May 17th --- Los Angeles
===================
Off-Camera

Clarissa is sitting at the bar high top, surrounded by shot glasses, drinking a beer. Kris comes through the door of the bar, staring at the pool tables in the back, feeling the familiar pull back to them, but he stops himself, knowing that wasn’t what he was there for. He scans the bar for Clarissa, finding her sitting at the bar. He moves across to her, and places his hand on the middle of her back. He leans in and plants a kiss on the top of her head, looking at her to gauge just how messed up she was.

KRIS HALICH: What’s up, love?

She looks up at him, her eyes glossy, and with a sloppy smile, before turning back to her drink.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Hi you…

The bartender looks up, and catches Kris’ eye, but before he wastes his time moving towards the duo, Kris shakes his head, signaling not to bother offering him a drink. He turns his attention back to Clarissa, and sits down on the stool next to her.

KRIS HALICH: How are you today?

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Peachy..

She doesn’t even look away from her drink to answer, and the single word she forces out sounds flat. He moves his hand slowly, up and down her back.

KRIS HALICH: I don’t imagine that you would have asked me to come if you were perfectly fine…

She raises the glass and takes a long drink from the tall glass.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: But… I… uh… I don’t know.

KRIS HALICH: Seriously, what’s up?

She spins the glass around on the bar, playing with it instead of directly engaging in the conversation. Kris was guilty of this himself. It was annoying to be on this side of it though.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I am not a very good person.

She finally does look up to him, meeting his eyes. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead shrugging with a sort of blank face.

KRIS HALICH: Neither am I.. I have known you for a long while, you can’t be so bad.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I’m… pretty bad…

She raises the glass again, pausing with the top rim of it brushing against her lips. She is hiding herself behind it. This wasn’t like her though, at least not in Kris’ experience. He tries to hide how nervous that makes him with a smile.

KRIS HALICH: What makes you so bad then?

He tilts his head, softening his expression to hopefully get her to open up.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I don’t know…

She shakes her head, angrily and pouts.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I JUST AM OKAY!?

The outburst draws attention to the two of them for those around, including the bartender. Kris holds up his hands to the man behind the counter, assuring him that he could take care of it on his own. He puts his free hand on her leg, and tries to catch her eye, but she again just looks down at her drink.

KRIS HALICH: I am not hearing a reason that you think that though.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I’m.. I’m just..

She moves her hand from her glasses to a shot sitting next to it, raising it instead and knocking it down without even a bitter face.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I’m a mess.

He cannot help but to shake his head and laugh at her.

KRIS HALICH: Ain’t we all?

She looks up from him, irritated by his laugh. When she locks his with him though, her lips turn upwards into a sort of half smile.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I am worse than a mess, Kris.

He scrunches up his face like he is considering her words, but then shakes his head no.

KRIS HALICH: Nope! I am not seeing it. How are you so messy?

CLARISSA ASHFORD: How can you not see it? Especially in the small time that you have known me? How many times have you had to pull me out of trouble? It is always one thing or another. The whole being drunk on a playground is just as much a reality as it is a joke we always talk about.

Kris doesn’t even miss a beat with a retort of his natural wit.

KRIS HALICH: Well, in all that time, I have not seen you murder a single person, so at least there is that.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I just have really bad luck….

This only gets another laugh, which makes the smile disappear from her face once again.

KRIS HALICH: Most of us do. Tell me what is on your mind.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: What if there's a lot on my mind?

He shrugs with a smile on his face and she seem reluctant but eventually her poker face disappears. She tries to stand up quickly, wobbling in her heels trying to stand straight.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I make a lot of stupid decisions and think without thinking. I turn to alcohol for everything. That whole situation with thrill... It was all my fault. That's only some of it.

She looks in his eyes for judgement but doesn't get any. She reaches for her drink and he makes no move to stop her.

KRIS HALICH: Everyone has a drug of choice. Legal. Illegal. Prescription. Sex. Everyone has something.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Why do you even think I am a good person?

KRIS HALICH: You haven't given me a reason not to.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I don't feel like it at all.

KRIS HALICH: Then spit it out.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I can be selfish. I can be stubborn. I have a temper that I try my best to hide but if pushed just enough it will come out. I spend way too much time trying to hide my flaws when in reality I have so many it's hard to hide them all. People see this sweet southern girl but the real Clarissa? She's not sweet all the time. I just get scared if that side comes out. If it does....

She looks down at the floor.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: You'll run....


He shakes his head, not buying it at all.

KRIS HALICH: Show me then.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Oh you will come face to face with it sometime.

She isn't looking up to see him again shaking his head.

KRIS HALICH:Its like youre trying to scare me off but not actually saying anything.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I'm not trying to scare you off. That's the last thing I want.

KRIS HALICH: Then what do you think is so bad about yourself? Tell me something, anything, that makes you so bad. Because from where I'm sitting, you are just fine.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I used to steal and lie and cheat to get myself ahead in regards to work. I used to steal a lot growing up and when I finally got caught and could have been in major trouble, I blamed my cousin and she got the blame. We haven't spoken since and she was like my sister.....


Kris shakes his head at her and opens the jacket of his suit, pulling his right arm out and raising the sleeve of the shirt inside to show the track marks that have scarred him.

KRIS HALICH: You see this? I lie to everyone to do this and I have done some serious shit in order to keep doing it. In the ring, I wear sleeves and blow off the facts when people throw them in my face. I have done sick things Clarissa, and I did them of sound mind and body. You sound like a girl that just made a mistake once. I am a bad person…

She looks at his arm and then back at him, kind of surprised. He looks around to make sure that nobody was paying attention and then slid his sleeve down and put his arm back into the jacket.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: You… you did that to yourself?

He laughs loudly.

KRIS HALICH: Hey, they don’t call me an addict fuck up for no reason. I am surprised that you hadn’t picked up on it. You know, you have been with me through some of it last year. I would be a dick one minute, and then lazy and quiet a minute later. I am irate and then calm and complacent, and sleeping an entire day.

She looks at him and shrugs, taking another drink of her beer.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I can’t judge. I only feel normal, calm and collected when I drink.

He leans forward and catches her eye.

KRIS HALICH: My point is that you are just like every other person. There is nothing bad about you. You fuck up. You drink. I don’t see you sucking random dicks in alleys and then stabbing hobos after. I think you’ll be alright.

She doesn’t break his eyes away from his.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I guess. You promise you still aren’t going to leave?

He smiles.

KRIS HALICH: Absolutely not going to leave. Unless you try to seduce and then murder me in an alley.

She slaps his chest playfully and smiles. She leans closer, hugging him and putting her on his chest just above the spot she slapped.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Never…

He wraps his arms around her, and kisses the top of her head.

KRIS HALICH: You’re pretty awesome, you know?

She looks up and bats her eyes, now smiling wider.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Not as awesome as you are.

She only gets a shrug from him.

KRIS HALICH: I am alright I guess.

He looks at her inquisitively though, kind of concerned for her well-being at this point.

KRIS HALICH: Do you need a ride home? Or are you going to throw up in my car if I try to drive you?

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I don’t throw up… but I can walk home from wherever here is…

KRIS HALICH: I am happy to drive you. It is kind of on my way.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: Its okay, I feel bad enough already. Plus, you have plans. I don’t want you to be later than I have already made you.

KRIS HALICH: Hey, I enjoy spending time with you, and with Ripley riding shotgun there is no chance for road head… or at least zero chance of GOOD road head. So I am happy to push him off an hour or so. It’s not like he is going to care to go a little later. I just want to make sure you get back okay. No parks. No public intox. No having to bail you out later.

She laughs lightly at the list of their previous adventures together when they worked for the same company in Nashville. She leans up and kisses his lips gently.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I’ll be fine, I promise.

She steps back, almost falling over when reaching to grab her sweater. He quickly moves forward and catches her by the arm.

KRIS HALICH: Clarissa, let me take you back, you leaving her alone isn’t going to turn out well one way or another. I would just end up feeling bad. Plus, I would just be worrying about you all night anyways.

She looks around the bar with her eyes glossy, shaking her head in disagreement still. She starts to put on her sweater, with Kris moving his hand to her hip to stabilize her.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: It’s okay. I promise. I will be fine. I feel bad that you’re already late.

KRIS HALICH: I am sorry if I gave you the impression that no was a possible answer. If I have to I will carry you out of this bar kidnapping style and put you in the car. I will even put on the child locks.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest and looks at him defiantly.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: You wouldn’t dar---

He doesn’t let her finish before he leans forward and picks her up. With one arm cradling her back, and the other under the back of her legs, and lifts her up to her chest without too much effort. He immediately turns towards the door, with no person in the bar even moving to stop him.

KRIS HALICH: So, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: KRIS!

She smiles, and it does get a little attention from the bar trash before the look away, seeing the smile and playful tone in her voice.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: This is so illegal!

KRIS HALICH: You refused to just come with. You’ve forced my hand manager girl!

She tries to wiggle away, giggling when he turns his back to the door and pushes it open with his back. His car was right outside, in a fire lane with the flashers on. The bouncer give him a nod and holds up his keys, which gets a friendly nod from Kris.

KRIS HALICH: Thanks for watching the car man. I told you it wouldn’t take but a second to get her out of there.

The bouncer moves around to the passenger seat of the car in front of Kris and pops it open. Kris places her on the seat inside and closes the door gently. He turns to the bouncer and reaches into his pocket and pulls a few bills from his money clip handing it to the man and patting him on the back. The man trades him the keys for the money and heads back towards his door. Kris moves around and sits down in the driver’s seat and puts the keys in the ignition. He turns to her with a smile.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: You’re both kidnappers! I am going to get that guy!

KRIS HALICH: I told him that you would try to talk your way out of it. Turns out he is an SCW fan. He knew exactly who we were and wasn’t going to stop us no matter what you said, so you be quiet best friend!

He reaches over and kisses her on the cheek, but she pouts. He reaches around the seat and grabs the seatbelt, pulling it across her and buckling it before he even notices the look on her face.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I am not just your best friend…

Her words are almost indistinguishable with the slurring of her speech, but they cut him pretty deep either way.

KRIS HALICH: I didn’t say that you were just my best friend… I said that you were. I also called you manager girl a little bit ago.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I… I don’t remember that….

She shakes her head and looks at him, batting her eyes and watching the cars go by. He steps hard on the gas before stepping on the clutch and shifting into first. The wheels spin, and squeal as he jets off, shifting down again to merge into the traffic, and then again to make a light about to turn red.  

KRIS HALICH: How would you define us, Clarissa?

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I would like to describe us as… uhh.. ummm…

She yawns loudly and looks out the window. She seems to lose her train of thought, and quickly gets bored looking at the sights out her window. She leans over sideways and rests her head on his shoulder while he drives, slowly starting to fall asleep.

KRIS HALICH: …. I just know I love you.

He says the words in a whisper, not wanting to stir her. She already knew he felt that way anyways.

CLARISSA ASHFORD: I love you, Kris…

Her words are whispered softly, slurring even more now, as she cuddles as close to him as possible, wrapping her arms around his shift arm, a smile crosses her lips before she falls completely unconscious.


=====================================================================
First Class International Flight
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On-Camera

I am not sure what the point of this is Drexel. Honestly? I mean weren’t you just in a match for the SCW Championship? How is it that you going from being one of the two challengers to the top prize, to a guy fighting the dude that came up short of a Roulette Championship for a second consecutive time on Pay Per Views he was booked on? How does that happen? I told everyone in the world what he had to feel like for the Roulette Champion to had to face an unproven rookie, with only two matches under his belt in the company. That, in my opinion was insulting. Never did I think that there was going to be a time that I was in a match more insulting to my competitor than that one was. Drexel, you have topped that. You went from a main eventer, to a lower midcarder in the course of a week off. That has to just get under your skin.

I can’t imagine how pissed you must be. You know what that means for me though? It means that you are an easy target. See, people in the crowd, and the announcers even, seemed to be on my side at the Pay Per View. Everyone wanted the champ to lose because they think he is a cock. They didn’t want me to win because I am likable. They didn’t want me to win because I was the more talented. I was the lesser of the two evils. This time it isn’t going to be the case. Nobody is going to cheer for me if I knock out the referee. Nobody is going to be on my side when I put my legs on the ropes to pin you in a roll-up. Everyone in the house is going to boo when I low blow you when the referee isn’t looking. See, like I told everyone from day one, I am not likable, but not only am I unlikable, I really don’t give a shit what people think about me.

I am here for one person, and one person alone. That is me. I get to go out and go something that I am good at for twenty minutes or so, get a fat paycheck, and then go home. I don’t play politics like the rest of the people in this building. I don’t pick sides. Hell, Amy Marshall likes me, and so do most of the Mean Girls. I am neutral when it comes to things that happen to others, but definitely not so much when it comes to what I am going to do to take you apart. If you aren’t cheating you aren’t trying. If you have a problem with that? Too bad. I don’t need to slap hands of fans on the way down the ring. I don’t need to hype them up at all, and waste time. I just get to do my thing and they can all go to hell.

The only thing to your advantage in this match, is that it is Roulette Rules bullshit. It is the biggest challenge that I have faced. Every one of those matches that I have been a part of, I have lost. Not only have I lost, but I have gotten beaten and embarrassed. I have been beaten by the Roulette Champion twice in front of sell out crowd and in front of more pay per view buys than I can count. These matches haven’t gone my way. Mainly the problem is that all of those rules I talk about breaking, may not even exist depending on what that wheel says. I haven’t ever gotten the benefit of it. I have never had it come up with something that I can translate into a win.

Here is me saying that this time is going to be different. Here is to me saying that if you beat me I am going to make sure you still don’t leave the arena at the end of the show. The likelihood of there being a dumpster for you to toss me into and be discarded inside is small. There is a slim chance that could happen back to back times. So hopefully there won’t be some bullshit that will stop me from being able to take an unfair advantage. The only thing that I hate more than losing is having people not understanding what all I am about. I don’t get cheered. I don’t get the commentators applauding me. I get what is best for me. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You’re going to lose. Because I really need a win.

 [Flashback January 13th]

He hears a knock on the door, at first it was light, but probably at his lack of response, and building frustration, it because heavier when he doesn't answer. It startles him out of his slumber on the couch in his living room. Almost immediately panic sets in. Nobody was supposed to be here today. There was nothing to be delivered. There were no bills past payment. He looks around and sees no emergency that would require an angry neighbor to beat down his door. His first thought is to let Ava get it. It only comes to mind after listening to more pounding on the door that Ava was gone visiting family. He turned to look out the large bay windows behind him, it was still early morning. How long had he been asleep? How had he fallen asleep for that matter? The answer for the latter came to him in the form of his whole arm being asleep. He shook his head and pulled the rubber band tie the rest of the way off.

Kris Halich: Oh.. rookie mistake Kris..

He mutters under his breath. Again there was a thunderous knock on the door.

Kris Halich: YEAH! I'M COMING! FUCK!

He shakes his head brushing all of his kit off of the coffee table top and into a drawer. He hears something break when he quickly shuts the drawer. The look of anger on his face is starting to grow. At the moment, he couldn’t think of a more hostile way of being woken up in the morning. He looks back at the door, muttering.

Kris Halich: ..I don’t know who you are, but I am going to fucking kill you...

He looks around for a shirt, not seeing one in the immediate vicinity, and choosing to forego it. It was only going to take a second to brush off whoever it was at his door. It’s not like he really needed to be presentable. He puts the shoulder of his still sleeping arm against the frame of the door and pulls the door open far enough to look out, squeezing the hand in his dead arm to try and get some blood flowing through it.

Kris Halich: What do you wa--

He sees who is standing at the door and it takes the words out of him. Elena stands there. As always, she looks all polite and smelling all pretty for a woman of her age. No, that isn’t right. She hasn’t looked her age in more than a decade. Even with the most hostile of judgments, she looks 35, maybe 36 on a bad day. He is reminded of that fact when she offers Kris a smile.

Elena Halich: How are you doing after you beat up my husband, stole his car, vandalized it and tweeted the pictures?

She asks while still smiling. It was very clear to Kris where Amari got her demeanor from, however - Amari was colder about it. With Elena, that coldness was thinly veiled under her polite exterior. Elena Halich at least smiles at you. It’s probably why she is hard to stay mad at, even when she is clearly cutting you down.

Elena Halich: May I come in?

He sighs heavily and looks down to see that the color has returned to his arm. The sharp needle pain of his hand waking up is a reassurance of that fact. He pushes the door open and steps away so she can walk past him.

Kris Halich:  Suit yourself.

As he moves away from the door he raises his left arm to cover his right. Namely the thin mark from the tie and a small bruise on his bicep where he probably missed his mark, though he can really remember the reasoning. She steps through the door, and he pushes it closed with his heel.

Kris Halich:  I guess if you're staying I should put on some clothes.

It was probably smart to get himself covered up immediately. Elena wasn’t stupid, by any means. He heads towards the bedroom and emerges a moment later, throwing on a red hooded sweatshirt. As he puts his arms through the holes and brings it over his head, he sighs, his annoyance starting to subside.

Kris Halich: What can I do for you?

Elena Halich: I honestly was concerned and came to check on you, all snideness and bitchiness aside. How are you doing Kris?

He holds his arms out to his sides, motioning around the near spotless apartment and shrugs.

Kris Halich: Everything is just peachy here. I mean I have the place to myself. Ava is gone for a few days. Its been.. relaxing.

She nods, looking around. He could tell that she knew something was off. Then again, there was probably that inkling in her mind when she decided to make the trip over. She turns her eyes to him, and they narrow. He suddenly realizes there was likely something about his eyes that would give her all the proof she needed about her suspicions. She looks him over, stepping closer to him. She locks eyes with him.

Elena Halich: Relaxing, huh? How are your hands?

She gestures towards them, surely they got messed up with hitting Jason. He holds them out, turning them over so she can see can see both the back of his hands, and then his palms.

Kris Halich: Some scratches. It’s nothing to worry about. They are mostly healed already. How's his face? Or his ribs for that matter?

His words don’t sound like they have any remorse in them but they aren't cold either. They just, are. She smirks some at Kris, rolling her eyes at the younger Halich.

Elena Halich: I doubt you care, Kris. Honestly. I get why you did it. Honestly.

He shakes his head, denying to himself that she had any idea what she was talking about. Legally, they might be family, but that didn’t give her any right to think that she knows anything about him. She was going to try to dissect him after having only a few conversations with him in the past three months? Or maybe she thought she knew enough about him because of his brother’s stories. Either way, he is only half listening when she starts to speak again.

Elena Halich:  He's not replacing you or anyone. So you need to swallow that bitter pill and shut up with that all that shit. You had it rough growing up. I get that. No, I don't know the details not just yet, some day I will but you are not the only person in the world who had it rough. You are not the only victim out there Kris Halich. You are not the only person who has survived. You are not the only person who wakes up to nightmares. You are not the only person who delves into less than legal remedies to try and make it all go away, so you need to stop blaming Jason. None of that is his fault. He didn’t do anything to you. You know what the sick thing is, Kris? I have tried to tell him that, and he doesn’t believe me any more than you look like you do.

He laughs, blowing her off. She had gotten her self-righteous rant in. As far as he was concerned, she had delivered her message, and she was more than welcome to leave. He walks past her, speaking as he goes.

Kris Halich: ...so I used to get beaten up and abused after Jason was too bloodied to do anything about it. So, our dad was an asshole. So, our mom was too imprisoned to do anything about it, though she wouldn’t have. She was so wrapped around his finger. Dad couldn’t ever do anything wrong. So, Lindsay didn’t make it to her third birthday, and that got put on me and Jason. What could I do about it? I was seven.

He shrugs his shoulders and laughs. It sounded genuine. Maybe in his current state none of those nightmares bothered him. Maybe it was just that he was cutting into Elena and using his own experiences as a knife aimed at her, and that fact alone took the sting out of them for himself.

Kris Halich: Shit happens. Shit happened for years. It became the everyday routine. I mean, I didn't move out until 18. Jason? He was more or less gone from the time I was 13.

He continues walking until he reaches the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator and staring inside.

Kris Halich: So what? Jason could have adopted me and spared me five of those years. Granted I was getting a little difficult for our dad to beat me into not fighting back in those later years. On the other hand, I wasn’t a pretty teenage girl inside a gated in house.  

His face twists into a scowl at the thought of Gabby. To think, he actually liked the brat at some point. Maybe he just couldn’t stand the thought of her now because she was getting what he had deserved more than a decade ago. He turns from the fridge and grabs a glass out of the cabinet. He hears her sigh, almost like she was starting to realize that he wasn’t going to be budged on the issue.

Kris Halich: What kind of host would I be if I didn’t at least offer you a drink? I have tea, water, and more tea.

Elena Halich: Water is fine. I haven't been feeling well.

He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and holds it up to her before putting it down on the island in the middle of the kitchen and then pushing it towards her.

Kris Halich: If I am honest, I don't blame Jason for it. I was bitter for a while that he is adopting your daughter for practically no reason, but never thought to take me out of that situation. Then I realized how hard he failed at being a father the last time he tried, or even the time before that. I mean he ran from Haley when she got pregnant and well… we both know how his actual daughter ended up after just a month.

He pauses, shaking his head as he pours himself a glass of tea. He couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind upon hearing him talk about his deceased niece like she meant nothing. He had pushed through her attempted guilt trip, laid his own, and now he was just trying to dig under her skin until she was irritated enough to throw herself out.

Kris Halich:  Now? Eh, fuck it. Spilt milk. Water under the bridge.

She walks over and spins the cap off of the bottle, placing it down on the island. She shakes her head, probably trying to shake off his words, or at least the majority of them.

Elena Halich: Gabriella asked him to adopt her. That's why he is doing it. She approached him about it. It wasn't something he cooked up. Her father, Hector…

She puts a hand over her mouth, nearly throwing up when she says that name. It’s like at the mention of it, the memories of all of the sick things that man did to her and her daughters flooded back. She swallows hard and takes a sip of water.

Elena Halich: He signed over his parental rights to her before he went back to Columbia with his father.

He was in the middle of taking a drink of his own drink when she gets to the end of her statement. He starts to laugh, restraining his body’s natural reaction to spit the tea from his mouth. He raises his hand to cover his mouth, finally able to get it down before shaking his head, still having a good laugh. Elena looks at him, not quite understanding the reaction.

Kris Halich: Columbia? Yeah... that's where he went.

He walks around the kitchen and past her, headed back the to the couch. She smirks at her brother in law.

Elena Halich: I have my suspicions, but I'm not saying a word. I learned to keep my mouth shut growing up.

He laughs some at her.

Kris Halich: I wasn't implying suspicions. I'm sayin homie got chopped up by the mob and fed to pigs as penance for his last month of bad decisions. Then again..

He turns to her with a condescending smirk towards the oldest of the Gonzalez women.

Kris Halich: You probably already knew that but you’re just in denial. They are your family after all. You know what they are capable of.

He shivers and has another laugh.

Kris Halich: They are some sick fucks, I will tell you that much.

She sits down on the couch, crossing her legs as she lets out a soft sigh. He was successfully turning the conversation away from himself. If he kept this up, she was a lot like a ticking time bomb at this point. He was curious how hard he was going to have to push her to get her out the door.

Elena Halich: I am not going to argue with that, but I was mostly kept away from all of that.

He lays his head back onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling. He still wore a smile on his face and laying on the condescension pretty thickly.

Kris Halich: ...but you're not stupid, Elena.

He raises his head so that he can look at her with absolute sarcasm.

Kris Halich: ...or are you?

Elena Halich: Maybe just oblivious.

She stops and seems to think over her choice of words. Oblivious was clearly not the word that she was looking for. Her eyes mirror her brain trying to search for the right word.

Elena Halich: No, I'm not stupid nor oblivious. I'm well aware. I am just hoping to god they didn't bring Amari into it.

She her eyes say that she is pretty sure that they did. Of course, Kris was probably closer to her middle daughter than she knew. He got the full story from her just days after it happened. They swapped stories, and had a lovely conversation on the beach in San Diego when she showed up more or less uninvited with her new entourage.

Elena Halich: Amari  is more like that side of that family than my brothers are, and they live for it.

She glances at him. The smile starts to fade off of his face. His little ploy had gone as far as she was going to allow it. It was quite obvious to him that she had remembered the reason that she had made the trip across Los Angeles this morning.

Elena Halich: So what did you take? I can tell you took something. Afterall, we already agreed I am not stupid, Kris Halich.

He smiles and plays innocent, attempting to deflect again.

Kris Halich: … I don’t remember agreeing to that at all.

Her eyes tell him that she in unimpressed, and not just that, but unamused. Getting a rise out of her was more difficult than he thought it would be. Apparently that thin veil of politeness that she drapes over even the harshest of words was thicker than he thought it was. He sighs and finally answers her question.

Kris Halich: No idea what you're talking about, sister of mine.

Elena Halich: Your eyes say otherwise. I bet if I check your arms, they'll say the same.

It was like she knew what he was going to say. She was on top of what she was going to say almost before he was able to finish his denial. Still, she wasn’t necessarily going to jump on top of him to find out.

Kris Halich: Well then I guess I should be happy I am all covered up.

He puts his feet up on the coffee table, mentally protecting the drawer in the side of it from her eyes. Any feeling of exposure he was feeling started to fade immediately.

Kris Halich: That is indeed bold of you though, coming over unannounced with your accusations.

She smirks some, probably noticing that now she had him on the ropes. He was trying so hard to get a rise out of her moments ago, and now she was being more successful doing the same to him.

Elena Halich: Really? Kris, I was a nurse for twenty-five years. My first husband was an addict. I know the signs... brother of mine.

He shrugs with a smile. The look on his face is less than innocent now. There was no use in actively denying it now. The game now would be separating what she knew, and what she could prove. From where he was sitting, she knew everything, but she wasn’t able to prove a thing to anyone, probably not even his brother.

Kris Halich: That's cute, but my eyes are hardly conclusive evidence of anything. If they look strange it is just because you woke me up from the deadest of sleeps.  I was out like a light when you knocked. Right here actually. If you hadn’t been trying to beat in the door, I would probably still be sleeping.

He sizes her up as she digests that information. Either she was going to buy it enough to throw that veil of politeness back up, or she was going to disregard it and try and push him further towards snapping. What she didn’t know was that he was still loaded enough to be incapable of becoming that agitated.

Elena Halich: Then pardon me for assuming the worst of you. I'll ignore the other subtle signs that someone untrained would not be able to pick up.

She takes a sip of her water. The gambit seemed to have paid off. Her words sound like a retreat more than anything else. She sighs and puts her water down.

Elena Halich: As long as you are still alive and all that. Seriously though, is there anything you need?

He smirks, it's a slight agitation in it. She was starting to backpedal away, so he should be calm. Instead, he finds himself to be irritated that she isn’t going to press him. She made it into a game of chess, and now her words are like she is turning over her king and quitting just when the game gets interesting. He was going to force her to play if he had to.

Kris Halich: What is it you think you know?

He searches her eyes. She was going to play, because he knows that he can’t lose.

Elena Halich: Considering it's not that far of a walk from the door to the couch. I heard you carrying on before you came to the door. You tell me, Kris.

He nods. If that was all the ammunition she had no wonder she was backing away from the conversation.

Kris Halich: Carrying on? I said I was going to kill whomever was waking me up.

She rolls her eyes, and sits up. He thinks that she is going to get up and leave without another word, but instead she goes back to her original point.

Elena Halich: Yeah. Anyway. Do you need anything? I'm being sincere here.

He crosses his arms across his chest. This wasn’t entertaining. There was no joy in this conversation. At this point she was just wasting his time.

Kris Halich: No, but I am interested in what you think you know. Come on. Out with it.

Elena Halich: I think you're still using. Or using again. I don't know what happened when Jason got here Christmas Eve. Honestly, none of that is my business. He talked to all the doctors in the hospital and kept the rest of us in the dark mostly.

He opens his mouth to cut her off right there but she holds up a hand so that he will let her finish.

Elena Halich: I just know he was very upset that he almost lost his brother. You're all the family he has left. He was very clear about that when you were in the hospital.

Was she trying to appeal to his morality now? Show him that there are people that care about him and hope to sway him away from the hostility that he has showed them in the past month? That wasn’t going to happen.

Kris Halich: Heh. If I was, using, and he knew, I'd be back in a rehab facility like right now.

He makes sure to restate himself after replaying his words.

Kris Halich: IF I was using.

He makes sure to put emphasis on his first word, driving home his point that he was completely sober, not that it was actually any of her business.

Elena Halich: You want my opinion?

Kris Halich: Sure. I'm a big fan of fiction.

Elena Halich: You can't force anyone to do anything they don't want to do and you shouldn't.

She shrugs some, but he nods in agreement. Maybe that was why he always failed when he had gotten out of rehab before. He never wanted to go in the first place. It wasn’t a decision that he had made for himself any of the times he went. It was always Jason trying to save him from ending up on the street dead. At least that is what Jason told him when the topic was brought up.

Elena Halich: Probably why I'd never take any of my family members to rehab or AA, or therapy of any kind. That is something you have to do on your own.

He laughs. It almost sounded like she was set on being an enabler for the rest of her life. In the matter of minutes she went from accusing to nearly condoning.

Kris Halich: I think that he has it in his mind that he owes me.

Elena Halich: Gee, I wonder why.

She says dryly and gets to her feet. He raises her bottle of water and takes another drink, the annoyance visible in her face is growing now. He wasn’t going to just let her walk away without digging in a little more though.

Kris Halich: Shit happens….

Elena Halich: Yeah it does. Well, since you are fine and don't need anything. I'll be going.

She goes around the back of the couch instead of walking in front of him. He can’t help but think that maybe she doesn’t want him looking in her eyes for fear of what he might see. All of the talk about what symptoms he was showing, and she won’t give him the chance to see her real emotions in hers.

Kris Halich: You know, I am not inside his head. I couldn’t tell you what he is thinking. Then again, maybe he doesn’t even know what he is thinking. He isn’t necessarily stable, but you probably know that already too.

She makes her way to the door. Not bothering to look back at him. She raises her free hand up and give him a wave.

Elena Halich: Have a good one, Kris.

Kris Halich: Thanks for stopping by. Don't be a stranger.

It was sarcasm and it was incredibly easy to pick up on. As she steps out she knows he didn't mean a word of it. She closes the door carefully and quietly behind her, like any polite person would do. Just like that she was gone.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CAMERA: ON
2.13.2015
Jon Dough?

Kris is seen walking down the sidewalk of a mostly deserted alleyway. The lights overhead cut through the pitch black night. They are spaced so that just as Kris’ features start to fade, the next light brightens them back up. The pace he is walking is slow, the camera just in front of him. He clasps his hands together and exhales into them, trying to warm them. As he pulls them away fans can see his breath hanging in the air. He looks directly at the camera and smiles, with a salutary nod.

”Last I saw you guys I was about to stand in the ring for the first time in six months. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say to you guys. Old Skool? I had nothing on the guy. I hadn’t seen him before. I hadn’t heard of him before. That, by no means, is me insulting the guy. It is my own fault. I knew nothing about him because while I am away from the ring, I don’t pay attention. That isn’t just a reflection of SCW, but of every company. If I am not inside their ring, or backstage at their show, I don’t watch. It isn’t because I am not a fan of this business. If I wasn’t a fan, I wouldn’t have chosen this career path. However, now that I know what it is like to be in the ring, I can’t just sit at home and watch other people do it. It changes once you have been on the other side of the television screen.”

The camera stops backing up in front of him, and allows him to walk past. Fans can see why the camera stopped, as in front of them is a four-way intersection. Kris steps right in the middle of the roads, and just stares off in each direction. Each road ahead seems to get equal attention, almost as if he is indifferent about his direction. Maybe he is just lost in Norway. When he starts talking again, his back is to the camera.

”So, I went into a match blind, and managed to knock the guy out in the middle of the ring. I have seen the replay. I heard what the announce team had to say about the finish of that match. I completely agree with them when they said things in that match were uncharacteristic of me. I sat down and tried to go through it in my head, and it all seems like a blur. Then a funny thing happened. As I watched, for what had to be the thirtieth time, the pieces of the puzzle came together for me. Nothing in that match was characteristic of me because nothing about me inside that ring can be characterized. I have always been told that me being inside that ring, and the things that I do, is madness. The people I have trained with over the years, when I have been able to train, get frustrated because there isn’t a pattern, or any distinct flow. If I can be put into any category, it is reckless. If anyone wants to try and read me like I book I apologize. This kind of book has pages reading left to right, right to left, inverted, and mirrored. I am not saying I am impossible to fight. I am damn sure not unbeatable. However, I can say with relative certainty, that the key to beating me is something that people are going to have to find when they are standing opposite of me, not sitting and watching tape.”

He spins around to face the camera and holds his arms out to his sides with a smile. He shrugs with his arms out, seeming completely carefree.

”I figured out a lot watching that match. Actually, I don’t think “figuring out” is the right way to put it. I think that a better way to put it would be to say that I was reminded of something. See, I expected people to watch that match and be impressed. I expected that the roster was going to step up and say I did something impressive. I thought I would be given some kind of recognition for my effort. That was clearly not the case. Whether it was some chick that gets paid but can’t remember her own name or fans that took the opportunity to hit the bathroom while the match was on. Nobody paid it any attention. One guy lurking around the back even told me he didn’t watch the undercard of the show. I watched that match from two weeks ago more times than anyone else in this world, At first I was pretty pissed that nobody was paying any attention. Then I realized that it only works to my benefit. People in SCW don’t know who I am? People that at least know my name, only know so because it was my brother’s before it was mine. Nobody wants to watch the matches that I am in? That’s fine. I will move up the roster in everyone’s blind spot. I realized I don’t need recognition to get in the ring. All I need from SCW is a paycheck and I can get one of those just by showing up and stepping in the ring. I don’t need anything from any of you people.”

He shakes his head, the smile not coming off of it as he turns left of the direction that he had been going. The camera quickly comes around his side, and then continues to focus on him from the front. He buries his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and sinks his head down into his shoulders as the wind picks up.

”Now I don’t want you people to feel like you are wasting your precious time watching me. You want me to talk about Jon Dough, right? I really don’t know what you people want me to say. Am I supposed to demean a guy that I have never met? When I saw the card, it said this guy knows what it is like to be a champion. Personally, I have never had any kind of gold around my waist. The closest that I have gotten was right here in SCW and I came just a hair short of taking the Roulette Championship off of Equinox. That was as far up the mountain as I got before falling all the way down to the bottom. This guy seems like he has been there just like me. This guy was pretty much dead for six months. I have been there. This guy is missing chunks out of his life. I have been there too. That is about as far as similarities go. From what I have collected the guy likes to live on his two feet when he is inside that ring. He likes to get his hands on people and take them to the mat. On the other hand, I like being in the air. I enjoy catching people by surprise. I pick my spots. That means that this match is going to be pretty easy to call. If I get in the air, things are going to be bad for Jon. If he grounds me, then I am going to be out of luck. I can say this much, it doesn’t appear that I will be knocking anyone out this time around. Maybe that is a good thing, maybe not. I guess we will see when the lights go on in Norway.”

The camera stops and Kris starts to move past it. He raises his hand to cover the lens.

”Now get out of my face…”

The camera bobbles around a bit when he lets go and the scene fades to black as he walks away.

 ===============
Off-Camera

I woke up on the beach. I don’t exactly remember how or when I got there, but the air was cool and the clouds were low. I could feel the sand caked to my back, chunked together with sweat. It was midsummer, but the lack of people on the beach suggested that it was a weekday. I couldn’t keep track anymore. Everything and everyone seemed to run together like mud, filling up each crevice of my brain. I started to sit up but the pain in my side made it difficult to move. I laid back down. “Just five more minutes,” I whisper to myself.

The sky was a bright blue, brighter than most days. The clouds were puffy and soft in the sky. It was beautiful against the blue buildings in the skyline. I tried to orient myself to my location. Where was I exactly on the beach? And, how far was I from my apartment. Exactly how long had I been here.

I knew why I was out. I remember feeling smothered by my surrounding, completely drowning in the air that was around me. I need some wide-open spaces to forget. Oblivion. For some reason, I couldn’t clear my mind; it was always racing. The engine that always could. I needed a break from myself, but I could only find it when I slept. I must have wandered to the beach, stared out into the green sea and fallen asleep. It had been 12 days, but it only felt like 12 minutes. I knew if I went home it would all be over, but I desperately needed a shower. I should eat, even if I can’t keep it down.

While rolling onto my side, I realize just how vast the ocean was. I try to take it all in, absorb it into my mind, to make the rest of the stuff go away. To fill the void and take over my mind in its entirety. I sat up slowly, cradling my knees in my arms and resting my head on them.  My back was burning under the rays of the sun, and I could feel the sand falling off piece-by-piece causing me to itch. I didn’t have the energy to scratch it. The wind blew against the small of my back, which was exposed by the ending of my shirt. I stood, struggling to compose my stance. Paying special attention to where my feet landed, I walked along the edge of the ocean towards the city.

The windows of the skyscrapers were covered in reflective glass, taunting me as I walked past. It was as if they wanted me to realize how low I had fallen, how bad it had gotten. I was tall, but not enough to make me stand out. My once tight figure appeared frail. I was underweight but not by choice. My hair, disheveled and shaggy stuck out all around my head. It was clearly dirty before my nap on the beach. As I walked, grains of sand fell out of the dreads. The circles under my eyes made me look much older than a 24-year-old should.

I was only a few blocks from my apartment now, but it felt like I had miles to go. The nausea had come back, causing me to walk in a hunch. The sweat was pouring from my pores, running down my lower back and calves. I made it to my door and slowly turned the key. Reese had been here. I could tell because the dishes were done. She left a note on the counter that read, “you are better than this.”

“If my brain would stop churning for just one second, you might be right,” I answered even though she wasn’t there to continue the conversations. She spent many nights over here over past two weeks, holding my hair while I vomited, wiping the sweat from my face while I slept. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. She could. And she should. She deserves so much more than to care for me.  

Under her note sat my cell phone. I hadn’t realized until this moment that I had left it behind. I clicked the screen to wake it. 37 missed call, 36 from Reese, only one from Jason. The first call came in at 11:00pm the night before. Is it possible that I spent almost 10 hours on that beach, sleeping? I know she is worried, but I don’t have the courage. I’ve let her down again, and this time I actually can’t remember what I was doing. I rummage through the cabinet for food. I settle on a pack of ramen. As they boil, I sit in the bar stool and rest my head on the counter, drifting off.

I wake up minutes later to the mooing vibrations of my cell phone. Reese, again. I silence the buzzing and attend to the noodles that are dangerously low on water. Mixing in the flavor pack, I settle on the couch. I look around, realizing that this was the only room she hadn’t cleaned. It was my mess to get rid of; I knew that. She couldn’t bring herself to clean it, neither could I. I pick up my food and move to the bedroom. It smelled of dirty laundry and vomit, but I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with my disease. The first few bites struggled down my throat, but I forced myself to eat the majority of the bowl before I set it down to rot until the next time Reese came over. I should call her back, but I lay down to sleep, instead.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time, my mind racing. It played over and over again the last few years of my life: countless jobs, failed relationships, lost friendship, but always Reese. She was the shining star in my life. She kept me grounded, even as I floated through the galaxy with her. I imagined the way life would be if I could get my shit together. Her, sitting next to me, always smiling. I imagined the life we could have together if I were someone else. Someone better. The sweat came back, and I leaned off the side of the mattress to puke in a small trashcan. I take a handful of pills on the nightstand, hoping they’ll calm the nausea just long enough for me to sleep.

“Goddammit, Kristopher. Where were you?” I wake up to Reese hastily throwing things into a garbage bag. She’s already disposed of my vomit and the half-eaten ramen. She used my full name. It was the only clear indication she was angry. Her words came out in the sweetest voice.

“I’m… sorry,” I mutter. I meant it, but it had been said so many times that I knew she wouldn’t believe it was genuine. She looked tired. There was no doubt that she spent the last two days worrying about me. I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but I assumed it was well into the evening. She probably came by on her way home from work. She was still dressed in her office attire. God, did she look beautiful. Her hair hung softly halfway down her back, swishing slowing as she chucked things around the room.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “It’s my mess.”

“I know,” she snapped, “but clearly you can’t manage on your own.”

 Couldn’t she see that I was trying? Did she even stop to think how hard this was for me? I stopped my train of thought again. I was being selfish. I never stopped to stop to think of her and her feelings. All she ever did was think about me.

 “You still haven’t answered my question. Where were you?”

 “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you?”

 “Yeah? Try me?”

 “I needed to get away, you know. Escape for a while.”

 “And that’s exactly what got you in this situation to begin with. You needed an escape.”

 “I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it here. It’s all around… the reminders of it all. I went for a walk and woke up on the beach this morning. I should have called you back, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

 “Stop apologizing if nothing changes.”

 That struck a chord with me. Hadn’t it changed? Isn’t it changing? It’s been 12 days, even if it feels like a lifetime. There was a difference. I felt different. She stormed out of the room when I didn’t respond, taking the bag with her. I sat on the bed, dazed. I didn’t know what else I could do if this wasn’t enough. I heard the clinking of glass in the kitchen and then the door slam. She was gone again.

 I yearned for her. I could feel her presence shrinking as she walked away from my apartment. I knew she was crying. Again. And there was nothing I could do about it. I thought about chasing after her, but I knew it wouldn’t make a difference, not now anyway. I had waited just a little too long for it to matter. Staring blankly at the wall, I made a choice: enough was enough. Disrobing, I walked into the bathroom. Cleaning myself physically was the first step, I thought.

 I showered for longer than usual, paying special attention to all the places you never think to wash. In a sense, I was just delaying the inevitable. One more minute in here was another minute spent in this life, clinging to what I knew for so long. I waited until the water turned to cold and then to unbearable. Keeping in form, I dried just as slowly. I threw on a pair of boxes and walked into the living room. The mess was all around. Beer bottles, broken needles, empty baggies flung about in chaos. I started in the corner of the room, picking up the bottles and discarded food. It smelled awful, the odor oozing about the room as I interfered with its resting place. It took about an hour to cut through the mess, but the room was clean except for the coffee table, which held the still-usable supplies. A full bag of caps, with that sweet white powder inside, sitting untouched on top of an empty Maxwell container.

 I shook open a brand new garbage bag and hung it clumsily off the end of the table. Using my arm like a well-oiled machine, I slid it down the table, ridding myself of all of the shit in one, clean motion. Panic set in. There lay the spoon, right on top of the syringes and papers, shiny yet dull in the light of the room. It was my masterpiece; I had spent hours perfecting the shape of the spoon to sit perfectly against my fingers by rolling the handle around into the impeccable circle, which would nuzzle itself around my middle finger. It was almost as if it had been its purpose all along. Slowly, I reached in. “I can just touch it,” I whisper. “One last time.” I had a sort of love for this spoon. It might have more control of me than the heroin itself.


It was then that Ava sat down on the bed, waking me, for real this time. It was all a dream. It hadn't felt like one. It had smelled and tasted real. The urges were as alive as ever. Then again, could reliving a memory really be called dreaming. It was one of the many times I came up short. One of the many times that I let people down. My feelings for Reese bled through the dream and back to the front of my mind. It made me look at Ava differently. I looked away from her and wiped the sleep from my eyes before she could notice that hint of regret in them. She wasn't Reese. I had bent that relationship just like that old spoon. Difference was, one of them I bent so far it broke. Here Ava was, picking up the pieces of my life like Reese had picked up the mess of my apartment more than a year ago now. I didn't deserve her. I didn't deserve either of them.

I push myself up off of the bed and kiss her cheek.

It was all a dream..... just a memory now. I am NOT that person anymore.

With a laugh that receives a queer look from Ava, I try to convince myself that it is true.



===============
On-Camera

The scene opens in a bar. The first named contender to the Roulette Championship is leaning back against a pool table. There is a man that is almost disgustingly fat standing on the other side of the table, to Kris’ left. He wobbles on his feet, clearing intoxicated. Halich looks sober as can be though. He tosses the pool cue back and forth in his hand, finally finding his words as the camera draws close.

Kris
A humble person can admit when they were wrong. Now, I am far from humble, but I was indeed wrong… about how my first match would turn out here. See, I lost. I came in cocky and I got beat. But then something magical happened.... I got into this Roulette Championship match.

A smile crosses his face, and he shrugs his shoulders, not too worried about the fact that the very man who beat him in his debut happened to be joining him in this match. He looks back over at the man who he is apparently playing against, and shakes his head, turning back to the camera.

Kris
Now that guy over there is clearly wasted. Normally I would be standing here attempting to look as though myself. Its called hustling. I figured I could knock off the ruse. A joke like that isn’t funny when you're attempting ut for the third time in a night. Besides, I am tired to moving to knew back. The problem with hustling people is that, eventually, they pick up on your game and then you lose the advantage. Luckily for me, that didn't happen in my qualifying match. I stayed quiet the whole match. I didn’t dirty my hands  being fancy. I was content to slide my way to the end before using any real talent at all. Turns out, I played my cards right.I got the first slot into this match. Technically I was I'm even before the champion.

He turns away to the camera, and goes to the end of the table. He takes the cue ball in his hand, and slides it to the edge of the table. At the other end is three balls, formed up in a triangle. Kris levels the stick in his hand, takes a few practice thrusts, and then blasts the ball to the other side of the table. It makes contact with the head of the triangle and shoots the other two balls back at an angle, sinking both of them in the end corner pockets of the table. He nods, and waits for the cue to stop almost back in the same space he shot from the first time.

Kris
So, in essence, I lost a battle and then I won another. However, a career is war.

He turns back to the table, aiming his shot and striking the cue dead center. He catches the only remaining ball center left and sends it into the right corner pocket on the end of the table. Kris looks up at the fat body in front of him with a smile.

Kris
That’s two shots, or you can just give me my $20 and we can call it a game.

The man looks at the table in disbelief, and throws the bill on the table before walking off, probably to the bar. Kris picks up the bill and leans back against the table, almost in the same space he started his rant.

Kris
Now, personally, I don't mind any of the men in this match. Asar and I have exchanged blows. Equinox and I have exchanged tweets. Ryan Kidd? We haven't shared so much as an awkward glance at each other. This isn't your typical superstar match, is it? Normally you get a couple of guys with a score to settle coming up at each other full of aggression. You see matches that are personal, like this business with the Mean Girls. This is missing that element. There is no heat here.

He turns and drops his pool cue on the table and starts to step away. The camera follows as he heads to the bar.

Kris
.... However,  there is a title. A shiny one. One rooted in odds and fun instead of blood, sweat and tears. The Roulette title isn't something that you see people claim as their crowning achievement. This isn't the end game for people in this company. SCW should take that as an insult. See, this belt has a smile practically pasted to my face. This is my kind of gig. This is the kind of thing that I live for. Its not the same generic belt you will find in any company. Its different. Its unique.

He finally gets to the bar, and drops the twenty on the counter. The bartender comes over to him, looks at the bill, and then back up at Kris. The SCW newcomer shakes his head and reaches down into his pocket, unfolding some of the stack and throwing a handful more on the counter. it was the same routine fans of his will have seen time and time again by now. It was a bribe to not throw him out for hustling the clientele. The man behind the counter reaches down and grabs a glass, throwing some ice cubes in it and then filling it from the signature “Brandon’s Gin” bottle that Kris was carrying around even before his contract with SCW.

Kris
Looks can be deceiving. This match might look like a flop from the outside. It might look like something something hasn't been built up by its competitors nearly enough. It might look like the spot in the card where you might change your watch or refill a drink....

He kills his drink and refills it with a refreshing sigh.

Kris
All I am saying is that if that is what you people choose to do, you'll be missing out. I don't disappoint. I don't let people down in the ring. Most importantly, I see something that I want. I see something that would look damn good around my waist. I'm going to be getting that. I'm going to be taking that home..

He kills his second glass and drops it hard to the table. Without a not word he scoops up his bottle and heads towards the door as the scene cuts to black.

 Chevelle - The Red

Kris
One more and I have to catch a flight.

Jason moves around behind the drum kit. Now that his knee was more mobile he had made alterations to it since it was first set up. This cement cube that used to be a garage had become our own old school style garage set up. It was nicer than the one we had in those days. Not sure our parents were ever around, or near sober enough, to realize that we had cleaned out a section of their garage to put this stuff in. That garage was never used for cars. This one? Jay's and Haley's cars were so close that we could reach out and touch them. We had to keep the garage door open so the amps wouldn't blow the windows on them.

Jason
What do you want to play?

Kris
Here's what I am thinking.....

He doesn't recognize the first few notes, but I play the same bit of the opening a few times before he nods. These sessions we have had are all about throwing out all those old feelings and trying to move past. This was a big monster though. One that existed not just for one of us but for both of us.

Kris
They say freak. When you're singled out..... The red.... well it filters through.

He doesnt look up, instead from drum to drum from left to right and then each symbol from right left. I can tell he feels a little uncomfortable. A forced smile crosses his face and he gives me a few kicks of the bass and then rolls around the toms a few times. He finds the rhythm he is looking for despite the closed high hat and just holds to it, looking up at me. I step back to where the microphone stands, and stay facing him. He seems to be waiting for me to start, smacking his microphone away and letting the bar swivel it away from his kit. At once he is back and focused on the drums though.  He keeps his hands moving, probably absent mindedly and sits up a little towards the hanging microphone.

Kris
So lay down, the threat is real, when his sight goes red again....

The nights being woken up by things crashing in another room. The screams that led to the door of our bedroom. They are almost so loud I forget how to play. I am six again and I am terrified.

Kris
Seeing red again! Seeing red again!

Jason is on the floor screaming. I run from our bedroom to the hallway. Its seven steps to the kitchen table. The first thing he throws when he is angry is the chairs, so sliding under it is easy.

Kris
This change, he won't contain. Slip away, to clear your mind.

Think about something else. Something happy. Anything but what you know is happening to your big brother. Get up from under the table. The door is right there. Go out into the backyard. The shed is always open. We have the little cubby in there. Two blankets and a pillow.

Kris
When asked, who made it show, the truth, he gives in to most.

Dad will fall asleep soon. He will wear himself out. Probably wont even notice I am gone. Maybe wont notice. Maybe doesn't care. Jason will come get me when its over. It will all be ok in a minute.

Kris
So lay down, the threat is real, when his sight goes red again.....

The lights start to go out. I cant hear them screaming anymore. Maybe he already already himself down. Then I hear it. Steps outside. Is he coming out here? Did Jay tell him where I went?  No. He wouldnt do that.

Kris
So lay down, the threat is real, when his sight goes red again....

The steps go away. Back to the truck. It starts and the gears grind. That god awful noise followed by a backfire. He is leaving. That has to be good right?

Kris
So lay down, the threat is real, when his sight goes red again....

I snap out of it. I hadn't missed a beat. The look on Jay's face tells me the same thoughts were running through his mind.

Kris
They say freak...

(.... when your eyes are blacked...)

Kris
When you're singled out....

(... with bruises always new...)

Kris
The red, it filters through...

We both broke broke down from the song. I ran the chords higher and higher until I was walking them down towards the base of the guitar. He lit the snare up before rolling through the standing toms. The cymbals crashed seemingly all at once, and before the kick cut us both off at the same time..

Jason
I didnt know if you were old enough to remember all of that.

I take a few steps to the new racks on the wall and hang the guitar up as he moves himself back from the kit and found his support cane. He has pulled himself back around the front of the kit by the time I turn around.

Kris
I was six. Dont you remember shit from when you were that young.

He laughed. There was a kind of desperation in it that I dont think he meant to show. Of course he probably remembers it. The beatings most likely went on longer than I could ever hope to imagine. By the times my memory starts the running away, the cut path to the doorway, that stuff was already ingrained in me. Who knows when Jay mapped that out. Maybe it was always for Lindsey. Maybe it was never even meant for me.

Jason
I was hoping the drug years may have knocked those memories out for good. Thats not the kind of stuff I like to dwell on kid.

That was what the desperation in his voice was. His will to be the only one left alive to carry the burden of it. I could be honest here. I could tell him that I still wake up some nights in a panic like he is shaking me awake to hide in the corner behind the door so I can make a run for it once he gets into the room. I could just slip by while Jay laid down and provoked with whatever words came to mind. I would burden him by letting him know that it is all still vivid for me. There is no reason to pile that on him though.

Kris
Its hazy, you know? Like trying to remember a dream after you wake up. There are bits and pieces, but nothing much. I know something like that happened a lot. I cant pull out details though. Probably not like you can.

The relief on his face made the lie worth telling. He carries so much. I can shoulder my part of this one. Its the least I can do for being the weight o have been on him for the last six years.

Jason
Doesnt matter. Just... good luck in this SCW thing. Forget all that kid shit. You have to focus on winning something and not mucking up my last name.

He wanted me to go but he wasn't concerned with the match. I could tell that much. The jab at me was half hearted at best. I had really stirred some shit up this time.

Kris
It might be your name now, but that shadow I am in shrinks everyday you are on that cane.

This lit his face up. It gave me everything I needed to know. He could let it fall away. He could shrug it off and he lived with it for five years longer than I did. He took everything thrown at him and was still good enough to make a name for himself. At the same time, it made that name that much harder to live up to.

Jason
Youre going to have K-Halc written in the lights.

We both had a chuckle

Kris
To with that man. I dont want to mimic your shit name.

_________________________________________________________


[On-Camera]

Kris
I could insult you.

The scene starts with one simple sentence. A camera sits in front of the new SCW signee, with the backdrop being some kind of flowered wall paper that has come to define hotel rooms.

Kris
I could demean you. I could tear you apart, and leave you only hoping that you could put yourself back together before it was time for our match.

The camera starts to zoom out from the newcomer's face, showing his entire torso now.

Kris
... but I am not going to do that. See, I dont know you. The only thing I do know about you is that you are the kind of guy that likes to talk big on twitter after shamelessly flirting with those mentally challenged females blabbering about doing their nails. Thats cool man. I get it. Thats your thing.

He sits back in the chair and looks around the room, organizing his thoughts.

Kris
SCW says we have clashing styles. That means you are either going to take me to the mat, or I am going to run circles around you until you get dizzy and make a mistake. Only one can happen. Which will it be? I am not so full of myself that I can guarantee it will go my way.

He interlaces his fingers in from of his chest and leans forward into the camera.

Kris
People are putting bets on me to win this one because of what my last name is. People see my brother as the XWA Triple Crown or the IWF Champion of Champions. The guy six years deep with a resume ten pages long. Heres the problem with their thinking though...... I'm not him.

He reaches out and scoops up the camera.

Kris
My resume isnt as long, my career isn't as decorated. Im not six years deep. However,  I'm faster, I'm younger, and I am out to prove I am better. That, my friend, is a problem for you.

__________