“I remember that night a little more these days.” Alex said softly, lifting a pint to his mouth. He took a long drink of it, looking out towards the street next to them. Alex had broached the topic recently. Resentment was too much of a thing to hold onto. Resentment was eating away at him. It wasn’t a pretty topic. It wasn’t one for good times, or bad. It was just one that needed to be had.
Luna understood, she always did. Too good for him, that was for sure. She wasn’t that woman anymore, he knew that. He knew with all the good left in him, that she wasn’t that woman anymore. But he was fighting a battle with his own mind. He was seriously unwell, that was the truth of it. Unwell and unable to really escape himself.
But she listened, she talked and she understood. She let him have his moments and asked nothing in return. Nothing but that he be honest. That he does not lie. That he does not hide behind omissions and half-truths. So he was honest, with his doubts. With his moments of resentment. With how his memory hides from him to protect his fragile mind. His fragile psyche.
“You know, James, he beat Leon black and blue after you left. I thought he was going to kill him. I thought you might at the time, actually. I don’t know why you didn’t.” Luna spoke softly in return. She was in a lighter mood tonight, so it was a cocktail kind of evening for her. The espresso martini was always the starter. Always the lifter of energy and keeping her sharp. She took a small sip.
“Sometimes I wonder too. Shock, maybe. I don’t really remember it so well anymore. Enough to be tortured by it, I guess. Repressed memories my psychologist would tell me. The mind protecting itself. Protecting what I have left.” Alex said gently, nodding a little as he took another mouthful of his beer. Some crappy house lager, but it was enough. Enough to keep him steady, to keep him from losing himself to himself.
“I think, if anyone had told me. I probably would’ve killed him. There on the spot. Ruined my life, but, in that moment, I would’ve felt right. Not sure what I ever did to him, to make him hurt me like he did. Time and time again, but he’s gone now. Hell, most of them are. Guess we were all a little screwy in the head.” Alex said, rubbing his temple with the back of his free hand. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind.
“I think James might’ve taken the bullet on that one for you. You should’ve seen him that night Alex. I’ve never seen him lose it like that. Never saw it again. Absolutely full of biblical rage that night. Would have given you a challenge on your worst nights. I’m sorry, Lexi. I know it is just words, but. I’ll be making my amends for the rest of my life for that.” Luna said again. It was a tired dance, but one they needed to have. For him to be honest, and for her to have the honesty she demanded of him. It was just the way things broke down in the end.
“I know, Lu. I’m sorry I’m the way I am. I don’t think anyone would care if I wasn’t half as fucked up as I am. A normal, boring man, with a burning chip on his shoulder from a childhood half-lived and half abused. Ego, maybe. I don’t know. Gotta be seen, curse of the curse.” Alex said, reaching out for the packet of cigarettes that sat on the table. He took one, placing it to his lips, offering the pack to Luna. She in turn took one. He placed it back on the table and pulled a lighter from his pocket.
“I knew that soft boy, Alex. I just wish that hard ass girl had been a better one for you. I knew you before it all went topsy turvy. I cared, Lexi. I always cared. Helped thaw your heart, even if I was the one who froze it. I care and always will.” Alex lit her cigarette for her, before lighting his own. She took a long sharp inhale of her cigarette. He rose his glass to hers, clinking them together for a moment. Taking a long drag of his own cigarette. His eyes moving from the street to fixate on her.
No resentment today, just acceptance. Acceptance of the woman she was, not hating her for who she once was. He could feel the scratching of nails behind his eyes, the screech of a voice deep in his mind. The Lost attempting it’s best to get out. To try and get past his flimsy mental walls to drag him into that hallway.
Not today, he thought to himself. Not today.
He ran a hand over his forehead for a moment, breathing deeply. Taking another mouthful of his beer as he watched Luna drink her own. The two of them looking at each other, a moment of quiet acceptance. A quiet look of love. A quiet moment of being present with each other. Acknowledgement of who they are. What they were. Where they existed in the world today.
“Sometimes I wonder, if running all the way across the world when we did was the right call. I wouldn’t have met Lauren, but in the same vein. I wouldn’t have had to deal with half the shit I ended up dealing with. Wouldn’t have met Adrienne. Probably still would have got me hooked on the Ketamine. Both of us, really. Wonder how much difference it would’ve had made. Probably be sadder.” Alex said softly, a little bit of cheek hidden in the truth of it.
She smiled, that soft, gentle smile. The one that cut to the depth of his soul. The one that reached her cold and piercing eyes and gave them the softest of glows. A look that he never saw her give to anyone else. Not Leon, not Sullivan or Harrison. Not even her own brother. That loving and deep smile.
Peace was in the moment, and sometimes that was all he really needed. A moment of peace to remind me of the times that were good. Not for the one time that was bad. The years that bled over from the one moment of terrible. He had to be happy in the peaceful moments. He had to be better. He had to push that resentment aside, or it would fucking kill him.
Or her.
And if she was gone.
Well, he didn’t have the slightest idea what life would look like beyond that moment. He didn’t deal with loss well. Didn’t deal with heartbreak well. Life would end that day, and him with it.
That was the truth.
And then…
“They say insanity is doing the same thing, over and over, and expecting a different result. Not sure who they are, but they sound like people who’ve never experienced out business. Never trained in a skill. Never had to develop a talent or technique. I would fear the man who has practised a kick ten thousand times, more than the man who has practised ten thousand kicks once. Contradictions are a plenty in the world that we find ourselves in. People who live by one philosophy or another but refuse to look at the threads that run between them.”
“Refusing to look at the men and women demanding they follow one ideology more than another. The sycophants who would spit upon them if they just deigned to think outside the box they want to keep them in. Conspiracist is what they call me, have always called me. For simply pointing out the fallacies in their thinking. In the way they present themselves. I am the wrong and the right at the same time, for some I speak only the truth that they want. Others hate me for it.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t subscribe to either camp fully. I don’t wish to be the conspiracist, but I will be an illuminator of truth. I will be the one who continues to speak my truth, for better or worse. The insane man, doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. Except, the results are different, aren’t they? The more I talk; the more people have to mull it over. The more I talk the harder it becomes for them to just ignore what exists right in front of their face.”
“See, that’s the thing that really boils Carter. The thing that gets under his skin more than anything else. I talk, people listen and they ask questions. They ask what could be different, what is different, why they are so unable to pull themselves away from men like us. From the speakers of truth, and those who scream so heavily to break away from that we accuse them of. There are men, like you Carter, and men like me. Men like Alex Jones. People who see through you veil of bullshit. Who aren’t enraptured and enthralled by your lies and façade.”
“Speaking of men like me. Alex Jones, they think they’re so smart, don’t they? Strange bedfellows, that would do anything to get recompense for the actions either of us have taken upon the other. Like does not enter this equation, and yet. Respect can. Respect for what the other knows, for what they see. We see the bullshit and lies that flow from the mouth of Carter. The bullshit and lies that flow from a man who is nothing more than a pretender to the throne. Who speaks on high horses and pretence, yet time and time again, he gets by, by the skin of his teeth.”
“A man who sees right through you Carter, and it upsets you. It upsets you because you can’t lull us under your control. Under the abuse of power that you throw around like the maverick you are becoming. The more you fight it, Carter, the more truth it becomes. See when people like me, like Alex Jones, when we talk. People fucking listen, right? Even if it is to denounce everything we say. They struggle to stop listening, because as much as they want to deny us. As much as they try, they can’t help but seeing just a droplet of the truth.”
“Which is why I think it boils you so deeply when we talk. When we point out the failings, you have around your dear sweet partner. Does it boil you too, Miles? When we point out the fallacies of it all? You are denied time and time again your opportunity at the top. Too piss weak to step to your husband. Too piss weak to even be in contention. You and your like-minded kin. A brother so fancifully useless that in comparison he makes you look like a true contender. But you’re not, and part of that is your own fault, Miles.”
“Only part though. No a lot of it has to do with your choice in partner. Your husband, Carter. The man who you dote upon, who is the doted. The man who every time you’ve faced each other, has found a way to belittle you. The finger injury, the refusal to wrestle the match that Victoria put you in. Now he holds you back and relegates you to the Internet division, to deal with his problems. Problems he doesn’t have time for anymore. So proud and brave is little Miles Kasey, calling people a bitch. Attacking a man to make a point. Playing the games of the gameless.”
“You burn me, Miles, for your ineptitude. Your complacency and acceptance of being lesser than. Your acceptance of living in shadow. That’s what this all has boiled down to. Picking at the scraps because the head of the table won’t give you a slice of bread. You were once contended at the top with Austin James Mercer and Michael Harris, and now. Now you are nothing but the errand boy, Miles. Do you think that Carter sees you as an equal? I have to wonder. I have to question whether or not he thinks of you at all. A mirror for his ego and vanity, that is what you are for him, Miles. A mirror for the narcissist to put his image into and feel grand.”
“That is all you are to him, Miles. A mirror. But even a mirror has its uses outside of standard vanity. A reflection of the enemies moving in. A weapon in the most desperate of final moments. But you see, the problem with mirrors, is if you can see me, I already have seen you. I’ve seen you for years, Miles. Seen you clamber and crawl and try and dig your way to the top. Just to allow yourself to be complacent because the man who stands in that spot now, you love. Love is not a dictator of business. Of choice in one’s own growth. You are stagnant and you let yourself be. You’ll never beat me; you’ll never beat Alex Jones. That’s the simple cold hard truth of it all, Miles.”
“You just aren’t quite fucking good enough.”
“See Carter too umbrage with what I had to say. Poked and made fun of my lowliness, of my softness. Of my irritation at the feckless bickering of a bastard. A man who jumps at shadows now because he has upset someone even more than me. I only threatened to take everything he loves. Maybe, just maybe, the shadow man has it right. Nothing he loves more than himself. Take away that which makes him himself and now… Now he has nothing. Because not even all your love is enough to make him listen. To make him do what would be a good idea.”
“No you see, Miles. You’re not even worth doing the right thing for him. How low that must make you feel. How painfully unloved you truly are. You’re not worth hurting to hurt him. You’re not worth giving a shot at the top because that would mean he sees you as an equal. How fucking unfortunate for you.”
“But Carter, there’s stakes here isn’t there? It was going to be two out of three falls. I think I like the idea, but… but there’s more to be had here, isn’t there? A pound of flesh for a pound of flesh. I’ve participated in many a horror. Many a match of agony, of brutality. I participated in a three stages before, a little bit different, but the same otherwise. I retained my championship that night, nearly ended the budding career of a man who was the sycophantic child of another narcissistic bastard.”
“But it lends an idea, and idea I’m sure you’ll come to love. See I’m not going to tittle about and pretend that I’m hemming and hawing at a plethora of ideas. No, see I’ve got my little ideas, and I know how I want my pound of fucking flesh, Carter. But I’m no tyrant, no I’m good, giving man. One for me, one for you, and one for the world. The three stages, but a little left over each time. I’m going to make sure you understand the pain and agony of what you’ve done.”
“Stage one, barbwire massacre. My personal little favourite playground of violence and decay. Ropes of barbwire, instruments of violence and torture all adorned with the blood drawing cattle deterring steel. That way, no matter what comes next, there will always be more blood to be drawn. You’ll never escape the barbwire. Those ropes, the lasting agony. It’ll be with us, all night.”
“Stage two, Carter. Stage two is one for you, I promise. Stage two, a little nicer. A little more loving. The one that ensures it comes down to just us. They’ll lower that cage and capture us. A steel cage to hold the barbwire massacre inside. To keep outsiders where they belong. Out. Luna will not be there; Miles will not be able to save you. Just you and me. But there will be no escape, no. That’s not sporting behaviour. It is a chamber to keep us in and the world out, but not to escape. No they will lower that cage, and the only way to win? Pinfall or submission. I’m a little bit old school in that regard.”
“The final, should it be required. Something for the world. For the ravenous bastards who flock to see the pain and agony. To see two gladiators locked in combat eternally. Our two broken and beaten bodies, struggling to survive. They’ll lock that collar around our throats, and it’ll all come down to which dog wants to break the bitch more. Barbwire Massacre, a Steel Cage and finally, a Dog Collar. For our own sakes, I think it best if we don’t get that far, don’t you?”
“Stacking the deck, is what they call it, but I want to give you just the mildest bit of reprieve. Three Stages of fucking hell, Carter. That is what I will be picking. I hope you’re half as fucking willing to go the full length, or I’m going to be disappointed. Disappointed in the doldrums of our failing little World Champion. A man who has nothing to give but empty promises and words of anger. Yet not willing to take his pound of flesh.”
“Take the flesh, Carter. Or be forever the worst World Champion that Sin City has ever had.”
“Alex, we don’t have to say much. They think this is their advantage, but the two of them aren’t half as good together as we are on our own. Men with something to prove, men with a passion. That is what we are. Men who can move past actions of the past when the present demands it. Ego is our game, and ego is what it will always come down to. But Climax Control, we will be the better men. We will be the one’s who stand at the top and look down upon the lower filth this time. I hope you choose to break Miles, just like I intend to break Carter.”
“We will win, because they cannot hope to stop us both. We will win, because that is what I have fucking decided. I don’t care who gets the victory, I don’t care who takes the fall. We will beat them, that is all that matters. So I can take my fucking pound of flesh, and this time. There will be no distractions. There will be no one to save him. I will crucify the bastard for what he has become, to remind him. Remind him that in the game of giants, he is nothing but a simpering stand-in for those who deserve it.”
“Miles, have you been listening?”
“Carter, I know you’re listening. You can’t stop it now.”
