{{In My Head: Part V}}
”What happened? I was right there. Wasn’t there somethin’ I could have done to save the tag titles? Anythin’ at all? All I do when I close my eyes is see James layin’ there, his eyes beggin’ me to save him from the pin as I go flyin’ over them ropes. That look haunts me. I saw it when we was walkin’ to the back after the match. I saw it at the bottom of the bottle I finished at the club, alone. When I close my eyes, I see that look, starin’ at me. I can’t shake it. What is this feelin’?
Depression? It’s more than that. I’ve been depressed before, but I always pull myself outta that funk. I thought maybe this was just takin’ longer to get over, but it’s not goin’ away. Me and James had them belts for a long ass time, but we always knew there would be one day where we had to let em go to move on to bigger and betters things. I look at where I am now, and I see that I got nothin’ better in front of me. I burned all my bridges. James don’t talk to me anymore, and I can’t figure out why. I caught myself thinkin’ for just one second that I ain’t perfect. That’s when I knew it was time to get help.
It’s all about those fuckin’ tag belts. Or somethin’ about that night that is stoppin’ me from bein’ my usual self. Could I be missin’ the belts? Could they be the only thing that validates me in this sport? Was Drake Green right when he called me Marty Janetty? Are those belts the only thing that I will ever be remembered for? The most epic SCW Tag Team Championship title run in the entire existence of those belts? Fuck me!
I can’t even get my partner to talk to me. Am I embarrassin’ or somethin’? Did I really fuck up a friendship over some pieces of gold that only meant somethin’ coz of what we did with them? It seems kinda superficial, right? I mean, a lotta things I do seem superficial, but I’m flawless, dawg… Ya know what? Screw that. I ain’t Marty Freakin’ Janetty. I’m Shawn Fuckin’ Michaels. I carried us through our entire title reign. I’M the reason people paid attention to us at champions. It was all me. Me, me, me, me me! This sexy beast right here. That kid was a loser before I met him. He pulled one over on me, but the truth was that I was always better than him. Just the fact that I let him hang around me, that boosted his success rate with them DTF chicks, even that one with the five o’clock shadow that I tried to warn him about. I was a good friend, and I was the ultimate tag team partner. If he’s got a problem with me, then fuck him too!
I do gotta admit that I wear the shit outta some championship gold. There’s gotta be some way to get them back. I mean… I’m Giani Freakin’ Di Luca. If we really tried, I’m sure we could get them back easily. That’ ain’t the problem. The problem is that, for the first time… like… ever, I feel like we don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve them. What’s wrong with me? Of course I deserve them, even if it is only me that ever did. That don’t take a rocket scientist to figure out. I mean, look at me… I AM champion material. I got the skill. I got the body. I got the confidence. Let’s face it… I’m the complete freakin’ package. I GTL all damn day, and it shows. I take care of myself, and every time I step into that ring, I prove why I deserve to be here. If I was chick, I would so do me. Deservin’ shit ain’t the problem here. It’s this feelin’ that I don’t, and… I just can’t shake that feelin’ for nothin’ doc…”
The slowly setting sun blares through the wooden slotted blinds, casting a glow over Giani’s dark chocolate brown eyes, catching every speck of variation that melds together to give this impression. He face is shadowed only by the saddened expression plastered over his face. As he quite poignantly expressed, he looks like a million bucks. His white t-shirt practically blinds us with how brightly it is, contrasted by the black and silver tattoo print going up his left side and across his shoulder. He has an iced out platinum Rolex watch, and a matching cross pendant dangling down to his navel. His shoes are somehow just as bright as the white of the t-shirt, and his jeans are pressed together nearly. Not a hair is out of place. Yet, somehow, he seems to exude this sense of sorrow that not even his words can truly express. His feet are kicked up as he lies on the burgundy couch, his fingers are laced together over his chest as he gently turns his gaze away from the window. As we pan out to follow his stare, we see a woman, in a red business suit and a black blouse underneath the jacket, sitting in an office chair. Her legs are crossed, and she has a legal pad resting on her lap as she gently scribbles notes. Her eyes never leave Giani’s. She brushes her auburn hair over her shoulder as she plasters a fake smile across her face.
Doctor: I am sensing a very strange mix of emotions, but the one that stands up above all of the others… is guilt. Has this occurred to you, Mr. Di Luca?
Giani furls his brows in anger. How dare she suggest that Giani has anything to feel guilty over? He breathes a laugh through his nose as his expression turns to his usual arrogant one.
Giani: Me? Hmm hmm… Guilty? Oh, doc… that’s rich. Freakin’ priceless. Whaddo I got to feel quilty about?
Doctor: Would you like me to randomly pick out the abundantly obvious ones, or shall I start from the beginning of your autobiography you just spouted off to me, and then go from there?
Giani rolls his eyes, looking away from the doctor. Through her plastic smile, a genuinely devious smirk shines through for just a split second. She straightens up her posture as she sets the pen down on the pad.
Giani: I thought I was payin’ ya like four hundred an hour to make me feel better. I gotta say, ya suck at ya job if this is you tryin’.
Doctor: I’m afraid you have the wrong impression of me. Any cognitive therapist that charges less than five hundred an hour either got their degree from a community college, or they are state appointed. I’m good at what I do, Mr. Di Luca. I just need you to give me your trust. Can you do this for me?
Giani bites at the inside of his lips as he taps one foot against the other, listening impatiently to her. As she begs the question of trust, Giani continues to tap his foot, trying to think of a smartass-ed way to respond to her question. As none of the responses seems appropriate to him, he slowly nod his head.
Giani: So what if I pretend to buy into this whole idea of”guilt”? What can I do to move past this? Get outta my funk, ya know?
Doctor: I could ramble on about some Fraudian bullshit, or I could shoot straight with you, Mr. Di Luca. You strike me as the type who would prefer the latter. Am I right?
Giani: C’mon, doc! Do I strike ya as the type who would get all butt hurt over words?
The curvaceous psychologist gets a toothy grin upon her face as she rubs her sarcasm in his face as much as she possibly can. Giani licks at his lips and he sighs in frustration. He runs his hands over the sides of his head, keeping his angry eyes locked on the doctor.
Giani: Oh ha ha ha… If you’re going to patronize me, you could at least tell me what makes you believe I can’t handle the straight up truth…
Doctor: Well, I could point out the fact that you pretty yourself up more than I do before going out of the house, which leads me to believe that you rely entirely too much on what others think of you, living under the delusion that they are jealous of you. Your ego is so wounded, I feel like I should be rushing you to the emergency room for stitches.
Giani’s nostrils flare up as he listens to the doctor giving her “expert opinion” of him. He swallows very visibly as he tries not to show his anger too much. This only feeds into the sadistic doctor’s rant that much more.
Doctor: Should I also bring up the fact that your acting the fool here is almost as bad as your reality television stint? No, I think I will just let you know that I have reviewed your Twitter account, and that gave me more than enough proof that you will get, as you said, “butt… hurt” if I were to tell you the honest truth.
Giani: Enough! I get it, okay? I’m a self-important, megalomaniac of a prick. Ya ain’t tellin’ me nothin’ I didn’t already know, doc… What can I do to fix it?
The doctor taps her pen against her legal pad, looking at him as if he had just asked the most moronic question ever thought up by mankind. She rolls her eyes and sets the pen back down on the paper. She laces her fingers together, leaning over a bit as she stares him down.
Doctor: Admit your faults. Accept them, Giani. Do with them what you must. I might suggest making amends with the demons in your closet, but something tells me that you are ignorant to their entire existence.
Giani: I know I stepped on people. Half of the female population of New Jersey between the ages of eighteen and forty-nine will tell ya that… What? I went through a mommy phase…
The doctor looks at him with a raised eyebrow as Giani closes his eyes. He rubs at his temples before setting himself up to a sitting position. He claps his hands together, pointing both index fingers up as he points them toward her.
Giani: I love em and leave em. It’s what happens when you’re the Italian Stallion… the Reflection of Perfection.
Doctor: You know very well that I’m not talking about that. The majority of those women are using you just as much as you are using them. I’m talking about the people you have stepped on to get to the top tier of Sin City Wrestling. As I understand, you’ve quite the resume of people you’ve screwed over.
Giani: Here we go… you wanna insinuate that I got some kinda man crush on Spike Staggs. I’m supposed to feel guilty for tellin’ him to get fucked after he used me for the better part of a year? Fuck that, and fuck you for even implyin’ it!
The doctor looks at him again, her smile flaring up once more as she just watches him. She rubs the pen between her hands as she tries to resist saying something. She can’t contain it any longer as she stifles her own laughter.
Doctor: Yuh-you said it… I didn’t say a single thing, and to be honest, I wasn’t even thinking that.
Giani: You clearly implied it though…
Doctor: The only thing I implied was that you screwed over the one person who was grooming you to be the top dog around there. You couldn’t stand the fact that you weren’t perfect as you were, and you took the proverbial “dump” on him.
Giani: But… Grrrrrrrrrrr! He wasn’t grooming me for nothing! He was usin’ me to fight his battles with “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward and that bitch boy of his, Nick Jones. Then, after all that, he tucked his own tail between his legs and licked out Mark’s ass during that whole Team Wars.
The doctor nods her head as she picks her pin back up. She scribbles down notes as Giani continues to ramble on, getting more and more intense with his words.
Giani: The bitch even attacked me in a bathroom! If I was ever to have a man crush in SCW, it sure as shit wouldn’t be that loser. He got everything that he deserved. If I was ever to see his ass again…
Doctor: You seem to be very drawn to his backside, and making references to a struggle of power with him… It sounds like a man crush to me.
Giani: Shut the fuck up! We’re done here. I got nothin’ else to say to you.
Giani reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. His face turns a nice shade of red that reflects embarrassment masked with anger. He thumbs through the billfold as he trembles with anger. He gives up and throws the majority of the bills at the doctor, causing them to fall in a flurry of twenties, fifties, and hundreds. He starts to get up from his chair.
Doctor: In all seriousness, Mr. Di Luca… You know deep down that what you did to Spike Staggs was wrong. However, he isn’t the only person you’ve channeled your aggressions on, and have used to get ahead in this company. The man who referred you to me… Erik Staggs? You left him to pursue your own selfishly designed path to the top.
Giani: That asshole’s cause was a sinkin’ ship. Everyone jumped off of that one. At least I had the goddamned courtesy to do it in a respectful manner. Everyone else stabbed the remaining ones in the back, or publicly denouncing them to get title shots. We both decided that our partnership was no longer beneficial to either of us.
The doctor flips back a few pages in her notes, skimming over something as she nods her head, multitasking. Giani continues to snap back at her while she finds what she is looking for. She uncrosses her legs, and reverses the cross, leaning back in her chair, waiting patiently for his rant to stop.
Doctor: What about Drake Green?
Giani: That douchebag is even more of a self-important prick than I am. But it’s okay that he is cause he uses the fans to validate his oversized ego. But I get shit cause I don’t play to the fans? It’s a double standard, and that jackass deserves everythin’ he’s gotten from me, and so much more. As a matter of fact, he should be lucky I never did worse to him with all the shit he talks on Twitter.
Doctor: While I can’t argue with you there, I don’t think “Mr. Showtime” could ever admit to himself that he’s more bruised than even you are. But validating your opinions is not the objective here… What about Misty?
Giani’s expression changes from day to the darkest of nights. He lowers his head slightly, giving her a sadistic glare, mentally ravaging her for even suggesting the name. He purses his lips as he takes in a deep breath through his nostrils.
Giani: She used me just as much as I used her. Ya said it earlier when I was talkin’ about all the dumb broads I bagged in Jersey, and everywhere else I ever travelled. She tried tellin’ me that I should feel guilty over everthin’ I done just cause she had an attack of conscience. She had the best eight hours of her life bein’ flipped around like a ragdoll in my suite, and all the unholy positions I showed her, she couldn’t stand the idea of never findin’ a man who could match up to that again. So she decided to become a nun or somethin’… Heh, I brought the Queen of the Damned a little closer to God… and she repaid me by ignorin’ me for a month. How is that my fault?
Doctor: You doomed it from the beginning yourself. You pursued it as a way of getting back at Spike Staggs and, in a way, possibly tried to emulate him with some sort of buried idol complex.
Giani’s eyelids flutter as he tries to comprehend what the doctor is telling him. The words make sense, but the fact that she is implying something of this nature simply does not compute. He gives it a second to make better sense, but when it doesn’t he simply scoffs at the notion.
Giani: Has he achieved big things in his career? Yeah, he has. Is he superior to me in any other way? Fuck no! Why would I wanna be like him? I just wanted to show the Ice Queen what it was like to have a real man. If anythin’, it was an act of charity.
Doctor: Let’s switch gears here, because you are clearly missing the point… What about your tag team partner, James Huntington-Hawkes the third? This is someone you took under your wing and mentored, helping him to advance by leaps and bounds. Yet you are so willing to toss him aside like a piece of trash. Why do you think that is?
Giani: Why does everyone just HAVE to make me out to be the bad guy? How about for once, I don’t have to defend myself while others who are far more hypocritical can just continue on bein’ their own oxymorons? I created JHHIII. Nobody gave a shit about that kid, he was a runnin’ joke around the locker rooms. He had to bribe a teddy bear to help get him air time.
Giani lets out a laugh at how preposterous an idea this is, yet it is true. He waves his hand in the air as he stares at the doctor for a shared laugh. When it isn’t returned, Giani clears his throat and then clasps his hands together in front of him.
Giani: It was under my guidance that he even got the Roulette Championship. Sure, I started cause I thought it would be funny to make him dress up like the Hulkster before the steroids, but I coached him on. I actually considered him a friend. But he did what everyone always does to me… He used me. He rode on my coattails through all of our matches. People thought he pulled a Simon Jones, poppin’ outta nowhere to win the title before losin’ it like two weeks later… and he would have if I didn’t coach him along, and build him up. Then, the second I have one slip up, he blocks my number and disappears off the face of the planet. I’m the reason that kid ain’t still cranking it out to Miley Cyrus twerkin’ videos!
Doctor: You are just full of excuses. You have a reason to justify everything, don’t you? You can never be wrong. It is always your way. Even if the reality of the situation points to something different, you have an excuse. You have a scapegoat waiting in the wing. Quite frankly, it is pathetic, and I am prepared to leave if you can’t admit to one instance where you were wrong…
The doctor matches Giani’s grimace with one just slightly more challenging. Giani sucks on his bottom teeth as he accepts her challenge. He pauses for almost two full minutes, tapping his chin as he tries to admit fault to something. The doctor picks up her large red leather purse and begins packing things up in her bag. A light bulb turns on in Giani’s head as he nearly gasps.
Giani: One time, after like five too many Jager Bombs… I bet against Louie that this one broad’s boobs was both the same size. Later on when I got her back to the house, and the the Jager Bombs was wearin’ off, they was clearly two cup sizes difference…
Giani stares hopefully at the psychologist who has to blink her eyes a couple of times to try to absorb what Giani had just said. She sighs and slides the legal pad into her bag. Giani begins objecting, getting up from the couch and holding his hands out to block her from putting away another item.
Giani: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA! You said that if I admitted to bein’ wrong about one thing, we could continue here. I did my part, doc… please. Just help me figure out why I can’t feel normal no more…
Giani gives her a genuine, yet puppy-like stare that leaves even her own hardened heart weeping. She tries to be as resourceful as him with coming up with an excuse to deflect her own blame, but she falls short.
Doctor: Only if you stop trying to oppose me at every turn, Mr. Di Luca. We’ve made a lot of progress, but there is still one hurdle that we need to overcome before you can start feeling better…
Giani backs up slowly, nodding his head. He sits down on the burgundy couch once again, perking his ears up to listen closely to the doctor. She pulls the pad out once again, clicking her pen as she jots down a few notes silently. She sets the pen down and looks at Giani as he eagerly awaits her instructions.
Doctor: Out of one of the instances we just discussed, minus the breast story… I want you to tell me where you were wrong. You don’t seem to be able to properly process your guilt, or even acknowledge it to begin with.
Giani takes a deep breath, lacing his fingers together as he tries to think. He genuinely tries to process this task, putting one hundred and ten percent into it. After piecing it together, he looks back up to the doctor, the slightest hint of regret in his eyes, and his voice.
Giani: I guess… I think I… probably… should have… talked to Spike and laid my frustrations out for him instead of plantin’ him on the mat with the Jersey Turnpike?
The doctor nods her head slowly, encouraging him to continue on with this.
Giani: I shoulda listened to him, and instead of losin’ my cool with him, I should have given him some trust. The man had a lot goin’ on, and he was doin’ his best with what he had. His loser girlfriend, the bogus metalhead chick, the one broad who never had shit to do with the rest of the group, two hardcore alcoholics, and a retarded brother… He somehow got them to the top of SCW. I coulda learned from the first and only man to ever hold the NeWA World Heavyweight Championship in SCW. That was very wrong of me…
Doctor: Very good, Mr. Di Luca. That was a huge step for you to take. Now, what do you plan to do with this?
Giani: Send him a sympathy card?
The doctor is ready to acknowledge Giani’s good sense, only to hear such an unsympathetic answer. She slowly shakes her head from side to side as Giani’s expression sinks a little bit.
Doctor: Let me give you this as a freebie for all of the progress you’ve made here today… You should go up to Spike, and offer him an apology, face to face. Whether he accepts it or not, that is on him. You will have done everything you could to absolve yourself of that guilt. That’s all you can do.
Giani: Would a phone call work? I kinda feel like maybe he might punch me straight in the kisser, yaknowhatimsayin’ doc?
Doctor: Perhaps you could feel it out over the phone, and go from there? I really feel like a face to face conversation would be the most sincere way to convey your guilt to him, and it gives him proof that you are genuinely sorry for what you’ve done.
Giani nods his head slowly as he looks down at the floor. After the rollercoaster of emotions Giani has gone through as of late, he is willing to try anything to feel better after the devastating lose of the tag belts. He rubs his hands together, trying to get a grasp on what lies ahead of him. He looks up to the doctor as she smiles, ready to leave herself. She begins packing up her things.
Doctor: There is still more work that we really need to do, Mr. Di Luca. I would be more than happy to see you again in a couple of weeks if you feel like you need it. I will have my secretary file you as a priority patient.
She slings her bag over her shoulder as she gets up from her seat. Giani joins her, towering over her as she waits for him to get to the door. He steps in front of her quickly, opening the door in front of him. He steps through, but slowly turns around to face the doctor one last time.
Giani: Um, hey doc…?
Doctor: Yes?
Giani: I just wanted to say… thanks. I really needed that.
The doctor gives him a smile and a nod of encouragement as he turns back around. He disappears from our line of view as the doctor flips the light out in the room. We fade out.
{I Got My Speakers On Wrecked!}
{{Demons}}
The darkness seeps in to your bones before the lightening crashes in the distance, illuminating the Mother Mary statue at the front of Our Lady of Peace Catholic Church. The rain drops bounce off of the old pavement steps, casting a gleam upon them before fading to darkness once again. The pitter patter of the rain beats down like tiny drums. The door opens, letting out the smell of frankincense fill the rainy autumn air. A man of the cloth walks out with a set of keys dangling in his hands. He fumbles around, lifting the hood of his jacket up to block the rain from chilling his head. He grumbles a bit as the slippery precipitation gives him the utmost difficulty.
Father: Doggone it…
He sighs, his breath becoming visible through the faint light coming from the door. The lightening crashes once again, giving a good look at the young Father as his hands tremble from the cold. He looks around as he hears a twig snap in the distance. He quickly dismisses the sound, but not after dropping the keys on the cold, damp ground. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath before leaning down to retrieve them. His fingers move across the pavement where he assumes they should have fallen, trying to find them. However, he doesn’t have any luck, expanding his search before he hears a jingling sound that is too close for comfort.
Father: Who’s there? Please, I don’t want any trouble.
The innocence coming from his soothing voice despite his nervous state is very discerning as he leans back up. He is startled as he sees the large hooded man standing in front of him. The Father takes a few steps back, coming into the light as he carefully steps backward. Upon a loud squeaking sound, he slips and falls backward. He scurries backward, fearful for his life as he makes it to the carpet. The hooded man comes forward, the keys jingling in his hands as he is in hot pursuit of the Father. He pulls himself up on one of the pews, steadying himself on the carpet. He turns to run, heading toward the pulpit as quickly as he can. The hooded man seems to have plenty of time to spare as he simply strides forward, allowing the rain to drip from his body, leaving a trail behind him, overshadowed only by the muddy footprints.
Father: Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion… inexhaustible…
He does his best to move forward, allowing his survival instinct to kick in. The hooded man straightens his posture, taking his time, yet still, he seems to catch up to the Father quicker than one would assume. As we pan upward, we admire the eerily darkened sign of the crucifix, meant to remind us of everlasting salvation to those who open their hearts to Him. However, right about now, it looks just downright fucking creepy in the dim lighting, and even more so when the lightening crashes, casting a glow upon it.
Father: Look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair, nor become despondent, but with great confidence…
He gets against the wall, a silver cross tumbling over upon him. He grips it tightly against his chest as his speech is stifled. He watches as the hooded man ascends the two tiers leading up to the pulpit, getting much too close for comfort. Father gulps and looks up at the hooded man as he tries to stand proud in the face of danger.
Father: Submit ourselves to Your holy will, which is Love and Mercy itself… Let your will be done, oh Heavenly Father…
The hooded man stands above the Father who is ready to accept his fate as was designed by God himself. However, much to his surprise, the man extends his hand out, allowing the dripping wet keys to dangle near his face. He doesn’t quite know what to do as he simply stares. The hooded man begins choking on a mixture of a laugh and a cough. He reaches up and lowers his hood to reveal a soaking wet Giani Di Luca. He returns the keys to the Father who slowly accepts them. Giani then grabs onto his wrist, startling him as he pulls him up to a standing position. Giani speaks in a low, raspy tone.
Giani: I’m sorry Father… I’m almost over this damn cold goin’ around, but it’s got my voice all jacked up. It sucks donkey balls…
The Father looks as if he’d just heard the crudest string of obscenities escape Giani’s mouth, yet he slowly nods his head, listening and breathing a sigh of relief. Giani lets go of his hand and then brings his own arms to his side, shivering.
Father: You should have said something, son… I about had a heart attack.
Giani: I tried, but my voice is a little in and out right now. I hope I’m not too late?
Father: Actually, we lock up around 10pm every night, and it’s now 11… however, I would be throwing my vows out of the window if I told you that you couldn’t stay here. What can I help you with my son?
Giani listens, but somehow he is stunned by the interior of the church. The paintings similar to those he used to despise seeing in church as a child were somehow calming to him right now. He hadn’t been inside of a church for something other than a wedding or a funeral in a decade. Until his recent attack of conscience, he felt himself but a God living amongst men, so the idea of church had only seemed silly to him. His eyes wander over the almost morbid looking décor of the church, envisioning it were lit up and finding the serenity he so desperately seeks.
Giani: I… I don’t really know, Father. I fought the urge to come up here all day until I just couldn’t take it no more. All I know is that I need to be here right now. Is that alright with ya? I don’t wanna be too much trouble.
Father: Not at all, my son. That is what we are here for. God never sleeps, lest his grace is ever present. Would you like me to pray with you, or would you prefer to pray in peace?
Giani: Peace ain’t somethin’ I been havin’ a lot of lately. All the demons in my head are drivin’ me nuts, so if it ain’t too much trouble, do ya mind if I go at this alone?
Father: Certainly. I’m sure there is something I can do in the back to allow you time. Feel free to come to me if you need me.
Giani nods his head as the Father clasps his hands together, bowing to Giani before turning on his heels to slowly walk toward the altar. He strikes a match, lighting a few candles to give Giani some light. He flicks his wrist, extinguishing the flame before walking toward a door off to the right. Giani watches him go before slowly turning in a circle, looking for some sort of sign. He isn’t afforded this luxury, so he simply sighs and steps down the two tiers to the aisle. He takes a seat in the third pew back on the right. He watches the flames of the candles dance for a solid five minutes, deep in thought. As his eyes start to close, he hears a familiar voice echoing in his ears.
”Ey yo, Gi… I’m surprised ya didn’t burst into flames soon as ya walked through the door, bro. Hahahaha.”
Giani looks back, just in time to see what would appear to be a set of wings whirring past him. He looks in front of him, seeing a young man of no more than eighteen years turned sideways in the pew. He gently smiles at Giani, chuckling at his own humor as Giani shakes his head, hoping to clear out some sort of residual hallucination. As he does, he sees an empty seat and he tries his best to keep his cool, fighting back a wide range of emotions.
”Whatsamatter? Ya used to think that joke was the funniest shit in the world. All of a sudden ya turn into a stone-faced motherfucker in front of me? C’mon!”
He turns to his right to see the young man sitting there again. The man is facing forward, his eyes locked on the cross as he clasps his hands together. Giani rolls his eyes as he follows the kid’s gaze, folding his hands in similar fashion as he leans forward.
Giani: Greg, I know ya mother taught ya better manners than that. Watch ya fuckin’ mouth in church.
Greg: And I guess ya mother didn’t teach you any?
Giani rolls his eyes, chuckling as he turns over to share a laugh with his cousin, a tear forming in the corner of his eyes. He holds it back so not to spoil this impossible reunion. Greg reaches forward, wiping the tear from Giani’s face, shaking his head “no” as Giani chokes it back for the moment. They both turn back toward the front of the church, heads bowed as they continue their conversation.
Greg:My mother taught me manners, but I been gone so long, I forgot most of these Earthly customs. It turns out God don’t give a shit about foul language so long as it ain’t involvin’ his name, yaknowhatimsayin’? As long as ya watch the G.D. ya good.
Giani: Look, I know ya didn’t call me here to teach me God’s manners. I heard ya callin’ me all damn day, dawg. Ya know how much I hate bein’ in church, but I came. So how about we skip the bullshit here, aight?
Greg looks over at Giani, dismissing his slightly aggressive demeanor. He simply stares at Giani, exhaling a laugh through his nostrils as he gives Giani a firm pat on his shoulder, rubbing it a few strokes before taking his hand off.
Greg: You and me, we go way back to the crib, brotha. Just cause I ain’t on this Earth no more, that don’t mean I can’t tell when my brotha from anotha motha is hurtin’. I been tryin’ to reach ya for quite a while, but you just wasn’t open to it. You was just too involved with that one chick who needs a spray tan, like, stat…
Giani: I know, I know… it was a huge mistake. She was nothin’ but trouble. I don’t know what I was thinkin’.
Greg: No, no, no… Bro… look at me. She was the best thing that coulda happened to ya. That was all part of God’s design for ya. In his words, “That guy turned into a supreme douchebag…” True story.
Giani looks at his cousin as if he had just committed the highest form of blasphemy, bitchslapping the air in front of him before turning his head to the side, giving the cold shoulder. Greg appears right in front of him shrugging as if he couldn’t help but tell the truth.
Greg: He put her in ya life for the same reason he put you in hers. It was never meant to be a forever kinda thing. You two was supposed to show each other the path of redemption. Rightin’ ya wrongs. You just wouldn’t get the hint, even when a possessed Queen of demons could see God’s light. It’s kinda sad if ya think about it.
Giani: That makes fuck all sense, kid… Why now? Why speak to me when I got the opportunity of a lifetime sittin’ in front of me? Is it my punishment for bein’ better than everyone else?
Greg blinks as he stares at his cousin. He shakes his head, sighing as if he were speaking a foreign language to a three year old. He kneels down to get back on Giani’s level. Greg narrows his eyes in seriousness.
Greg: Nobody is better than anyone. They are just talented in other ways. Every person serves a purpose in the grand design. So, no, ya ain’t bein’ punished for bein’ better than anyone. Ya ain’t bein’ punished, period. If anything, you’re bein’ rewarded for finally seeing the error of ya ways. You got a chance to go out there and prove to everyone that ya ain’t just some dumb kid from Jersey who got lucky with a reality show, then got bored and decided to wrestle… Ya some dumb kid from Jersey who got lucky with a reality show, then got bored and decided to wrestle cause he woke up to his true calling…
Giani: If that’s true, then why the hell do I gotta face someone as lame as Kain? I mean, I understand Simon Jones got lucky and won the Heavyweight title, so people think he actually means somethin’ when he don’t mean shit, but Kain? Seriously, bro? All he ever did was hold the Roulette and Tag belts in SCW. The Roulette belt is pathetic, and the only reason the tag belts mean anythin’ is cause of what me and James did with them. I could maul this kid with both hands tied behind my back while I’m sleeping.
Greg: I wouldn’t be so sure. This man has something dark within him that is unmatched by most. He has a very dangerous background in street fighting.
Giani rolls his eyes as he turns away from his cousin once more. He would much rather not argue with one of the people he was bound to by blood that he could actually tolerate, but his own pride throws that right out of the window.
Giani: All he ever does is talk, and brood over bein’ such a loser. His wife is a nice slice of fuckberry pie, but that’s about the only thing this guy has over me. I don’t care if he can fight with weapons and closed fists, cause this is wrestlin’. That shit ain’t legal. It shows in his matches, too. The only thing this kid can win at is street fights and hardcore matches. He lost the Roulette title to Max Burke. He lost the lowest title in this company to some up and comer, and somehow, he gets a shot at the top title? That screams ass-kisser right there. I guess all that rimming he musta done for Mark and Christian actually got him somewhere. But the fact of the matter is that he’s bein’ put in the ring with me. I didn’t get here by luck. I got put in this match cause I get results every time I step foot inside of a wrestlin’ ring. I win titles, I beat loudmouth idiots on the daily…
Greg: I see your visits to Doctor Liddell did nothing… Kain is a force to be reckoned with, and whose to say that you ain’t gonna get some kind of hardcore match drawn as the stipulation for ya match?
Giani: It don’t matter, bro! I deserve to be in this match, and for the reason alone, I’m gonna make sure I outlast Kain and Simon Jones.
Giani adjusts himself in his seat, looking down at the back of the pew in front of him. The anger and determination builds inside of him as he tries to get a handle on it. Greg puts a hand on Giani’s shoulder to help him get a grip.
Greg: The sooner you open your eyes and realize that you’re not the only gift from God in SCW, the sooner you might actually earn the Number One Contendership to Drake Green’s title. Simon Jones must have had something in him that caused him to outlast you in the Battle Royal that led him to Jordan Williams. He then went on to defeat Jordan, capturing the title. He’s not someone to snub ya nose at, bro.
Giani: Bah! Simon Jones is a muke. Plain and simple, he’s done nothin’ but get lucky, and then cry over his luck runnin’ out. Me and James worked for the tag belts, but ya don’t see me cryin’ coz I lost them. Ya don’t see me runnin’ away from this match like a pansy ass. I’m ready to go for the top, and I ain’t lookin’ down. I refuse to let myself wallow in a pool of self pity like that dude. He’s a waste. If he was anything, he woulda got back up, dusted himself off, and went right for that whiny bitch, Kevin Carter. Instead, he cried, and went after Casey Williams, someone that everyone’s beaten. He didn’t deserve the shot at the belt in the first place, and he definitely didn’t deserve to have his name put anywhere near that belt. If nothin’ else, I will put him outta this match myself.
Giani has the determination in his eyes and an almost sadistic smile on his face as he looks up to his fallen cousin. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he can feel the power rising within him once more.
Giani: The only person I am even half-way worried about in this match is Nick Jones. He’s a two-time former Heavyweight Champion. He’s proved he can get to the top. There aren’t many people who can say they dominated the top. The problem is that he has been slippin’ lately. He ain’t nowhere near as powerful as he used to be. He’s been reduced to nothin’ but a last season, forgotten, broken down loudmouth who still doesn’t realize that kissing Mark Ward’s ass doesn’t get you anywhere anymore. All it does is makes ya look like a pathetic loser who can only hold onto a title cause Mark Ward comes out to stop the match as soon as ya look like ya ass is doomed, or ya goons come out with a few cheap shots. But when ya got someone who fights fire with fire, who ain’t ashamed to even the odds and turn it into a fair fight, what else do ya got? Skill versus skill, and that’s where I will defeat Nick freakin’ Jones and prove to everyone that I’m the real top dog of Sin City.
Greg: Only if you can do what you haven’t been able to do yet, cousin… Admit that maybe… just maybe… you ain’t so perfect. I could tell some stories about when we was kids that involve all kinds of imperfect things. Like the time we was in the back seat of grandma-ma’s car, and ya picked ya nose and then…
Giani: Alright! I ain’t perfect. I’m almost perfect though. As close to it as humanly possible…
Greg: Well, cuz… it’s a start I guess. Just remember, as was the case for me… ya never know when it’s gonna be all over, and all the things ya might wanna say, but don’t got the balls to say… ya might not ever get to say ‘em. I think ya know exactly what I mean.
Giani looks into his cousin’s eyes, and for a second it almost feels like he’s staring directly into his own eyes. He feels the message pulsing inside of his head so intensely that it forces a tear out of his pained eye. He nods his head.
Greg: Take care bro… Who knows, maybe one day I’ll see ya back up there.
Giani’s eyes quickly dart back to where his cousin was once standing. He searches around frantically for his cousin, hoping that he might be afforded just one last glance. However, such a gift isn’t bestowed upon him. The longing to say just one last expression of love to his dearly departed. He hears the bell toll above him, hearing it echo as he comes out of his trance. He looks around, and he is still standing on the steps of the church, no sign of light coming from within as the rain drenches him. He hears the flapping of wings whirring by, and he searches the sky, seeing what appears to be a rising star through the cloudy night sky. He looks down to his phone, seeing it is just after 3am. Even more strangely, his phone has a call in progress, and he simply hears a few words echoing through the speaker.
”Hello? Hello! Hey, asshole! Fucking prank calls, seriously? You are juvenile, Giani… Asshole…”
The phone call ends, showing the picture of Spike Staggs fading as the phone turns off. Giani looks out to the street as a car passes by, flinging water up onto the sidewalk. He waits for it to pass before stepping down the stairs, trying to find his way back to his second home and we fade out.
{I got my speakers on WRECKED!}
{fin}
