September 15, 2017
If there was one thing Stacy was sure of, it's that Joe was not well. She was constantly worried about him, worried for him, especially now that the bad times were over. For one thing, he had been overworking himself ever since he returned from the concussion. First he had to settle his issues with Jet Somers in UGWC, then he had to defend his brother's honor in Carnage Wrestling. It was always something.
She remembered the conversation they had the first time he brought this up. He gave her the usual talk of "you're not a wrestler, you don't understand." She didn't, but what she did understand was that he was forty-one and he'd had a broken nose, a serious concussion and multiple smaller injuries just in the year and a half he had been wrestling again. Then, of course, there was the other mess. His bipolar disorder, which she just assumed would always be a dark cloud that hung over the rest of their relationship.
It was a lifelong condition, much like her dependence on painkillers or the fact that they now had another human being to take care of. Each day was a small miracle in and of itself when he didn't stop taking his pills or she didn't have a craving to take hers. That's why they worked so well together. They understood their weaknesses on a deeper level and knew exactly how to take care of one another. He probably saved her life and she played her role in saving him.
But again, lifelong conditions required patience and routine. Joe's in particular required lithium and olanzapine, every day for the rest of his life. That was assuming he didn't require an increase in dosage or the medicine didn't prove effective and he had to switch. So far, as far as she could tell, it was working. Not that she could tell lately, as Joe wasn't around. He was out on the road, leaving her with baby Lizzy.
That's not to say that, so far, Joe wasn't a good father to Lizzy. When he was home, he took care of all the baby's tasks and let her focus on other things. He practically demanded that much, as if he knew he was out too often and wanted to make up for it. She had no concerns that he loved them both and wanted to be there. She just worried that he was overworking himself and it was causing complications. Or maybe the complications came first, hiding and waiting for a chance to come back.
She walked alone through their house in that period where it's darkest just before the sun comes up. It was a little past 4 AM and Stacy knew that Joe hadn't come back to bed. He had a routine now and if he wasn't snoring next to her, he was either taking care of their daughter or taking his aggression out on his heavy punching bag. Stacy was a light sleeper, and she definitely heard no crying. Joe was training late again.
Her bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor, the sound reverberating off the walls and sounding much louder than it was. As if to confirm her suspicions, she peeked her head into Lizzy's room. She saw a sliver of a baby's head and a wisp of hair under the light pink blanket and smiled. Lizzy was sleeping just fine. The smile then waned as she realized that meant Joe was down in the basement.
Should I go confront him again?
No, that wouldn't be good. He knew where she stood. She wasn't about to be the nagging wife, not at this point in her 37-year existence. He would either come up to bed or he wouldn't. He took care of the baby as he usually did, so she would just have to be satisfied by now.
It didn't change the fact that something about him seemed off lately.
Her next stop was the bathroom, because she had a sneaking suspicion. She would never, ever admit this to him in a million years, but it was a curiosity she had to alleviate so she could sleep. Their house had two bathrooms, one in their bedroom and one directly across from the baby's room. Joe kept his medicine in the latter for reasons that escaped her.
She opened up the cabinet and peered inside, trying to make out the labels with only the moonlight coming through the small window to guide her. She found the two bottles and stared at them, as if they would start moving the second she looked away. Her eyes scanned the small print that spelled out "Lee, Joseph D" on the bottle. This one was for the Lithium, which such lovely directions as "600 mg orally in the morning and at nighttime." The other, the olanzapine, required only 5 mg per day. The label warned her "avoid alcohol while taking olanzapine."
Don't worry, it's not me that needs it.
She wasn't sure wasn't she was going to find here. There was no real way for her to count the dosage to make sure he had been taking them. At best she could just gauge how much was in each bottle compared to the last time she remembered getting them filled. It was her that kept his medicine filled just as it was him that made sure to keep his painkillers out of the house. He kept those over at his brother's, and his brother kept them in a lockbox. They were both very careful about that. She'd be insulted if she didn't know it came from a place of love. She understood it. Joe almost found her dead, and even if she were strong enough, he was the cautious type. He analyzed everything and he looked for the most practical solution.
They took care of each other, as all married couples should. They looked their personal faults and saw the person underneath. She was fiercely protective of him just as he was consistently supportive of her. She couldn't imagine, for all of the trouble the two of them put each other through, being with anyone else.
She opened the bottle of olanzapine and looked inside. She frowned, knowing she wouldn't find anything unusual. It's not as if there would be a little note in the bottle that read, "Sorry Stace, skipped my meds today. That's how these things go!"
The small white pills looked back up at her and gave away no incriminating evidence.
She placed the cap back on the bottle and put them both away, irritated with herself for worrying. Joe was okay. He had to be. If he seemed off it was only because of the pressure he was putting on himself and the schedule he was keeping. Once he finished his business, things would get relatively normal.
Wouldn't they?
Yes, she was sure they would.
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Joe wasn't at home, but he couldn't remember leaving.
Instead, he was already at the the Prudential Center in Newark. He was standing in a hallway, one of the many corridors in the backstage area that led to catering, the locker rooms and other various locations. He stood outside of a door with a sign that read "UGWC World Champion Gabriel Baal" on it. He had no recollection of coming here to the arena, let alone making his way to the locker room of the UGWC World Champion.
"Why the fuck am I here?"
He reached down to grasp the handle and just as his fingertips touched it, it turned on its own and pulled back. He looked up and saw not Baal, but a younger woman with long black hair. He couldn't place her, although somewhere in the back of his mind he felt he should recognize her. He had the passing thought that she was strikingly beautiful.
"JC, right?"
"That's right."
It took another moment, but it hit him. This was Magdalena Lockheart, one of his tag team partners at Outlast. That explained why she was Baal's locker room.
"Yeah, I'm waiting to talk to Gabriel too. He's taking his sweet-ass time, I guess."
"Champion's prerogative."
"Well we could always wait together. Might do us good to get to know each other before Outlast."
He didn't really want to, but since he couldn't figure out why he was here at the moment, he assumed he had no other options. She was right, after all. It was impossible to team with anyone if you didn't know anything about them. At least he was aware of Baal from his last outing with UGWC. Lockheart had arrived long after he had departed.
JC's thoughts felt hazy, but he went inside Baal's locker room anyway. He found himself a steel chair and sat down, while Lockheart did the same. She crossed one leg over the other, making sure her dress didn't lift up as she did it. Joe simply rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, trying to remember how he got here.
"So, you've been champion before, haven't you?"
He looked up and saw her staring intently at him. She was a rookie, if he remembered right. Maybe she wanted to pick his brain.
"Quite a few times. Not here, though. Wasn't here long enough to win one."
"Yeah, you didn't really do that well, did you?"
The question was blunt, almost mocking. And get the expression on her face didn't show any malicious intent. He opted not to take offense, as she seemed to ask it innocently enough.
"I have a 3-2 record here, if that's what you're asking. Went 1-1 with Jet Somers, but nobody's perfect."
"Yeah, but I think it would sting a little, coming in as the OWF World champion and crashing."
He raised an eyebrow at her, but the vague, somewhat blank expression remained on her face. He couldn't get a read on her. This bothered him.
"Like I said, nobody's perfect."
"Least of all a guy who goes from World champion to trading wins with the gatekeeper."
That touched a nerve. Joe stood up. He didn't know why Lockheart was trying to be disrespectful, but he wasn't going to let her do so anymore. She didn't move or flinch. She simply tilted her head upward and kept staring at him with her turquoise-colored eyes. She must have some skill, he thought casually, if she's antagonizing someone that outweighs her by a whole person.
"Do you have a problem with me?
"No, why do you ask?"
She continued staring. He was starting to feel annoyed, as well as a little nauseated. He had no counterpoint, so he simply sat back down.
"Your questioning seemed a little disrespectful, that's all."
"I'm sorry. I'm just curious."
He signed and ran a hand through his hair.
"It's fine."
"I'm just glad to even be on this team. You must be too, right?"
He wasn't, but Lucy was his friend and he tried to be there for her when he could.
"I'm just helping out a friend."
"You mean like you helped her at In Your Hands?"
JC's head jerked up and saw Gabriel Baal standing in the door way. He had a sly grin on his face as the UGWC World title was draped on the shoulder of his black and grey suit. He had a swagger as he walked into the room, staring down at the pair of them. Joe fleetingly thought that his "serpent" nickname was apt, given the way he glided across the floor. Baal draped an arm over Lockheart, who didn't seem bothered by it.
For Joe's part, he was still trying to figure out if Baal really did just insult him as a greeting.
"What's that supposed to mean, Baal?"
"Well, Lacklan tried to kill her after she lost, and Lucy's 'best friend' wasn't there to help. Might not have happened if you had actually been there, eh?"
Joe stood up again and was now seething. It didn't take much, but reminding him that his friend was hurt and he did nothing was a good start. He knew that it wasn't his fault, as he was all the way across the country for a Carnage Wrestling event. Lucy could handle herself. And yet, hadn't he initially blamed himself for something he had no control over? Even Lucy absolved him. Who the fuck was this guy to throw this in his face?
"I don't know what your problem with me is, but you're asking to get punched in the mouth."
Now Magdalena got to her feet. Perhaps she meant to play mediator. Baal's arm was still around her neck in a sort-of permanent half-hug. She finally took her eyes off of JC and stared at Baal for a moment, which gave him an unusual amount of relief. It took him a moment to realize she was now grinning just as Baal was. She turned back to JC to confirm this fact.
"It's not so much his problem as it is our problem."
"That's right, Joey ol' chap. We were thinking about this team and how it could best help our Captain. We realized that you're the only one that's going to disappoint our favorite blonde."
Baal wasn't even trying to play nice. Judging from the expression on Lockheart's expression, she wasn't either.
"Lucy's my friend and Baal wants to protect his title. But if you couldn't even stop her from getting hurt last month, what good are you now?"
"That wasn't my fault. I was on the other side of the..."
"Another excuse from a guy who's made a career of making excuses."
"And what the fuck would you know about my career?"
Baal ignored this question and began to look over at Lockheart. They stared at each other for a moment...then began to kiss. This struck Joe as a little shocking, but also a little amusing. What an odd time to show that kind of affection to someone. Once again he felt that hazy sensation in the back of his mind, almost as if this were...
The two stopped embracing each other and turned their attention back to him. It was Baal who began to speak while Lockheart simply stared, using her index finger to wipe away a bit of the champion's saliva that rested on the edge of her mouth.
"Some friend you are. Some asset to this team you're going to be. You couldn't help Lucy at all when she really needed it. You weren't here at In Your Hands. You haven't been here for a while, actually. Hell, I've already been working my magic by breaking up her marriage and you let it happen."
JC decided he heard enough and did exactly as he promised. He unleashed a stiff right hand right to the jaw of Gabriel Baal. So much for this team, he thought grimly. Baal offered no resistance to the blow and Lockheart simply stared while it happened. After the force of the punch, Baal staggered away from them, regained his footing and lifted his head back up. A trickle of blood could be spotted coming from the corner, eerily reminiscent of what Joe saw from Lockheart earlier. Baal, however, made no motion to remove it. He simply grinned, revealing bloodstains on his teeth.
Lockheart began to grin as well. Both expressions were unsettling. JC actually recoiled slightly and his eyes involuntarily darted to the door. He didn't want to be here anymore with these two.
"Maybe he wants Lucy away from CJ. Maybe he wants her for himself."
"Fuck off."
He felt even sicker and takes a step back. Lockheart and Baal took a step forward.
"Not much of an argument, is it?"
"Lucy's my friend."
"Is she, now? Do you really have friends?"
"Last I heard, he was pushing them all away."
JC took another step back. Once again, his tag team partners pushed forward.
"Maybe it's because he knows he can't help anyone, because he's not at full strength. He's too old for skill alone."
"I think he's lost that killer instinct."
"Perhaps it's not friends he needs, but something else."
Joe began to take another step back, then stopped. The nauseous feeling was almost overwhelming. He lowered his head for a moment to maintain his composure, then looked back up. Baal was gone. Lockheart was gone. Did they move around him? Where did they go? He had no idea. He spun on the balls of his feet and looked to the door, but something stood there. No, not just something.
The damned thing.
The personification of his bipolar disorder that constantly appeared in his nightmares. A representation of the voice he heard when he was at his worst. A representation of all the evils he did when he let his disorder go unchecked.
Perhaps you need meeeeeee.
"I don't."
Did it look stronger now? Stronger than the last time he dreamed about it? He thought maybe it did. Where there had been visible bone before now had sinewy muscle. Where it had festering wounds it simply had scars. Why did it look stronger? Why?
It reached out a hand and JC saw that the hands were still bony, with long, decrepit fingernails on the end. It simply pointed at him, then tilted its head back and a bizarre beeping noise came out of its mouth. The beeping got louder and louder and finally...
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JC woke up and groaned. It was another nightmare. Another reminder to take his medication, which, unbeknownst to his wife, he hadn't been taking as regularly as they both wanted. The beeping was coming from his phone, an alarm he set before he closed his eyes.
He sat up on an elbow and glanced at it, then remembering there were three people in the house sleeping, he quickly hit the snooze option. He remembered now. He wore himself out training, then simply laid down in his basement training ring for a breather. The alarm was just in case he fell asleep. Obviously, he had.
He rubbed at his eyes and laid his head back again. If nothing else he needed to resume his medication as soon as possible. He realized nightmares were no indication of reality, but perhaps the drugs could help eliminate that gruesome image from his mind entirely. He had no excuses now. The bottles were in his medicine cabinet, almost completely full, waiting for him to open them and unleash their contents into his mouth.
I'll lay here for five more minutes, he thought. Five more minutes and I'll take my medicine then go sleep in a proper bed.
He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He thought about what he was training for. Outlast. Helping Lucy now that he could. And possibly, if he played his cards right, becoming World champion once again.
He thought of that, but his thoughts began to drift away from him.
He slept.
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But something nagged at her. She wasn't going to rest until she gave the rest of the house a once-over.
He walked in the opposite direction of the bedroom, where she truly wanted to go, and made her way to the living room. It was the first room as you entered their modest home, with a smaller hallway leading to the dining room and kitchen area. The floor plan was really quite bizarre, now that she stopped to think about it.
Her thoughts immediately ceased when she saw a shape on the couch. At first, she suspected it was Joe. Maybe he was watching TV and fell asleep. But then she realized that the figure on the couch was smaller than her husband and not nearly as bulky. A sudden, indescribable terror wrapped its fingers around her heart, and her first instinct was to run back the way she came, grab Lizzy and hide in their bedroom.
Instead, she let her curious side take over and she slowly reached over for the light switch. The overhead light blazed on in a flash of whiteness, then she immediately dimmed it to make everything visible, but not to light the entire room. She supposed if that had been a criminal with a gun, she'd be dead already.
However, it wasn't a criminal.
It was Lucy Wylde.
It wasn't that Stacy could tell from a face, as the face of this person was buried in one of her throw pillows. It was that platinum blonde hair, a color that she was used to as Lucy visited often enough. Stacy enjoyed her company and appreciated her help with Lizzy when she showed up. It was nice that Joe made a friend that wasn't as abrasive as Trent Steel could be. But that didn't give her the right to just show up in the middle of the night without warning.
She quietly moved around the sleeping woman and saw her face wasn't entirely buried. It was slightly off to the side and what light there was showed a thin stream of drool coming from her half-open mouth. She was sleeping on her stomach, with her left leg stretched over the entire length of the couch and her left arm folded underneath her. The other leg and arm were hanging over the side. It was a totally undignified way to be found, and she was sure Lucy would be mortified if she knew she had been seen this way.
Stacy's eyes were more focused on what was in her right hand. Resting on the floor in a slant was a decently-sized bottle of whiskey, which maybe had a good shot or two still inside. Her fingers were loosely wrapped around it, as if she intended to finish it off the second she woke up.
The pieces were starting to come together now. Joe had been up to check on the baby, or he had been up anyway, and he found Lucy outside, drunk. Joe, once again showing his protective streak, probably made her come inside and sleep it off. Fast forward to know and she looked like a hot mess.
Stacy would have a conversation with Lucy in the morning. She would try not to be judgmental and she would try not to talk down to her. But one thing that wouldn't be there in the morning was that bottle. Lizzy may only be an infant, but Stacy definitely did not want a loose bottle of alcohol in the same house as her daughter.
She knelt down next to the sleeping Lucy and grabbed the fat end of the bottle. She gave it a gentle tug and it came free of Lucy's grasp. She thought of waking her up, but figured that would be impossible if she drank this entire bottle. Instead, she quickly walked into the kitchen. She poured the remainder of the bottle's contents down the drain and chucked it into a nearby trash can. It wouldn't be missed.
She glanced at the half-open door in the back of the kitchen, which led to the basement. A basement that Joe had expanded when he bought the home so he could keep a private gym and wrestling ring down there. It was as close to a "man cave" as he got. She decided she should at least check on him. Maybe he lost track of the time.
She opened the door and the orange glow of the downstairs lights seeped onto the kitchen floor. She took it slow as she walked down the narrow steps, intending to go down just enough to see how Joe was doing. Even though he was keeping her awake, she didn't really want to bother him. She got down halfway when she saw him laying on his back in the ring with his eyes closed.
He was sleeping.
Once again, the pieces came together. He resumed training, probably intended to come up when he was done, but took a moment to rest and simply fell asleep. It was forgivable. She sighed to herself, sad that she had to spend another night alone, and retreated up the stairs.
As she walked back through the kitchen, past the snoozing Lucy Wylde and back down the hallway, she felt a pang of anxiety. She still felt as though something was very wrong in her house, but she couldn't place it. Everyone was sleeping, there was a perfectly good reason for Joe not being in bed and the baby was fine.
She decided to chalk the anxiety up to tiredness. Perhaps when she had the time in the morning, she could talk with Joe and he could put her mind at ease. Or she could do the same for him, if he had issues. Maybe they could both help Lucy.
Stacy opened up the door to the baby's room yet again and peeked inside. She turned on the light to get a better look at her daughter. Lizzy made a soft burping noise, then turned slightly in her sleep before resuming her normal breathing. She was just fine. More than that, she was beautiful. Stacy smiled again, then turned to go to bed.
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When he woke up, he could tell it was morning. Not because of any light from outside, as the basement had no windows. He just had a feeling, similar to how one knows there is someone behind them or they're being watched. He looked over at his phone for confirmation. It showed the time as 6:59 AM, which meant the sun probably rose not too long ago. For some reason, his phone's alarm had not beeped again even though he set it to snooze. He simply assumed he hit the wrong button and turned it off.
Stacy's going to be mad at me, he thought.
He peeled himself off the mat and was acutely aware of pain creeping through his muscles. He had been laying here for the better part of four hours and laying flat on a wooden surface was not good for one's body. He felt his spine crack just from sitting up straight and knew that training was going to be difficult today. After all, he wasn't as young as he used to be.
JC pushed himself to a knee and then up to a standing position, with more cracks in his knees, elbows and shoulders. The little "pops" did relieve the tension after, but they hurt more than they should have when they happened.
He was thinking about a shower, and possibly inviting his wife in as an apology when he looked and saw Lucy standing there. Still slightly dazed from his uncomfortable and restless sleep, he briefly wondered how she got in. Then it dawned on him that he let her in. He did it last night and then let her pass out while he went and resumed his own business. He had no patience for a pity party and that's exactly what she was trying to throw on his front lawn. At the same time, he couldn't just let her go out when she was that drunk. She could get herself hurt or worse.
He remembered the dream version of the Gabriel Baal-thing mocking him for his failures as a friend, but pushed the thoughts away.
Lucy was disheveled, as one might expect. Her hair was particularly a mess, more fluffy than straight and stretched outward in several different places. JC guessed this was absolutely not how she wanted to be seen. However, the look on her face was almost a blank stare.
"Um...hi, Luce. How long have you been there?"
"Not long."
"Good, because I don't think we're good enough friends for you to watch me sleep."
He grabbed a nearby water bottle he was using from last night and popped the cap off. He took a swig and almost spit it out. It was warm and had a slightly stale taste to it. He kept drinking solely because his throat was incredibly dry from waking.
"So, how's the hangover?"
He hoped down from the ring apron as he said this and moved to grab a fresh shirt. The shower would have to wait, seeing as how he and Stacy had company.
Stacy. He wondered if she saw Lucy yet. She would have questions for the both of them. She was not going to be in a good mood. Lucy was always welcome to crash, Stacy herself told her that, but Joe doubted that she'd be too happy about an intoxicated Lucy Wylde sleeping it off in their house. Substance abuse wasn't something either of them were too happy about.
"It's fine. I've had worse."
"You were really shitfaced last night."
He put on a plain black shirt and as he did, he thought her heard her scoff behind him.
"As if you care."
He closed his eyes and sighed. Was she still drunk? Did she leave some whiskey in the bottle for a little "hair of the dog?" He ran his hand over his head, flattening his hair a bit, before turning back around.
"And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"You didn't even ask me what was wrong last night."
He had, but he doubted she remembered last night very well if she was blackout drunk.
"You walked away and left me out there. I came in on my own."
Another sigh. For a brief moment, he pitied CJ Wylde.
"No, Luce, I left the door unlocked. I knew you'd come in."
"Because you know me so well, right?"
"Apparently not. I didn't think you were capable of showing up drunk off your ass at 2 in the morning."
He looked at her face, which was now gaining a red tint. She was angry. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was angry. Whether she was angry at him or someone else...his guess was CJ or Baal, he didn't know.
"Well, I guess you would know about how to disappoint people, don't you?"
Not only was she mad, but she was looking for a fight. He thought maybe he should let her get it out. She'd take out her aggression on him, feel better and apologize later. He could take it. But he was angry too, and he wasn't feeling that great. He wasn't particularly in the mood to take abuse, especially not from someone who literally brought her problems to his doorstep last night.
"I'd watch it, Lucy. It was a rough night and I'm in no mood..."
"I really don't care what mood you're in. I'm going to say my piece. All you do is disappoint. You haven't been there for me at all. The second you get a little concussion you run away from UGWC. Meanwhile I'm fighting everyone and taking abuse and you're sitting on the shelf milking your injury."
"Wait a second..."
"I'm not finished! Not only have you disappointed me, but you're disappointing everyone else! You haven't been there for your wife or your new kid, you're too busy working. You weren't there for Trent, and I don't even like Trent. You weren't there for GI and look what happened to him!"
"Now you wait just one fucking minute."
JC lowered his head and clenched his fists as he tried to calm himself. He could feel his heart rate going up. Any time anyone mentioned the incident with his brother back at Carnage, in which a masked lunatic named Redemption tried to cripple him, JC got more than a little angry. He didn't want to hurt Lucy, not at all...but then wasn't there a part of him that did? Didn't he feel just a twinge of desire to kick her in the face right now and shut her up?
"I bet you want to hit me right now, don't you?"
He looked at her and could swear he saw a smirk. No, not a smirk..it was a grin. She was grinning at him. A wicked grin. A familiar grin.
"No...."
He turned away from her now, refusing to look. He felt a familiar revulsion and nausea hit the depths of his stomach and he fought back the urge to vomit. That was a dream, this was reality. In the real world, there were consequences and he couldn't just punch something and wake up. Lucy would say what she had to say and they would deal with it. But he was going to try his best to take it until then. He wrapped his fingers around a hand weight and squeezed it, watching as his knuckles went white with rage.
"Are you sure, Joe? You sure you don't want to knock me around for old time's sake? Maybe you'll get some of that killer instinct of your back."
"Shut up."
"Let's face it, Joe. You haven't changed. You're still the same fucking nutcase you were a year ago."
He could feel her getting closer, although he didn't hear her move and didn't want to turn around and look. His dreams and his anguished mental state were doing a number on him today. Just let Lucy say her piece and...
"Actually, I think you're worse."
"I said, shut up."
"I think you're much worse. At least back in the OWF you were honest about who you were. At least back then.."
"I SAID SHUT UP!"
Without even being aware that he was doing it, he whirled around and lunged the hand weight in Lucy's direction. It careened into a nearby mirror on the wall, shattering it. Lucy...was not there. He suddenly felt incredibly sick and this time he couldn't help it. He turned to the side and vomited on the floor, with the only contents being the warm water he drank earlier. Now it came back up with a bit of stomach acid, scolding the back of his throat. He realized his hands were shaking and he groped for a bench to sit down.
Joe heard crying upstairs. Lizzy was crying. Of course she was. He just throw a weight into a mirror and broke it. He threw it at a...
He meant to throw it at Lucy. But...it wasn't Lucy. It was..a hallucination? He knew he used to hear a voice but he'd never had a visual hallucination before. Was it just a dream he had while half-asleep? He didn't know. What he did know, however, is that he needed his medicine. He needed it bad.
Footsteps could be heard making their way through the kitchen. Suddenly he saw two pairs of feet coming down the stairs. One pair belonged to his wife and the other belonged to Lucy, who had been upstairs the whole time. She was probably still sleeping before he did what he did. That seemed to confirm that what he saw was something his brain made up. It was Stacy who spoke up.
"Holy shit, Joe, what happened?"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he could make out the faintest chuckle.
"Are you okay?"
JC didn't know.
God help him, he didn't know.
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I'm good at outlasting people. When you've been around as long as I have, it's almost easy. I've been doing this longer than anyone else in this match, I'd wager. I've outlived feds that have been dust for years. I've outlasted everyone in the business that started before me, nearly all that started at the same time and even a few that started after.
So what's one more night?
What's one more night in which I have to not beat another team, but manage to survive longer than the members of my own team to advance to a world title match. What's one more night in which I have to beat the entire roster of a promotion to earn my sixth world championship? I've done it before. Sure, that was seven years ago and I've aged since then, but let's not act like I'm not still dangerous in that ring.
I think you can ask Jet Somers and he'll tell you. Or then again, he might not. Jet Somers always seems to present the story that best benefits himself. In his mind, I'm this outsider that keeps showing up to ruin his day. The day I beat him, he made sure to remind everyone that he was, in fact, not sorry for anything he had said or done. He still didn't respect me and JC was a liar for saying he would. Well of course. I mean, it's not like he took a couple of weeks off after getting dropped on his head or anything. It wasn't a concussion, but I still did that.
And if Mr. Somers is lucky, I'll do it again.
Everyone's got their role to play in this match. Lucy is there to lead us and I'm comfortable following. Miss Lockheart is there to give us the youthful energy we need and Gabriel Baal, professional dickhole, is there to provide a world-champion caliber performance. You might say his title reign depends on it.
What's my role? My role is to hurt people.
Lucy won't admit that's why she picked me, but it is. She needs a bruiser. She needs a man who has just a little too much fun throwing people around and maiming in the ring. My experience is a plus, my acumen is a blessing, but it's my penchant for violence that she really desires. She picked me because she wants some or all of you hurt and she knows I'm more than willing to do it.
Even though I've tried to deny this fact time and time again, even as I battle my demons and continually try to maintain a tight grip on my sanity, I've come to one very simple conclusion. I've realized that she's right.
I want to hurt you, Jet Somers. I don't like you, that's been established. I may respect you more than you respect me. I may enjoy the fact that you seem to bring out my best in a way that not many do lately, but I still want to hurt you. I still owe you. I owe you six months of my career. Even if I have to take them out through installments, I will pay what I owe.
I want to hurt you, Jason Ingalls. This may surprise you. "Why does he want to hurt me? He doesn't even know me!" I want to hurt you because you're in my way. I think we all know that, while we're focused on teamwork and surviving and outlasting the competition, the end game is the UGWC World title. A title held by a man in this match. A title that, when I get my opportunity, I'll gladly take. The reason I want to hurt you Jason is because I have to. I have to remove an obstacle in order for my team to win.
I want to hurt you, Kenzi Grey-Lacklan. That's a shame because you seem nice. I'm sure you're very fun at parties. Maybe after all this is over you can introduce me to one of your many cats that I'm sure you own. You seem like a cat person. Believe it or not, I only want to hurt you for the same reason as Ingalls. You're in my way. You're an obstacle meant to be overcome. This has nothing to do with your marriage to Sarah, because I don't believe in guilt by association. Unfortunately, because she chose you for her team, that means you're also in my direct line of sight. Once again, this is a thing I have to do.
Last and certainly not least, I want to hurt you, Sarah Selena Lacklan. I want to hurt you perhaps most of all. I want to hurt you because I didn't get the chance to do so before. You attacked someone important to me and the only reason I wasn't at the next beating your face into mush was because Lucy asked me not to. Lucy did that. She may not like you and she may want to injure you herself, but even she knew that if gave the word I could end you with ease. She's seen what I can do. She's felt what I can do. If she wanted that to happen to you, it would have.
And now it will. Because I hold grudges and if I get the chance, I'll make you bleed for what you've done and what you might do. All the girly-girl teenager talk and playing up your love for your wife isn't going to change that. You're not the person you portray. You're a sick and twisted individual and I'm going to make you suffer for it. Call it practice for another deserving individual that I'll take out in my next fight.
So yes, I want bad things to happen to all you. Specifically, I want one bad thing to happen to you. Me. I want to kick you all in the face, I want to twist your knees beyond their limits and I want to drop you all on your respective heads.
Then, and only then, when our team has outlasted yours, will I move into the final stretch. At that point I'll do what I've always done. I'll outlast everyone else and I'll outshine the other survivors in order to become a six-time World champion.
Survival of the fittest begins now. Who's ready to test me?
