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+--- Thread: Ghost: RP #1 (/showthread.php?tid=37404)
Ghost: RP #1 - The Collector - 07-05-2020
The Office of Dr. Lewis DeVille
Midtown Manhattan
Midtown Manhattan
It’s fair to say that I have been unfair towards Dr. DeVille. He bounces around a bit to be sure, but I think he has helped me in some ways. Healing my mental state is no easy task. For the things I have seen, things I have done… he’s done an admirable job. Sure he annoys me to no end and I pray to whatever fictitious deity you believe in that I annoy him, but at the end of the day, I’m better for having visited his office.
I know what he wants me to talk about today. He said it in our last public session that he wanted to talk about it. My entrance theme. It’s a song. Shut up.
”Come in, have a seat,” DeVille says to me as I enter his office. I shake the mans hand- he has a weak grip- and throw myself down on the lounger thingy. I should really learn what this thing is called because I know its not a couch and its most assuredly not “an uncomfortable lounger thingy.”
”You seem a bit eager today, Jaime,” he surmises from my demeanor.
”Eager to get it over with, Doc,” I reply. I’ve noted small improvements so I’d be remiss if I denied the fact that this shit actually helps. I’m in a good mood. A really good mood.
”You seem to be in a good mood, today,” he deduces.
”Uhhh… I am, yeah.”
”I saw your return to the squared circle was successful.”
”It was.”
”In your mind, is that the source of your newfound happiness?” he asks, seeming to genuinely want to know.
I have to think about it a minute if I’m being honest. I’m not entirely sure what is making me happy. My budding friendship with Lizzy? Frankie Rickle, the 9 year old boy that reminded me of what I loved about being the real me? Returning victorious to the XWF?
”I don’t think it is, Doc. No.”
”No?” he says with a hint of surprise in his voice. ”How are things at home with Elizabeth and Alister?”
I smile at the thought of Liz. How could I not? She’s kind, she’s sweet, she’s caring. She’s the kind of woman you bring home to mom… you know… if your dad hadn’t killed her. If it’s the last thing I do in this world, I will release her from the prison that is Alister Henry. I will marry that woman if its the last thing I do.
I know, I know. What about Alister? What about you saying you cared about him? Fact is, I’m figuring out that I really don’t give a shit about the man. I know I said I did. I thought I did at one point. I’m learning though, that it’s not him that I cared about. It’s a void left in my life that I was trying to fill using Alister Henry.
If he died today, I’m not sure I’d even mourn his death. He isn’t a good person and I don’t particularly think his presence in my life adds any real significant value, aside from the fact that it allowed me to meet the lovely Miss Elizabeth.
Shit.
That name’s taken.
”Things are okay, I suppose,” I finally answer him. ”No I need to be honest. I love Liz, and I know I do. I hate Alister and everything about him.”
DeVille doesn’t say anything. He only leans back in his chair with a smirk.
”What?”
”I just think that you’re starting to embrace yourself,” he answers. I look confused beneath the mask, I’m sure of it.
”What I mean, is that you’re starting to shed the skin of Jameson Henry. You’re beginning to embrace the things that makes you, the real you, an amazing human being. Your love for those around you, your adoration and kindness to children, especially those less fortunate, recognizing that you don’t love Alister Henry… It all matters.”
”How did you know about the children thing?”
”I told you I’ve followed you since before you ever stepped foot in my office. That hasn’t changed simply because you’re my client.”
”You saw the promo,” I assume. ”Frankie Rickle and his father.”
”I did. And I notice that little Frankie disarmed you and broke the wall you’ve built around yourself rather easily.”
”He’s a good boy.”
”Philanthropy seems to give you a particular kind of high that no amount of drugs can duplicate.”
”It does, yeah.”
”Helping those that maybe aren’t as fortunate as you are gives you internal satisfaction.”
That’s great Doc. Tell me things I already know.
”Let’s move on now, Jaime, to the subject I wanted you to think about a few sessions ago.”
Gaahhhhh.
”Your choice of song is concerning to me on different levels than anything else we have discussed,” he explains.
”I just like the song,” I lie. I do like the song but that’s not why I chose it.
”The song talks of suicide. Multiple attempts, Jaime. And finally succeeding by the end.
“Have you had those thoughts?”
”No,” I answer quickly and emphatically.
”You’re sure?”
”I had a friend in school. His name was Curtis,” I begin.
”Was Curtis,” he picks out.
”He passed away a little over a year ago,” I tell him. ”He didn’t have a good relationship with his parents. They’re rich and spent most of their time abroad, leaving him at boarding school all year round.
“They never even called him on his birthdays. If he was lucky, he’d get a few grand deposited into his expense account. They didn’t come see him, or get him on holidays. They mostly just ignored his existence.”
”That’s sad, really.”
”You know how they say money doesn’t buy happiness and the argument from some of those that are less fortunate is always ‘say that when you’re struggling to keep the lights on’?
“It’s true.
“Sure, money makes day to day living much easier, but it doesn’t make life better. Less fortunate people hold a certain animosity towards the more affluent because ‘they have so much money, what do they have to complain about.’
“Money doesn’t create happiness.
“Curtis was a good person. Loved by many at school. But he was never loved by those he always sought love from. His family. The people that created him, barely gave a shit about him.”
I take a deep breath. Talking about Curtis hurts.
”I tried my best to fill the void in his heart, by inviting him to my house for holidays so he wasn’t alone and felt loved. I told him many times that I loved him and I meant it. I still love him and I still mean it. I miss him so much.
“I know I made him happy by being his friend and loving him, but it still wasn’t enough because I wasn’t his mother or father, only his friend.”
”So the song choice was never about you,” he says with a sigh of relief.
”People begin to hate those they loved for taking their own lives, always arguing that they took the easy way out.
“I’d argue that taking ones own life is the hardest thing they’ve ever done. Walk a mile in another mans shoes, as they say. I get it. I get the animosity some hold against those that use suicide as the final solution. But they’re missing the point of suicide. It’s not for attention. It’s not to make people cry or to force people to miss them.
“They do it to end the pain and suffering, or guilt, or what have you. They do it because they feel that there’s no other option to end the emotional suffering that they’ve endured throughout their years.
“They feel like there’s no way out.”
”So you chose the song to memorialize your friend?”
”And to warn others against that option. Suicide doesn’t fix your issues, it only ends the possibility of them ever getting any better.”
”Are you mad at him, for ending his life?”
I had to think about it. It’s an easy question but a complicated answer.
”No I don’t think so. I miss him, I love him. I wish I could have filled the void that his parents created by their absence.”
”You think you did everything you could have done?”
”There were only two people that could have changed what he did. One of them couldn’t be bothered to put down his golf clubs long enough to fly to Connecticut and bury his son.
“He may as well have buckled the belt around his neck himself.”
”Curtis hung himself,” he states with a sad tone.
”Yeah,” I confirm while reaching under my mask to wipe away a few tears.
”How did you become friends?”
”I sat beside him in homeroom,” I answered. ”He was popular, but made it a point to welcome the new kid. We were fast friends. He had the kind of personality that endeared him to everyone that knew him.
“No one ever said a bad word about him.”
I stop talking abruptly as I reflect on my friendship, reflect on the big loss in the world created by his passing.
”What are you thinking about?”
”Curtis,” I say quickly. ”The last time I saw him. He had been away a few months. Many assumed he was actually with his family but I knew the truth of it. He was in a psychiatric ward after a failed attempt to take his life.
“I was in line at a Wendy’s across from campus waiting to order. I’m a big guy by every man standards, but Curtis was bigger. Stood over me by four inches. He was heavy set, weighed like 280 and strong as a fuckin’ ox.
“He came up behind me and put me in a big bear hug. He was on his way to meet with the school chancellor but stopped for a quick bite. We ate together. We chatted about life and how he was feeling. He felt good and I had no reason to think otherwise.
“When we parted he gave me a big hug and I was happy to return it. He told me “anyone fucks with you, tell ‘em come see Big Curt.”
”Did people mess with you a lot?”
”Not really, that was his way of saying thank you for being his friend.
“He hung himself about two hours later.
“The choice of Ghost is twofold. It memorializes my friend who I love and if it reaches even one XWF viewer and has them reconsider, then it’s all worth it.”
I love Curtis. I still think of him everyday. Whether I’m sitting around playing Red Dead which he made fun of me for mourning the loss of my trusty steed for six whole months, or sitting in a Wendy’s drive thru, or simply when I’m alone with my thoughts. I don’t hate thinking about him. I love thinking about him. His smile, his boisterous laugh, his sense of humor, the love and compassion we both shared for animals and each other. I find myself wondering often, what he’d be five years from now. He wanted to go into social work. There’s virtually no money in social work, but it speaks to the kind of person he was. He cared deeply, as I do, for the less fortunate. He wanted to help troubled kids become their best selves.
Curtis Joseph changed the lives of everyone he ever knew, for the better. This world could have used a man like him. I know I am a better person for having known him and I’ll never forget him as long as I live. I’ll never stop thinking about him because as long as I do, he’s never truly gone.
It sucks that he’s gone from the mortal world. There’s no other way of putting it. I miss him terribly and I still cry from time to time if I think too long. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m proud to wear my heart on my sleeve.
<3CJB<3
I said I was going to embarrass Gage Gannon and I did. I said I was going to beat Gage Gannon and I did. I humbled the mouthy mother fucker before the eyes of millions and I was happy to do it.
But not for the sweet taste of victory.
I’ve won plenty of matches throughout my career and I’ve lost some too.
Gage Gannon came on strong, insisting he could get into my head and doubt myself and my abilities. The fact is, it was I who got into his head. It was I who made him doubt himself and it showed on Warfare.
If I said I wasn’t satisfied by beating him, I’d be lying. It felt great to be back in the ring with my legion behind me. It felt great to beat the shit out of another human being while also having the shit beat out of me.
It felt good to have my hand raised in victory but I promise you, that satisfying feeling of victory paled in comparison to looking at the sting of defeat on his face. What I’m saying is that Gage Gannon losing was more satisfying than simply me winning.
It’s the little things, man…
The next step on my path to the Hall of Legends is Evan Jackson. I’ve never heard of him, but that’s not a shot. Maybe it should be, but it surely isn’t. I’m not intent on sitting here defaming a man only because I never heard of him. I’m here to win. I’m here to make memories and put asses in seats.
I have never failed to do those last two. Failure is inevitable in this business as it pertains to winning. We all do it. Sometimes, we’re just not at our best.
My best, is better than Evan Jackson’s best. How do I know that? Because the man is 42 in a young mans game and I’ve never heard of him. Again, not a shot, just an observation. If he was an XWF veteran with titles and accolades on his resume it might give me pause, but not much. The competition in the XWF is unlike any other company on the planet.
He might be a wrestling veteran, but he’s not an XWF veteran and that means I’m not impressed. It doesn’t mean I’ll take him lightly, I’ve been in the ring with veterans and I have learned something each and every time. I expect this one will go no differently in that regard.
I will learn something.
But I’ll also be victorious.
Why?
Because no matter the opponent, I have the confidence in myself to know that I can and will get the job done. Evan Jackson is just another rung on the chaotic ladder of stardom. One I fully intend to step on, over and through. Whatever it takes. It is my hand that will be raised. It is my win total that will increase. It is my name that will burn ever so slightly brighter.
It’s not because he can’t.
It’s because I can.