"This is supposed to be a war of words, ain't it? Forgive me if I'm wrong about that and this is actually a competition to see just how far you can sink yourself with your own words, but if I am right, did Christopher just do the equivalent to shooting himself in the mouth and slowly bleeding to death in a foxhole? Because goddamn, I don't think I've heard so much half-cocked, poorly thought through bullshit since, well, the last time I heard the guy speak.

"Or, stripping it down to the simplest I can say it; Chris you're fucking awful at this talking thing.

"The cruel irony here is that Chris here likes to provoke these little exchanges, despite A, lacking any of the skills needed to win a battle of wits, namely wit, and B, the fact that these little exchanges are completely superfluous. Or, since you're pretty adamant about not knowing what words mean, if your little "I don't even know what that means!" upon hearing the phrase pseudo-intellectual (which you definitely are, in case there's still any confusion there) is any indication let me fill you in. Superfluous means unnecessary. Bit of a five dollar word yes, but it ain't archaic. Which means old.

"So again, I ask you this question, and I want a legitimate fucking answer this time, why bother? Why bother with all the shit talk, especially when you're awful at it?

"To get my attention?

"Let me fill you in on a bit of news that's pretty important. You've had my attention since I saw we were booked against each other. The difference between you and I, aside from my ability to use more of the words available to me by the English language than you and my "drinking problem," which I'll get to later, is that I don't need to initiate a battle of wits to show that I'm paying attention. Because, I reiterate, and please turn on your ears because on the off chance you actually understand anything I say in this promo, I want it to be this.

"These battles of wits are completely irrelevant.

"Now I know the wheel in your head is slowly turning and you're forming this idea. If I don't think these things are worth anything, why am I humoring you?

"Because, where I'm from you don't let people talk shit to ya without putting up a fight and since the day we meet in the ring is still a while away, this has to do. And since ya seem to love this little game so much, what better way to kill time than to beat a braindead, bravado filled idiot at his own game?

"Remember, you started this.

"I wouldn't have opened my mouth if you didn't do it first.

"But since we're both playing this fucking game, how about we go over some of the other shit you said that I'm sure sounded a whole lot better in your head than they do in reality.

"Like the pedestal ya put yourself on because ya beat Peter the last time faced him. And how ya fought off Dim and his crew after.

"That's all fine and dandy, but let me drop a name I'm sure you're familiar with.

"Robbie Bourbon.

"Now, again, since I know ya ain't the brightest bulb in the box ya might be questioning why I mention him but in reality it's very simple. First time you two faced off, ya won.

"Second time? He beat ya.

"Do ya see how much a previous victory actually means when it comes to facing someone again? Not a damn thing. It don't matter that ya beat Peter once, that ya managed to fight off Dim and his cronies once. Matter of fact, it probably hurts ya more than anything. You think ya got this in the bag, don't ya? Facing Gilmour and some drunkard, which again, I'll get to.

"Blind to anything resembling a rational thought.

"Hell, let's look further into your dealings with Dim's cronies. Last time ya dealt with any of the Dim clan in a wrestling capacity, ya lost to Ellis Bolton so hell, there goes your one over on them.

"Keep saying dumb stuff though, I'm willing and able to prove how borderline pants-on-head you are.

"Though, I don't think even any of that holds a candle to when he says it's our job to engage in this verbal battles.

"I gotta tell ya a secret, Chris.

"Our job is to wrestle.

"We get paid to fight. Not to yap about random bullshit. Nice try though.

"Also, it ain't any surprise ya don't understand idioms. You don't understand a whole lot.

"And I guess I put it off enough, but all these shots at me for havin' a drinking habit.

"How'd ya even get that idea in your head? Because I fought in a bar's basement and because I drank at a bar during one of these little snippets of my life that got leaked?

"Heads up, that ain't an alcoholic.

"Try again.

"But hey, if ya want to dismiss me like I'm nothing go right ahead. Don't bother preparing or anything, I'm a complete pushover. You got a plan. You got all the answers.

"At least until I punch you in the mouth.

"Again and again.

"Until I drop you to the mat a few times.

"Until finally, I drop you so hard you don't get back up. Then ya can stare up at the ceiling as the world spins around ya and realize that everything you've choked on every word that came outta your mouth.

"Steve, I don't know ya, and ya don't know me but for everyone's sake, can ya please buy a muzzle for your partner?

"Poor guy just keeps saying dumber and dumber stuff. You really ought to be glad we're wrestlers and not public speakers, eh?"

Where did we leave off?

"Guess I don't know how to do that anymore."

The words replayed in Dominic's head like a broken record. Looping incessantly, boring, needling into the deepest recesses of his brain like a drill splattering bits of gray matter against the walls of his skull. His eyes hurt as he stared blankly ahead at the car parallel parked in front of his. He propped his head up with his hand as he absentmindedly reached for the seat belt buckle.

His fingers hovered over the buckle as he blinked and kept his eyes clenched shut.

For a moment it was like none of it ever happened. He was back in his old house with Liza and James, and everything was right.

"Dominic?"

All it took was that one word to snap him back to reality.

His eyes snapped back open and he found himself still in the driver's seat. Still staring blankly into space. Still strapped to his seat. He turned his head to the source of the voice and there she was.

Dr. Paquet.

Dominic couldn't remember the reason she gave for wanting to see his apartment and he didn't care all that much. He told himself repeatedly that he didn't want her around but he couldn't help but smile when he saw her.

"Are you okay?"

He shook the cobwebs out of his head and chuckled.

"Yeah, just got a bit, distracted."

She flashed him a comforting smile.

"Just remember, it doesn't have to be all at once."

Dominic sighed and unbuckled the seat belt, before getting out of the car. She mimicked his actions, and a couple minutes later they were standing outside the door leading into his apartment. Dominic unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on the lights as he crossed the threshold.

"Nice place you got here."

Startled, Dominic looked to his right, towards the voice.

As he looked at the woman sitting on his couch, he felt a knot in his throat. His hands went numb, his eyes wide. His mouth hung agape as he struggled to form words, finally settling on just one.

"Liza?"