LOOKATCHALOOKATCHALOOKATCHA

You should kill yourself, Luca. No one will miss you.
Luca stared blankly at the glass of champagne in front of him as the thumping music vibrated his seat. Zane had spared no expenses for their celebration; evidenced by the $800+ bottle of champagne he sprung for and the choice of location. He'd forgotten the name already, but Zane assured him it was one of the most exclusive night clubs in the city of Los Angeles.

"To Ghost Tank," Zane had said with glass held high earlier in the night, his voice drowned out by the music. The guests heard him though, or at the very least had an idea of what he said, as a choir of voices echoed him immediately before sipping their pricey drinks.

Luca couldn't help but wonder why Zane had organized this little get together. He chalked it up to inexperience; Zane wasn't new to this career field, but he was out of his element in the world of wrestling. Luca knew better than anyone at the party that no one really retires in wrestling. Tank would be back sooner rather than later. Some one-off match, another run, something. Anything. There was a small amount of pride and a large amount of insanity that came with being a professional wrestler, more so than any other sport and he didn't think Zane recognized that.

Still, he couldn't complain about the party itself. It was a nice change of pace from his usual routine of snorting cocaine in the bathroom of a shitty motel. Plus, watching the look of confusion on the faces of Zane's other clients as they repeated Ghost Tank's name was worth the price of admission alone. Of course no one other than Zane, Austin, and himself knew who the guy was. Of course.

He'd been exchanging bashful glances with what he presumed to be another of Zane's clients; a petite brunette who looked about as out of place as he did. She didn't approach him, and he reasoned that his semi-committed relationship status barred him from making the first move.

"Surprised Kingsley has this many clients."

Luca turned his head to see Austin Fernando standing to his left and chuckled.

"Shit man, you're telling me. I was starting to think we were the only people dumb enough to fall for his bullshit."

"For real."

Austin tapped his chin, as if pondering how to word what he was going to say next.

"Have to say, you're surprising me tonight."

Luca raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.

"This is a party, isn't it? Your habits aren't exactly a secret."

Luca chuckled. "Not used to this upper echelon shit, I guess."

Austin shook his head.

"No, it isn't that. You're losing it, aren't you? Your edge. That drive. Worse than that. You've already lost it. You're on autopilot. You're dead, and don't know it yet. Like Cyren. What was it you said about him?

"The bacteria's eating you from the inside."

Luca's eyes widened and he stood up, grabbing his glass.

"Yes, run away Luca. Retreat. Take some more of that shit in your pocket. It's medicinal, right?

"Better yet.

"Just lay down and die."

Luca's vision blurred.

His grip loosened.

The glass slipped from his hand.

It felt like the world was moving in slow motion as the glass fell to the floor, shattering on impact.

Then, with the sound of glass breaking, Luca's knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, eyes shut.

Blackness.
Click.
The grass was cold and damp and the moon hung high the sky as Luca pushed himself off the ground. He blinked a couple of times to correct his blurred vision as he made it to his feet.

"You're an asshole. You know that, right?"

The words echoed around him as he struggled to keep himself on his feet. He recognized the voice instantly. Victoria. He pressed one hand to his head and stared straight ahead. His childhood home. Albany, New York. No, it couldn't be. He was in Los Angeles.

"Will you marry me?"

He covered his ears as his own words replaced Victoria's, and made his way towards the house. He didn't know what else to do.

As he approached the porch, a gunshot cut through the air and reverberated; drowning out his proposal. He gritted his teeth and shook his head furiously, tears welling up in his eyes. He threw his hand down atop the back door's handle and turned it.

Unlocked.

He stepped into the house on his tiptoes, the gunshot following him with each step.

In the living room, his father and mother stood frozen in one of their classic arguments, illuminated by the static of a television screen. As if he'd lost control of his hands, the fingers on his left hand formed themselves into the shape of gun, which he aimed at the silhouettes.

First his father.

He pulled the imaginary trigger and the gunshot echoed again.

Then his mother.

Both collapsed to the floor like ragdolls.

The tears were flowing freely at this point, but he made no sound as he made his way through the rest of the house. The pictures on the wall had fallen to the floor; frames broken, pictures torn and scribbled out.

He made his way up the stairs and wandered into the bathroom at the end of the hall. The sink was already filled with water, which he dunked his head into, grimacing as the frigid liquid stung his face.

As he pulled his head out of the bowl, he looked into the mirror.

A different face greeted him.

A different him.


Footsteps approached. He turned from the mirror to the doorway, where he saw himself, age six, standing. Eyes wide, mouth agape. Clad in Batman footie pajamas.

"Who are you?"

His mouth moved on his own accord as he pointed the finger gun at his younger self.

"I'm you, kid.

"I'm the devil."

He pulled the imaginary trigger once more.
If only it were that simple.
Hit 'em with the real shit pussy.
He was back in Los Angeles.
jump
Standing on the edge of a rooftop, at one with the skyline. He looked over the edge at the people down below. They looked like ants. Scurrying down the sidewalk, eager to get where they needed to be. He shook his head. He'd escaped his hallucinations of Albany but he didn't escape Victoria's wrath.
Jump
"You're an asshole. You know that, right?"

The words echoed endlessly, growing louder, ever louder. He sighed, swallowed a mouthful of spit, and pulled out a Tracfone. Zane had given it to him, along with his and Austin's number in case he "needed to get a hold of either of them". He called Austin's number and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"You're going to have to find yourself a new partner."

Austin sounded incensed. "What the--"
JUMP
Luca dropped the phone over the edge, sighed, and followed it down to the pavement.

Like the glass, he fell in slow motion.
Do a flip.
His heart failed to beat.

He was numb.

He closed his eyes to see the smiling visage of Zane Kingsley III in the blackness.
This is all you are and you'll ever be.
Then he hit the ground.