Q & A (Chapter 28: Solitaire/Unraveling) [wgwf]
Nov 25, 2023 16:38:05 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 25, 2023 16:38:05 GMT -5
Rock Hill, NY ||| November 23, 2023
(off camera)
(off camera)
THE ACHE IN HIS KNEES was back, tenfold. It never seemed to fade, just recede into that zone of 'who gives a shit' that lived somewhere outside his scope of reality. He was edging out of that place now, and it wasn't a good thing, especially not when their chosen family was due to arrive any moment. The anger was percolating in his guts, ignited like napalm into that impotent fury that always prompted the worst possible outcomes in the past. But of course, the moment he'd landed on top of the world, the moment he was dripping in gold, his body chose to betray him. Every morning, he woke up nauseated, playing a wonderful game of "guess which limb" roulette before the dreams had even faded. Yesterday it had been his elbow and he remembered now in hindsight that his wife had suggested a change to his attire nearly one year ago when he'd signed on with PWE.
How in the hell has it already been a year?
She'd questioned more than once why he wore those decorative leather gauntlets over significantly more practical elbow pads. He didn't have an answer for that beyond a commitment to always being in character and she'd let the subject drop.
He was sick of answering questions. He was sick of feeling like every aspect of his existence was constantly under review, being evaluated by a committee of critics who had zero clue about the twenty-plus-year journey he'd been on. Every time he logged in online, there was some fan, some armchair quarterback talking shit, questioning his sanity over the choice to remain as the Smash Champion rather than claim the top prize. Nobody had bothered to listen to him. He'd outright said it to Vaughn, more than once. He'd written it in capital letters on social media.
It had never been about the championship.
IT'S ABOUT THE LEGACY.
It was about the goddamned respect that he'd been denied on their first meeting. And now, he just wanted to uphold Smash's legacy. He wanted to continue that level of prestige, the level of integrity that was getting increasingly harder to do the more and more he realised he was surrounded by cutthroat fools. They all wanted a piece of the pie and none of them wanted to put in the work to get there. Sev needed to see this through to the bitter end. He desperately needed this title run to end on his terms.
The fact that he was slated to face a man who had yet to set foot in the WGWF ring annoyed him more than he cared to admit. It felt like a repeat of IIW, more shouting into the void and hearing nothing back but the echoes of ghosts long passed. He wanted to march in Barrows' office and demand an answer, to question if he was going to be served record-padding matches between Pay-Per-Views. He hadn't, though. He didn't really want to hear that answer because an affirmation on that was more a death sentence than anything else his body could conjure up in the aches and pains department.
It would mean they didn't have faith in him to get the job done.
It would mean that the nonsense Stylez had said about getting paid to take the fall seemed a little more plausible. He didn't tell anyone about how he'd taken more damage than he'd intended during that match in 9 Circles and the pain was still there, fucking up his workouts and his sleep. The less rest he got, the more the paranoia was setting in. He was seeing screwjobs in every shadow. The demons were whispering in his ears and the MONSTER MACHINE was restless, poisoning his thoughts with scorched earth fantasies.
He'd been lying to Elle, taking out his frustration out on her more than he cared to admit – it wasn’t that he was lashing out. No. He was stonewalling her with silence and somewhere in the back of his head he suspected she knew what was going on even if she didn't broach the subject. He'd poured so much into making sure that she was healing from her trauma only to be blindsided by his own.
He could feel the pain monster now, creeping at his nerve endings, but with his last shred of resolve, he pushed it aside and reached for the cigarette in the ashtray only to find that it had burned down to the filter, leaving a huge column of ash. Time was slipping through his fingers at breakneck speed, even now. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the deck chair. He turned his head to the side, his neck crunching on cue and he could see his ghostly reflection in the sliding door. Beyond that, he could just make out his wife's outline. She was setting the table, the leaf inserted so that it spread out large enough to hold a feast fit for a king. He looked like a stranger, a damned ghost – haggard and hollow-eyed, half-drunk on fatigue and the afterburn of another workout that had done more harm than good. Pain was gutting him from the inside out, these damned championships sucking away his marrow like vampires.
There were strange shadows and contours in his face that he didn't remember seeing before, almost a death's head – when he blinked it was gone. Just a trick of the light and he let his gaze focus on the interior to see that his wife had disappeared from view. A moment later he heard a bark, heard the pitter-patter and click of claws on the wood and Gizmo bounded into view, launching into his lap and startling him out of that dark reverie.
Elle was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the feast they were set to enjoy. She was looking forward to this year, to spending the holiday with people they'd formed their own family unit with. She was hoping this would be a new tradition that would continue for years to come. Their six month old daughter, Lenore, was settled in her high chair, happily babbling along to the music Elle had put on. It made the woman smile, despite the tension that was filling up the house. She wanted to help Sev but knew it would fall on deaf ears. If he could get past that damned pride of his, that is. He was the love of her life and the only thing that mattered.
He debated lighting another cigarette but decided against it when he counted the butts already crushed out. He’d have to pick up another carton when he went into town for the groceries before heading out to Miami. The pup in his lap whined, wiggling to get his attention. "Is it dinnertime?" He spoke softly to the dog who seemed to understand him well enough to start wagging his tail so enthusiastically that his whole body was vibrating. "Soon enough our guests will be here and you can harass them all for treats. How do you feel about that? Excited for company?"
Elle had finished with dinner and had gotten Lenore out of her highchair. "Let's go see Daddy and Giggy." The baby giggled at the mention of the dog she was fascinated with. It wasn't long before the two were in the doorway, just in time to catch that last question her husband had posed. "I am. Everything's ready, now we're just missing everyone else." Her heart had started to beat a bit faster, anxiety settling in. She wanted this day to go perfectly – it was shades of that past trauma, that desire to people-please for fear of rejection and recrimination. Swallowing hard, she watched him hug the dog, wondering for a moment who had truly rescued whom in that scenario before her husband looked over at her, a warm smile on his lips despite how exhausted he looked.
"They'll be here soon, I'm sure. None of them are known for being late." He set the dog down on the wooden deck and shifted position, stifling a groan at the twinge in his knees and back. "We need to get a more comfortable chair out here. This… Adirondack… is that what it's called? It does not agree with these old bones." He chuckled as he leaned forward, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back in a desperate effort to banish the kinks.
She thought about it for a moment and nodded in agreement as she shifted Lenore to her other hip. The baby had started playing with the necklace she wore and was content. "Well, tomorrow is Black Friday; let's redo the patio. There's definitely child-proofing we need to do." Stepping completely outside, Elle joined Sev, sitting on the chair closest to his. "I'll start looking for chairs after midnight." She'd never felt this sort of awkwardness between them, not even in the first days they knew each other. If things didn't start to get better soon, she was going to go insane. She could almost feel the suffocation creeping up on her now, stealing her breath as those invisible walls started to close in. "Think this is gonna be one of the best Thanksgivings I've ever had." She hugged their daughter close, her chin resting on top of the baby's head. "For her, I hope it is."
"I think she may not remember this one," Sev laughed, holding his hand out. Like usual, their daughter grabbed onto his finger as soon as it was close enough. She'd reached the age where she was grabbing everything, hell bent on putting it in her mouth. Neither one of them were particularly upset that her current obsession was her father's hand. He couldn't help the smile that curved his lips or the warmth that flooded his chest, mirrored in his gaze as his eyes met those of his wife's. For a moment, he saw something in her stare, a split second of clarity cutting right through him.
She knows. You've done a shit job of hiding anything, dummy.
Elle sighed, averting her eyes as though she was the one trying to hide from that probing gaze of his, knowing it was pointless. He had always known her far more intimately, as if he had been born with the codebook for the hot mess her mind was. "How much longer–"
"I don't know–" They both started at the same time and Sev broke off with a rough chuckle. "Go ahead. What were you going to ask?" He gave her the out to change the question, but he knew what it was going to be.
How much longer do you think you can maintain this charade? How much longer can you keep up this pace before it all comes crashing down?
She shook her head as the sound of tires on gravel came to their ears. "We'll talk about this later," she said softly, waiting while he freed his finger from their daughter's grasp before getting up. "I'm going to greet our guests. Oh, I got more of that peppermint face wash you like. It came yesterday."
It was a subtle message to pull himself together and he had no doubt that the face wash and the muscle relaxers that he hated taking because they made him feel numb were probably laid out together on the counter in their ensuite bathroom. Nodding, he rose and followed her inside, catching up and slipping his arm around her waist. He pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead when she tipped her head back to look at him. "I don't know what I'd do without you," Sev murmured, his voice close to breaking with emotions that suddenly flooded in from nowhere.
He said it to her often, her razor-sharp wit usually there in the response. This time, she simply smiled and took a deep breath, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she gently pulled from his grasp, heading towards the front door.
You need to tell her. EVERYTHING.
━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━
Águila Dorada. I know absolutely nothing about you. I cannot find a single scrap of footage to review. I know word soup from your biography – completely useless.
You remind me of the endless string of victims trotted out for the slaughter in IIW, rookies with so much potential, so much promise. Where are they now? Nobody knows. Moreover, nobody cares. They had no purpose beyond padding my already impressive record. Funny story: I never asked for that. I never said I wanted to fight ghosts.
There's nothing new or exciting here. Cable awaits down the line, the next to challenge for the championship I REFUSE to relinquish. The task of upholding my dear friend Smash's legacy rests solely on my shoulders. To let it fall from my hands now would be the worst thing I can imagine. We know why Cable gets next. He pulled off the spectacular upset after Panda Express and Damage did all the heavy lifting – he earned his moment in the spotlight.
Much as I hate giving voice to paranoid thoughts, I hear the whispers of the critics starting up again, talking about how my reputation as a MONSTER was earned by culling the sick and weak from the herd. Forget how hard I trained for every one of those matches. Forget that I brought 1000% of myself to each of those battles, despite the shambles and trials of my personal life. I sacrificed my health, my sanity... my entire world to be a fighting champion only for that firm foundation to be eroded from underneath my feet like it was made of wet sand. I defeated and dethroned Peter Vaughn. I set the bar higher than it's ever been. RESPECT HAS BEEN EARNED.
I AM THE PINNACLE.
DESTROYER OF WORLDS.
BREAKER OF EGOS.
LEVIATHAN.
I SUFFER NO FOOLS.
I KEEP RECEIPTS.
Who are you?
WHY ARE YOU HERE?
DO NOT WASTE MY TIME.
YOU WILL REGRET EVERY SECOND OF THAT, I PROMISE.
I am who I am. I require no introductions. Google the match with Kenny Pryce. Go back and watch what I did to Peter Vaughn, not once but twice. Ask JMont why he finds it safer to be on my good side.
YOU SHOULD KNOW MY NAME.
YOU SHOULD FEAR ME.
EMBRACE DAMNATION.
That's all make-believe.
Right?
YOU WILL SEE.
