Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Thaddeus Duke · (01-11-2022)

New Years’ Day

Woolworth Tower || Tribeca – New York City || 4:19 AM

The real taste of freedom is doing shots of Jack from the ass crack of a Greek Goddess.

Laying back in bed, drenched in sweat and out of breath with my heart pounding, I stare up at the ceiling pondering the chain of events of the last few days. As my companion for the ‘evening’ gives me a little peck on the cheek and climbs out of bed, I look after her.

There’s a lot of hype around her… abilities.

And I totally get it now.

You alright? she asks as she approaches the bathroom door.

What? I ask her. I heard her, but nothing really registered.

I asked if you were alright, Dove, she reiterates. You’re out of breath.

I’m fine, I lie to myself amid deep breaths. I have the... heavy breathing. You know……….. the thing and the thing.

The heart of a lion? she asks with a smile.

That’s the one, I return the smile as she disappears into the bathroom. Holy fuck.

I am fine. And I’m not fine. Slowly, my heart rate declines and my breathing steadies. It’s a bad look and I know it. I broke things off with Adi Gold and almost immediately jumped in the sack with someone else. The fact is, things with Adi were great. But I feared hurting her. I was afraid of my ‘appetite’ rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune time and I’d do to her what I did to Elizabeth. Addison wouldn’t deserve that anymore than Liz did.

The fact is, I starting feeling those… urges… again a couple months ago. Even got myself in trouble on social media because I was flirty with someone not named Adi. I claimed then that it was innocent flirting in the name of fun.

It was.

...and it wasn’t.

Truth is, if the subject of my flirtation had hit me up in private saying ‘hey let’s meet up,’ odds are, I probably would have done it. As we all are, I am a man with many flaws in character. That’s a big one. She doesn’t deserve someone like me. She deserves far better. So, while it might seem cold and heartless, what it was, was mercy. It’s sad and it hurts, but I don’t ache for me. I ache for her and her pain.

Me?

I just fill the void by filling voids.

Earlier – New Years’ Eve

Having been invited by FIGHT New York City to sit in a suite high above the action, it was an enjoyable evening. At the same time, the real fun was just beginning. Leaving FIGHT Tower in Manhattan with Atara Themis and Sebastian Everett-Bryce III, we’re mistaken at first, as rostered FIGHT talent by fans outside the building. Atara is, Seb and I are not. FIGHT can wish though. Being a New York guy, these fans still know me and a result of that is being swamped outside a venue I didn’t wrestle in by their fans. Coming off a successful defense of her Brooklyn title, Atty too was in high demand. The three of us take a few minutes with the fans, signing autographs, taking pictures, and answering stupid questions like “are you signing with FIGHT?”

I dunno.

One day, maybe.

Once we’ve had enough, we file into the double stretch Bentley limousine.

Just for a quick recap of who Seb is, he’s a guy similar to me. Young and talented with dark shadows of a shitty father looming behind him. At this point, I can’t even remember how we first met aside from a few social media interactions. Despite his very unfortunate first name, we’ve become fast friends and I enjoy his company. Atty? We’ve been pretty good friends for a long time.

Before the car door is even closed, I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. Filling a couple glasses, I hand them off to Seb and Atty before taking several gulps of my own directly from the chilled bottle.

So where we headed? Seb asks as the limo pulls onto the street.

Wherever, I answer. I don’t care where we go as long as the drinks are cold.

The Rabbit is supposed to have a big New Years Eve bash, Atty suggests.

Looking over at Seb, he nods.

The Rabbit it is then, I agree before alerting the driver of our destination.

The Velvet Rabbit – New York City

As great as the night is overall, I still find myself conflicted. I still bounce back and forth between being figuratively intoxicated with happiness, to sad as hell for breaking the heart of someone I care a lot about. In addition to Seb and Atty, many people I consider friends are here tonight. Albeit, hanging out in different social circles. So, between hanging with Seb and Atty and doin’ shots from her beautiful ass, I bounce around the place from one stage to the next, conversing with other people I know.

Two of those I like most, are my current house guests Ricky Rodriguez and Jennie Fenix. Ricky had been in a relationship with the Whore of Manhattan, better known as Sahara… or maybe she’s better known as the Whore?

I don’t know.

Anyway, for like the last month plus, I (and others) have been trying to get these two together. They have a natural chemistry and a genuine bond that you just don’t see everyday. They resisted as long as they possibly could but eventually… love always wins. Being that they live in my house, I know more than most others. They’ll come out with it when they’re ready.

Hey! I call out to Ricky as I turn around an empty chair and take a seat beside him.

Hey Thad, how’s your night goin’?

Incredibly well, I say to him, craning my neck to look back toward Atty and Seb.

Talked to Adi at all? he asks. To which, I just shake my head. What happened?

It’s hard to explain, I tell him.

One day you guys are like… the epitome of relationship goals, he says to me, to which I agree with a nod. And the next, you guys have broken up. I don’t get it.

No one does.

Fear, I relent a little. Scared to death I was gonna hurt her.

Well, I think you successfully accomplished that, he says, figuratively bitch slapping me.

Yeah, but… better this way, than...

You wouldn’t have cheated on her, he interrupts.

Yeah I’m not so sure, I reply and he just looks at me. Better hurting her this way than that way, ya know?

He nods.

It sounds perverse, but… One isn’t always enough.

Again, he just looks at me as if he’s waiting for me to elaborate.

I just turned 23 years old Ricky, I begin. I have three kids and I’ve jumped from relationship to relationship without really experiencing the world in a way people our age are meant to.

Yet you’ve spent the last month pushing me and Jennie together? he questions. I’m younger than you are.

Yeah but you’re not wired the way I am Ricky. You don’t live the same sort of life that I do.

No one does, really. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times. I don’t fear my life ending, but at the same time, I know it can come at any moment. Until it does, I’mma live fast and loose.

So you abruptly ended things to avoid hurting her deeper later on? To which I nod my head.

Adi is an incredibly sweet woman, and I love her so much… but... my voice trails off for a moment. It’s just never enough. And it sucks that I had to do it.

Hey! Jennie calls out toward me as she rejoins Ricky. I leave the chair in order to let her sit. I need you to talk to Sabin, she insists of me. To which I roll my eyes.

Know what? Gimme my chair back, I say playfully, pretending to push her from it.

She’s referring to Sabin Spencer. Otherwise known as Wraith.

And why would I do a thing like that?

Because you two got off on the wrong foot and I’d like him to be able to come visit me, she answers.

He can visit you all he wants, I reply.

Nothing like a little awkward tension to make company feel at ease, she says sarcastically.

Him and his stupid mother do the same stupid shit, I protest. I make a joke and they both try to torpedo things with Adi.

Hey! she yells at me playfully. That’s my sister!

Yeah? How does it feel knowing I could’ve fucked half your family? I fire back.

Oh damn! Shots fired! Ricky laughs.

C’mon Thad! she pleads. You’re a great guy, so is he. Just bury the hatchet.

In his skull.

Fine! I give in to her. I went and torpedoed it myself anyway.

A server sets a couple of shots in front of them. Before they can react, I take both shots myself.

Heeeey, Ricky protests playfully. We was gonna drink those.

Blame Jennie for meddling, I reply to him before throwing them a couple of c-notes. That’s another Fenix trait I guess… Anyway, enjoy Japan, I tell them both before heading back across the bar.

I’m a very wealthy man, everyone knows that. But I don’t think about the money. I know very few people have what I have financially and I always aim to make the lives of my friends easier. I want them to worry less about their own finances and just enjoy life. People mistake things I say, things I give to my friends as flaunting my wealth or being braggadocious about it, but that’s not actually the case. I offer things to my friends that they wouldn’t have otherwise out of love for them. Whether it’s lending out one of my planes or my cars, or giving money away, or giving them a place to stay, or aiding a friend in re-routing a planned trip from Greece to Japan so that they can just be alone with one another.

As has always been the case, people see the surface and make their judgments. Very rarely do they dig below the surface to see the truth. Truth is, I’ve never asked for anything in return and I never will.

On the way back across the Rabbit, wading my way through the sea of celebrators, a familiar face runs into me. Not figuratively, literally. My beer flies from my hand and crashes on the floor. Her drink splashes her ample store bought chest.

Watch where the fuck you’re going, little boy, she says to me angrily.

Lauren MacKay.

Better known in the wrestling world as Sahara. Former squeeze to Ricky Rodriguez, nowmer single slut. And I fucking loathe her. Like the NAZI’s hated the Jews. Like the Arabs hate the Israeli’s. Like everyone hated the last season of Game of Thrones.

I loathe Lauren MacKay and the feeling is very much mutual.

Which is unfortunate because she’s hot as fuck and I’m in the mood to be a total slut.

You ran into me you stupid bitch! I fire back at her.

You just made me waste a ten dollar drink you fucking dimwitted asshole! she yells at me as she’s cleaning the spill from her chest. Removing another C-note from my pocket, I slip it into her cleavage before walking off to rejoin Atara and Sebastian.

As I near my friendly duo, I look back toward Lauren and catch her looking back at me. You know the one. The proverbial ‘eye fuck.’

For now, Lauren and the eye fuck leaves my mind while I resume my partying with Atara and Seb. It’s been a rough few days and I wanted nothing more than to just chill and relax and get entirely shit faced for the first time in I don’t know how long.

For the remainder of the night, I stayed with my people and had an absolute blast. It was good to forget the pain I caused Adi. It was good to forget the pain I caused myself. Even if for just a little while. Shot after shot, flirty comment after flirty comment exchanged with Atara, I was feelin’ pretty good.

Engrossed in my unintentional courtship of the Greek Goddess, I lost track of Seb.

Hey, where’s Seb? I ask of Atara. Her and I both look around the joint in vain. Seb is nowhere to be found.

I’m sure he’ll turn up, she says.

He did not turn up. I’d find out from Shawn Warstein that Seb usually makes himself scarce when he thinks people are gonna bang. Turns out the lonely fucker curled up under a mountain of coats and went to sleep.

Before the ball even dropped.

Lame ass.

Gotta love him though.

Present Day – Scarsdale, New York

From Adi Gold.

To Atara Themis.

A trio of unknowns during a trip to Las Vegas.

Arabella Evers.

Tara Fenix.

Last, but certainly not least… Lauren MacKay. Each of them have found themselves as a companion of mine over the course of the last two weeks. I’m not bragging. If anything, I feel sorry for them for falling for the charm and the looks and the wallet, becoming pawns in my little game of chess that I’ve been playing with my own heart.

They’re all good people.

‘Cept Lauren.

She’s a vicious life sucking bitch… and I can’t get enough of her. What a difference a few days makes. It’s toxic as hell. We spend hours a day either rollin’ in the hay or insulting one another. But there’s something about it that just… fucking… winds me up.

As much as she drives me up the fucking wall… it’s also somehow addicting. I hate her with every fiber of my being, but then I also don’t. It’s incredibly confusing.

Pulling the Jeep Grand Wagoneer to a stop outside the mansion of Alister Henry, I kill the engine. For a long few moments a stare at the large home. Contained within it, a seemingly docile yet angry aging man who I owe some work to. In his business, you can’t owe for too long before they intend to collect. To his credit, he’s been patient with me. Maybe it’s because I’m his grandson, maybe not. It’s been more than a year since I agreed to do work for him in exchange for him not contesting his divorce from the mother of my two youngest children. He interfered in my adoption of Frankie just to remind me and even still, I’ve not paid what I’ve owed.

And now I need a favor.

Exiting the car, I advance toward the big house up the stone steps to the stoop and ring the doorbell. His two dogs bark and growl behind the door, giving the impression that they’re some ferocious beasts. Kinda like Lauren, but that’s another story. They’re really not. Opening the door, Alister eyes me as his dogs jump excitedly and run around in tight little circles.

Thaddeus, he greets in his nerve-grating holier than thou kind of voice while eyeing me suspiciously. That’s not his fault, he has like, resting suspicious face or something.

Alister, I return his greeting, trying hard not to mock his uppity speech.

Come in, please, he offers, stepping back away from the front door. Entering the big old house so empty of love or warmth of any kind, you’d half expect the house to be as cold as ice, but instead, it’s a toasty warm.

I guess something’s gotta keep him alive.

How is Francis? he asks as he leads me into his office. And the twins?

The kids are great, Alister, I answer. Thanks for asking.

What brings you by? he asks, now taking a seat behind his desk while offering me my usual seat across from him.

A favor, I reply while taking that seat.

Keith Rickle? he suggests correctly. To which, I only nod. If you had done what you were supposed to do eighteen months ago, Keith would be in the ground and Francis would still have his mother.

He’s right. But fuck you old man.

Well I didn’t, he isn’t and he doesn’t so here we are.

I know a little, but not all of it, he says as he lights a cigar.

There’s a chance he gets out, I answer him quickly.

And you think that will be detrimental to Francis, he assumes correctly.

Alister if he’s allowed to walk… only bad things will happen.

I see, he says with an exhale. There’s only so many solutions Thaddeus. Strong arm the judges like you did with the adoption. Pay him to serve his term… or... he pauses as he taps some ash from the cigar.

I know what the final solution is Alister… you know… in a manner of speaking.

I’m a loan shark, Thaddeus, he reminds me. I don’t do murder for hire.

No but you know somebody, I say in an attempt to cut through the bullshit. You always know somebody.

Why not wait and see what happens? he argues. Maybe he’ll lose his retrial and stay in prison on his own. If not, you can always do it yourself. You know he’s an addict. It wouldn’t be too long before he’s knocking on my door needing me to float him some money.

That’s too risky, I argue back. I can’t take the risk of it coming back on me.

Without risk Thaddeus, there is no reward.

He’s right, in the vaguest of terms.

That’s one risk I can’t take Alister, I say to him as he takes another drag from his cigar. Can you help me or not?

He nods slowly. It occurs to me that he remembers how much I despise everything about him. He knows how I threatened him after he interfered with Frankie’s adoption.

He thinks I’m wired.

Standing up, I strip down to nothing but my underwear while he looks on unamused.

Holding my arms out and turning 360 degrees, he nods.

I see reasons why your recent exploits have been so successful, he says, tapping another ash. I will help you.

Thank you, I say to him genuinely as I begin to put my clothes back on.

I’ll call you in a few days when I have more information.

Starting for the door, I almost stop and turn on reflex. He always stops me.

I’ve been patient with you, he says as he leans back in his chair. I’ve been patient with you Thaddeus, because you are my grandson. Whether you like me or you don’t, you ARE my flesh and blood. Most of the time you come in here flaunting your wealth, your power, your privilege and you act untouchable and still I let it go.

Out of love for your mother.

Believe it or not, even out of love for you.

But you are not untouchable, Thaddeus, he warns. You agreed to do some jobs for me. Do you intend to fulfill that obligation?

For maybe the first time, I’ve just listened. I didn’t act, I didn’t react. I just closed my mouth and opened my ears. And listened. Thinking about what he said, I nod once.

Good, he says, stone faced. It was good to see you.

You too, I admit before turning and heading for the door once more.

Thaddeus, he says, stopping me again. I turn to look at him. Do give Miss MacKay my regards.

Instantly, I feel the color drain from my face. I know he keeps tabs on me. I didn’t think…

Oh wait it’s back.

Advancing toward his desk with haste, I slam my fists down on his desk in anger. I can feel my ears burn with red fury. Looking back at me, he shoots me a grin.

HA! he chuckles aloud. You like that one.

Instead of responding, I just turn and head for the door.

That was a test you just failed, Thaddeus, he calls after me. Now I know where to twist the knife.

You’re wrong Alister, I call back but keep walking. She’s a total bitch and I hate her fucking guts.

Back home and packing to leave for Paris, I start to think about the different people I’ve forced out of my life over the past year. Often I wonder why I do it. People that have been so close to me, people I have loved so much. Yet I push them away all the same.

Elizabeth Tate.

Garrett Wentworth.

Adi Gold.

Alister Henry.

Even my father.

…

…

…

Corey Smith, of course.

As I pack, I think back to a private conversation I had recently backstage at Warfare with Dolly Waters. She demanded that I bury the hatchet with him. Naturally, I resisted. Grabbing me by my face, she pleaded with me and reluctantly I agreed to do it.

I have not yet made a move toward reconciliation, yet he has. Live on worldwide television after Bad Medicine, he sat in my locker room and poured his heart out to me. And I’ve given him nothing in return. That’s not to say that I didn’t feel anything because I did. Him coming to me hat in hand… it meant something. People will judge what happened between us and they’ll view me as in the wrong because of what I did to Corey after War Games.

I shouldn’t have done that.

No matter how much I try to rationalize it in my head… that was cold, callous, incredibly unlike me.

I loved Corey like my little brother.

And I still do.

Taking a seat in a chair by my end table, I contemplate what I’d say if I called him. Looking toward the table, I pick up the flashlight looking object and hit the switch. The lightsaber lights up and buzzes to life and I can’t help but smile.

The comical Disney adventure he and I went on.

The one where we kissed and realized we were definitely just friends and never were gonna be lovers much to the chagrin of the shippers out there in the fandom.

Everything I’ve ever done with Corey, I still hold dear to me. From encouraging him to recover from his stroke, to defending tag team gold together, to that incredible match we had at Bad Medicine, and everything in between and everything prior.

Switching off the lightsaber, I trade it for my cellphone. Staring at ts dark screen for a few moments, I bring it to life and make a call. It takes a few rings, but he finally answers.

Hey Cor’, I say to him as a tear falls from my eye. I uh... I struggle to get the words out while simultaneously trying to hold back my emotions.

I just wanted to say that I’m so fucking sorry bro.

The winds of change have befallen the Xtreme Wrestling Federation and like a hurricane, I’m knocking on the door. Like a hurricane, I’m not gonna be polite about it. Like a hurricane, I don’t care if you open the door or not, because I’m coming in anyway.

Things change, but the one constant is Thaddeus Duke.

On first, on middle, on last, none of it fucking matters because eyes are on me. Where I go, people follow. When I speak, people listen. When I am on the screen, people watch. That’s what it is to be me. That’s what it is to be must-see. That’s what it is to be the main event even when you’re not IN the main event.

That’s what it is to be God’s gift to professional wrestling. You can like me, love me, or hate me but the fact of the matter is real simple… you can’t stop watching me.

It’s what sets me apart from just about everyone in this industry. There’s a thousand professional wrestlers, probably more. Ain’t a single one of them anything like me.

Send them all.

Set ‘em up.

I’ll knock ‘em down.

It’s just what I do.

Before Fire & Ice.

Before Sebastian Duke.

Before I take my place as the rightful holder of the everlasting Duke Legacy.

There’s another.

Latina Submission Machina.

This little bitch thinks she’s something special. Really, all she’s done is win an Anarchy title that no one cares about. All she’s done is spend the majority of her time here in the XWF trying to luck into 24/7 titles that don’t mean squat. All she’s done here is be incredibly talented, yet disturbingly underwhelming.

It’s one thing to have talent, lil bitch. It’s another thing altogether to see it through. That’s the difference between icons like me and cookie cutter cunts just like you.

Athletes like you are happy to mill around in the bottom of the field. Happy to spend their days wasting away in less than mediocrity by becoming “stars” of a shit brand of “entertainment” like Anarchy. Athletes like me don’t settle for less than what we deserve. Athletes don’t settle for less than to be a pivotal point of emphasis on the Flagship show.

If you don’t know what a Flagship is, it’s the show more people watch. It’s the show all the eyes are glued to because that’s where the real stars reside. Being a focal point of the A show requires A level talent. That’s why I can take six weeks out of the ring and still kick off the show in a hot fucking segment.

Must see, baby.

It can’t be taught.

That’s why I can take six weeks off and still go on first in the opening match because all eyes are on me which by virtue of you being in the ring with me, puts all eyes on you in hopes that SOMEBODY might start to give a fuck about you.

Spoiler: They won’t.

Listen, it’s not me it’s you.

I have the “it” factor and you… look like you just put on a mask and started claiming you were a wrestler. Hell, you claim you’re a “luchadora” when your only high flying move is a fucking moonsault. 400 pound men can do moonsaults bitch, you ain’t special.

I’m special.

I’m what people like you could only dream of being.

I’m what nearly every other wrestler on this planet wishes they could be.

I could do a moonsault in my sleep and still hit it perfectly because I’m fucking great at what I do and you’re just… well… Anarchy leftovers.

To be memorable, to leave a lasting impression, a… legacy… if you will… it takes more than what you have given so far in your fledgling little career. It takes guts, which you ain’t got. It takes will, which you ain’t got. It takes the ability to make people look at you, which you just ain’t got.

Listen, I know you’re relatively new around here. I know you’re still getting your feet wet. But if being a big fucking star is what you want for yourself, then I suggest you start taking some cues from the actual big fucking stars. You don’t see guys like me hiding in hallways trying to become the 24/7 champion because that’s beneath our station. Do something big you underwhelming bag of shit. Step out of the harness you trapped yourself in.

I have 48 career wins heading into Paris. One of us gets to 49 on Wednesday night, and the other is you. You see, Machina, beating you is important to me. It’s not about you exactly, it’s about me. Everything is about me. It’s why my face was plastered on 5 out of 6 pay per view posters in 2021. Because some of us are draws, and some of us are you. It’s okay that you’re not a draw. It’s okay that you exist on the same roster as I do because even people like me just need a little tune up every now and then.

You get to be the next guest on the Thaddeus Duke Show strictly to get me to 49 wins so that I can move on to Iceland and put my father out of everyone’s misery for number 50.

You’re stepping to the plate against an absolute fucking icon.

Beat me... if you can.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Twenty Twenty-Two
Author	Message