The bitter taste of defeat. Of failure. Of coming up just short. It was a hard pill to swallow. They had done everything to try and ensure the outcome was controlled, and it slipped away from them. It was a familiar feeling, as haunting as that was. A familiar feeling that he just couldn’t quite shake. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever really shake. The empty hollow feeling after coming up just short. There was a part of his brain, irrational as it was. That wanted to blame her.
“Never your fault is it, Alexander?” The mocking voice of The Lost filled his brain. Like icy fingers dragging down the back of his skull. The cascading feeling of a waterfall filling a dam of ice-cold waters in the depths of his psyche. He shook his head trying to shake away the cackling sounds in his mind. A deep breath in, a slow heavy exhale. He leaned up against the brick wall, one of the last people in the building. Luna had gone home early; she was upset with herself. Upset with him. Upset with everything and how it had played out.
He sat there, simply staring off into the distance. These quiet moments, these moments of defeat. They were the ugly side that nobody wanted to acknowledge. That nobody ever wanted to feel. These were the moments that weren’t full of glory. Of cheer. They were the loneliest moments. The worst part, is that the only difference in the victory, is that you have a fucking prop to make the moment feel better.
In this moment, he felt truly alone.
It was days like these he almost relished the room that never changed. Being trapped in a world of pure bliss, manufactured and articulated to exist simply in his mind. A place to keep him safe from himself, from his own thoughts. A prison of his making, that had begun to fracture. Fracture so heavily it was no longer pertinent for his mind to trap him there.
No, now it was torture. The reminder of that long hallway. The reminder of what had gone wrong. The reminder of the truly life-altering night. A hallway not unlike the one he found himself sitting in. A wide berth being given by the few staff still walking around. The load out crews doing their final bits of packing down and shipping out. It was nights like this he was reminded of why he truly had tried to run away.
He looked down that long hallway and frowned. A door that shouldn’t exist was set in a wall that he didn’t remember being there. The silence of the world around him finally dawned upon him. Heavy breathing, but not his own. He could feel and hear his heart beating in his ears. His head throbbed, and his stomach churned. An undaunting illness. The world was dimmer. More uncomfortable. He slowly lifted himself to his feet. His steps felt heavy, each one feeling like it took an eternity, but they came. One after the other as he slowly moved towards that door. The breathing was coming from there. It was more than just that though. It was… moaning? The sound of flesh, the sound of movement.
With each step his body screamed at him to stop. His mind itself stabbing with pain, his brain exploding behind his eyes. Demanding he stop. Demanding he turn away. That he ignores the door. That he ignores the hallway. That he walks away. Yet there was another voice, another demand. The lulling of The Lost, urging him onwards.
“It’s time to confront it, Alex. Time to confront that which you refuse to see. Let us do it together.” The Lost’s voice urged him forward. The ghost that wore his face, materialised just beside the door. His hand on the handle. Slowly twisting it, slowly turning it. Alex felt rooted in place, his body no longer responding to him. No longer allowing him his own function or faculties. He knew what this was. He knew what torture he was expected to endure here.
He knew the moans; he knew the sounds of flesh. He knew the breathing. It was a memory; a memory he held such abhorrent hatred in. A memory he had done his damnedest to bury. To pretend that he had truly moved past it. The truth of it, was he never really would get past it. No matter how much love he held for her then, no matter how much love he held for her now. The memory that existed beyond that door was one that hold him in resentment for his life.
“Stop… please… stop.” Alex managed to squeak the words out. The ghostly face of his tormenter curling into a plethora of smirks and grins. Laughter bouncing around in his skull. The roar of a crowd laughing at his pain. At the struggles he was feeling. At the begging for his freedom.
“I’m so sorry, Lexi-baby.” Luna’s voice tried to push through his mind. Tried to drag him away from it. The problem was what existed beyond that door. There was no apology in the world that could fix it. That could change what had happened that night. No apology, because in that moment, when their eyes met. There was no regret in that moment. There was no apology. There was just an almost smugness. A mocking of him for being so naïve in believing she would always be true. That they were destined.
Destiny was a fucking lie. Soulmates were a lie. They just happened to be stuck together for long enough that the bonding had held them together for the time. Bitter resentment bubbled in him, and no matter how much he tried. He would never really move past it. The door opened, the blinding light blaring into his eyes. A roar of agony ripped through him, exploding into the world beyond. He rushed forward eyes closed against the bright light. His hand wrapped around the door handle. He pushed through and felt the cold breeze across his face.
He opened his eyes, sitting upright in bed. The curtains fluttering in the breeze that was coming through the open window. He took a deep breath and reached up pinching the bridge of his nose. Time loss was an uncomfortably common occurrence these days. It had been for a while, ever since his run-ins with Vita Mors. Things didn’t ever really get better; he just got more used to dealing with them all. It didn’t mean they didn’t unnerve him still. Not knowing was… unfortunate. He looked over and saw Luna laying there. Wrapped up in the blankets. Blissfully unaware of the world around him.
He wondered if she was ever tormented by that night. She once claimed that she had never forgiven herself for it, but it made him wonder. Was this all just the same thing playing over again? Building his trust up just to crush him once more. To freeze his heart once more and turn him into that unfeeling beast that he had once been. The blind and rage filled man who didn’t care about anything. About anyone. The man who Lauren had done her hardest to bring back to humanity. Who had seen something soft and gentle in him and had done all she could to bring out of him.
The world had repaid her for her kindness by taking her away early. By removing the sweetness part of the world, and in turn, dooming him to a life of more loss. More pain; more sacrifice. It didn’t matter how hard he worked; it was always the same. Loss of love, loss of those he loved. Loss of his humanity, and a true inability to ever really get over it. For the first time in a long time, Alex wasn’t soothed looking at the woman who lay in his bed. He wasn’t soothed by the woman he now thought of his wife, as the love his life. The woman who had been doing everything in her power to help him.
He was resentful of her, right now. That made him sick, but he couldn’t push the thought from his mind. He turned away from her and rolled his legs out of the bed. Letting the wash of the cool breeze come over him. Silent and slight as a cat, he placed his feet on the floor and stood up slowly. His body groaning under the effort. The pain was just part of the day to day at this point. A pain he would never truly be free of again. No amount of physio and miracle work could fix that.
He slowly made his way across the hotel room. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be at home. To be with their little Beagle of mischief. To be a simple man for just a moment. Sometimes he’d thought it’d be easier to just…
Thoughts for another night.
He paced across to the open window and pushed the curtains aside. He looked out over another city he’d be saying goodbye to soon enough. Another night in a place he didn’t care for. To go to another place he didn’t want to be in, doing things he’d grown to resent. A loneliness that couldn’t be fixed. It didn’t matter how many times he won, how many times he lost. It didn’t matter how many or how few were to be his friends. At the end of the day, he would falter, he would fall. He would be alone, and in that moment. The grudges, the resentment. The hatred for everyone and everything. It would be all he had left. All that he needed. To be truly left in his anger.
He rested his head against the window frame and continued to stare out into the night. His mind stuck on the images that he was being forced to finally acknowledge. The more he tried to push it from his mind the more it stuck. The moans, the breathing. The sounds of body on body. The laughter as his own demons mocked him for being so thick. For being so dumb. The worst of it.
He couldn’t push the image of her face from his mind. The smirk that betrayed him. The smirk that hurt him. The smirk that agonised him deeply. That moment before she really truly realised what was happening. It was burnt into his very retinas. The pure bliss on her face matched with the mocking smirk of the pain she knew it was causing him in that moment. He lifted his head from the window and turned to look over his shoulder. To look back at her laying in the bed.
She wasn’t the girl she was then, but part of him struggled. Part of him struggled with moving past it. He really thought he had, but the more he was confronted with that memory. The more he struggled with it all. He looked at her, and he wondered. He wondered what she dreamt of. What was going through her mind. How truthful she was. Everyone had their moments of paranoia. It would be hard to be married to a paranoid. A delusional paranoid at that. One who argued with ghosts. Who saw people where they were not.
Who was hated for simply being and wept in quiet for the way they world looked upon him. If she didn’t truly love him, would anyone? He shuddered to know. He shuddered to even comprehend the ideas of what was in his mind. He turned away and rested his head on the window frame once more. Looking out on the glittering lights of a city that just didn’t quite know when to stop. To which he simply hoped that one day. His own mind would know just where to stop the torture.
For now, he simply suffered in silence. A conversation to be had but tonight was not the night for it. Tonight was not the night for his paranoia. Not when he was so alone.
And then…
“Funny how things end up playing out. I heard the childish screaming and foot stomping from our lovely World Champion last week. I heard him scream about how it wasn’t right, how it wasn’t fair. I think our little World Champion fails to see what this all means. The tide is turning; the faith placed upon him is shifting. Or, despite his meandering and yowling. The powers that be do not see the same belief in Eddie Lyons as our consummate World’s Champion does. In fact, maybe they too umbrage at the idea of you getting to decide who was worthy next.”
“See I think that is a funny little twist of fate right there. Well, twist of humanity. Fate is… non-existent for people like us. For those who are learning about just how unfair the world truly is. I’ll more for you, Carter. I promise you that. But the next time? Next time I don’t think things are truly going to go your way. Every encounter is different to the last.”
“This week however, the powers that be. They throw the poor unfortunate Ciarán at me. Plucky, happy-go-lucky, barely getting by. Someone who takes anger in the actions of the Branded Hen. Funny how no matter how much times go by, no matter how far we distance ourselves from it all. Our pasts always seem to crawl back to us. Years ago, I sent the Branded Hen running for the hills. Good ol’ Brandon Hendrix. To his credit, he did what I have been doing. He went off, he found himself. Put himself through the wars and the ringer just to prove that he could hang. Just to prove that he belonged.”
“I don’t particularly like the man, but I do understand a man who is acting. Something you seemed to have an issue with, Ciarán. Personal umbrage for an action that has nothing to fucking do with you. That is what boils me, Ciarán. People sticking their fucking noses into things that do not require their attention. That do no require them to be in the slightest bit involved. But you, you’re direct, right? Your own words. Direct. You don’t owe LJ anything, you don’t own him your attention. You don’t owe him the recompense of another’s falling because you happen to be that man’s next target.”
“You, Ciarán, are a meddler. A meddler in the affairs of people greater than you. A meddler in the affairs of people who do not need you. You’re a watcher, right? Sit in your little chair and watch from the side. No panic, no worry. No fear, just good ol’ story telling. Good ol’ wrestling ability. A man of focus, of attention, of belief. Self-belief that undoes everything that others work so hard to prove of themselves. Except, Ciarán, this time? You’re not swinging against a no-good loser like the Branded Hen. No, this time, you’ve got me. Alexander Raven. The False Prophet, the Broken Messiah. The Lost, Alexander Raven.”
“History is something I take some passion in, Ciarán. Something you too seem to have this little knack for. I mean, I do my research too. I do my listening; I do my looking. I do my understanding of who it is that stands across from me, because in understanding you? I know how to tear you apart. I know how to get under the skin, and I know just what to say to ensure that you slip up. That’s what they’ll all tell you, anyway. That Alexander Raven is smoke and mirrors. Wraps you up in rhetoric designed to confuse and befuddle. They all know how I work; they’ll tell you so. They tell me, every single time they stand across from me.”
“Just, I have to wonder, Ciarán. Do you think they’re right? Do you think I’m nothing but smoke and mirrors. A man designed to titter about and bring nothing but a story? Ask men like Aiden Reynolds, Austin James Mercer, Fenris, James Huntington-Hawkes, Kevin Carter. Ask any of them, they’ll tell you that the belief that Alexander Raven is smoke and mirrors is a sure-fire way to being flat on your back and wondering where why your fucking neck feels like it has been snapped in half. Why the stars exist only in your head as you wonder what that bright light that cannot be the sun is. Truthfully, Ciarán, this is little more than a reminder. A reminder of why there is not a single other person in this place that could even be considered the number one contender for the World’s Championship.”
“As long as I’m around, Ciarán. It will never be you. It will never be LJ, or Miles. It will never be Brandon Hendrix or Logan Hunter. Brayden Hilton, or any of them. No, as long as I’m here, there is only one clear contender no matter what they do to try and change it. Not a single fucking one of you comes close to what Alexander Raven is on my worst day. Not a single fucking one of you could lace my boots, and that. That is truth. That is fact. That is what you have to wonder about, Ciarán.”
“You can believe what they say and feel the pain that is coming. You can listen to Aiden Reynolds and realise that he wasn’t lying when he talked about me being a Ring General. You could ask Eddie Lyons for advice and he’ll tell. He just cannot work me out. Ask anyone, and you’ll get the same bullshit, but you’ll get a sliver of truth too. As much as they all deny me, they cannot hide the fact that I terrify them. That they do not know how to step to Alexander Raven on my worst days. That beating me? That never feels like they truly won. No it just feels like on that day they got luckier.”
“But luck, luck has nothing to do with it, Ciarán. No, on the day, they were better. I’ve never pretended other than. I’ve never pretended that I am anything but what I am. Another man, willing to do what I must to get to where I need to. Another man willing to take my lashings if that is what is needed. I’m tired of people pretending that they know me, Ciarán. Pretending that they can get some insight into who I am. Trying to put observations and subjection upon me to bring me down. In the end, it doesn’t matter what they say. What you say. What any single person says. At the end of the day, a universal truth will remain just that. A universal fucking truth. The truth? No one is always the best. No one is always on top. They just had to be better on that day. At the end of it all?”
“No one will even remember your name, Ciarán.”
“No one will care that you were here. No one will cry for the man who brandished his heart for the love it all. No body will care for the man who does nothing but complain. Idolises what he sees in front of him in the World’s Champion. Don’t walk that path, Ciarán. Don’t fall into the fallacies of what they preach to you. Don’t fall into the bullshit of what they are trying to peddle. Eddie speaks of honour yet falls time and time again. Carter pretends to be this loving and accepted man yet screams like a petulant child when things aren’t going his way.”
“Miles Kasey prods the bear over and over and wonders why things never really seem to go his way. LJ, Aiden, Logan, Vincent. Any and all of them are just the same. Mewling children who do not understand what it truly takes to be the biggest dog in the yard. The largest raven in the conspiracy. To be the leader, to be the killer. There is nothing for you here. Nothing for any of them. So, come Climax Control. When you’re blinking the agony out of your eyes, wondering why you can’t get your faculties to work the way they need. You were just an example.”
“A warning, a reminder. Whatever way you need to paint it. Whatever way they all need to paint it. There is no right or wrong. There simply is just this. There is simply just the truth. My truth, for that is all that really matters in the end.”
“I’m excited for Sunday, Ciarán. I’m excited to see the flash of confidence, and the dread of understanding. The moment you realise that there is no way for you to escape this. That you are being thrown to the wolves, and the only person that can help you walk out on your own volition. The only person that can help you, is me, and what I decide to do.”
“Are you listening, Ciarán? I hope you have been listening. I need you to understand.”
“This is the end for you.”
