QUESTIONS & ANSWERS (Chapter 38: Collateral Damage) [WGWF]

Zimmerman Field (Washington DC) ||| July 3, 2024
(off camera)

The weight of the TWA Hardcore belt was curiously absent as his vision cleared, the haze of black brightening to red before it was just darkling around the edges. He tasted bad pennies, that sort of ozone stench in the wake of a storm cloying in the back of his throat, his stomach flip-flopping like he’d just gotten off a rollercoaster.

I’LL KILL THEM ALL. GODDAMNED CHILDREN. USURPERS.

He wasn’t sure if those guttural screams were inside his head or coming past his numb lips. Everything felt very far away but as the pain filtered past the haze, fragments filtered in. His head throbbed in time to yet another clipshow of bullshit that made the anger flare white-hot, the knee-jerk reaction to blame JMont and TFO somehow, even though Duffy was supposed to be his safe place outside of their childish antics.

The first damned thing he knew was that whomever had jumped him had come damn close to cleaving his arm clean off, targeting the shoulder he’d had nagging issues with for the past year. He shifted, the hiss of air through his clenched teeth spelling out the pain all too clearly. His shoulder was far more fucked than it had been a few hours ago.

Montuori isn’t smart enough to orchestrate this. It was someone else.

His back was spasming, the pain almost unbearable. If the security guard hadn't been flattening him against the wall while the medic was checking him over, he’d have been writhing in agony on the floor. The pain had him so on edge that the rent-a-cops were convinced that if they let him go, he was going to tear down the walls of the arena to find his assailant. The irony of the whole damned thing was that he was supposed to already be on the lake celebrating independence, celebrating another year of wedded bliss.

He’d lied to his wife. He’d told her that he’d made a mistake on the travel arrangements so that he could stay in Duffy and he knew eventually she was going to call him on that avoidance. Here, he could pretend that he wasn’t carrying the weight of the SMASH brand on his shoulders, that he wasn’t crumbling under the weight of those lofty expectations. Another lie. Another brick in the wall that was swiftly becoming yet another cage.

Security had no idea about the war being waged inside his head. All they knew was that they were doing their job, restraining the monster who'd gone absolutely feral the moment they’d managed to rouse him from unconsciousness.

He bit his lip, trying to stuff THE MONSTER MACHINE back into his box and act like a normal human being. He took a deep breath. Held it as long as he could, despite the protests from his screaming back and shoulder. For once, it worked and he felt those tendrils of malice and violent intent recede just a little. "I'm… okay," he ground out between clenched teeth and numb lips, trying like hell to keep his volume at a reasonable level. He wanted to no-sell it, make them think it was a work for the cameras but he knew that something was off. He knew deep in his heart of hearts that this was just another nail in the coffin and the end date had inched a little closer once again.

He could still feel that sluggish sort of vertigo that usually followed a hard fight and it took a Herculean effort to form the words past his numb lips. With effort, he forced his eyes open again, gaze locking on the medic as the guy backed off. "Where's my w-" he cut himself off, blinking and swallowing hard because for a moment he’d completely forgotten that he’d come here alone. His throat burned. His head throbbed in time with his pulse – nothing new there, really. He tried like hell to keep focused lest they strap him to a stretcher and ship him off to the hospital, costing him more time. "Is..." he licked his lips, "is the show over?"

"Yeah," someone replied, "a while ago now. Fans’ve all cleared out. They said they want you to go to the hos–"

He zoned out, missed the rest of whatever that faceless guy said. Eventually they gave up. They shook their heads and washed their hands, passing the buck from one to the other until nobody but a few looky-loos remained. When the silence crashed back down, he shifted himself, bracing palms against the wall as turned away from the gawkers, staggering off towards the shadows at the end of the hall, swaying between this and that at first until the equilibrium righted itself and he limped out into the night, propelling himself as a function of momentum and a testament to stubbornness. His heart was hammering, he was pouring sweat but he made it to the rental car and slumped behind the wheel, letting the darkness claim him again.

Yurievich Residence (Rock Hill, NY) ||| July 4, 2024
(off camera)

The darkness was overwhelming. Elle had felt for months that things between her and Sev were crumbling, but after finding out that he'd flat-out lied to her– it’d all come crashing down. She’d been trying to lie to herself, to pass it off as one circumstance after another.

Losing Smash.
Championships.
His struggles with TFO.
Torn between two companies.

The more time he spent away from home, the more she’d begun to blame herself. Luckily, Lenore was the best distraction, except when she was asleep. Those were the times she fell apart and cried, trying for the life of her to figure out when it had all gone to Hell. She knew in her gut that it had started after Smash had died – it was so easy to blame WGWF for that, for putting him in a position where he couldn’t say no. And maybe that was the part that rankled the most. He was so quick to drop everything, to hop behind the wheel or on a plane and waste hours for this business that had chewed him up and spit him out so many times before. She knew he’d used that travel overseas as an escape a year ago, when her father had done his best to sabotage everything they’d worked so hard to build.

The man was gone, the problem handled efficiently but she wondered now if he’d actually succeeded. The cracks were still there, growing wider by the day and all her efforts to patch them up had left her feeling drained and brittle.

While Sev had been gone the past few days, Elle had made sure that she kept Lenore and herself busy with all sorts of things. Their large home had even been deep cleaned. She laid curled up on their living room couch with her favourite patchwork quilt wrapped around her and their dog, Gizmo asleep and cuddled up with her.The television was on but she paid no attention to it, even though she seemed engrossed. She was mentally preparing herself for Sev's arrival home. Even when he'd accidentally sprained her wrist, she'd felt more angry at herself than at him. This time was different; hurting her wrist has been a split-second accident. This was different. He'd lied to her and that had taken planning and intent.

She didn't even bother to wipe away her tears that seemed as though they’d been flowing nonstop since she'd found out the truth. Gizmo seemed to sense what she’d been trying to hide, glueing himself to her side.

A notification on her phone went off; their ring camera had been activated. Elle pulled up the feed and saw that Sev was finally home. Her heart immediately jumped up into her throat while her stomach bottomed out. She watched him for a few moments, noticing how he limped and that his arm was in a sling. Not too far back, she would have met him at the door and helped him in, but she just didn't have the energy anymore. She knew she was going to have to call him on the lie and that was making her spiral out completely, past traumas rearing their ugly heads. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get the right words out, everything felt trapped. The notification bells attached to their security system sounded, letting her know he had made it inside.

The backpack containing his soiled gear hit the floor with a thump she knew well and then she heard a creak followed by a groan that she didn’t really have to guess about as she glanced back at the screen and saw him leaning heavily against the door. For a moment she watched, feeling torn even as the anger continued to throb in her temples before she set her phone facedown on the couch, taking a deep breath to steel herself..

He could feel the chill in the air that had nothing to do with the air conditioning and he hated himself intensely in that moment, knowing this entire catastrophe was his fault. Muttering an epithet under his breath, he pushed off the door and shuffled towards the living room, suspecting he’d find his wife curled up in her favourite chair with a novel. Instead he found her huddled under a blanket on the couch, her gaze downcast only for her head to snap up and her eyes to lock on his the moment she heard the floor creak under his weight.

For a moment, he was frozen – the exhaustion of the multiple flights written all over his face. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t rant and rage at the last-minute change in plans that made his last message on X seem childish and trite. He held his breath until his chest ached, past the urge to cough because he’d smoked far too much over the last few days. “I won a championship,” he said, only because he couldn’t think of anything else to hurl into the silence in the hopes of shattering the iciness of her stare.

She just didn't have it in her to make any other movement than giving him a thumbs up. After a few seconds, she dropped her hand and started scratching Gizmo behind his ears. There was no use in trying to talk to him when she knew she’d just freeze up.

“I thought…” he sighed, shaking his head. On the way here, he’d been furious, that righteous indignation of the cowardly assault mingling with the irritation of learning the vacation plans had changed only when he’d already arrived in Virginia. She hadn’t answered his calls. All of them had gone straight to voicemail. All the extra money he’d made this week was blown on that last-minute flight back home. Fucking holiday. And now he was looking at being sidelined for at least a few weeks without any revenue from Duffy or WGWF – “goddamnit,” the frustration boiled over, “talk to me!”

Elle tensed up immediately, turning onto her back and making sure Gizmo didn't fall. She wanted so badly to respond with her own yelling and screaming, but there was no use. Berating him for making her feel like a third wheel in her own life wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

“I’m here.” Sev said it softly, the way she refused to engage with him cutting deeper than any insults could have. “That’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?”

Of course it is. She would have you chained. Docile. Weak and defeated. That’s what they all want. To pull out your teeth. One by one.

She tried to swallow back the word vomit that threatened to spill out. It felt like there was a nightmarish creature inside her, just clawing and slashing everything she wanted to say until it was sheer nonsense. She turned back onto her side and hugged onto Gizmo, closing her eyes as more tears fell.

He crossed the room, heading towards the oversized armchair even though he desperately wanted to join her on the couch and gather her into his arms, hugging until her tears stopped. Somehow he knew that wouldn’t fix things this time. “Do…” he broke off, unable to complete the question. “I won’t hurt you,” came out a hoarse whisper, “never again. Talk to me. Please?”

“I…” sighing in frustration, Elle grabbed the sketchbook and pencil that were on the table. She could hear the note of panic in his voice, that vulnerability that reminded her so much of the man she’d fallen in love with. It seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been a few years. Flipping to a clean page, she jotted down a quick note: Can't talk, locked up. happens when I spiral.

She held it out to him, her other hand coming up to wipe at her eyes.

“Then I will talk. And you will listen…” he hesitated and it was enough for that insidious voice to start dripping its poison.

She wants out. You can read it all over her face. Hell, she’s been looking for an excuse for the last year but feels like she owes you that debt for rescuing her from Daddy Dearest. Tell her we don’t need her. We never did. We can do fine on our own. Let me out. Let me deal with her the way we dealt with her father and then we can–

“No!” The word slipped out before he could check it and he saw both her and the dog flinch at the vehemence in his tone. A parade of emotions crossed his haggard features. Shame. Fear. Disgust. Resignation. He lifted his free hand up, scrubbing it across his face before sighing. When he spoke again, his voice came out low, barely above a hoarse whisper. “Everything I’ve done since September has been a mistake. Going to WGWF to take up that goddamned mantle the worst of them – it all started with that. Following Joe from one place to the next, like a trained dog. One gimme championship created just for me and I could not see the writing on the wall for my own hubris. Chris Page passed the torch. I made the choice to keep it after besting Vaughn a second time. I could have…”

He shook his head, this confession coming far too late to be of any use. “The more untouchable I became, the more it fed the worst parts of me. And now… I cannot fix what I’ve broken. You have been a casualty in this war I never wanted to wage. Our love collateral damage–”

She shook her head, opening her mouth as though she was going to interject but he held up his hand so she started scribbling on the paper instead.

“I don’t blame you if you hate me. If we are so far gone that you want to take Lenore… if you want to leave and never look back. I have…” he swallowed hard, “I have been preparing myself for that inevitability and there are documents in the safe – everything is yours. The house. Everything.”

She pulled in a breath – a visceral reaction as though he’d punched her in the gut and then she turned the pad towards him so he could see what she had written: YOU FUCKING IDIOT. What else do I have to do to prove I'm not leaving you??

It was hard for her not to feel annoyed – they’d always been on the same wavelength and now it was like they were speaking completely different languages. She was doing everything possible to prove that she was in this forever and at every turn he was stabbing that knife of mistrust deeper and deeper into her guts.

Sev stared at her for so long that she wanted to throw the notepad at him just to spark some kind of reaction. Finally, he let out the breath he’d been holding and blinked, tears sliding silently down his cheeks as he shook his head. “I will fix this,” he murmured, “you deserve better than…” he didn’t have the words to finish that thought, breaking off in frustration.

She deserves better than a dummy like me.

Without hesitation, she got up and crossed the room, slipping into his lap the way she had a thousand times before. She rested her head on his shoulder, her lips right beside his ear and finally the monster in her guts let loose the words they both needed to hear, “I love you.”


I do not want to destroy you, Romeo. You have promise. Potential. You could’ve been something if you hadn’t fallen in with those fools. If this was any other time, I would offer you a reprieve, but you have come into this at the wrong time. You will be collateral damage in a war you likely don't understand. I find no joy in this. Your blood will stain my hands indefinitely. I accept this because we have gone too far down this road now to turn back. The return trip will be far more expensive than I can ever afford. This has been more than a year in the making. I should never have come here.

Forgive me, Smash. I've tainted your legacy. I have let them ruin everything. Every. Last. Thing.

NEVERMORE.

I do not want to break you, Romeo. I will, though. I have no choice. Another piece will fall. Another pawn in this sick little game of chess will be taken off the board – checkmate looms. I am powerless to stop THE MADNESS now. We have to see it through to the endgame. We have to finish this story. The universe demands a resolution and I’m sorr–

NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.
I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE. YOU CREATED THIS MONSTER.
NOW YOU WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.
ROMEO IS DAMNED.
MONTUORI IS NEXT.