THANKSGIVING [event #7, 3.5k cd/shoot rp]

The red wall had been a thing since 2012, the one constant that had travelled with them from the cramped two-bedroom apartment to the lakeside bungalow they now shared with two kids and a menagerie of dogs (and a black cat that had shown up randomly one day). Tomorrow he'd be in Seattle – the flight was leaving in a little over ten hours from now. He wasn't looking forward to the match. His track record in multi-person rumbles, even without ladders being involved, was abysmal. He'd come close to winning a few times over the years, but his inability to focus when there was that much going on in the ring had always been a detriment. Tonight, he'd spent far too much time down here, watching old match footage and trying to wrap his head around some sort of gameplan. As the Mainstream United States Champion, he'd be expected to have a good showing in the match – the last thing he wanted to do was shit the bed.

The World Series of Wrestling was streaming now on Splat and he'd muted everything about it on social media, needing to keep the negativity and doubts from creeping in. He didn't want to think about ratings or viewership or who was most popular. Most days, he was content to be somewhere in the upper middle of the pack. Every day since the event had started, since he'd passed that tryout, he'd been regretting the impulse to sign up. Sure, testing himself against the best of the best was all part of the business, but this wasn't about what he could do in the ring. He'd found that out the hard way when he'd been blindsided by that existential question of who he'd most want to fight, living or dead. Now that the boxes had been pried open, they were resistant to having the lids slammed back down. All the past trauma was bubbling up from the depths, further eroding his focus.

"No pressure," he muttered, watching the screen wink to blue as the idle device shut itself off.

The cracks were beginning to show, despite all the time off he'd taken prior to diving back in. He'd thought he was past this shit, evolved and healed enough to make another go of it. And maybe none of it was ever meant to be a long-term solution. He'd never been a people person, after all. His social skills were minimal, limited to mimicry after twenty-nine years of closely observing how others did it – he was still terrible, even after all this time.

His routine was shot. The insomnia was back; every time he laid down, the demons in his head awoke, screaming and shrieking. He'd felt on the verge of a panic attack for weeks but it was just that slow build, the tension inching tighter and tighter until he felt like he could suffocate. It never went off, never got to that release. He'd started getting lost in his head for longer stretches of time, only aware he was doing it after the fact. Time had started to bleed, the past seeming too close, breathing down his neck and he knew that was more the anxiety and depression running in those endless cycles. He hated that his family had become an anchor, the tether that kept him from drifting too far from sanity's shore.

He could fill the lake at the end of that dock with all the things he was thankful for and none of it could ever be articulated. It was far too personal, oddly intangible. A part of him knew that there was a prize for whomever performed best during the competition, a one-of-a-kind vehicle that would be a dream come true to get behind the wheel of, let alone poke around under the hood but he didn't entertain any delusions of walking away with that. No way.

Right now, the only thing he had were these baby steps, these sad micro-instances of control to placate his anxiety. He'd chosen not to renew with 5BW beyond the initial 6-month stint that had been part of his agreement to participate in the Ann Cup. Now that the appearances there were done, he was breathing a little easier. No more Ian Dream and his dipshit father to worry about. When it came right down to it, walking away was easier than he'd expected it to be. 5BW wasn't the same place he'd helped build – not that he was upset about it. Growth was natural, after all. And they'd made it past the two-year mark which was pretty damned impressive these days. As much as he knew they wanted him to fight back, he just couldn't bring himself to strike that killing blow. Sure, he'd taken the damage as expected, gotten up and got on with his life. That part of it would never change; it was ingrained too deep into his psyche to ever do anything else.

Being a husband, a father – a goddamned role model – had everything to do with it. Pre-2015, his sole purpose had always been to be a target, to suck up the violence and hate like a good little sponge. Better him than some delicate fucking flower who'd be irreparably damaged. Like Oliver Twist he'd always found himself with that empty bowl, begging for more even though it wasn't palatable in the first place. It was just the thing that always made sense, that he'd repeated so often the motions were ingrained and largely automatic. Now, though? He found himself sickened at the thought, as though the void had finally been filled to capacity.

Hannah watched him in silence from the stairs, trying to read his body language. For the past few days, she'd sensed there was something more going on than that usual seasonal depression in him but she didn't want to push for fear that he'd pull away.

"You missed story time." She wouldn't chastise him for spacing out, skipping dinner and bath time and everything else. After this much time together, she knew all his tells – she knew something was horribly wrong and the last thing she wanted to do was assume they were headed for a repeat of 2015 when he'd walked away from his family with little more than some nonsense excuse about losing his smile.

"Shit." He stopped his hand in the midst of reaching for his phone to check the time, knowing she wouldn't lie about that. "Was she..?"

"She settled. Eventually."

Hannah stopped at the bottom of the stairs and his gaze found hers. She was surprised when he held it – maybe things weren't as dire as she'd believed. Even still, he seemed melancholy even though his expression was blank.

"The girls wanted dinosaurs. There's some left in the fridge if you're hungry."

The look on her face told him more than he wanted to know, making him feel like an asshole for the neglect. "Didn't come down here to offer me dinosaur nuggies though, did you?"

Hannah took a seat, mimicking his posture. "No. I wanted to check in. Make sure you're okay." She hesitated and that was more telling than anything she could've said. "All things considered... are you?"

"You want the honest answer?" She inclined her head, saying nothing. "With pulling back? I think so. Mainstream's got a good vibe. Quieter, y'know? This business seems so full of toxicity lately. Everyone's got their asses out, sometimes literally – all these voices clamoring for the spotlight. It's just…" he shook his head, sighing. "It's frustrating. Exhausting. And I just can't."

"Let them bitch and moan," she scoffed, "you deserve to be on top for once. I've watched you give every last bit of yourself to this business; over and over, and what've you gotten in return? Some stupid golden ticket?" She shook her head, "I still can't get over the fact that you still had to audition for that show after being invited. Should've been begging you to lend some legitimacy to the whole thing. At least they got things right when they put you on the first episode."

His smile was fleeting but her words made him chuckle. She'd always been his biggest cheerleader.

"Was gone more'n a year," he closed his eyes, feeling the throb in his eyes and his temples – he'd been clenching his teeth again without realizing, carrying that stress in his jaw. With effort, he tried to stop frowning, reaching for her hand. "Much as you believe they didn't forget about me in that time, we both know—"

"They didn't, Lex. You sell yourself short and it just makes me want to smack the shit out of you sometimes." She shook her head, "I wish there was a way I could make you see how much you mean. Not just to me. To them."

He wanted to believe her, to accept the evidence at face value. He couldn't stop the impulse to dismiss and deflect, to never let any of it get to his head. If he showed how much he cared, the universe would rip it from his grasp – he knew that was a trauma response. He'd surfed enough therapy couches over the years to recognize the patterns, but it was impossible to retrain and rewire his mind.

"Say something, Lex. You're freaking me out."

"I…" his voice broke and he stopped, clearing his throat. "Appreciate the hell outta you, y'know?"

The feelings were bubbling up to the surface again and he lifted his other hand up, scrubbing it across his jaw and his chapped lips, feeling the bristly hairs there. There he was, telegraphing his mental state with that single tic. He'd need to shave soon, get some actual sleep before the flight, do his best to keep up appearances rather than showing up for the Mainstream anniversary show looking like some strung-out junkie.

She leaned in, kissed his cheek gently. "You packed your meds, right?"

"Yeah." He sighed, looking over at her, "double checked everything a few hours ago. I'm ready. Least it's not as long as flight as it'd be to New York. I'll grab some sleep on the plane. Check into the hotel, have a few more hours. I'll be fresh as a daisy by the time I gotta get in the ring and throw people off ladders and through tables."

"Well, there's a thought I don't find appealing in the least."

"Promise I'll do my best to avoid getting hit in the head," he said it with a wan smile, knowing he couldn't really control the actions of others.

"You'd think they'd want to protect one of their best champions rather than throw you into this cluster—"

"It's fine." 2019 Lex would have been offended, would have seen the booking (or lack thereof) as an affront. Six Year Anniversary Show and no viable contenders for the US Champion? Talk about a missed opportunity. Mark Storm seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth again after that defeat – no real shocker there. The guy had always been flaky. Alexandria Monroe was doing great in the tag scene and she'd held her own remarkably well in the ring. He'd thoroughly enjoyed that match. But now, he was the odd one out, the only guy in this Chase for the Crown bs before they'd subbed in Tapp.

"Nobody's listening," Hannah persisted, "I know you've got to be disappointed."

"Not really." He shrugged. For the last couple months, Biggs had had this thing with AJ Knight and that was far more compelling than anything he could have managed. He didn't feel slighted to take a backseat and supporting role in that drama and that was maybe more telling than anything else. "My time'll come. They should be showcasing the ones who've been there longer. I just got there."

"In January, Lex. Eleven months ago. Not like you showed up three weeks ago, lucked into a championship that fell out of the sky into your lap. You put in the hard work and earned it. They owe you more."

"Jesus. Has it almost been a year?" It didn't feel like it. He hated the thought of any company owing him anything. Sure, he showed up even when the emotional well was bone-dry, but that was what being a professional meant. It wasn't something he was looking to be rewarded for, even if his wife believed otherwise just because she knew how hard it was for him to accomplish.

He knew there were others in the business who kept running tallies, who banked on their appearance fees matching the ticket sales and revenues. He hadn't put out new merch in four years – these things didn't seem important to him in the grand scheme. The fact that his bootleg Ramones circle logo shirts had been next-to-impossible to keep in stock still blew his mind.

"They owe you more," Hannah repeated, trying to get that through to him.

He sighed again. "I know I should care but honestly? I don't. I'm just grateful to still be here… no matter what they throw at me. I'll show up, 'cause I'm just happy to still be in this thing, still able to compete after all this time. That's what matters…"

"Hey."

There's a shuffle and a loud scrape; sounds like someone's dragging a metal chair across concrete before silence reigns supreme again.

"So, yeah. Been a hot minute since I did this – since I had to do this. I've been tiptoein' around the idea of recording a little something-something, kind of a year-end thing. Been pretty deep in my head the past couple weeks, not gonna lie. This time of year, though, it's always got me feeling some kinda way, y'know? These past few weeks, though, I've taken the whole navel-gazing to a whole new level and I guess I owe the World Series of Wrestling a kudos for makin' me dig a little deeper than I usually do for the introductions. Usually, it's just careful misdirection and I show off what I want you to focus on. This time, though, I peeled it all back. Showed you the whole monty, as it were, warts an' all. And I guess that feels a bit like some lame-ass origin story, like I'm standing up there begging you to ask me how I got all these scars. Same time, though? I kinda feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude, like a weight's been lifted. I can be myself… I guess that flows well enough off the past eleven months, and how things've been over in Mainstream. Not that anyone asked, mind you."

A wry chuckle fills the pause.

"I guess I owe you an explanation, don't I? For why I'm cutting this little audio ramble now, I mean. It's weird, how things've changed since I came back. Lemme explain. See, there used to be a game I'd play – hollowing myself out, tossing out parts that didn't matter. Used to see how deep I could go, how much I could delve into the alienation 'fore even I was a stranger to myself. I used to call that ‘sleight of mind’. It used to amuse me, inventing this new narrative. Now, the thought of hiding parts of who I am hold no appeal. I guess that's the big lesson I learned in my year an' change away from the business. The world as we used to know it fell apart. Spent some time figuring out what really matters."

Sigh.

"My wife thinks I don't give myself enough credit, she thinks I'm afraid of my true potential – she's never come out an' said it, but I can read between the lines well enough. I can count the top gold I've held over the course of my career on one hand still. Usually fall in the middle of the pack but at least I always show up. I always work my ass off. So maybe it's all that hard work that's made this return feel so easy. Almost a year back and it doesn't feel like it. That's what's surreal. That's why I'm recording this now… 'cause I got this burning need to get this off my chest. Been carryin' this weight around for too long. This time, coming back wasn't hard at all. Found a place right off the bat that embraced me, welcomed me with open arms. You know how rare that is for me?"

Collins breaks off, a catch in his voice that he hides with a brusque clearing of the throat.

"I thought I was past my shelf date, that I was grasping at straws coming back again. Might've overreached when I went back to 5BW, but it brought me something good. Thought I was gonna crash an' burn when I got offered that golden ticket invite to the World Series. A guy like me, with as many demons as I got screaming in my head… I was never meant for the spotlight. No lie. The fact that you're behind me, though? Supporting me. Watching these stupid little brainfarts of mine… showin' up in droves to cheer me on every time I lace up my boots… buyin' my merch so I can't keep any of it in stock? Means a lot."

His voice is strained, that emotional current running through every last syllable.

"Called myself The Outsider when I came back – tongue-in-cheek, 'cause that was how I felt. Now, I dunno. Guess I'm always gonna struggle with that alienation, that impostor syndrome bs, even when I'm drippin' in gold. The part that blows my mind, though? The part that makes me wanna sing your praises from the rooftops, is that I no longer feel unworthy. Not that it's gonna make any difference. I'm still not gonna badmouth anyone else in that competition to put myself over. Still not on that level, I guess."

His voice has grown raspier.

"Used to take out the trash – believed that's what I was, deep down. I survived it all 'cause I believed in destiny. I believed my only purpose was to be the punching bag of the world, despite so many people telling me I was worth more than that. The universe supported my belief. They all threw shit at me. Touched me when I didn't wanna be touched. Used and tossed me aside when a better offer came along – never heard a single apology. Not that I expected one. It's fine."

Wry chuckle.

"This wasn't ever supposed to be a feel-good story. I came into this business thinking I was a cautionary tale. I never expected this outpouring… this connection. As self-absorbed as it seems, I thought I was alone. Turns out my story's not unique. I'm glad something I said – something I did – resonated with you. I'm glad I made ripples in the pond. Without you, none of this'd have any meaning. You know that, right?"

We're down to a rough whisper, now.

"These past eleven months've been incredible – truly the best of my career. Right now, I don't care about championships or this reality show competition, about winning money or clout or some unique car – this is about something far more meaningful. Us. Together. And if I've made even one of you who were on the brink of the abyss, circling the drain, think twice about doing something irreversible… if I've made you see that you're not alone? Then, it's all worth it. I'm shit with social interaction. By now, you know this, but I do see the posts online. I get your letters. I hear the things you say when we meet in person. God, I can't even begin to put into words how much that means, that anyone out there looks up to someone like me. I never thought…"

Clearing his throat, he continues after a few seconds of silence.

"What'm I most thankful for? YOU. You're the inspiration behind all this, the reason I've stuck it out this long. None of this would've been possible without my support system: the fans. For the thousand different ways you made me actually feel like I'm not just some insignificant cog in the wrestling machine – thank you. I know I rarely come out and say personal shit like this, but I mean it. From the bottom of my heart. No matter what happens next, we're in this together.

Stay gold, alright? Never let 'em bring you down."