8.22.21

The room blazed auburn as the sun dipped below the horizon beyond the window, inscribing this moment in time with the sort of holy reverence a cosmic event commits. Corey Smith was once again in a hospital bed, bereft of spirit, function, or identity. A nightmare echo of last year that persisted into the waking world like a stalking revenant. His locks were shorn, and a deep incision ran down the back of his skull.

Christian sat to his left, hand growing numb from holding Corey’s for so long. It had been a fraught silence, less the serenity of Thoreau’s Walden Pond or the focused penintance of the monk, but rather a jagged silence. Sharp at the edges of its unverbalized promise. Because while Christian held Corey’s hand, war had broken out in his features. The glisten of a teary eye juxtaposed with a thin set frown were the portents of a whirling raging mind.

Christian rubbed a thumb gently over Corey’s. But the frown deepened. His lips parted, but nothing emerged at first. But finally, willfully, Christian began to speak.

I love you. I’ll always love you. And I’ve been mulling over these words for the last two days… He looks to the corner of the room, shamefaced perhaps. Or angry. Trying to think of what to say. Or when. To address this when you were at your most fragile. Or contain it, never release it, and hope for the best. Heh. A dry chuckle. I had to convince myself I wasn’t being a bitch doing it this way. You, my captive audience in every conceivable way. Me, not having to suffer under the slings and arrows of those beautiful eyes and that impossible face doing it’s Godforsaken best to convince me, “No, Christian. You’re the one who’s wrong. How can THIS be wrong?”

He pauses, withdrawing his hand from Corey’s. He wipes it on his thigh to reclaim the feeling in it. Clearing his throat, and bringing his working palm up to clear a tear, he continues.

But I’m so fucking dissapointed in you. The acrimony bit hard, despite Corey’s dearth of responsiveness. You knew something was wrong. You knew something was wrong going into War Games. You definitely knew something was wrong at the Warfare following it. And every time, every FUCKING time we asked you if you were alright, it was the same trite dismissal. Now maybe you didn’t want to worry us. Or maybe the thought of winning War Games and the ticker tape parade that would follow was just too much. Or maybe, just maybe, you needed to stay in the game to stick it to Thad Duke. Ego. Revenge. Duty. It doesn’t matter which one it was. What matters is that it was also SELFISH.

Christian leans in as he speaks the final word, features now unrepentantly twisted in anger. You know how many hushed conversations I had with Dolly, thinking maybe you were using again? FYI, she always believed in you. I’m the one that had my….doubts. The last word is spoken softly. Almost apologetically. But it wasn’t drugs. It was your brain. You know. The thing that makes your body go. The thing that keeps your autonomic nervous system pumping so you can breathe without thinking and not piss yourself. The thing that instills you with the coordination to both kick a man in the face and do that thing where you slide your finger tips down my spine and make me shiver just as I’m waking up in the morning. Your brain?! The thing you neglected?!! Christian cuts himself off, throwing his hands up in front of him and biting down on his bottom lip to reel in the anger like an angler working at a recalcitrant bit of future dinner.

God dammit, Corey. And I don’t know what’s worse. That you did that to yourself or that you lied to all of us about it. He hangs his head. You got lucky this time. The doctors are saying that your vitals are showing you’re probably going to wake up soon. They were able to fix the shunt in your head from your last operation. Your recovery time won’t be nearly what it was the first time. He lifts his head up.

But you’re never wrestling again.

We talked about it. Me. The doctors. All of us. The risk is too great. You’ll die, Corey. You’ll die. He slaps a fist down on an open palm for emphasis. You’ll hear all this again when you wake up. Maybe I’m telling you now as a kind of trial run. I don’t know. But….yeah. It’s done, Corey.

And the thing that really worries me? You should have realized that after you first started having symptoms a couple months back. You should have known to stop. But you wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Actually, nah, fuck that “couldn’t” shit. You just WOULDN’T. Christian is starting to get animated again. So why didn’t you stop? Huh?

Is everything else that insufficient? He practically spits the word with disdain. Countless friends. A beautiful house. All the ridiculous luxury cars you want. The feeling of helping people day in and day out. He grabs for Corey’s hand again. A boyfriend that would die for you, if asked? Does all that really pale in comparison to the XWF? Jesus…. He looks away again, torn.

Or is it Thad now? Is that keeping you going? He looks back at him. Because maybe I’ll just handle that shit before you wake up. Something darker enters his tone now, bespeaking of primordial vengeance. Maybe you won’t have to worry about it. Christian is shuddering, but still retaining his loving clasp on Corey’s hand. Finally, with a pinched sob, he reels. Fuck! He mutters. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shaking his head as though trying to clear himself of a lingering dream, he suddenly looks upon his love once more. I can’t be that guy, Corey. I’m not that guy. And maybe that makes me a coward. But I know that ending Thad Duke means ending EVERYTHING we have. I’m just...just talking stupid, I guess….

Recovering, he lays back, looking drained by the intensity of the moment, before plunging ahead. I think I’m getting this out of my system now because, when you wake up, all I wanna do is love you. Okay? I want to be there for you. I want you to get better under my watch. I don’t want to fight. But...you’re not wrestling. You’re not. It’s over, ‘Cor. And you can direct your anger at me all you want. I can take it. And I’m going to love you even harder for it. I’m going to love you till my heart hurts. Okay? He’s crying openly now. God I hope you don’t hate me. Please….I just….I just can’t lose you too…..

He bows his head onto Corey’s bedspread, planting it there as the tears keep issuing. He doesn’t see Corey’s eyes flutter open. Can’t tell when he slowly picks up his hand and feels for Christian’s head.

When he feels the pressure on his scalp, he looks up, startled. Corey!

Corey looked back at him with lidded eyes. He slowly started to move his chapped lips into a semblance of coherent sounds. ...what….didjou….say……?

Today.

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend

The end
Of our elaborate plans
The end
Of everything that stands
The end
No safety or surprise
The end
I'll never look into your eyes
Again

Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need of some stranger's hand
In a desperate land

Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane…


The record player spools, creating the melancholy sounds of The Doors’ classic. But then, a hand reaches over and removes the arm from off the record, halting the song abruptly. The shot travels up the arm before landing on the sight of….

….Corey Smith.

Corey Smith, who looks not the least worse for the wear. Who bears not even the passing ghost of a sign of his injury save for the close cropped hair that still adorns his crown. There’s a barely there stroic expression on his face.

It’s not the end. His tone is an admixture of solemnity and determination.

And while all the children MAY be insane (it is the XWF after all), this particular child is seeing things very clearly for the first time in a few months. Because...he shrugs….I’m okay. Oh, and please, please do call bullshit on that. I love being underestimated, makes it just that much easier to roll ya asses up. He winks. And to all my beautiful and rightfully incredulous friends who are just seeing this now, please trust me. . I know you’re probably scared and hurling all kinds of invectives at the screen right now. But I couldn’t tell you in person. You all would have shut me down. And, again, rightfully so. Especially after...he trails off, unable to even speak into reality the recent killing on his property. [Ed. Note: See Dolly's series for Relentless] We've all been through a lot lately.

I’m sure you’ll be upset. I understand. I’m sorry. Christian, please don’t go. I love you so much. You’re gonna be pissed. You might want to leave. All I’m asking is for you to hold on and see. He places a strange emphasis on “see”. See that I’m once and for all, really truly okay.

And that I am 100% returning to active competition in the XWF.

He allows that to sink in for you, loyal viewer, as a smile creeps back on.

Vinnie, I hope you didn’t give away my perpetual employee of the month parking spot. I’ll still be needing that. He cants his head. Did y'all really think I was going to allow my career to go out on the passing fart in the wind that was two not even a month long title reigns? No, of course not. Nor was I going to let it go out on….uhhh...what was it….? He snaps his fingers. Oh yeah, WINNING WAR GAMES. Team F.U.C.K. T.H.A.D. (and oh ho, more on that so hold your horses) ran a pain train on the best in the business and I ended the evening standing side by side with the best ally I could have asked for in Alias. Something playful yet spiteful twinkles in his eye. Alias. He repeats the name, slowly and precisely, for the benefit of someone who really, REALLY won’t like that.

Point is, I had a hell of a lot of momentum when I left before an unfortunate twist of fate and my own hubris threatened it all. But I’ve learned from that. And I took action to ensure I rectified that mistake. The question of “how?” of course lingers in the air like a fine haze. Details will be, ehhh, scarce. But suffice it to say I’m not some lordly being who can shrug off a career ending injury. I had help. And then, when necessary, I destroyed that help. A chill permeates. His features set hard before mellowing some.

But maybe I should still do one of those corny ass messiah poses and be all like “he is risen” while I flush everything about me that didn’t suck down the shitter.

Hi Thad.

This song isn’t about you.

Sorry!

I’m sure you thought I’d come roaring back like some fiery flower of vengeance, looking to turn your entire world inside out. Well, sans Frankie. That kid’s suffered enough what with the profuse trauma he’s already experienced combined with having to breathe in the miasma of toxic effluvium that is YOU all day.

But nah. You’re not worth it. You’re a particularly bitter and short sighted wad of chump change that I can’t be arsed with right now. But you know who I can be arsed with? Alias. Whoops, looks like I’m picking him over you again. Heh.

Brother, I know you haven’t quite hit Engy’s record yet. But hell if you aren’t well on your way. And I think we’ve all seen that you are more than capable of handling Doc, my own PUSH OF DOOM incident notwithstanding. Actually, leave it “standing” because that guy bitched about all of his cunning plans and advantages being undone by a FUCKING PUSH, so yeah, he’s already roasted on the spit and ready to be EATEN. A cheeky half smile at the mention of the word “eaten”.

So, Alias, I’m officially putting a ring on it. I’m coming back, and I’m cashing in my briefcase on you at Lethal Lottery for a match. But not just any match. A match of YOUR choosing. He waggles his pointer finger at the camera playfully. Champion’s advantage is really going to mean champion’s advantage in this go round. Because I want all of you, Alias. Every bit of you. At full strength. So that a win over you is as conclusive as it gets. Is that win guaranteed? Not hardly. You’re a beast. But I want you to have every advantage so that if I do pull this off, there’s no doubt in everyone’s mind that this was the way it was meant to be.

I’m ready. I’m willing. And gosh darn it, I think I’m able. Friendo, let’s do this.

The shot fades out on Corey’s determined grin.

But of course, the why’s and wherefores remain neglected. How have we managed to travel from point A to point B? From Corey prostrate in a hospital bed with his boyfriend declaring a close to his career, to Corey picking up the torch of his friendly rivalry with Alias? And what isn’t he….isn’t he….isn’t he….isn’t he….



The shot fades back in to yet another record player, this one skipping over and over, until an impatient hand bats it to the floor.

Just tell them you fucking pussy.

A growl of a woman’s voice is heard, before once again fading to black.