October 16, 2016
The nightmare came to him, as it often had, after a night of restless sleep. It was a common thread through his nights ever since he began taking his medication. It wasn't a side effect, at least not one he was warned about.
In this recurring nightmare, he always found himself in the middle of the ring, surrounded by everyone he ever cared about. His first wife was there. His ex-girlfriend. His brother. Stacy. Trent. Wrestling friends he hadn't spoken to in years and some he only made recently. They were all looking at him and they were covered in some kind of liquid.
As he gazed around the ring looking for the source, he saw the empty gasoline containers piled in the corner. He then heard a voice, the voice, speaking to him.
You did this.
He glanced down to see the person speaking to him, a deranged version of himself. This JC looked like a ghoul. It was like the unkempt appearance he had at Blood Bath multiplied by ten. It had the long hair he had when he was younger, but its hair was dirty and tangled. He couldn't see its eyes, but he saw its inhuman grin then traced his eyes to its hand, where it held a single match. The match was lit. The thing dropped the match and the flames engulfed everything, even the arsonist. He heard it once again.
You did this.
He watched as friends, family and allies all went up one after another, seemingly unfazed by the inferno swallowing them within its maw. That's when he noticed something in the palm of his hand. It was the burnt match, still surprisingly in one piece. Just as he noticed that he too was covered with gasoline, the blackened match head suddenly lit up again, lighting him up just as it had everything else. The voice was kept repeating the same three words over and over as he burned.
You did this.
His eyes quickly opened and he noticed how hard he was breathing.
It felt as though he had a fever and burned it off through the night. He felt the cool air from the hotel room he was in hit his moist skin and give him a chill. He pushed himself out of the bed he was sharing with his wife and walked over to the window, staring out at the streets of Moscow. He was a night away from what could be considered the biggest match of his career, at least one that didn't involve a World title.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed. This was the third night in a row after a brief reprieve and it was always the same.
"Fuck..."
He groaned as he could feel a mild headache, something that was a side effect of his medication, coming on. JC glanced at the clock and noticed it read 3:42 AM. He had only been a sleep for maybe a couple of hours after a night out in Moscow with a group of drinkers. JC, being on two different anti-psychotic medications, was no longer allowed to drink.
It was way too late in the night to be up and yet he was sure he wouldn't be getting back to sleep tonight. At any rate, he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon.
The nightmare was the same and his brain wasn't particularly subtle about it. He was afraid, now more than ever, that he would destroy his relationships, his career and everything he ever cared about due to his illness. Even though he had it reasonably under control now, it was still something that bothered him.
At least he didn't have to worry about his manic and depressive episodes anymore, or his dark passenger informing him of how worthless he was. Now he just had an entire roster of voices openly speaking to him about how they doubted his intentions and doubted he would ever be what he wanted to be. He once again spoke to himself, a little louder than intended.
"It's too late to deal with this shit."
JC heard shuffling behind him and quickly remembered he wasn't the only one in the room. His wife, his beautiful wife that helped him recover when everyone else abandoned him, lay sleeping on the bed. At least she was trying to sleep, as his penchant for talking to himself threatened to undermine that.
He slipped on his shoes and grabbed the first shirt he saw, not bothering to check it if was clean or dirty. He leaned over the bed and kissed his wife on the forehead, before he grabbed the keys to the hotel and rental car. She moaned softly and turned in the other direction. He smiled and left the room.
If he was going to talk to himself, he was going to do it where he couldn't be heard. At least this time he wouldn't argue with himself in front of a crowd of people.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 7, 2016
He heard the crowd booing him and he didn't care. He was easily able to tune them out because he only heard one voice right now. One vocal minority that was louder than any of them ever could be. Having this voice in his head, more persistent now than it had ever been, was like having someone shout in his ear at all times. He varied so often between manic and depressive states it was all one mix of emotions and he was miserable.
But if he was going to be miserable, then he could give himself some company.
He began to peel himself off the mat, just moments after delivering the biggest Solitaire Unraveling he had ever produced. It wasn't a title match. It wasn't a hated rival. It was Trent Steel, his best friend. At least, Trent used to be. Now JC saw him as a traitor, someone who was trying to prevent him from doing what he did best. And now he had launched him a good fifteen feet or more off the top rope straight onto his back, after four other men had given him a beating.
This was the Kill Trent Steel match. It was a gauntlet match designed for "The Son of a Bitch" to receive as much punishment as possible. JC would have rather delivered the work of five men on his own instead of picking at Trent's remains like a vulture. Of course, he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to finish the job. Trent was, after all, a traitor. That's what the voice told him.
But was he?
JC dragged his right leg behind him and pushed himself to his feet. He staggered a bit and realized the throw off the top took just as much out of him as it did Trent. He shook his head and stared down at his prey. Trent was a lot slower to move, and he could probably just pin him now and be done with it.
After what he did, you should make sure he doesn't get up again.
As if he were simply following orders at this point, JC observed Trent trying and failing to push himself up. A part of him wanted to go over, help him up and apologize for letting it go this far. How much of it was Trent's doing and how much of it was simply Trent reacting to JC's psychosis? JC knew there was something wrong with him, but most of him either didn't care or didn't want to do anything about it.
Except hurt his former best friend some more. That seemed like a good idea.
He grabbed Trent's head and pulled him up to his knees and leaves him there. It's the perfect position. Not to beat Trent Steel, but to finish it. The voice in his head repeated the idea.
He backed up and stared at his friend, watching the blood from his earlier fights stream down his face and fall in droplets to the mat. This was his friend. This was someone who was doing this for him. So why was he about to figuratively (and maybe literally) kick his head off? He was having a moment of clarity and he tried to hold onto it as the Japanese crowd mercilessly booed him and cheered Trent. His mental companion was having none of it.
Finish it.
Even Trent seemed to want it to happen. He glanced down at his opponent and saw that Trent was actually waving him forward, beckoning him to deliver the move that at this angle could do some serious damage. Did he imagine that? Was he having visual hallucinations now in addition to the auditory ones? There's no way that Trent Steel, even as helpless as he currently was, would welcome oblivion.
He wants you to do it. You saw it for yourself.
He continued to look incredulously at Trent, unable to grasp the situation. There he was, looking right back at him, blood seeping from whatever wound was open on his head, waving him forward. JC considered the fact that Trent was just being antagonistic and quickly dismissed it. Trent's was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. There's no way he would provoke someone like JC if he couldn't defend himself.
And yet, he was waving him forward.
JC questioned himself, wondering if maybe he really was as crazy as everyone thought he was. The voice seemed to ignore the self-doubt, or perhaps simply wanted JC to ignore it.
He betrayed you. Make him pay.
JC decided to do what he traveled to OWF's Blood Bath event to do. He planted his left foot in front of him, then took off in a charge. He raised the right leg, something he'd done to countless people, including Trent, before. Only now, with the way Trent was positioned, it had the potential to do a lot more damage. JC ran anyway and then, with his boot inches away from his face...he stopped.
He heard a gasp from the crowd, but it was nothing compared to the voice inside his head, screaming at him to do it. He walked back to where he was.
FINISH IT.
JC decided, in that moment, he was getting tired of hearing the voice. As he'd done before under times of great stress, he began to strike himself in the head, over and over. He knew it probably wouldn't work, but he had to try something. He had to silence the persistent voice, the manifestation of all that was wrong with his brain. He drove his palm into his temple repeatedly, once so hard it temporarily caused his vision to go black. He shook his head to recover then turned back around.
Trent was still there, still bleeding and still accepting his fate in an almost zen-like state. It was surely another hallucination. Why wasn't Trent fighting him? Why wasn't he trying to stop the boot himself. He didn't even attempt to grab JC's foot after he stopped the first time. No, this couldn't be real. JC knew it. He knew that his sanity was rapidly slipping away from him and he didn't like it. But he also felt as though he couldn't control himself.
JC charged again, this time intending to finish this one way or another. However, once again, he stopped. His foot was so close to Trent's face, JC was surprised it didn't make contact. Instead, he did the only thing he could do next. He threw his foot onto the ground and in one fluid motion practically dove outside the ring. He wasn't going to go through the formalities of walking up the ramp. He wanted the quickest way away from the ring.
He decided to leap over the guardrail and force his way through the crowd. He had to get backstage, grab his things and get the hell out of the OWF.
Get back there and finish what you started!
No. He was done listening. If he was seeing things, then he was worse off than he ever thought and something had to be done about it. For the first time in months, he was having a moment of clarity. He had no intention of letting it slip through his fingers. If there was any chance of saving himself, he had to do it now. Let the OWF question his whereabouts. Let Trent think he was abandoned. He decided to deal with the aftermath later. He heard the bell ring and he heard the fans shouting at him in Japanese. He didn't care.
The time for hurting people was over.
Instead, it was time to get rid of the voice once and for all.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
October 16, 2016
It was only when he was in the rental car driving away from the hotel did he realize he probably should have told Stacy where he was going. She worried a lot about him, especially after everything that happened over the summer.
As he drove, he was replaying memories of his head from the last two months, trying to put the pieces together. Everything he endured and everything he forced others to endure were leading to the match he was set to have in less than a day. He was more nervous than he had ever been, but resolved to give everything and more. He owed it to GI, who he hurt far more than he deserved. He owed to Lucy Wylde, who stuck her neck out to give him a chance. He also owed it to himself, because he needed to prove to the world he wasn't the man he used to be.
While lost in his thoughts, he noticed his car was veering a bit. He turned back to the road before he hit a curb. He was more exhausted than he thought, and letting himself get into a car wreck wasn't going to do anyone any favors. He saw an parking lot for a gas station and pulled inside. If he was going to be alone with his thoughts, he thought he might try to keep himself safe at the same time.
He sat there alone, thinking more about the night he decided to turn everything around. Before he could give his memories any serious thought, he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. The photo and name informed him that it was his wife, with the cleverly titled "THE WIFE". It was something he did as a joke (which she punished him for with a shoulder punch mid-laugh) and he decided to keep it. Anything that gave him a feeling of contentment was fine with him.
He pressed the right button and held the phone to his ear.
"Hi, Stace."
"Where are you at, hon? It's past 4 in the morning!"
"I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd drive around a bit and clear my head. I'm surprised you're not too hungover, given the way you were pounding shots with Amy Jo."
"I think the alcohol needs more time to digest than that. It'll probably hit me in the morning."
He was, for once, glad he couldn't drink anymore. The fluorescent at the run down Moscow gas station where starting to hurt his eyes, and he was sure they'd make an alcohol-induced headache worse. He pulled down the visor of the car in order the block some of the light.
"In that case you should rest up, because we're got a long day ahead of us."
"Hey, I woke up and saw my husband was gone. I got worried."
"What, did you think I was going to do something crazy?"
He meant that as a joke, but quickly realized it was a bad one. They weren't at the point where they could joke about this yet. Luckily, she didn't call him on it. Perhaps she was too tired.
"I was just worried."
"You don't need to worry about me, Stace. I'm fine. Mentally, physically, whatever. I just couldn't sleep."
"Are you coming back any time soon? This bed is too big for little ol' me."
He laughed. The alcohol was still in her system, judging from the tone of her voice for that last comment. Not only that, but she was in the middle of a yawn when she said it.
"Yeah, I'll be back before you know it. Just trying to psyche myself up for tomorrow night."
"I guess that's fine...I'll just rest my eyes until you do."
"Yeah, you do that. Love you."
"Love...you....too..."
He hung up the phone as she was clearly falling back asleep, before deciding to toss it into the passenger seat. The vestiges of the nightmare were starting to fade, so he decided maybe it would be good for him to try and rest. He wasn't going to be good to anyone if he couldn't keep himself awake while squaring off with the OWF World Heavyweight champion.
He put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking lot, before going back on the road.
It was definitely late, but he had plenty of late nights before.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 8, 2016
JC arrived back at the hotel room outside of Tokyo, exhausted and enraged. With his condition worse, he had been out all night pacing, listening to the voice screaming at him. He finally hit the bars, trying to dull his condition with alcohol. He had a good buzz going but the only thing it did was help guide him into a depressive episode, which only made his anger worse.
He slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake the walls. The clock read 2:31 AM, but he had no interest in sleeping. He didn't even really care about changing out of his wrestling attire. As it was, he only had a plain black shirt on to allow him to go out in public.
The bag was thrown up onto the bed and he began to haphazardly toss his belongings into it. He had no rhyme or reason for what went in. A toothbrush was tossed next to a shoe. A bottle of shampoo was thrown in and hit the sides of the luggage, popping open and spilling onto a shirt. The only thing he took care of was the ticket for his return flight to Jersey City. He was tired of feeling this way and little else mattered.
There was a pile of things in front of him, which pushed down to make sure it would fit. It looked like how a child would pack for their first trip. It was efficiency above all else, even common sense, but JC didn't care. Instead. he shut the top of the luggage with a forceful shove, before zipping around the sides. Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed a pant leg sticking out near the opening as he closed it. But that was all down the list on the things he cared about at the moment.
He put the erratically-packed bag on the floor and lifted up the handle. As he made sure he still had his hotel key in his wallet to turn in, he heard a knock at the door.
"Joe, open up!"
It was Stacy. At least, it appeared to be Stacy. At first he thought the voice was in his head again. His wife's voice wasn't something he heard, but he wasn't prone to seeing things, either. He thought about ignoring it, but the knocking persisted.
"I saw you go in there, Joe. Please open the door."
He looked through the peephole and saw it was indeed her, looking like she spent her trip over here crying. It wouldn't have surprised him. He'd been hurting a lot of people lately and she was one of them, intentional or not.
She's not real.
The drinking didn't dull the voice as much as he hoped.
While looking at himself in the mirror next to the door, he noticed his eyes were bloodshot. His hair was also matted and all over the place due to his match a few hours prior. He had a full grown beard from months of neglect. Simply put, he looked like a mess. Not that he cared, but he didn't want to startle her.
He unlocked the door and opened it slightly, before stepping back. She slowly pushed the door open, as if she were sneaking inside instead of being allowed to enter. She saw her husband and a hand went to her mouth, shocked to finally see how he really looked at his worst. It was dramatic, but it also an instinctual reaction.
"Joe..."
"I know how I look. What are you doing here?"
"After you left me at rehab, I came here. I followed you. It wasn't hard to find out where you were staying, since all I had to do was ask your boss."
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He caught himself, realizing that he was trying to fix it. He didn't care what anyone else thought, except for her. She noticed and a weak smile came across her face.
"I don't care how you look, Joe."
"Your shocked face said otherwise."
As if to prove her point, she walked up, placed both hands on the side of his surprisingly thick beard and gave him a kiss. He wasn't sure how to react, mostly because he was still intoxicated and broken inside his head.
"You know damn well it's because I'm worried about you. Why else would I travel to Japan?"
"I don't know why you would. I abandoned you. I just beat the hell out of Trent. All I do is hurt people. That's all I'm good for."
His head dropped. He was in a full depressive state. Whether that was the alcohol from before or the realization that he was an awful person was a distinction he couldn't make.
"That's not you. It's not. It's what Dr. Fuller said was wrong with you. You're bipolar, Joe. You hear a voice in your head. You told me yourself."
"How do you know?"
He stepped back from her embrace and began to walk back and forth. He was restless, as he often was when in a negative mood. Some people don't want to do anything when depressed, JC was a person who refused to sit still. As the crushing thoughts bore down on him, he felt like taking his anger out on something. Since there was nothing in the room he was willing to hit, he paced faster.
"Stacy, what if this is who I've always been? What if this bipolar thing is just an excuse and when I've got it under control I want to do the same things I've been doing? What if I..."
Stacy got in front of him in mid-pace to get him to stop. He towered over her by almost a whole foot, but she was never afraid of him. Not back in Jersey, not when he was at his worst and not now. He knew that she knew he would never hurt her. Yet, he hated himself for causing any kind of pain, even emotional. Regardless of his intent, he hurt her plenty. He ignored her, he drove her to relapse (something she wouldn't admit) and he abandoned her when she needed him.
Yet here she was, trying to stop his obsessive thoughts and succeeding in ending his frantic walking. She took his right hand into both of hers and held it.
"Calm down, Joe."
The sensation hadn't left yet and the last thing he wanted was to stay in one place. He jerked his hand to pull it away but she held it firmly. She stroked the top of it, as if she were holding a small animal.
"What are you doing?"
"Just...stay still for a minute. Calm down."
He did as he was told. She ran her middle finger up the back of his hand and back down again.
"My grandma used to do this when I was a kid and upset."
"Are you saying...."
"I'm saying shut up and let me do this. And calm down."
"You don't have to keep saying that."
After shushing him again, she continued to stroke his hand. Even though he thought it was silly, he actually felt himself starting to relax. Maybe it was the repetitive motion, maybe it was something else to focus on. Or maybe he needed some comfort. Either way, he felt his restlessness begin to stop. He was still very upset, but at least he was calmer now.
He extended his left arm and reached around her back, before pulling her forward. He lowered his head and kissed her on the top of hers. She left go of his hand and wrapped her arms around him. They stood there like that for a while, simply holding each other. It was late at night but for the time being, neither of them felt their mutual fatigue. JC felt whole for the first time in a long time. He felt as though whatever was wrong with him, they could get through it together.
The voice was strangely silent, when it had been usually chattering nonstop. He didn't understand what was going on in his head or why his moods changed so suddenly and violently. At the moment, he didn't care. He needed help and there was only one person at this moment who was here, willing to give it to him.
It was JC who finally broke the silence.
"Thank you Stacy. I don't know how to fix what's wrong with me."
"We'll figure it out. Let's start by getting those prescriptions filled."
"You got it."
"It's about time you listened to me."
He smiled, and for the first time in weeks it was not a wicked grin or an arrogant smirk. He was calm and genuinely relieved to have Stacy back.
"I missed you, Stace."
She didn't reply, she simply hugged him a little tighter. Whatever happened next, he was ready to show the world he wanted to change. They might not believe him. They might hate him now just as much as they did before. That was okay, because he had a wonderful woman by his side. One that would support him no matter what, just as he always supported her.
Perhaps that was all he needed.
"Let's go home. I need help."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
October 16, 2016
One thing was for sure. He was definitely lost.
Somehow while driving around the streets of Moscow, he lost track of where he was and now he was just another dumb American tourist who couldn't find where he was staying. He really had no idea how to get back to the hotel, and it was bothering him.
All because of a stupid nightmare that wouldn't leave him alone. Even after all this time, he was letting his disorder dictate his life. It made him angry at himself, but he tried to ignore it so he could simply figure out where in Moscow he was. He wondered if he was even in Moscow anymore. Russia kind of looked the same to him. In fact, most locations looked the same when you're mostly in hotels and arenas.
He looked down at the dashboard of the car and groaned.
"It figures. All the cars from the rental company and they give me the one without GPS. Fucking wonderful."
His eyes returned to the road and he turned down another block that he swore looked familiar. He had a bit of hope until he realized he drove in a circle. When he came back to the same choice, he went in the opposite direction. He wished he could find a cop somewhere, even if he had his doubts about the safety of dealing with Russian police. He also wished he had a phone with GPS capabilities. He thought that as soon as he got home he'd buy one.
The car turned down another street. His only solace is that he was in a highly populated area and part of the main city now, as opposed to the middle of nowhere like the gas station was. He glanced over at the front of a building, likely a business. He saw someone laying down in front of it, just under the awning. He was using his jacket and his bicycle for a pillow, but JC noticed he wasn't quite asleep yet. He just acquired a bottle of something, likely liquor.
JC assumed he was homeless, but maybe he would know where to go. He pulled over nearby and got out, walking over to the man. There was definitely an alcohol smell and JC guessed he found one of Russia's many homeless people.
"Hey buddy, do you speak English at all?"
The man scratched his five o'clock shadow and gave a dismissive sneer at JC before taking a swig from his bottle. JC stood for a moment, giving him a chance to say anything. Just in case, he decided he'd better explain himself.
"Yeah sorry, stupid American. I'm just lost and could use some help finding where I'm staying."
"это 4 часа утра, я не говорю с вами."
"So you don't speak English. Got it."
"Убирайся отсюда!"
He had no idea what the man was saying, but as he stood up he understood the body language perfectly. This person clearly had no interest in talking with him or being in the same area he was. JC held his hands up in a defensive stance, taking a step back.
The homeless man stood and pointed at him, shouting more of what he assumed were Russian obscenities. For someone that seemed happy to simply veg out in the middle of the night with a bottle of cheap liquor, he was determined to make JC a villain for simply asking a question.
His new friend took a step forward, perhaps to cover the distance if he planned to try anything, and shook the arm that held the bottle. Perhaps he didn't realize how loosely he was holding it, but it slipped right out of his grip and crashed on the pavement. The glass shards shattered and flew in multiple directions, with the bottom of bottle careening into JC's shoe.
The look on the man's face was comical. At first he didn't realize what he did. When he did, his face twisted into a look of pure hatred. Was this what JC was like at his worst? He didn't like to think so, but he remembered flying off the handle at the smallest things.
"Моя бутылка! Я буду тебе больно за это!"
The man let a stream of spit fly forward in JC's direction, which joined the broken bottle pieces near his feet. JC, thankful for the man's terrible aim, tried again to defuse things.
"Okay, I'm going to go back to my car."
He knew the man either didn't understand or refused to pay attention to English. Surely he noticed how JC wasn't a threat and was just trying to get out of an awkward situation. Or maybe he did, and didn't care. He got very aggressive and then stuck both of his palms outward, connecting with JC's shoulders and forcefully shoving him back.
It was close to morning in Russia, and JC was trying to avoid a fight with a homeless person.
"Alright, listen..."
Another shove. This man was clearly trying to start something. JC went back a few more steps and felt a familiar anger tingling deep within him. He didn't know who this guy was, but he knew who he was. He knew what he was. And he knew that it was becoming very hard to keep the worst parts of himself in check.
After all, he'd only been medicated for a month and a half. As his doctor and basic Google research informed him, it took six months for anti-psychotic medication to fully take effect.
This time, a punch was attempted, but JC caught his arm. He spun him around, holding him in a double underhook. He thought that this would be the right time to throw a Tiger suplex. The ridiculousness of a possible wrestling move in the middle of a major foreign city was not lost on him. Instead, he let go and gently pushed his opponent forward a step or two, just to give himself some breathing room.
"I'm pretty sure you can't understand me, but hopefully you understood how easily I stopped that punch."
A snarl came from the man's lips and JC had to stop himself from laughing. It was an actual snarl, almost animal like. This man had a serious anger problem. He took a step forward and JC readied himself to fend off the second wave of attacks.
Before he could, he saw a police car drive by. An officer shined a flashlight in their direction with the window down.
"Fucking finally. Do you speak English?"
"Are you American?"
"Yes. And I'd really like you to get this asshole away from me. Some directions would be nice too."
The car pulled to a stop and by the time he saw the homeless man, he was scrambling to get his bicycle up and ride away. A second officer climbed out of the passenger side and attempted to chase him down before he could. The first looked back and JC and offered a apologetic shrug.
"Did you say you needed directions?"
As he relayed his situation to the cop, he thought about how he handled this. He was pretty proud of himself, all things considered. Six months ago, he might have kicked the man's face in long before he got violent. Finally getting the directions he needed, he silently noted how far he'd come in such a short period of time.
He also wondered when others would see it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
February 8, 2013
Joe sat in his bedroom, staring at the cell phone in his hand. It was in the middle of the afternoon, two days before his wedding to Stacy. She was out doing whatever it was women did to get ready for their wedding. From what he understood, he wasn't even allowed to see her until she walked down the aisle. It was a lot different than his first marriage, which was a small gathering planned out by people other than the two getting married. It was no wonder to him that it didn't worked out.
Only a month prior, Stacy insisted she wasn't going to get into the more traditional (and cheesy, if they were being honest) aspects of the wedding. Of course, the spirit of the event was getting to her and she decided she'd like to embrace some of those same traditions. In her defense, he wasn't entirely opposed to it. It took convincing from both her and his best man to convince him to go to a bachelor party.
Part of him dreaded what a bachelor party thought up by Trent Steel could be.
But he agreed to do it and now that it was here, he thought it'd be fun to go out and enjoy himself away from the stressful wedding planning. Stacy had done the same, after all, with her sister and some of their mutual friends. The stress was getting to him, as his inner thoughts and the sometimes-audible voice in his head would attest. He could keep that under control once it was all over.
There was one part of this whole ordeal that was bothering him, and it was the same thing that bothered him when he proposed four months ago. His brother, the only blood relative he had left, was not going to be there. Trent Steel was his best man, and that was great, but everyone involved had an unspoken agreement that it would have been Eric if their relationship hadn't soured in 2009.
Even if the position of best man was filled, he still wanted GI there. If that meant swallowing his pride and apologizing for everything he had done wrong and begging him to show up, then that's what he'd do. Maybe they could start over and rebuild.
So he sat and stared at his phone, with the same monochromatic bold as before highlighting Eric's name. He was in the same position for the past ten minutes, having an argument with himself about the pros and cons of even calling him up, let alone inviting him to a wedding that was tomorrow.
"You're being stupid. Just call him. Maybe he's let it go."
Except, if he had, wouldn't he have tried to contact JC by now? He had a feeling that wasn't the case. Not after their last conversation ended. Not after his actions, which he constantly regretted, drove his brother out of the business they loved.
He bit the bullet and pressed send.
The phone rang once, before he heard a click and the familiar voice message.
"Hey, you know who this is. Leave a message...."
He hung up.
Once again he refused to leave a message about something this important. Unlike the last time he tried to call, he wasn't going to give up after the first attempt, either. Considering how quickly it went to Eric's voicemail, he knew that GI was aware of who was calling and clicking ignore. He didn't blame him for that, if he were Eric he wouldn't want to talk to JC either. That didn't mean he wasn't going to keep trying.
He selected 'redial' and tried again. Once again, it was the voice mail message, only he didn't even get a full ring before that. He couldn't keep constantly hitting ignore. He'd have to answer at some point, just to get the calls to stop.
Although he might change his number by the time JC was done.
Joe hit 'redial' again and waited. It kept ringing, until finally, he heard it click. Not only that, there was no voicemail on the other end.
"You'd better have a good reason for calling me."
At first, Joe wasn't even sure what to say, and he knew that he was missing his chance to talk. There was a few moments of silence before Eric once again said something.
"What do you want, Joe?"
Joe cleared his throat before continuing.
"It's good to hear your voice, bro."
"I wish I could say the same."
"I deserve that."
"You deserve a lot worse. What do you want?"
They weren't even a full thirty seconds into the conversation and it was going south.
"Look, I know that things weren't great the last time we spoke."
"That's putting it mildly."
"Could you let me finish, please?"
There was some silence, as if GI was debating whether or not to just hang up right then and there. The fact that JC wasn't raising his voice or being argumentative may have helped his cause, but he wasn't sure.
"Fine."
"I want to fix things between us. I'm retired from wrestling. I have been since 2011. I don't care about that stuff anymore. All I want to do is get my life back on track and that means getting my brother back. I miss you, Eric. Life hasn't been the same without my brother in my life."
More silence, but GI hadn't hung up yet so Joe took solace in that.
"I'm calling because...I'm getting married in two days. I want you to be there."
It was out there now, there was no denying that. He did everything he could. He extended an olive branch, invited GI to his wedding and admitted he was at fault. The rest of it was in Eric's hands now.
"You're...getting married?"
"Yes. You'd actually like her. She has a..."
"Stop."
"What?"
"Just stop talking. You are getting married in two days you just think you can call me up and expect me to just happily come on down like nothing has happened between us? Do you think I've just forgotten? That I'll just act like everything is normal? What did you think would happen if I came to your wedding? I'm sorry that things are the way they are, but let's not forget that you're the one that made them that way."
"I...don't know what I thought."
"Maybe you shouldn't have waited until the last minute to shoot me an invite. Maybe you should've tried to reach out sooner. Please, don't call me again, Joe. Bye."
"Eric, wait...."
This time he heard the phone call end. He thought about tempting fate, perhaps tying to persuade him to come after all, but he felt so devastated by the way the conversation went that he all but gave up.
As Stacy routinely told him, they could be brothers again if they weren't both so stubborn. That advice didn't seem to matter much now. The way things were, Eric and Stacy would never meet and he might never speak to him again. It didn't matter how much he wanted to fix their relationship. As far as GI seemed to be concerned, it was broken beyond repair.
Instead of calling again, he simply sent him a text message. He already said his piece, so he just gave Eric the address and left it at that. All he could do now was hope that he would make it after all, but given how things transpired he doubted he would ever see him for the rest of his life, let alone at his wedding.
He got up and headed towards the door. Suddenly, his phone buzzed. A feeling of hope swelled up inside of him, only to quickly fade when he saw it was a text message from Trent. Through no fault of his own, Trent was inadvertently making the situation worse.
"Get your neanderthal ass out here, it's time to party!"
Joe was no longer in the mood for a bachelor party, even if at this point Trent was closer to a brother than GI was. If this is the way GI was going to be, then he could stay gone. Joe couldn't say he didn't try to make amends, even if his brother refused to listen to them. He was hurt more than he was angry, but he was angry nonetheless.
He angrily tossed the phone back down on the bed and tried to compose himself as he left the room.
At least at this point, his life had nowhere to go but up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
October 16, 2016
JC finally approached the door to his hotel room relieved that he made it back at all. It was close to six in the morning, meaning he spent at least an hour simply looking for a way back. Check out time wasn't until eleven, so he considered getting a few extra hours. Stacy wouldn't mind, even if she was a morning person.
He grasped the handle of the door and unlocked the door before gently nudging it open. He eased his way inside, before noticing that Stacy was already sitting up in the bed, looking at something on her laptop.
He sighed and pushed the door open all the way, making his presence known.
"I thought you'd be sleeping it off."
"I probably should be. My head is killing me. But I woke back up and couldn't sleep."
He smiled and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to her. She closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand. JC swung his legs up onto the mattress and sat back, before she placed her head and hand on his chest and laid there. He put an arm down and held her for a bit.
If he was being honest with himself, it was moments like this that made all the self-doubt and scorn from his co-workers worth it. It didn't matter what anyone else thought as long as he had Stacy in his life. This was something he told her regularly, probably more so now that he was better.
"So you've just been out for the past couple of hours thinking about your match?"
"It was the nightmare again at first...then I got restless again. Then I got lost."
"Lost?"
"Yeah, then a homeless guy tried to fight me."
She lifted her head up, surprised at the news. He guessed that if he were in her position he'd be more than a little concerned.
"What?"
"Yeah, he was really salty for no reason. Don't worry, nothing happened. Cop came by, helped me out, now I'm back."
"Well, you've had an interesting night then."
"All because I had a damn nightmare and then a lot of anxiety."
Anxiety was probably the right word. His match at Shock and Terror meant a lot to him for a variety of reasons. Perhaps the most important was his chance to prove he had changed. He had to go out there and make sure that by the end of the night, everyone knew who he was and what he was about.
For now, he was simply happy to be back in a bed, where he hoped he could get some sleep before his big night. Between drinking the night before with Lucy Wylde and the tag champions and teaming with Shaun Stewart tonight, he had a weird and wild weekend.
"You could have called me, you know."
"I had a lot on my mind and you were sleeping."
"You still could have called."
"I know. Sometimes I forget how hard this whole thing has been on you in addition to everyone else. But you keep supporting me."
"Yeah, something to do with what I said when we got married. And that pesky 'love' thing."
"I just hope after tomorrow night I won't have to keep telling people I've changed."
"Why do you care so much what everyone else thinks?"
It was a fair question, and one he asked himself often. Ultimately, it didn't matter what the majority of the OWF roster thought. It didn't matter what Jesse Williams had to say, or CJ Wylde. It definitely didn't bother him whether or not the likes of Shaun Stewart and Moxie Roxie believed him. There was one person, and only one person if he was honest, that he wanted to convince. While he was thankful Lucy Wylde decided to give him a chance, he really wanted to fix his relationship with his brother more than anyone else.
"It's not everyone. It's Eric."
As if she could feel his anxiety creeping up again, she patted him on the shoulder. He held her a bit closer in return.
"You two are brothers. He'll come around. I know you're both stubborn as hell but I have faith you'll make it work."
"I hope you're right, Stace."
"I know I'm right. I have a good feeling about this."
He sat up a little more and scratched the back of his head, more out of habit than anything else. He honestly had no idea why she was so confident about this.
"To say things have been strained between us is being too kind. We've lost seven years. Seven years we'll never get back. Even if I do fix things, I'll never be able to forgive myself for all I did to him."
"What matters is if you can get Eric to forgive you. No offense Joe, but how you feel doesn't mean shit in this situation."
"Thanks for putting it bluntly, dear."
She pushed her head up again and looked at him, before planting a kiss on him. Then she got up off the bed.
"That's why you married me. Now I'm going to take a shower and try to wash away this hangover. You coming with or are you going to sit there and mope?"
"Neither. I'm going to try to get some sleep before we have to check out."
"Works for me. Offer's still available, though."
She winked and walked off, while he gave her a wan smile in return. It was easy to see that this was bothering him a lot more than he wanted to show, but he was never one to hide his emotions. He was a "heart on his sleeve" kind of guy. If there's one thing that was accurate about his life and his career, it's that he probably could have thought with his head instead of his heart a little more. It might have saved him a lot of grief.
At least before now, he had the excuse of his mental illness. Now it was all him, with his crushing doubt and self-loathing. He sometimes wondered how his wife put up with it. Even if she had issues of her own, she kept a good attitude about it. JC constantly had a little bit of gloom in the back of his mind.
Maybe he could use a little bit of hope himself. After all, maybe after Shock and Terror was over, Eric would see that he really had changed. He wasn't planning on kicking anyone's face into the third row, no matter how badly he wanted to win. He could win without being any more violent than a standard wrestling match required. Not only could he win without that, he had won without that, many times. At least three of his four world titles were won fair and square without the need to injure someone. He could go back to that and then they would all see. They would see that he wasn't lying.
More importantly, Eric would see. And Eric was all that mattered.
He grabbed his wallet out of his pants and reached into the back. He pulled out a small, old photograph and stared at it. It was something he always kept with him, ever since he became a wrestler. It reminded him of his passion for the business and why he originally decided to do this.
It was a photo of himself and Eric, when they were kids. Specifically, Joe was 11, going on 12 and Eric was 8. They were really close then, in spite of the age difference. The two held little cardboard wrestling belts they made themselves. Their fists were both up in triumph. The youngest tag team champions ever, in their own little backyard promotion that they made up. Eric had a couple of teeth missing because he was losing all of his baby teeth at the time.
He smiled at the photo, then noticed his eyes were beginning to water a bit.
"I will fix this, Eric. I will make this up to you."
He stared at the photo of two kids with their whole lives ahead of them and fought the urge to weep at the innocence they lost.
