Open. Shut. Open. Shut.
They were getting worse. He couldn’t hide it from anyone anymore, least of all himself.
Open. Shut. Open. Shut.
Foolish pride had led to this. Telling a trainer to fuck off, walking when he should have let himself be carried. Running when he should have limped. Being a patient of Dr. Vicodin and resident nurse Percocet. Frequent therapy with Jim, Jack and Jose. Stupid shit that he now all but preached against.
Laying in the dim light of a new dawn in the canopy bed, grey silk sheets pulled up to his chest with his arms draped over them and laying lazily at his side. Long, pale digits flexed open, then squeezed shut as he willed feeling into his hands as he did every morning it seemed. His stony expression betrayed the underlying maelstrom of worry.
The feeling was taking longer to return each time. When the feeling finally returned, he needed to walk for an hour before he could work the kink in his knee out and move without a limp. He knew, and accepted that all of it was part and parcel with being a fighter in his forties. That didn’t mean that he had to accept it, though.
With a heavy sigh, and the pins and needles feeling giving way to a gentle sting he cast the silk from his lithe form and swung long, toned legs over the side of the bed. He spared a look over his shoulder to stare at the sleeping form of his wife, Marika. She’d rolled to face him at some point during the night, her sweet face looking peaceful yet somehow still calculating.
Both of them were met with little more than icy sideways glances by coworkers. Both of them inspiring ire in others in their shared willingness to cross lines others wouldn’t dare glance toward. Her past was a topic that haunted her as much as it didn’t bother him. Just like all of his faults never seemed to phase her.
Two angry, bitter people who had found one another, and created life. Seemingly ending her in ring career n the process, or so he had assumed. They never talked about the ring much when they were at home. Honestly, most days they barely said a word. Just happy to exist in the presence of another human being who accepted them.
The snap of water rushing from the shower head shattered his reverie, returning him to the here and now. A sigh escaped him as he dropped trau, taking a moment as he was always apt to, to check his reflection and graze his fingers over tattoo and scar alike. He lingered a little longer over the one shaped like a star in his left shoulder, sparking the ghost pain of the stab wound that had left it.
Other scars seemed to join in the symphony as the memory of what created them sung out, serving as a reminder that he never asked for of the fact that he was reaching the end of the line. It wasn’t a secret to anybody that he had flirted with the idea of retirement, but now? Now it was an inevitability rocketing toward him.
All that was left now, was to go out in such a blaze of glory he’d blind the business. And ending he didn’t deserve but would greedily take. An ending that he couldn’t secure, until he made sure certain others were alright.
A pang of guilt chilled his core as the water warmed his skin. He’d been accused of coveting another’s wife. Some even believed it was all he had come here to do. At another time in his life? As little as eight months ago? He absolutely would have been. He would have seen it as the opportunity everyone convinced themselves he saw it as.
In reality, he really just wanted to see his friend pull out of a tailspin he’d gone into before. One that took him over a decade to pull out of. There was only one ending for that. And with Masque around, and Mac blinded by his own sudden golden validation? It was an ending that would destroy her, and burn anyone close to ash.
The only path, the only true path to it he could see right now? Humble Mac Bane. Take away his labor so he could focus upon the labor of love. The quickest, most righteous path to this? Blast to the Past. Either he wins the whole thing and gets Mac alone, or the teams cross paths and he gets to beat him for it twice. The competitor in him, the ego that drove his career couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.
Going from 1 world title in 10 years to 2 in as many years? If he hadn’t won every other kind of title his first run through the business, he would have contemplated on if he was a late bloomer. No, this was just all accolades added to his legacy in that odd moment between peak and twilight. Where all the knowledge and experience mixed with a body still as dangerous as it ever was in a dance toward the cliff’s edge.
Undefeated and a ‘known commodity’ teaming with someone described as a ‘Legend’. He could have done a lot worse, and they seemed to be given a free pass out of the first round. Dealt a team of ghosts, perhaps ambitious local talent who had dived into the deep end only to discover it infested with sharks, and there they were with open wounds about to be opened ever wider.
Fate has not smiled upon either of you, has it?
No. No, it hasn’t. Not one Iota.
The arrogant person that I am, i’m going to assume you know who I am. And if you took a second to do even the lightest of reading you would have realized that as impressive as my winning streak, and my long string of accolades fucking everywhere are? My partner is fucking Royalty within the ropes we will all share together on Climax Control.
Bombshell World Title, Tag Titles three times, Twice each for Internet and Roulette. If there was a title to win, Amy Marshall has fucking won it. I am honored to have fallen into the fortuitous position of taking on this journey with her. Two Mavericks who have done nothing short of kick wholesale ass, and broken the jaws of those who said they couldn’t against a field equal parts mystery and legendary…
Maybe this is your debut, kids. Maybe it’s not. I couldn’t find a shred of evidence in either direction. I could find less of the ability to give a fuck one way, or the other.
I have a duty here in SCW. I was clear on who I was here for from day one, and this is my path directly to him. The title? The title is more a necessity than anything at this point. Remove the blinders from the old horse, in a last ditch effort to see if he returns to galloping on the path he ought to….praying we won’t need to call the glue factory on him.
And as a bonus, I get to deliver a fight worth having to my good friend the Bombshells Champion. Who i’m sure has gotten tired of beating up the same circle of contenders over, and over, and over, and over again. It’s not something you see very often in this business anymore. A champion with staying power. Seems mostly nowadays, people win and lose titles every other show.
World titles lose their splendor, when they suddenly share the same amount of glory and revere as a dooby at a frat party. So, especially with the extinction of Maggie Lockheart out in Indy, that makes Amber Ryan the most prestigious champion in wrestling.
Amy and I run the table, fuck around, win this thing? It’s a boone for everyone. Me and Amber Ryan get the fights we’re after. Me and Amy get a chance at hardware. Mac Bane gets to be course corrected…
Your part in all this, however? Decidedly inglorious. Afraid we haven’t sprung for the participation trophies..
The whistle of a kettle perked him from his phone, quickly discarding the device upon the table and stepping into the kitchen to retrieve it, The cobalt blue of the kettle stood out against the stark white and silver theme of the rest of the kitchen. As pompous as one would expect in a dwelling owned by him. Dutifully, he returned to the table and filled a cup across from where he had sat first,then his own.
Her footsteps cracked the stony expression on his face with a small smile. He turned, walking to meet the short, groggy, incredibly pregnant woman halfway through her trek, long pale hand firing out to gently snatch one of hers as the other went to press on the small of her back. He leaned down, burying his face into her scalp to plant a kiss and linger in the scent of raspberries for a moment.
“Mari, if you would have waited I would have brought it up to you…”
A small smile incredibly rare to the rest of the world but familiar to one greeted him as her initial response before she leaned back a touch to truly see him. “No, no. It’s quite alright, dear. I should move a little, while the doctor said I need to limit activities she did say I should do some walking.”
“Might be the first time I’ve witnessed you taking orders from anyone…” dutifully, he pulled her seat out for her before helping lower her and her precious cargo into the chair. Hs hands slide to her shoulders, giving them a squeeze as he plants another kiss on her head “Earl grey…already put the sugar, milk?”
Small talk was a common shield, a way to put a real buffer between the world and personal reality. It was useless between them, and yet it still remained a common practice. If only, to stay in practice for the ones it kept at bay. She couldn’t help the brief laughter accompanied by a nod of her head. A delicate hand then rested on her belly as she leaned her head back, still wearing the smile, albeit an already exhausted one. “Don’t get any ideas, Matthew. You and I both know the only reason I’m listening is because of what happened when my blood pressure went through the roof.”
There was silence for a moment as the recent memory brought another chill. “Yes, I would like some milk today, he’s extra fussy and for some reason it seems to calm him. Speaking of calm, were you finally able to settle yourself? Your steps were heavier than usual for a while earlier which I know means it was.. That.”
He chuckled as he retrieved the small silver milk jug from its place betwixt them, set out moments before her presence filled the room with her molten chill. He poured until her dainty hand raised to stop him before he took his place across from her, falling silent as he raised his cup and sent a swallow down to try and melt away the ever present chill within.
“I’m better, now that you’ve joined me..” he began, always one to butter her up before trying to ease her worry “but yes, I was once more hard at work with my ever present internal struggles. Grappling with my age, my ambition, and guilt that isn’t mine…the usual cocktail before a fight..” he paid her a soft smile, eyes drifting to her belly.
“I’m not sure which of me I want him to know..or, rather, i’m not sure I want him to know me as a fighter…I..” he drifted off “Am clearly unqualified to grapple with these decisions.” As he spoke she reached over to her own cup, taking a small sip before setting it down. “I don’t think either of us are qualified when it comes to decision making outside of our darker selves.” Her own gaze lowered now, hand again finding a home on her belly. “I’m honestly under the belief that as much as it frightens us both, our son has to know who we are, if we hide our worst we could possibly hinder him becoming our best.” She let out a sigh. “Plus you’re a shitty liar, Matthew. He knows when you’re shielding our ears even now. That’s why he kicked me. So your rough cocktail.. does it tie into you losing your sense of self and sensation further to the point of shakes, or is that extra?”
“I think…that’s God reaffirming my suspicions.” he chuckled at her bluntness, sheepishly casting his gaze down into the tea as he raised it to his lips for another pull. He set the cup down into the dish, leaning back into his seat and sliding down as he mulled all of her words. “I want to let him be innocent. Normal…We’ve done well enough, being awful to give him a life he deserves. Why not let him enjoy a decade or so believing his parents to be just another stuffy west coast family?”
The reasoning felt solid, if a little thin. He had failed his daughters. All three of them, he had failed. There was another who, at best, would share a conversation with him when he was pushing sixty to try and forge a bond that was only a parody of the one that could have been.
Asahi Joseph? His chance to be the father that he wanted to be, despite himself. The one he should have been.
“I should walk now but..I can’t. Heroism and Hubris are a dangerous cocktail, I guess…goes down bitter, bad hangover..” the bad joke a deflection of how it truly ate at him. Her eyes narrowed, it painfully clear that she saw right through him. Still, she let out a small laugh. “何が正常ですか?” She mused, taking another sip before the long exhale. “The life he deserves.. your words carry weight and make sense. I just hope when the rose colored glasses are stripped by the world that he doesn’t feel a certain way towards us. I know to a degree what that can do and have seen far worse examples in bonds and aches both familial and otherwise..”
“Well, when the rose coloured glasses are ripped from him, we’lll hopefully have built up enough good faith with him to earn enough trust for him to hear our side of things. Maybe we get lucky, and he never knows how far we’ve gone for so little..” a chuckle, his gaze going to find a blemish on the ceiling that had been there since he was much younger “We should be so lucky…”
He shifted in the seat, leaning toward her and reaching a hand out to lay over hers, his gaze shifting to her as well “A problem that will get all my energy, as soon as I find the finish line i’m headed toward…this business with Mac, Amber, Tom, Roth? This is the last of it…this is the last selfish fight I will ever ask you to endure, Mari.” a gentle squeeze “I promise this, as much as I promise to put on a display as violent as you deserve to witness.”
The smile shifted to a smirk, more devious in nature as again she responded with a nod. “Oh Matthew, you speak of normalcy, and then you tap at the door of our beasts with the allure that is violence. That’s quite mean of you, dear. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” She now did the squeezing. “I know you’re battling so much and trying to take care of everything before he arrives. I appreciate that effort. However, I don’t want that to come at the cost of yourself. I can bestow understanding to him as you handle this business.” She laughed a little as their son decided to interrupt their conversation.
His eyes drifted to her stomach as her giggle sent a twinge through his chest. He felt the strain of a smile upon his cheek, standing to round the table and kneel next to her, eye level with the dainty woman.
“They haven’t found a way to kill me yet….Monsters, Men, Groups…they’ve all been driven under by me. I’m carving a path to the exit, and I will drag those deserving across the threshold with me to the warmth of mercy..” he couldn't help but shake his head at himself “I must sound a fool..but, my love. Hear this.”
“I will always, ALWAYS come home to you.”
People tend to dislike me.
Mostly because, if you don’t mind the frankness, I talk a lot of shit. I’m arrogant. I’m boarish. And if you ask me? I’m one of, if not the best, doing this right now.
I’m old for this. Forty going on forty one. But i’m better now than I ever was, and I’ll go as far to say that in that ring, under those lights, with everything on the line and fate staring me in the face?
I’m better than anyone else in the ring with me.
You’re going to want to beat me like a rug. You’re going to want to see me bleed. Maybe you’ll succeed. Maybe, Hubris is my achilles heel here and you will come out at Climax Control and make absolute fools out of me, and Amy. Knock us right out and move on while I sit with a pedestrian 3-1 record and she goes back to retirement.
But I doubt it. I doubt it very much. Because, when you’re worth a damn in this business your name gets around. Better or worse, your name gets around our community. The lack of fucking anything on either of you,tells me the obvious.
You’re not worth a damn. Management saw nothing in your pairing and threw you to an experienced team as an easy opener because they know we’ll draw more eyes than you. They know that people WANT Mac Bane vs Matthew Knox for the SCW Title. They WANT Amber Ryan vs Amy Marshall for the Bombshells World Title.
Nobody..Nobody wants either one of you. Hell, I can barely bring myself to want to punch you.
So, at the risk of earning more critics and ire allow me to impart a little knowledge onto the both of you. Take the money, take the experience, take notes. Take the beating, and grow from this. Use the money for road expenses on your way to that indy gig at the memorial hall where the Level Up scout is supposed to show up.
Come out to the ring with all the fire you have though. Listen to me drag you through the drt, basically asking for help identifying you from the smarks in cosplay tights. Try to hurt me. Hurt me like you want to hurt the step dad that gave you all these rage issues.
Make the absolute best of the hand you’ve been dealt.
Because it is a shit, shit hand.
