“There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.”
- Lauren DeStefano, 'Sever'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's unclear whether or not a person can dream in a coma. Some have said they remember having vivid dreams. Others remember nothing. So perhaps what Joe was experiencing in his current state were just memories. Or maybe his life flashing before his eyes. He did, after all, lose half the blood in his body when an errant piece of metal cut open one of his arteries. It was a miracle they got him out of there alive, even if he had lost consciousness by the end of it.
It had been a banner year for the man known as JC. His professional life had now collapsed in the same way his personal life had. His physical health was as poor as his mental health. And he lay prone in a hospital bed, unaware of how close to death he was and unaware of who might or might not be visiting him. He only knew the red of the blood and the black of the darkness. Enough red to blind and enough black to drown.
The only thing that he was aware of, if he could be aware, were memories that had already happened, when he had been dealing with one crisis or another.
He floated, while some voice called out to him. Voices. Ghosts. Memories. Before the emergency medical team rushed to close his wounds. Before he nearly bled out. Before he slipped into consciousness. Before doctors and nurses fought to save him.
At the time, his final waking thought was that it might not be so bad if they failed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It had been a couple of decades since Joe had smoked. Of all the addictions in his life, nicotine wasn’t exactly one he hoped to keep. But like everything that often reared its ugly head in times of crisis, one thought popped into his head.
It's unclear whether or not a person can dream in a coma. Some have said they remember having vivid dreams. Others remember nothing. So perhaps what Joe was experiencing in his current state were just memories. Or maybe his life flashing before his eyes. He did, after all, lose half the blood in his body when an errant piece of metal cut open one of his arteries. It was a miracle they got him out of there alive, even if he had lost consciousness by the end of it.
It had been a banner year for the man known as JC. His professional life had now collapsed in the same way his personal life had. His physical health was as poor as his mental health. And he lay prone in a hospital bed, unaware of how close to death he was and unaware of who might or might not be visiting him. He only knew the red of the blood and the black of the darkness. Enough red to blind and enough black to drown.
The only thing that he was aware of, if he could be aware, were memories that had already happened, when he had been dealing with one crisis or another.
He floated, while some voice called out to him. Voices. Ghosts. Memories. Before the emergency medical team rushed to close his wounds. Before he nearly bled out. Before he slipped into consciousness. Before doctors and nurses fought to save him.
At the time, his final waking thought was that it might not be so bad if they failed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It had been a couple of decades since Joe had smoked. Of all the addictions in his life, nicotine wasn’t exactly one he hoped to keep. But like everything that often reared its ugly head in times of crisis, one thought popped into his head.
He could really use a cigarette.
It was April. He was in Columbus for the UGWC/Carnage event Incursion, a show so important that some people just opted not to show. It was JC vs. Trent Steel in an I Quit match, a feud that had started full of sound and fury but ultimately fizzled. Some people had taken some things he said very personally and others pretended to care about Trent but ultimately didn’t.
They wanted a villain and he wouldn’t give them one. He had issues with his friend and they were settled. Perhaps the ending to the match wasn’t what people wanted to see, and maybe the ending was lackluster according to out-of-touch old men, but that was okay. The match wasn’t for them. The result wasn’t for them. It was for two people and they got what they needed out of it.
Either way, Trent was getting patched up and Joe now stood outside, staring at a stolen cigarette that he rolled between his fingers.
Smoke up, a nagging voice in the back of his mind told him. Who do you have to live for?
It’s only one, it said.
“Fuck it,” Joe said to the chilly Ohio night, which didn’t protest as he lit the stick (lighter also procured from his bleeding friend). The rush of smoke filling his lungs almost made him gag, as though he was entirely new to the process once again. But he held it in and then exhaled, feeling the slight buzz through his body. One cigarette wasn’t going to give him lung cancer.
And if it did, who cares?
He didn’t exactly want to live forever.
Joe placed his back to the wall of the arena, just beside the parking lot and slid down. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out several sheets of folded paper. It was a note, a final goodbye, left to him by his former fiancée. He hadn’t bothered to read it before now. But seeing as he was enjoying a cigarette (as much as he could enjoy anything) and the high of endorphins the preceding match gave him, he decided to give it a go.
:”Fuck it,” he repeated. Perhaps that would become his new mantra.
“This isn’t something anyone should ever have to read in a letter.”
“You got that right,” he said aloud, and chuckled to himself a little. Why not? At least she was self-aware, knowing that what she was doing was terrible. She’d later accuse him of being selfish and disrespectful, when he had been neither to her. Perhaps that was some other person, in some other context. But in this story, JC placed Lucy Wylde on a pedestal, and everyone knew it. Narratives be damned, he loved her. And even though he had made mistakes, and even though he had, at times, been angry with her, mixed emotions didn’t change that.
But there was no talking someone down once they made up their mind about something. It was what it was.
He read on.
“You’ve been there for me through some of the hardest times of my life, and for that I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“You deserve a lot better than what I’ve been able to give you.”
Perhaps, somewhere inside, he knew it was coming. She had been bothered by a plethora of issues and he was a flawed person who, at times, could be hard to deal with. He’d admit to as much. But he still felt betrayed. Enemies to friends to lovers to whatever-this-was now. Wouldn’t call, wouldn’t answer his calls. Let her friends rip him apart on the internet, going against the very things she wrote in this letter.
So which was the lie? Was what she wrote a lie? Or was the way she was currently acting a lie?
He supposed he’d never know, as one part of his brain told him one thing and another part told him another.
“And that’s not on you, honey. I know you’re going to read this and I know you’re going to hate yourself.”
She was right about that. He did. Every day since he saw the ring placed on the letter. He had been hoping that perhaps Trent would have killed him after all. But luckily, for his family, he supposed, he came to his senses.
He did blame himself. What if he did this thing differently or said this thing? What if he kept his demons in control instead of letting them control him? And he’d go on blaming himself, because somehow they went from being inseparable to this and all it took was a few bad incidents in less than a year to do it?
How do you throw away everything two people worked to achieve together, years of time together, if it wasn’t him?
As he continued to read, it painted a clearer picture. A picture of someone who had been hurting for a long time, perhaps longer than he realized. If she couldn’t communicate that with him, then he couldn’t fix it. And perhaps he was never going to be the person to do so. Just another thing he blamed himself for. She wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t perfect. No one is. But shouldering the blame was something he excelled at, and he continued to feel lower the more that he read.
Only now he felt bad not just at her leaving, but at her being so deep in the darkness that it didn’t seem like anything would drag her out.
“I’ll always be in your corner if you need me…”
He was near the end now, and his stolen cigarette, which he had been puffing greedily as he read, was halfway gone. He only stopped when he heard a noise. He knew the sound of the upcoming stomping quite well from over the years.
“I do not need a fucking catheter you god damn idiot I just got my face fucked up...damn!” Trent Steel, a man of many words...and all of them curses, stormed out into the parking lot followed by the event doctor. The doctor protested, suggesting Trent may have kidney damage.
“You gotta buy me dinner first...I am not that kind of hussy!” Trent said to the poor sap just trying to do his job. He saw Joe give him a look and he turned to the doctor. “If I have any trouble taking a leak I’ll go to the hospital...alright?”
The doctor walked off and Trent reached into his jeans pocket to pull out his new pack of cigarettes, now aware that he was missing one. He sniffs the air for a moment and looks over at Joe. “Thought you quit.”
Joe simply shrugged his shoulders, glancing back down at the letter he was reading. “Felt like having one. It’s not like it’s gonna kill me.”
It was in that fortuitous moment that a car that had sat idling for hours in the lot creeped from it’s parking spot, pulling up next to JC’s beaten to hell pickup. The car? A 70’s Jag. Familiar to those who knew. The driver’s door swung open and seconds later, Matt Knox stood from inside, turning to face the pair and leaning on the roof.
“Joe. Steel.” He nodded to them both. “Rough night?”
Joe rolled his eyes, now realizing his moment alone to mourn the loss of a four-plus-year relationship was now up in smoke, just like the tobacco being burned up by the Rogues.
“We kicked each other’s asses,” he muttered. He was glancing at the letter for his third reading, picking it apart piece by piece to determine hidden meanings.
“Odd. I would have expected a hug, the way things go around these parts anymore.” a self serving chuckle, then a pause. “But really, have you forgotten how to answer a phone Joseph? We’ve been very worried, young man.”
Trent looked over at Knox and rolled his eyes. “You scolding someone is probably the funniest damn thing I’ve heard all year…” Trent smirked as he took yet another drag of his cigarette.
Joe looked up again, narrowing his eyes at The Raven, who continued to stare down at them.
“You got a purpose for being here Knox, or are you just gonna gawk at us all night?”
He was perhaps being more harsh than he needed to be, and perhaps more unfair, but Matt Knox had no idea what was going on. And he was interrupting. The only person that understood was Trent, and he had a feeling if The Answer were inclined to come out and ask, The Son of a Bitch might light Knox on fire.
“I’m not completely sure, but about ninety-nine percent sure that Knox is not that fucking desperate.” came the reply from just off to the left of the rogues. The man that approached was known to them all as he gave Joe and Trent a smile and a nod. “Not to mention you’re too damn ugly to look at for very long.” said Mac Bane in an attempt to lighten the mood. He looked back at Matt, “Thanks for coming on short notice.”, then he turned back to Joe, who was now more than a little suspicious.
“He’s not wrong, you could answer your phone or just a text that says fuck off, I’m busy.”
Mac looked over Trent and Joe, knowing they just finished a war that neither of them really wanted to begin with. He knew that feeling all too well, there are some wars that were not worth fighting. Especially when it came to personal relationships. Mac knew Lucy had left him, he had gathered that much from the social media posts and the mention of a letter. He figured that to be a “Dear John” letter. It was really a tragic way for a relationship to end. Mac extended his hand to Joe first as he was closest, “We were actually worried about you, big man.”
Realizing he wasn’t going to be left alone, Joe stuffed the letter in the pocket of his jeans and shook Mac’s hand.
“So what is this, some sort of intervention? Is Red gonna pop up in the back seat of my truck when I try to bolt?” he asked, only half-joking.
“No, but I left Belty back there…” Trent pointed to the back of the truck. Now there was a fear he had rigged something in Joe’s car...again.
“Not in the mood, Trent. Or for you, Knox. Or even you, Mac. Whatever this is. I’m out.”
Joe walked past the three, moving toward his vehicle. Neither appeared to offer much resistance. Mac looked over at Trent who just shrugs and then at the back of Joe walking away.
“Hey Asshole!”, Mac barked at Joe’s back. “Is it such a foreign concept to you that we actually care about your well being?”
Joe waved behind him, bidding farewell to the entire scene and arrived at his truck.
Until, like some annoying specter or knockoff Batman, Knox was by the truck, hands dug into his pockets and he stared Joe down, still annoyingly silent. Until, inevitably, he wasn’t.
“Walking away on fire only serves to burn you down.” he rasped out, staring down at his friend and awaiting the inevitable fist. The fist didn’t come, as Joe didn’t really have it in him. He just glared at him, hoping to will him out of the way with his eyes.
“The fuck do you guys even want from me?” Joe asked. “I didn’t kill Trent. I’m walking out of a toxic environment. I just want to go to the place that used to be home. Maybe get my stuff out. Maybe fuck off and never come back. Who knows?”
“Never pans out how you imagine,” Knox remarked matter-of-factly. “Look, Joe you don’t gotta spill your soul onto the pavement for us, but you need to quit acting so alone when so many arms are outstretched for you.”
JC rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger before letting out a long sigh.
“Christ, you’re annoying,” he said.
Bane walking up to stand beside Joe says, “The truth often is.”
“Oh not you too,” Joe groaned. He looked around at the people who had been supporting him when others wouldn’t and reached into his pocket, where he pulled out the note he had been reading. Ignoring the three men around him, trying to get through to him, he looked at the next to last line.
“So many bad memories, so much shit weighing down on me… And I’ve gotta leave. I’m sorry.”
The truth was, he wanted to cry again. He had been an emotional mess for the whole world to see, but that was nothing compared to what he did behind closed doors. There had been a lot of drinking he shouldn’t have done and a lot of frantic calls to rearrange his booking schedule. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to share a locker room with her. It hurt too much. He didn’t know if she’d understand, but he supposed he didn’t care. He spent years caring what she thought and what she felt. Just once, he thought he earned the right to care about himself.
So he wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t let himself do it. Not here. Not in front of men he respected, whether they’d get it or not.
Instead he let out another long, exasperated sigh.
“Fuck man,” he said, not acknowledging any one of them in particular. “What do I even do now? I can’t be here. I can’t really stay at that condo. It’s not mine and…”
He paused. What he wanted to say was, “the entire place reminds me of her.” But that sounded a little too desperate even for him.
“...and the place is tainted now.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But that was months ago, wasn't it?
The bodiless voice remarked from the darkness. Was it months ago? Wasn't it just yesterday? Or was he just yesterday, fighting inside a structure made of steel, glass and bodies? When exactly did this state of in-between begin?
Joe was unable to put together two and two as everything was jumbled. Dreams, and the fading in and out of memories, often are. It was very possible he would remember none of this when he woke up. If he woke up.
He ended up staying with Trent, and then a month later, his ex-wife had called about meeting up, as she had heard.
Or did he tell her while they were together for the kid?
Why was it so hard to piece together things that had already happened?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But that was months ago, wasn't it?
The bodiless voice remarked from the darkness. Was it months ago? Wasn't it just yesterday? Or was he just yesterday, fighting inside a structure made of steel, glass and bodies? When exactly did this state of in-between begin?
Joe was unable to put together two and two as everything was jumbled. Dreams, and the fading in and out of memories, often are. It was very possible he would remember none of this when he woke up. If he woke up.
He ended up staying with Trent, and then a month later, his ex-wife had called about meeting up, as she had heard.
Or did he tell her while they were together for the kid?
Why was it so hard to piece together things that had already happened?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"She's a cunt."
Joe nearly choked on his coffee as he heard his ex-wife drop the almighty c-bomb in reference to his most recent romantic failure.
"Jesus Christ, Stacy," he said. Not even he would have referred to Lucy as that, no matter how mad he had been in the past.
The two were having a casual lunch at the park, weeks after Joe's final match in UGWC. Nothing fancy, just some burgers and fries while Lizzie and some other kids ran around among the playground equipment, which had been in need of an upgrade for some time. Presumably, they were trying to settle a bet on who could give their parents a heart attack the quickest.
Stacy stifled a laugh at Joe's reaction, before swishing a fry around a glob of ketchup and popping it into her mouth.
"Don't act like you didn't think it at some point. She can't even end it face to face? Then she and her friends drag you for no reason, when all you wanted to do is help?"
She added a nod as she sipped her Diet Coke, as if that was all that needed to be said on the matter. That and one more addition. "Cunt," she repeated.
Joe had been handling the situation a little better now. No more missives on Twitter that he later felt stupid about. No more whining to anyone that would listen. He was simply doing as he was told at the end of the letter. He was spending more time with his kid, his brother, his ex-wife. His family. A family that could have, may have included another, had things worked out. He had reached a point where he just didn't care anymore. He tried his best, it wasn't good enough. Time to move on.
Or at least that's what he'd been telling himself he was doing. As if he hadn't unfollowed Lucy from Twitter only to still check her feed in his moments of self-pity. As if he hadn't been watching her UGWC promos wondering if she'd mention him again. It was all pretty pathetic of 'The Answer', all things considered.
"So where are you staying?" Stacy interrupted his train of thought before taking another sip of her drink.
"With Trent," Joe muttered. "And what an adventure that's been."
His ex-wife nearly choked on her drink at his dry sense of humor. Then she wiped at her mouth and made her point.
Joe had been handling the situation a little better now. No more missives on Twitter that he later felt stupid about. No more whining to anyone that would listen. He was simply doing as he was told at the end of the letter. He was spending more time with his kid, his brother, his ex-wife. His family. A family that could have, may have included another, had things worked out. He had reached a point where he just didn't care anymore. He tried his best, it wasn't good enough. Time to move on.
Or at least that's what he'd been telling himself he was doing. As if he hadn't unfollowed Lucy from Twitter only to still check her feed in his moments of self-pity. As if he hadn't been watching her UGWC promos wondering if she'd mention him again. It was all pretty pathetic of 'The Answer', all things considered.
"So where are you staying?" Stacy interrupted his train of thought before taking another sip of her drink.
"With Trent," Joe muttered. "And what an adventure that's been."
His ex-wife nearly choked on her drink at his dry sense of humor. Then she wiped at her mouth and made her point.
"What I meant to say was, I've got a spare bedroom in our new place. And I know Lizzie would love seeing her dad more."
Joe scoffed, before stealing one of her fries for himself. "Sounds like you're asking me to move back in with you. Not even back on the market for a month..."
She raised an eyebrow before he lifted up a hand in mock surrender, letting her know he was only joking.
"Asshole," she said with a smirk.
"I wouldn't want to impose on your life now," he added. He didn't mention, although there was no need to, the fact that it would be extremely awkward to be living with his ex-wife and their kid while the two of them also attempted to navigate their lives as single people. How does that even work? Could that even work?
They split amicably, but that could change in a hurry.
"You're gone enough that I don't think you would. I'm mostly thinking of the kid. She needs her dad."
Joe glanced out at his soon-to-be four-year-old daughter, who was now being chased by some other new playground friend and giggling the whole time.
"I don't think I could do it right away, if I did," he added. "I've got this big match in Uprising to prepare for. It might be the biggest one I've been in since...I don't know when."
If she had any objections about him putting himself through the hell of training for another big match at his age, she didn't say anything. That was one of the reasons they drifted apart, after all. In a way, although he hadn't considered it at the time, he left her in the role that Lucy gave him upon her departure. Stacy only wanted to help, couldn't translate her emotions in the right away and things just kind of ended.
And it's not like JC didn't nearly have an affair before they had broke it off on top of that.
"That's fine," she said. "Just let me know when it's on. I don't think Lizzie should stumble across it."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Why am I even seeing these things?"
He finally spoke up, although he noticed he didn't actually move to do so. A motionless conversation taking entirely in whatever ethereal plane his mind conjured up.
Don't you feel the slightest urge to live? You have people that care, but you're not willing to open your eyes and see them.
Joe scoffed, before stealing one of her fries for himself. "Sounds like you're asking me to move back in with you. Not even back on the market for a month..."
She raised an eyebrow before he lifted up a hand in mock surrender, letting her know he was only joking.
"Asshole," she said with a smirk.
"I wouldn't want to impose on your life now," he added. He didn't mention, although there was no need to, the fact that it would be extremely awkward to be living with his ex-wife and their kid while the two of them also attempted to navigate their lives as single people. How does that even work? Could that even work?
They split amicably, but that could change in a hurry.
"You're gone enough that I don't think you would. I'm mostly thinking of the kid. She needs her dad."
Joe glanced out at his soon-to-be four-year-old daughter, who was now being chased by some other new playground friend and giggling the whole time.
"I don't think I could do it right away, if I did," he added. "I've got this big match in Uprising to prepare for. It might be the biggest one I've been in since...I don't know when."
If she had any objections about him putting himself through the hell of training for another big match at his age, she didn't say anything. That was one of the reasons they drifted apart, after all. In a way, although he hadn't considered it at the time, he left her in the role that Lucy gave him upon her departure. Stacy only wanted to help, couldn't translate her emotions in the right away and things just kind of ended.
And it's not like JC didn't nearly have an affair before they had broke it off on top of that.
"That's fine," she said. "Just let me know when it's on. I don't think Lizzie should stumble across it."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Why am I even seeing these things?"
He finally spoke up, although he noticed he didn't actually move to do so. A motionless conversation taking entirely in whatever ethereal plane his mind conjured up.
Don't you feel the slightest urge to live? You have people that care, but you're not willing to open your eyes and see them.
"I'm aware that people care," he thought. "But the fact that she is so able to move on freely to the next person, that she's so happy after casting..."
Oh my god, Joe. We get it. You got burned. You got hurt. Get the fuck over yourself.
If he did remember this, perhaps he'd be amused at the fact he was now lecturing and arguing himself. Battling himself in his head over what he had left to contribute to the world and if anyone truly cared. If he remembered. If he woke up to do so.
At the point in time he was arguing in his head, various friends from his life were coming in and out of his room. Some were treating it like any old injury that he'd bounce back from. Some were angry that he put himself in the position to begin with. Others were simply telling him to get. up.
You were selfish. You didn't want to help her to help her, you wanted to help her so she'd stop making you feel so bad about not being able to help her.
"Oh that makes so much sense."
She probably doesn't even know you're clinging to life right now, or doesn't care. And it doesn't matter now anyway. She's gone. She's moved on. It's time you did the same. She's happy now. If you really love her, be happy for her and live your life like she fucking told you to.
"What exactly do you think it was I was doing inside that Terrordome?"
I think the better question is, why didn't you stop when you knew you couldn't go on anymore? Why did you let it get to this point?
He considered this as he floated inside his own mind. "The title," he said, not really thinking about it.
Bullshit.
"Educate me, then."
You've been beating yourself up for months. Really, since 2019. You finally saw your way out, a hero's death, and you pushed yourself hoping that Legion would kill you. Or you'd kill him and get the punishment you think you deserve. Either way, you wanted an end.
"And what is this supposed to do? Wake me up? Give me the will to see the error of my ways and move on?"
The only thing stopping you from waking up is you. Your brain activity is clearly fine. You've got enough fluids or we wouldn't be having this conversation.
Joe considered it briefly, but said nothing.
So are you going to let yourself die? Or are you going to GET UP?
Oh my god, Joe. We get it. You got burned. You got hurt. Get the fuck over yourself.
If he did remember this, perhaps he'd be amused at the fact he was now lecturing and arguing himself. Battling himself in his head over what he had left to contribute to the world and if anyone truly cared. If he remembered. If he woke up to do so.
At the point in time he was arguing in his head, various friends from his life were coming in and out of his room. Some were treating it like any old injury that he'd bounce back from. Some were angry that he put himself in the position to begin with. Others were simply telling him to get. up.
You were selfish. You didn't want to help her to help her, you wanted to help her so she'd stop making you feel so bad about not being able to help her.
"Oh that makes so much sense."
She probably doesn't even know you're clinging to life right now, or doesn't care. And it doesn't matter now anyway. She's gone. She's moved on. It's time you did the same. She's happy now. If you really love her, be happy for her and live your life like she fucking told you to.
"What exactly do you think it was I was doing inside that Terrordome?"
I think the better question is, why didn't you stop when you knew you couldn't go on anymore? Why did you let it get to this point?
He considered this as he floated inside his own mind. "The title," he said, not really thinking about it.
Bullshit.
"Educate me, then."
You've been beating yourself up for months. Really, since 2019. You finally saw your way out, a hero's death, and you pushed yourself hoping that Legion would kill you. Or you'd kill him and get the punishment you think you deserve. Either way, you wanted an end.
"And what is this supposed to do? Wake me up? Give me the will to see the error of my ways and move on?"
The only thing stopping you from waking up is you. Your brain activity is clearly fine. You've got enough fluids or we wouldn't be having this conversation.
Joe considered it briefly, but said nothing.
So are you going to let yourself die? Or are you going to GET UP?
Not having an answer right now, he allowed himself to drift back into nothingness.
