She scooted over into the corner, turning her back to the wall and the glass was cold where it met her arm. It reminded her of Siberia, of a man named Alexei and the monster named Spiral that had haunted her nightmares for too long. She closed her eyes, trying to force the past to leave her be for a few moments. She took a breath and another swallow of the sweet chai latte.
Hunter settled into the space she’d left for him, compassion in his gaze as it met her eyes the moment they opened.
“I don’t want you to perform a miracle.” The sarcasm was thick in her words and he knew she wasn’t lashing out at him. She was just frustrated at herself, at her own inability to stay whole without effort and enough medication to make it feel like she wasn’t really there. “I’m sick of feeling like Alice, falling down rabbit holes.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“To give it time. ‘It’s withdrawal,’ he says. I’ve got to wean myself off slowly and then we can try something else. Sometimes I feel like I’d be better off if everyone still thought I was dead.”
The silence fell like a slap and Hunter looked away, staring across the room. She wasn’t sure what he was looking at, if he was even seeing the clutter that so perfectly reflected her mind these days or if he was lost in his own recollections and reverie. Finally, he pulled in a slow, deep breath and she winced, unable to stop herself from tensing.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she blurted, her voice coming out small as she seemed to pull in on herself.
“You did,” he replied, “and it’s fine. I’m not mad.”
“It’d be easier if you were,” she muttered, the words muffled as she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them.
“Why would you even say that?” Hunter didn’t look at her – he was still staring off across the room, twisting his wedding ring absently around his finger.
“Fighting’s significantly easier than feeling.” Even as she said it, the realization was dawning on her. That’s what all of this had been, all along. Avoidance and denial. She was never going to be able to mourn the losses that she still couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge.
DATE/TIME: November 26, 2020
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
The wind was gusting, making the weeping willow branches flutter – if she closed her eyes, it sounded like the rush of tires on wet asphalt. Reminded her of that night after a show in Paris or Brussels… the fine details were ephemeral. She remembered stepping out from the recreation center and seeing the haze of rain and not a single person around. She remembered the strap breaking on her bag, her boot falling into a puddle and that beautiful man with the soulful eyes bending to pick it up and holding it out to her.
“Mikhail,” she murmured his name, feeling a stab of pain that cut right through her. She’d gone months without thinking about him, without trying to wrap her mind around the loss.
“Tell me why you’re thinking of him now.”
She turned away from the screen of her laptop, from those sympathetic and liquid brown eyes of her therapist and she watched the view beyond the glass blur as the wind lashed through the trees again. It was Robby’s tree. Planted with his ashes and even though it had only been five years, it was already the tallest one. It leaned towards the house, as though reaching for her and she vacillated between finding that comforting and finding it downright eerie when none of the others on the small rise did. Silver rain sluiced down the glass, and the trees outside seemed to melt as readily as brown and green crayons.
“It was a year ago today that Hunter asked me to marry him.”
“I see.”
“I walked away from Action Wrestling then, too – always seems to be this time of year that spurs me on.”
Her therapist chuckled. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
She didn’t answer him, twisting the simple platinum wedding band on her finger until she found that tiny flaw in the metal, fitting her ragged thumbnail into the defect because that was somehow far more comforting than the rain or the familiar face on her laptop screen.
“Kaitlynn,” that cultured accent cut through her reverie like a hot knife through butter.
She jerked as though she'd been doused with a bucket of cold water. “Huh?”
“Are you feeling alright?”
She forced a smile, nodding as she lifted her other hand up to push the hair back from her face, scratching her dry scalp. She’d touched up the roots again last night. It had started to become a bi-weekly thing these days. Running away from the certainty that she was getting too damned old for all this nonsense. She’d had to look up the name of her upcoming opponent for SCUM three times, and it kept slipping away the moment she did. Jones Ventura – something like that. She’d written it down but couldn’t find the Post-It now. The desk was a mess, just like everything else in her life. “I’m fine. It’s just this time of year. It’s been worse, ever since…” she trailed off, not wanting to sound like a child, whining over something she had no power over. “This year, you know? It’s been hard. I’ve been clinging to familiar routines because everything else is so chaotic and now I don’t even have that. I feel like the next time I lace up my boots, I’m off to war instead of throwing some random stranger around a wrestling ring. Deep in enemy territory and I just…” she sighed.
“And now?” He prodded her gently.
“And now, the GHB holds all the cards. I haven’t heard anything from Bam – if he’s even alive still. I can’t fight for a cause when I don’t see what we’re even fighting for. There’s nothing left. So, what do I do now? Let them break me for a box of ashes and a burned-out, condemned husk of a building?”
“I can’t tell you what to do,” the voice was different now and when she looked up, she realized she was sitting in the window seat, staring at the blurred view as if trying to make sense of it all. Her laptop was closed and she could smell cinnamon and cloves even before Hunter pushed the cup into her hand. “Much as you want me to, I’m not going to make that choice for you.”
“I know.” She took a sip, finding it lukewarm, just the way she preferred it. With a grateful smile, she looked up at him and then caught hold of his hand before he could move away. “Sit with me. Please?” She scooted over into the corner, turning her back to the wall and the glass was cold where it met her arm. It reminded her of Siberia, of a man named Alexei and the monster named Spiral that had haunted her nightmares for too long. She closed her eyes, trying to force the past to leave her be for a few moments. She took a breath and another swallow of the sweet chai latte.
Hunter settled into the space she’d left for him, compassion in his gaze as it met her eyes the moment they opened.
“I don’t want you to perform a miracle.” The sarcasm was thick in her words and he knew she wasn’t lashing out at him. She was just frustrated at herself, at her own inability to stay whole without effort and enough medication to make it feel like she wasn’t really there. “I’m sick of feeling like Alice, falling down rabbit holes.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“To give it time. ‘It’s withdrawal,’ he says. I’ve got to wean myself off slowly and then we can try something else. Sometimes I feel like I’d be better off if everyone still thought I was dead.”
The silence fell like a slap and Hunter looked away, staring across the room. She wasn’t sure what he was looking at, if he was even seeing the clutter that so perfectly reflected her mind these days or if he was lost in his own recollections and reverie. Finally, he pulled in a slow, deep breath and she winced, unable to stop herself from tensing.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she blurted, her voice coming out small as she seemed to pull in on herself.
“You did,” he replied, “and it’s fine. I’m not mad.”
“It’d be easier if you were,” she muttered, the words muffled as she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them.
“Why would you even say that?” Hunter didn’t look at her – he was still staring off across the room, twisting his wedding ring absently around his finger.
“Fighting’s significantly easier than feeling.” Even as she said it, the realization was dawning on her. That’s what all of this had been, all along. Avoidance and denial. She was never going to be able to mourn the losses that she still couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge.
