Questions & Answers (Chapter 29: DAMAGE, INC.) [wgwf]

Questions & Answers (Chapter 29: DAMAGE, INC.) [wgwf] Dec 23, 2023 0:08:18 GMT -5

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Post by Admin on Dec 23, 2023 0:08:18 GMT -5

Rock Hill, NY ||| December 5, 2023
(off camera)

SILENT AS A TOMB, the house was a little too reminiscent of how it had been back in the summer when his wife had been snatched away by her psychopath father. And perhaps that had been the catalyst, the moment it had all started to come unglued. It had surely been when he’d started to tax his body well beyond its limits, losing himself for days on end in a vicious cycle of obsessively working out, passing out from exhaustion and waking up to do it all over again. At least this time, he knew where she was – bullshit alpha male moments of illusory control and he’d take what he could get these days. He’d returned home from another pointless appearance on Brawl, doing his best to mask his irritation. He’d come to WGWF because of JMont’s prodding but it had been Smash’s involvement that had cemented the deal.

The morons in the back were still speculating on his motivations, questioning his sanity. He had the weakest of do-gooders trying to warn him that he was setting himself up to be used. The whole thing was far too familiar, shades of Pyro telling him that he was too dumb, too naive and trusting to negotiate for himself. That narcissistic manipulation may have worked in the past, but his eyes were open now. The Fortunate Ones needed him and he was well aware that he had already grown beyond the group dynamic before IIW had even shuttered its doors.

A few more weeks. Then we watch it all burn.

Those dark thoughts slithered through his reverie, bringing a smile to his face that he could see in the mirror, glad that his wife wasn’t around. He could see the flatness in his gaze, the coldness in his features – the last few months of bullshit had eroded the last of his joy, leaving behind nothing but this simmering rage in his guts.

“They’ll burn,” he murmured the promise, “soon enough. All of them.”

Elle had gone into town early in the morning to help their friends Sam and Jude do a deep clean on the house they were planning to move into soon. He’d opted to stay behind, making an excuse about feeling run down – it was easier to sell when it wasn’t really a lie. Their daughter had picked up a mild cold over Thanksgiving, finally on the mend and although he didn’t feel feverish, the fatigue of all this travel was really starting to wear on him. The fact that Montuori was insistent on The Fortunate Ones making appearances every fucking show even though none of them were contracted to Brawl was already grating on that last nerve that hadn’t snapped under the immense pressure he was putting on himself. He’d spent most of the day in the gym, their daughter happily playing and then napping inside the Pack ‘n Play that he’d set up just a few feet from the weight bench. He’d apparently had a nap of his own at some point because when he woke up, he was soaked in sweat and disoriented. The first thing he checked was Lenore, stumbling up to his feet with a grunt and a cacophony of crackling joints. She was asleep but stirred the moment he touched her, those dark eyes that were so much like his own opening to lock on his. He picked her up and then heard the pitter-patter of feet, heard Gizmo barking upstairs. That must have been what pulled him from that blackout nap. He made his way upstairs with Lenore cradled in his arms, looking outside to see the lights coming up the driveway – Elle was home and it was dark out.

Shit. Where has the day gone?

He made his way into the nursery, settled the sleepy Lenore into her crib before picking up the baby monitor from its charging base. A moment later that was sitting on the kitchen counter while he rummaged in the fridge for something cold to drink.

Elle walked through the door that separated the garage and kitchen. There was a somewhat childlike smile on her face as if she were a kid on Christmas. The reason for this was the burrito of black fur wrapped in a grey bath towel that she cradled in her arms. Before looking up at her husband, she placed a kiss on the burrito that soon revealed it was a dog. “Hey,” she said softly with warmth in her tone. “I made a new friend today.” She made her way to where Sev was by the fridge. “This is Huckleberry.” Lifting the towel back to reveal the snoring English black lab puppy.

It was an immediate clash of emotions, a welling of warmth at the sight of the sleeping puppy but the fact that she’d gone and brought another animal into their home without discussion brought on that rush of anger that made the back of his neck burn – maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the weight of the world he’d imposed on his own shoulders. Maybe it was the fact that the MONSTER had been out of his mental prison too long but he couldn’t pull back that acid that crept into his tone. “I did not know that Sam and Jude were running an animal shelter. Or was that just a lie to get out of the house?”

His tone caused an immediate familiar tightness in her chest. Swallowing hard, she held the puppy against her as she shook her head. “No.” She could feel the tension in the air and it was suffocating. She wanted to run into the bedroom and hide under the covers until the tension disappeared, but she couldn't. She had to be an adult and adults talked out their issues. “They found him a few days ago and haven't located the owner. He’s not microchipped and since Sam and Jude are still in the middle of moving, I said we’d foster him for a few weeks.”

“I see.” Those words came out clipped, the tone so much like the things her father had said all her life. He had no idea he was pushing those triggers as he turned away from her, cracking the seal on a bottle of ice pop-flavoured Prime. “And you did not think to ask how I felt?”

“I didn’t think you'd mind.” She sounded confused as to why he might be upset. “I mean you did the same thing when you brought Gizzy home.” A lump had formed in her throat and she did her best to swallow it back. The tension was getting heavier and if things didn't start to calm down, she'd be in the middle of a meltdown. She hadn't had one in months, but this one felt long overdue. He'd sounded so much like her father that it immediately made her avert her eyes to her boots, her body gently shaking. “I guess... I-I can return him.” The thought caused her eyes to well up with tears that she blinked away.

He scoffed at that, almost a rude snort before turning his back to her. “And make me out to be the villain in the story, I’m sure.”

Isn’t that what you want?

Elle lifted her head and looked at her husband just to make sure he hadn't turned into her father. “I wouldn’t do that. Why would you even–”

The look on his face made the words die on her lips and immediately she shifted tracks, apologetic. Her voice came out small, almost fearful. “I’m sorry, Sev. I honestly thought you wouldn't mind. It’s only temporary. Maybe until the new year at most. It’s just, the moment I saw him, he reminded me of my dog I had when I was a kid.” It had almost been like deja vu, Huck was the spitting image of her dog, Smokey. Not a day went by that she didn't think of Smokey and how much she missed him.

“You,” his tone softened a bit, “never told me you had a dog when you were young.”

She nodded, resting her chin against the top of Huck's head. “Yeah. Atticus got him for me after Mom died. His name was Smokey and he was my best friend.” A warm smile crossed her face but then faded as she remembered how she'd lost him. She wasn't in a proper headspace to touch that, let alone dive into that with him right now. She looked up at Sev, tears welling in her eyes even though there was defiance in her tone. “I'm sorry if you're upset, but I'm doing this. With or without you.”

“Do you think I would be so cold-hearted to cast this poor creature out when we have plenty of space and love to give?” He gulped back the last of his drink before crushing the empty plastic bottle in his fist. For a moment, he held her gaze and then shook his head, muttering something barely audible under his breath.

“Of course not.” She felt as though there was a target pinned to her shirt, his tone piercing it with each word. “Have I done something wrong?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sev fired right back, feeling the anger raging into an inferno within him. Everything about this whole interaction was rubbing him the wrong way and he knew, rationally, that he was taking his frustrations out on her but he couldn’t pull that rancour back. “Feel as though I am walking on eggshells. Everything I do, someone is judging. Someone is critiquing and now you are doing the same thing.”

“I'm not…” Elle stopped herself knowing full well that there wasn't any right thing she could say. She knew she should try and deescalate him before he got angrier. He'd never been upset with her like this; it must have been building up for quite some time. “If I've made you feel that way, I'm very sorry.”

“If…IF?!” He stared at her incredulously. “What kind of nonsense is that? Something you learned in therapy? To be as vague as possible with some blanket apology and hope I am so pleased to hear it that I don’t question sincerity? Oh, no, dearest. You have done nothing wrong. Nothing ever.” The vitriol oozed from every word and it cut through her – she’d heard him use this tone before, when down-dressing those pathetic losers he had been slated to wrestle over and over again in IIW.

Her eyes were stuck on his face and she wasn't sure she could recognize the man who saved her life. “No.” The word came out firm and sharp as she turned her back to head upstairs to their daughter, puppy still in her arms. “You don't get to talk to me like that… Like him.”

“I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM!” Sev shouted, sending Gizmo into a barking frenzy even as the terrified pup fled the room, heading down the stairs.

“You sure sound a fuck ton like him.” She rarely swore, had never seen much use for it. Sometimes there were no other words. Elle had reached their daughter’s room where the infant was laying in her crib, Elle put the puppy on the day bed that was in the nursery. She set one of the diaper bags on top of the comforter and started putting some things in it. There was no way that she was staying with him when he was this volatile. It was too much like her childhood and it made her feel so sick.

He stopped in the doorway, eyes narrowed. “What…” he stopped himself before the question fully formed. He could see plainly what she was doing and it cut right through him, making the anger burn even hotter. “Where are you going?”

Elle's back was to him as she stocked up the bag with anything that might be needed for a night. “To the guest house.” Tears were streaming down her face but her tone was almost detached. “I'm not gonna be screamed at all night and Lenore is not going to listen to it.” Her whole body felt achy and she knew when she was able to relax in the guest house that she'd be able to feel her feelings.

Told you, dummy. Told you that this was only temporary and you’d find a way to fuck it up.

That insidious inner voice slithered through his head, making him feel sick. The anguish of losing Smash, of nearly losing her once thanks to her father’s machinations – everything that had happened over the last year crashed over him at once as the dams broke. He had no words for what he was feeling and before he could do something horrible and regrettable, he turned away from her.

When he hadn't said anything after a few moments, Elle turned and studied him, watching the way his shoulders rose and fell with his labored breathing. Instead of saying anything to further set him off, she went to leave the nursery to grab something from the master bedroom. The moment she started to brush past him, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He’d just meant to stop her, to stop this stupid fight that was going nowhere but there was no restraint when his fingers closed around her arm and the force of it made her stumble, twisting it the wrong way. He let go almost immediately but the damage was already done – ten seconds or less and he’d hurt her in a way he had never, ever intended to.

Elle lifted her head as she held her arm protectively, fear and complete shock in her eyes as they met his. The pain she was sure to feel hadn't started yet, overridden by shock in that instant and she backed up so that she was by the crib. She was already starting to silently sob as she took a seat on the floor, leaning back against the crib as the pain hit, her arm on fire. She needed to leave, but she was petrified.

Horror was written all over his face as he leaned heavily against the doorway, his head spinning so much that he felt drunk. “Elle… I didn’t–” his voice broke, the anger fading even as his head started pounding. “No. Please.”

She'd brought her knees up to her chest so that her arm had more support. Elle glanced up at him, her eyes now red and swollen. “I need to go to the hospital.” The words were accompanied with a couple sobs.

“I can’t.” He shook his head, not wanting to tell her that he’d been drinking for most of the day. He was nowhere near sober and hadn’t been since he’d gotten the news of Smash’s passing. He took one shaky step towards her and then stopped. “It’s not that bad. Is it?”

She looked down at her wrist that was already showing the discoloration and swelling that came with bruises. “I don’t know.” Sniffling, she reached into her pocket with her other hand and grabbed her phone. Of course he was in no shape to drive anywhere – she had known that the minute she’d walked in today, even before this fight had broken out. Fingers trembling so bad she almost dropped the phone, she went to work booking an Uber. She had snapped into auto-pilot mode, the way she always tended to during a stressful event. “I’m booking a car. You’re gonna have to stay with Lenore.” The way she wasn’t looking at him made the unspoken ‘as much as I don’t want to leave her here with you’ all the more noticeable.

Sev nodded immediately, finding it easier to lapse into that silence that had protected him for so many years. His mind was reeling, the anger buried under a flash of guilt and shame. It was a wonder their daughter had slept through all this but when he approached the crib, she was still peacefully asleep and he fixated on the rise and fall of her perfect little chest as she breathed in and out.

Once the app confirmed her ride, Elle struggled a bit to pull herself to her feet. She cradled her arm against her chest and tried to focus on anything other than the throbbing pain she was in. “I need you to watch Huck, too. He should just sleep.” She was hesitant to walk past her husband, but did so anyway and he watched as she went down the stairs, her good hand gripping the banister tightly.

He wanted to follow and apologise profusely for what he’d just done.

Gazed too long into the abyss. That’s what’s happened. You have become a true monster, not this defanged destroyer you play on television for mass appeal.

Isn’t that what you wanted?

No.

Isn’t it, though?

NO.

LIAR.

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

I CANNOT ABIDE A LIAR. A HYPOCRITE. A FOOL WHO REFUSES TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND FACE THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS OWN ACTIONS.

You made this bed. Lie in it.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Another would-be hero rises up from the ashes of several recent defeats and finds himself at the precipice of the abyss. I would laugh if this wasn’t a complete and utter retread of my entire Legacy Championship run. Another pretender, another of the good ol’ boys ready to close ranks and drive out the MONSTER in your midst. I cannot deny the gnashing of teeth, though... the unfathomable and eternal hunger that claws at the insides of this meat suit, desperate for MORE CARNAGE.

I have appeared on EVERY single show since I signed with this company, even if it wasn’t to lace up my boots and manhandle any of these interchangeable dipshits around the ring. I have held this championship with pride, even if this is to be my first TRUE defense. And the truth is that I wanted it to be on the line against the debuting Gaviota Dorada – the Golden Shitbird – but that was overturned by the bookerman. Something about not padding my record with easy wins. Ah yes, but some will be quick to say that is nothing more than pandering to this massive ego you believe I have. Tell me what I want to hear. Keep me in line. Keep me docile, chained and complacent.

The trouble with the hero narrative is I've heard it a thousand times before. It's unremarkable. BORING. No. Not you! Never! This Seth Stevens is DIFFERENT. UNIQUE. Another special snowflake, utterly lost in the flurry of mediocrity that surrounds me lately, melting the moment any of you come into contact with my UNHOLY RAGE.

You think you know me, do you?

Fine. Then come at me, little hero. One foot in front of the other. Step bravely into the mouth of madness. You believe in the so-called GREATER GOOD, in this magical land of opportunity where championship shots are handed out like sweets dropped into the stockings hung by the chimney with care. Of course you believe, because it's happened! Your wish has come true. Granted, you aren't in the main event, but I am sure once you're released from the hospital you can continue your journey towards the bauble I TOOK from Vaughn. You think you know me? PAY ATTENTION. Everything I predict comes true. Every. Single. Thing.

I've never once phoned it in against an opponent. NEVER overlooked anyone. Even the unworthy serve a purpose, after all. Your blood, spilling out across the canvas serves as a message to those delusional enough to think they can dethrone me. As much as I want to let that focus slide, to fantasize about breaking John Cable into a million twitching pieces of goo, YOU are the one in MY crosshairs.

And OUR LEGACY demands that I hold myself to the highest standards. Smash would want this. Would require this of me.

I AM A FIGHTING CHAMPION 24/7, DESPITE WHAT MY MANY DETRACTORS WOULD HAVE YOU BELIEVE. I do not hide behind politics and technicalities. When I lace up my boots and don my war paint, IT MEANS SOMETHING. Even if I am not wrestling, I am there in every outraged cry, in every fearful gasp - I do not NEED a championship to define me.

Congratulations, Stevens. You have won THE LOTTERY. Destiny called and you have been chosen for this special opportunity!

Unlike you, my name is spoken with respect. It echoes in the most hallowed of halls of this business. It was chanted in Japan. It was cursed in Vegas. I forced Toddy to look within, to face the darkness. I elevate everything I touch. Welcome to your most important role yet: VICTIM.

If you want me to treat you like a contender, FUCKING ACT LIKE ONE. THIS IS YOUR MOMENT, CHILD. YOUR SHINING, PERFECT CHANCE AT GLORY DROPPING DIRECTLY INTO YOUR LAP. No lumps of coal for you this year. No. You've obviously been a GOOD boy.

Step into MY ring with some confidence. LOOK ME IN THE EYE. I am not the one who needs convincing here. No. I see your worth (or lack thereof). I see all the squandered potential but I'll play nice and not bring up those previous failures that brought you here to MY killing floor. Oops. Sorry. I clearly misspoke. I meant to say those trials were obviously the fires that consumed your inadequacies and prepared you for this GLORIOUS reinvention as the Smash Champion.

IF I ROLL MY EYES ANY HARDER, THEY MAY FALL OUT.

The truth about you is far more damaging than any lie you can conjure up about me, Stevens. But do shout from the rooftops a few more times how only YOU can carry this championship to the heights it deserves.

Sometimes life is a recurring nightmare. Trudging through this human wasteland, listening to the endless shit is EXHAUSTING. EXCRUCIATING. Sometimes every thought that enters my head is horrible. Blood and gore. PAIN AND MISERY. Like right now: all I want to do is break YOUR neck, snap a few bones like some action movie bad guy. Without remorse.

THIS IS THE MONSTER YOU HAVE MADE. THIS IS YOUR CHRISTMAS GIFT, STEVENS. NOT REDEMPTION. NOT REINVENTION. YOU ARE A LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER.

ALL ROADS ON SMASH LEAD TO DESTRUCTION. TO THE ABYSS.

TO ME.

I would urge you to say your prayers, to make your final arrangements but it’s too late for a lot of things. Too late for me to pull the plug on any of this. I am a perpetual motion machine now. It just keeps going, feeding itself. I am this great ball of anger, a silent, open-mouthed scream of rage. Consider this a warning as the last of my humanity tries to spare you. Stay the fuck away because every move is telegraphed. Everything I do is a warning signal, a prelude to the worst violence imaginable.

It’s too late for a lot of things. The fist is already flying, ready to connect. It’s too late for me to care about things that don’t matter. Fame. Fortune. Celebrity. This fucking championship they all covet so much. It’s a curse. It’s a black hole of despair. My eyes can see this shit for what it is.

FLEETING.