Today wasn’t one of the good days. Today was a prison. A prison of familiarity, but a prison, nonetheless. Today was the endless beach, the cascading taste of sound echoing through his fingertips. The impossibility of sensation a constant reminder of the inadequacy of the world. The room was still the worst of the days. The endless room, now with its empty hole in the roof that leads to the memory of the creation of it all. The schism.
The bar on the night that everything changed.
No, today was a beach, a beautiful beach. A home that lacked warmth, unless they were wrapped up in front of the flames. Wrapped up in the false sensation of comfort. The woman who wore Luna’s face but was not her. The woman who had her touch, but not her sensation. The woman who claimed to be Luna, to entice him to stay subdued in this place his mind constructed for him.
In the world of The Lost.
Hand in hand they walked down the length of the beach. The silk soft white sand like static beneath his bare feet. The absence of life, the colour of existence was as drab as the world he was trapped in. A hellscape of never-ending white sand and the dull blue of the false ocean. The complete lack of temperature was chilling. It was space inside space, and if he ever thought it was anything other than, he’d never escape. A heaven created by his mind to free him from the purgatory of the room. A world in which only they existed, and if only he’d accept…
He'd never accept.
There was never going to be life for him on this beach. There was never going to be peace. There was just a constant lack of everything. The taste of sounds. The sensation of colour. The exploding stars that exist only behind his eyes. His mind screaming at him that this was oh so very wrong. He knew that already; he didn’t need his head trying to pour out of his orifices and ducts to tell him that.
“You’re also so distant these days. Where’d you go, Alex? Come back to me.” Luna’s impersonator said softly, his head turning slowly toward her. Every action was such an effort here. It was like moving underwater. Everything took so long. Everything was always so slow. So painful. No, not painful. Painful meant he could feel something. Other than his mind collapsing in on itself. Maybe this was worse than the room.
“You’re not real. None of this is real. None of it means anything. None of it is life.” Alex said softly, his words felt heavy on his tongue. Sluggish, heavy. The worst part of it all, was that he didn’t even feel like it was that far off the mark for his day to day. He always felt heavy, sluggish. The body ached, his bones groaned. He’d been distant for a while, that was true. Even if she wasn’t, her words were the truth.
Everything hurt, his body, his mind, his heart. Constantly attempting to fill a void but never truly finding the ground to do so. He was going to kill himself doing all that he did, he knew that. His body would give up long before his life was meant to, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d watched James die for the very same things, and James had known better than to continue to torture himself. Luna was going to watch another man die. Three men she’d loved, her brother, her husband, and Leon. Regardless of how he felt about her.
She’d watch them all day, and she’d be left alone. That killed more than anything else in this world. That ruined him on a level beyond any other. The fear of leaving her beyond was almost enough to stop him. To make him become better. But it wasn’t enough. His ego wouldn’t allow it. His need to be seen, to be known. To leave a legacy, a mark. It was something. He couldn’t have kids, that was truth of it. The vasectomy was an easy cover-up, but the truth had been there for a long time. He’d never have kids, so the only legacy he had. Was the one he made himself.
“I’m tired of walking. I want to go home.” Luna’s impersonator said, tugging at his hand. Alex frowned a little, closing his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his eyes through his eyelids; the wash of tiredness was almost nauseating. He felt the world spinning around him. Felt the world falling out from under his feet. Everything tilting, everything collapsing. Falling into an endless abyss.
Then suddenly he was flat.
The world stopped. For a moment, he was alive.
Laying in the bed with his wife, the stolen championship belt wrapped around her body. Her sensitive features covered by the material. The benefits of being a smaller body. He groaned a little as he sat up, the hangover rushing to his eyes. His body groaned with the ache of being awake. He rolled over and turned away from her. He wasn’t sure if he was actually out yet. His mind was a powerful thing. It often tried to trick him into blurring the lines between reality and his mental world.
He sat up slowly, squeezing the bridge of his nose, blinking his eyes rapidly. The world tilted again, a good sign that he was actually just hungover. He groaned as he slowly stood up, staggering with the pain in his mind. Staggering with the pain in his body. Self-destruction took many forms. Self-destruction was a surefire way to ensure that this would be the end of it all. Self-destruction was in of itself, the only thing that really mattered in moments like these. When he was so sore, so broken. So defeated.
The brave face he put on for the world was just that. A brave face. A mask that was always ready to fall away. One strong hit away from being the scared boy that he really was. Afraid of losing Luna, afraid of losing himself. Afraid of not being good enough. He screamed for someone to take his head for months, but the truth of it all. He just wanted to be stopped. Stopped from doing this, stopped from self-destructing. To be able to run away, to fade away. To settle into a world that existed beyond all this pain and suffering.
He slowly staggered his hungover ass through the bedroom and out into the lounge area. Moving to the fridge, taking a bottle of water from it. He gulped it down, fumbling through one of the cabinets near the fridge. Taking some paracetamol packet out and popping two in his mouth. Once upon a time he would’ve taken something heavier. Something stronger. He was down to just the over-the-counter stuff these days. They didn’t do much for the agony he lived in, but they at least dulled the head pain from a night of poor decisions.
The flash of a flame, the first rough inhale of a freshly lit cigarette. The burn in his lungs. He stood there, and looked around. The world that he should be living in. The world he was forsaking my allowing his mind to corrupt him. The world that he wished was his prison. He breathed deeply, and sighed, leaning on the counter. He shook his head and just stared at the wall. Letting the water and painkillers to work their magic. The waft of cigarette smoke filling the air. He felt sorry for whoever would one day have to tear the walls down to rebuild it from all the damage they were doing to it.
Oh well, wasn’t his problem. His problem was staying focused. Just a little longer.
He just needed to stay focused for a little bit more.
And then…
Nothing would be everything for him.
“Another week, another win. Some may say it was a victory mired in controversy. I’m not so easily swayed by the actions of others. Despite the fact that they clearly wanted to keep me down and keep me out. My choices, my actions. Inevitable outcomes. I hurt Alex Jones twice. Insulted him, bruised his ego. Made me him feel lesser than. In being lesser than a man he detests, he couldn’t see beyond the veil of the red haze. The anger that bubbles within him. He couldn’t just let himself go. He had to get some semblance of comeuppance, and it came at the cost of poor little Eddie Lyons.”
“Now despite what he’ll scream from the rooftops. Despite what he’ll tell you was meant to be his moment. His chance to take the championship belt back, and hand it to Carter on a simpering little silver platter. Eddie was never going to win. No, the truth of it was Eddie never stood a chance. Just like I told him. You see, Eddie lacks the killer instinct. We’ve done everything we can to show him what he needs to do to take it the next level, and yet.”
“He still fails to understand.”
“Maybe now you’ll have just enough of that killer bite, that drive to take him a little further. In handing him Alex Jones on my own silver platter, maybe, just maybe. He’ll finally see the light. See, two birds, one stone. I dealt with Eddie; I’ve given Alex Jones a new distraction of a chew toy to keep him busy for just a little bit longer. Long enough for me to do what I need to do. Which before I get into the meat and bones of this all. I must talk to a special someone.”
“Hello, Carter.”
“So close, yet so far, right? The vapid cunt Evelyn Hall playing the placating steadfast stalwart of bureaucratic bullshit. Daily fines? Oh, Evelyn. I’ve made a career here paying paltry little sums of money for my actions. You think that’s going to make me give back your little treasure? I’ve done this shit for nearly two decades at this point. You think dipping into my pocket is going to make me back down? Not a chance.”
“And then you Carter, you scared little bitch. Standing behind everything, letting the world run you by. But hey, I’ve got a little offer for you. I see how much this championship means to you. I see how much it matters. So, I’ll give you a chance to get it back. I’ll give you a chance to get back your precious little trinket. Your prop of grandiosity. I’ll give you a chance to hold it one more time. Smell the waft of the cigarettes that have been dropped all over it. The smell of sex and sweat that has seeped into the leather while it has been in my possession. If you try really hard you could probably scrub out the staining and discolouration from the spilt beer and bourbon.”
“Keep an ear to the ground, Carter. I’ll have plenty to say to you come Climax Control.”
“Which leaves me with the final person in the trinity of my past. Aiden Reynolds. A man who has adopted just a slightly more serious sneer. A narrowed brow and just a slight bit more confidence. The jokes and the faffing about left for a previous day and now. Now Aiden is a force to be reckoned with. Not a middling nobody in the nothingness of the Roulette Division. Not a face on the outskirts maybe considered to be a stat buffer for the dwindling Internet Championship division. No, Mr Reynolds is now a World Champion contender. A man who believes in himself.”
“A man I do not care for. A man I have never truly cared for. See, once upon a time, I put Mr Reynolds in his place. I took the Roulette Championship from that man, I took the one thing he had going for him, and I didn’t even want it. Put there to punish him by the actions of a vindictive little vixen, Victoria Lyons. I liked her, for better or worse. I did like her. Then she decided to get mouthy to the wrong person. See, I can respect a person who does the right thing. The moment however they choose to get personal with me or my loved ones? Well.”
“I digress, however. No, this is all about you and me, Aiden. Not Carter, not Eddie. Not Alex or Finn, or any of the other flunkies you’ve somehow managed to keep in your orbit. When you look across the field of this tournament I have to say. This ending? It was inevitable. Liam Davis, LJ Casey? Bill Barnhart? No, none of them were ever going to be the one standing in our spots. This was always going to come down to you and me, Aiden. Some may question the validity of that statement. I mean, Alexander Raven is the loser, right? The one cursed to constant mediocrity. That is what they all say about me. That is what they’ve always said about me. The one who fails to live up to the expectations set. The expectations set by fucking who, Aiden? Set by you? By Mark or Christian? By vapid cunts like Evelyn Hall? The middling nobodies that I have beaten time and time again, and yet they pretend that it was nothing more than a good day on the ninth hole?”
“No, Aiden. Expectations are set by the world to ensure that we are forever made to feel inadequate. Inadequate because they want us to feel that way. This isn’t some grand conspiracy, not a greater and unknowing ‘them’. No the them in this case, are tangible. Understandable. In plain sight. You are the one setting an expectation, just in the same way I set them on you. I set them for Eddie. The world sees us and expects things to go a certain way. I haven’t failed to live up to expectations, no, I’ve simply failed to live up to their view on them. But every time I get close, they like to change the rhetoric. You changed; you’ve changed our own oration. You’ve changed the jargon the way you talk. You became serious because you understood that by shifting yourself you skew them all. You make yourself unreadable.”
“Unreadable except to chaos itself. That’s what they call me. Chaos, a blithering idiot. A man who hides behind language and words that they cannot comprehend. Except for when it is convenient. Except for when it matters for them to know. Except for when they need to understand. For only then, does it matter to them. By then its too late. The truth I speak comes to pass, and they scream that it was unfair. Unfair that the loser could beat them. Unfair that the man who cannot live to their expectations has exceeded them. I’m the failure that they are terrified gets a chance to shatter their unorthodox and unequivocal expectations. The philistines just don’t let up, and yet. Here we are performing for them in the expected outcome.”
“Don’t you see a beauty in that, Aiden? The Ring General you were once so afraid of, now lessened to the bumbling idiot that they all try to convince you I am? Except, reality is. I’m built for these situations. I should have won the Blast from the Past, two years in a row. I’m going to win this tournament. Because the only thing stopping me now, is you, Aiden.”
“The man who I took the Roulette Championship from. The man that I gifted it back to. Gave you the world that you needed to feel relevant again. Not because I, did it out of the goodness of my heart though. No, I did it because I was tired. I was exhausted. I wanted out. I wanted to be free of this. Just for a little while. To let my bones rest, to let my mind clear. Then I went elsewhere, I became a World Champion. In a world of Matt Knox and Amber Ryan, I stood at the top of the pile. The final true champion of Valor. For I am Valor, that is undeniable. I’ve beaten half the world champions we’ve ever had here. I’ve made every championship I’ve held here worth more than usual prop I’ve taken. Don’t worry Aiden.”
“I’ll make sure you understand just how far you still need to go to be on my level.”
“When it all comes to an end, there will be no applause. There will be no cheers. There will just be that pregnant silence. That silence that the inevitable is coming. That Alexander Raven will be challenging Carter for the World Championship. That no level of expectation, no level of disregard or hatred. No level of ignorance of unabashed shamelessness will stop it this time. That no matter what they say, no matter how much they try and stand against it. Alexander Raven has become the inevitable future.”
“And when I’m champion, Aiden. There will be no props. There will be no false images of grandiosity. When I beat you, I will go on to face Carter. When I beat Carter, I’m going to drop that championship belt in a barrel and set the fucker on fire. I will be World Champion, and the world will know it through all of your words. You will have to acknowledge. Carter will have to acknowledge it. Evelyn Hall, Christian Underwood. Every single person will have to say the words.”
“Damn, he finally did it. Alexander Raven is the world champion, that son of a bitch.”
“I’ll see you soon Aiden. To put you down, one more time. To remind you, just how far above you I am.”
