Post by Rated R on Apr 22, 2018 12:55:11 GMT -5
Tyler Draven Presents
Cracks
The Visitor
I’ve never been a morning person. You’d think after two years of looking after Lucy, including 6am starts to help her into her chair and get her ready for school, I’d be used to it, but no, anything before sunrise is not my idea of a good time. Or a good while after it for that matter. Yet here I am, a little after 7, hitting the ten mile point in the basement gym of the hotel that Anders organised for me. I should have spent last night celebrating. First match, first win, fair and square. But instead I sat in my room, barely able to sleep, thinking of the same thing I’ve been thinking about for two weeks now.
The noise of Trace Demon’s skull as I nearly caved it in. The blood pouring out of his skull.
Every waking moment when my mind’s not occupied by something else that’s all I can think about. That and the fact that my own sister doesn’t even want to speak to me. I knew doing what I did wasn’t going to be easy, but I didn’t think it’d haunt me this much. But I did it for the right reasons, I know I did, and if I have to suffer so I can make sure Lucy has a comfortable life… well then I’ll suffer, all day, every day. That’s what it’s worth. But as I crank up the speed on the treadmill to distract myself I can’t help but wonder whether I knew it’d be this hard, or if some part of me thought I’d forget it all, that I’d move on with my life like nothing had ever happened. Maybe I thought Trace had rubbed off on enough that I wouldn’t second guess hurting someone like that.
F*ck, was I wrong.
I keep on running until my legs and lungs can’t take anymore, which takes another three miles, and then slow to a steady walk, then a complete stop. My eyes sting from the sweat and I have to down a bottle and a half of water before I feel even semi-human again. Never was too big on cardio, or the gym for that matter, but can’t risk gassing myself out in that ring. If I want any hope of going from beating people like Bison to standing toe to toe with a guy like Kyzer or Brennan then… well, I’m gonna need a sh*t ton more than just good cardio but let’s focus on one panic inducing thing at a time, right?
"Tyler Draven, found you at last."
Talk about panic inducing.
"Ms. Nix? Excuse the language but… what the f*ck are you doing here? Wait…"
My heart skips.
"Are you here on your own or…"
"Don’t worry that naive little mind of yours Tyler, Trace isn’t here. In fact that would be extremely difficult given his current situation, don’t you think?"
Right, the coma. She’s got a point, that’d do a pretty good job of impairing anybody’s travel arrangements. Doesn’t make her presence here any less f*cking petrifying. Elinor Nix is a scary chick, no doubts about it, but you’ve probably got to be if Trace Demon of all people is gonna trust you with all his business dealings. At least, that’s what I think she did, Trace never really let me in on any of that. Probably didn’t trust me. Guess he had reason not to… Also, I heard her and Trace liked to bang, so there’s that to.
"Now I understand what you’re thinking-"
I mean now I’m thinking of her naked so not f*cking likely.
"But I’m here on business. What happened between you and Trace, as messed up as it may sound, has no baring on me, and I’m not going to pretend it does."
"That’s pretty cold."
"Coming from you?"
Point taken.
"Despite what you might believe Tyler, myself and Trace Demon were business associates, nothing more. I had no connection to him beyond that, and I certainly didn’t like or dislike him, one way or the other. As a boss, he was fine, as a person? Well I won’t shed any tears over his current predicament. That’s not to say that others aren’t. Trace Demon had a family, after all."
Way to remind me. Emily, Caitlin, Eliza… f*ck man, he had a daughter. A f*cking four year old kid.
"Regardless, my job’s still the same as it always was, to manage Trace Demon’s businesses and estate, which brings me to my reason for being here. A couple of months ago Trace entrusted me with a number of letters. This one is for you."
She hands me an envelope, my name scrawled in Trace’s handwriting on the front of it.
"A letter? Why?"
"I was told not to open it, or to give it to anyone unless something happened to Trace that would leave him out of the picture. I think I’m safe in saying that this would count as being out of the picture, wouldn’t you?"
Who even writes letters anymore? Never pegged Trace as the sentimental sort.
"Are you sure this isn’t filled with anthrax or a bomb or something?"
"Not at all. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave it until I’m at a safe distance before opening it."
Reassuring.
"Anything else?"
She hesitates, which makes me more worried about what she’s gonna say that whatever biological weapon could be in this bloody envelope.
"They reckon there’s currently a twenty percent chance that Trace will wake up within the next six months. If I was you I’d start praying to whoever you believe in that doesn’t happen. Or don’t, I don’t really care."
And with that she takes her leave, and I’m left holding a letter at eight in the morning in the basement gym of a hotel. It’s been an odd start. I tuck the letter into my bag, tell myself I’ll read it later, but that’s a lie. The one upside of Elinor’s visit is that I’m not just thinking about the sound a barbed wire bat makes when it hits flesh and bone, now I’m thinking about what happens if and when Trace Demon wakes up, because sure, I could take her advice and start praying, but let’s be honest here, after what I did… who’d even listen to me?
< *** >
Pre-Flight Entertainment
Another show means another city, so I’m bunkered down for the next two hours at LAX, waiting for the flight to Philly. Trace hated airports, couldn’t stand all the people, he preferred to drive whenever he could, even if it took two days to travel from one side of the country to the next sometimes. Me? I don’t mind airports, people don’t bother me as long as they let me keep to myself, and it’s a hell of a lot better than being stuck in a car for sixteen hours listening to Trace’s rants.
Course it’d probably be a different story if I was stuck in here with Anders. In the two weeks I’ve had him as my ‘handler’ or whatever sh*t Lila called it I’ve quickly clicked as to why Trace thought so little of him. The guy’s a tool, grade A all the way. Everything he talks about is just so f*cking dull. Sure, he’s had a tough time of it the past year, what with his daughter ending up in a coma and all, but apparently she woke up a few weeks back, not long after I bludgeoned Trace’s head in. You’d think he’d be back home looking after her instead of trailing around after me trying to relive his glory days, if he ever had any, but from what I can tell his ex-wife can’t stand the sight of him and would probably kill him if he was hanging around all the time.
Can’t say I’d blame her.
Luckily for me he headed back home for a few days to check in on her so I get to fly out in piece. He’ll be meeting me on the other side to take my to the hotel, because I can’t be trusted to make it on my own, but I’ll take peace and quiet wherever and whenever I can get it, especially when it means I can sneak in a sh*tty airport burger. I get it, I’m a ‘professional wrestler’ now, I need to load up on healthy sh*t and protein or whatever, but come on, it’s not the easiest thing to be eating when you’re sitting opposite Anders shovelling whatever the sloppiest burger in the place is down his throat. The guy could do with listening to his own advice.
I check my phone, not sure what I’m expecting, the only person that messages me nowadays is Anders and I’ve muted the f*ck out of him. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a mother and son. The kid, probably about thirteen, fourteen, is pointing at me, which immediately turns my gut. I might be fine with people, but not when they’re actually paying attention to me. One thing I’m not used to is being noticed, and thank god barely anyone ever does. I didn’t get into this to make fans, don’t really care if people like me or not, I got into it to be paid to fight because I’m good at it and because it’s the only way I’ve got to make the money to help my sister. But Trace warned me people recognising you was part of parcel of being in this business.
"When people see you on TV, whether they like you or not, they want a part of you. They’ll want to speak to you just so they can go back and tell people they did, to make their own miserable f*cking lives feel more important."
Before I can move the kid’s pulled away from his mom and is already heading towards me. I’m a second too slow processing it to get the hell out of dodge and suddenly he’s right in the my face, this barely-a-teenager looking at me with wide eyes.
"You’re a wrestler, right?!"
He says it with such enthusiasm, like it’s something to be proud of. Hard to believe I thought the same when I was his age. Hell, I thought the same this time last year. Now though…
"Wrong guy, sorry kid."
"No, it’s definitely you. You’re the baseball bat guy, the one who bashed Trace Demon’s head in!"
F*ck. He’s not even a fan of me as a wrestler, he’s a fan of me as a butcher.
"Kid, I’m telling you I’m-"
"I can’t believe it’s you! I thought what you did to Trace was awesome!"
What?
"Seriously, you messed him up! It was so cool, he never saw it coming! Can I get your autograph?"
I’m too shocked to say anything, so I just scrawl my signature on whatever piece of paper. Of all the reactions I thought that massacre would get I didn’t think awe would be one of them.
"When my mom lets me I’m gonna become a wrestler too, and then I’ll get to hit people with bats as well!"
"Jason!"
And now the mom’s here, dragging the kid away, running him down, sending him off to his dad. The kid’s smile never fades, he stares at the autograph, grinning from ear to ear. The mom doesn’t follow, she stares at me, like I’ve killed her f*cking dog or something.
"I know who you are."
"Um… okay?"
"You should be ashamed of yourself."
"What now?"
"What you did was disgusting! People saw that, my son saw that, but you don’t care, do you? Because you’re sick. Don’t argue with me, you know it’s true!"
She started firm, but now she’s shouting, and people are starting to stare. I’ve never felt so awkward.
"You don’t hit someone with a bat over and over unless you’re sick in the head. You shouldn’t be wrestling, you should be locked up! How can you live with yourself? Going around hurting people like that! Do you ever think what you’re doing to them, to their family? You’re ruining people and you should be ashamed of yourself! Your parents must be absolutely disgusted with you!"
"Oh shut the f*ck up."
If everyone wasn’t already staring they sure as hell are now, but honestly? I don’t care. Not sure if it was the parents jab or just my patience wearing so thin it’s non-existent but I’ve had enough of this b*tch.
"One, my parents are dead, so I don’t think they care all that much. Two, you’ve got no f*cking idea what you’re talking about, Trace Demon was a monster and I did what I did because it was the right thing to do. Three, the only person here who should be ashamed of themselves is you. I mean come on, that kid’s what? Twelve? Thirteen? And you’re letting him watch sh*t like the WFWF? That ain’t no family viewing. Hell, people have gotten f*cking shanked on live TV! So why don’t you worry less about what I’m doing and more about raising your kid so he doesn’t turn into the next f*cking Obo or something. F*cks sake."
I grab my bag and storm off, ignoring the woman’s dumbstruck stare. Maybe I should start driving around after all.
< *** >
Good Guy, Bad Guy
A five hour flight later and we land in Philly without any more incidents. Anders is waiting for me on the other side. He looks more miserable than normal.
"Lila is pissed."
"Maybe she should quit day drinking then."
I walk past him, letting him trail behind me even though I’ve got no idea where he’s parked.
"What were you thinking?"
"I mean I thought it’d be funny, but I guess our sense of humour is a bit different."
"No, about this!"
He pulls out his phone and shoves it into my hands. I stare at the screen, watching my run-in with that b*tch of a mom earlier today. Whoever thought every phone needing a video camera was a good idea is a f*cking d*ck.
"She started it Anders."
"That’s not the point! This right here, this is some Trace Demon level sh*t! This is a god damned sh*t storm! A PR nightmare! You already had an uphill battle to repair your reputation after that massacre but we could make that work with the whole doing what’s right thing-"
"I was doing what was right."
"Right, okay, sure. But this Tyler, there’s no way of playing this off where you come out looking good."
I eventually spot his Mercedes in the parking lot, did I mention Anders is in the midst of a midlife crisis? I chuck my bag on the backseat and climb into the passengers seat. Anders gets behind the wheel, not even slowing down for air as he keeps mouthing off.
"Lila’s got a lot invested in you Tyler, and she needs to make sure everyone knows that you’re someone they can support in spite of what you did."
"In spite of?! She wasn’t saying that when she asked me to bash a man’s skull in!"
"Look no matter whether it was the right thing to do, and trust me, it was, what you did to Trace isn’t the actions of a ‘good guy’, so it’s extremely important right now that you project a good public image. I didn’t think that’d be a problem for you Tyler."
He’s right. What happened back at LAX was out of character. That’s not me.
"I blew up at her, I messed up, I get it. But she was poking at me Anders, she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about."
"Maybe not, but that’s not the way the world works. People talk without knowing the full story, hell, it’s what the entire world is based on. But you know the full story, you know what you did was right, that don’t change based on what people say. But you’ve gotta realise that people are still gonna try and call you out on it, because that’s just the way it works."
"So I’m meant to just keep my mouth shut?"
"When it comes to the fans? Hell yes. These people pay your wages. Or more accurately, they pay for the sponsors products and the sponsors pay your wages. You cause too much trouble for the company then don’t think for a moment Lila won’t cut you, you’re not a big enough star to get away with sh*t like that."
"Right, sure."
That’s what it all boils down to. I’m not a ‘big enough star’, because that makes any difference to my actions. The likes of Kyzer and Schneider can get away with whatever they want because of their name value, but I’m a bad guy because nobody knows who I am. But if that’s the only difference between me and them then am I really any better? Am I really the kind of guy kids should be looking up to? What makes me different than any of the other sociopaths on the roster? If I was that kid, if I was watching a guy crush a guys skull in… would I really think the guy with the bat was a good guy?
…
Hours later I’m in my room at the hotel, my mind still running over that very question. I dig through my bag, looking for my razer, when I find something I stuffed in here ten days back, something I haven’t had the courage to pull out since then.
Trace’s letter.
I hold it in my hand, running my finger along the crease of the envelope. I begin to pull at one end, wondering what Trace Demon would have written to me before I smashed his head in. What this guy, who trusted me, well, as much as he trusted anyone, only for me to betray him and possibly end his career. I think about all the possibilities, all the reasons he’d write me a letter in the first place. And I stop. I shove it back into my bag and I leave it there.
Because right now, with everything else swirling through my brain, the last thing I need are the words of the man I butchered…
< *** >
Tyler Draven. Jason Sykes. People seem to be comparing those two names a lot right now. Apparently if you’ve got a couple of things in common you may as well be the same person in the eyes of wrestling fans, but let’s be honest here, the people comparing us are just grasping at straws. Let’s break things down, piece by piece. First off, you’ve got the fact that we’re both trained by ‘great mentors’. Not my words, let’s make that clear right now. See I was trained by a Hall of Famer, a former two time World Champion, a man who hung around for over ten years and made himself a household name. You? You were trained by a guy called Devilkiller. I mean come on, how desperate was he to be EXTREME that he decided on that for a f*cking ring name. Sure, Trace Demon’s not much better, but at least that was the guy’s real name, not some sh*tty horror film name he thought was cool. Sad thing is that’s the only memorable thing about the guy. Yeah, he had a pretty long run as National Champion, but that’s like saying he’s good at lacrosse.
Nobody f*cking cares man.
Then there’s all the talk about how we both won on our debuts, but again, let’s look at the facts. I beat Brandon Bison, a guy who, yeah, sure, he’s not done much of anything really, but at least he’s a name. He’s been around the WFWF longer than a hot minute, people know who he is. Hell, at least he’s won a match before. You? You beat the janitor. Now that’s not a slight on Billy Broom at all, the guy’s doing something nobody thought he could do and he’s not doing completely sh*t at it, but if you can’t beat the guy who cleans up the blood after the show then you probably shouldn’t be in the ring in the first place. Now sure, you’re probably riding pretty high after that win and don’t let me put you down man, but I’m trying to do things a bit differently to the guy who trained me and be honest with everyone, so let me be honest with you.
I’m a bit insulted people think there’s anything worth comparing. Now I don’t want to sound arrogant, because I know I’m not the most polished guy around here, and I’m not saying that you’ve not got talent either, I’m just saying what you’ve done and what I’ve done in the WFWF are on two different levels, and saying they’re even remotely similar is a f*cking insult to the guy who beat an actual wrestler last show. Now it’ll probably be hard to not take that the wrong way, but to be honest I don’t care all that much how you do take it, cause as far as I’m concerned it’s the truth. Last show I got handed a challenge, and you got handed a cakewalk, so when I see people saying this’ll answer who’s the contender and who’s the pretender I can’t help but laugh, because right now the only thing you’ve proven you’re a contender for is the sh*ttest catchphrase.
Come on man! "Always believe in yourself because in the end you’ll always have yourself?" What the f*ck even is that? Man, a catchphrase is meant to be catchy, it’s meant to be something you can sell some T-shirts with. Only place you’re selling sh*t with believe in myself on is the self-help section of your local hipster book store. I get what you’re selling here, but take it from someone who’s actually had to look out for himself most of his life, words don’t mean sh*t. Telling people to believe in themselves? It’s not gonna help them, not one bit. You want to help those people? You tell them the truth. You tell them that life is f*cking hard and that sometimes you’ve gotta do sh*t you’re not proud of, and if you can’t dig up the balls to do that when it counts, when it helps you and your family, then you don’t deserve to believe in yourself or any of that sh*t, because there ain’t nothing about yourself worth believing in.
Me? I’m not gonna sit here and shout off generic crap about believing in myself, because the only thing I care about is doing my talking in the ring. When we step in there Sykes you can talk all you want, but I won’t be listening. I’ll be fighting, because I’ve done too much to get cut down here to the likes of you. That don’t mean you’re gonna get any crap from me, because I’m gonna keep proving that I can get this done fair and square, but I promise you right here, right now that I’ll keep fighting until my last breath to make sure I keep winning, because right now that’s all I’ve got. So call it desperation, call it determination, call it whatever you want, the only thing that matters is that I’m gonna tear you apart to make sure that people know there are no comparisons between people like me and you.
And you can believe in that.
Cracks
The Visitor
I’ve never been a morning person. You’d think after two years of looking after Lucy, including 6am starts to help her into her chair and get her ready for school, I’d be used to it, but no, anything before sunrise is not my idea of a good time. Or a good while after it for that matter. Yet here I am, a little after 7, hitting the ten mile point in the basement gym of the hotel that Anders organised for me. I should have spent last night celebrating. First match, first win, fair and square. But instead I sat in my room, barely able to sleep, thinking of the same thing I’ve been thinking about for two weeks now.
The noise of Trace Demon’s skull as I nearly caved it in. The blood pouring out of his skull.
Every waking moment when my mind’s not occupied by something else that’s all I can think about. That and the fact that my own sister doesn’t even want to speak to me. I knew doing what I did wasn’t going to be easy, but I didn’t think it’d haunt me this much. But I did it for the right reasons, I know I did, and if I have to suffer so I can make sure Lucy has a comfortable life… well then I’ll suffer, all day, every day. That’s what it’s worth. But as I crank up the speed on the treadmill to distract myself I can’t help but wonder whether I knew it’d be this hard, or if some part of me thought I’d forget it all, that I’d move on with my life like nothing had ever happened. Maybe I thought Trace had rubbed off on enough that I wouldn’t second guess hurting someone like that.
F*ck, was I wrong.
I keep on running until my legs and lungs can’t take anymore, which takes another three miles, and then slow to a steady walk, then a complete stop. My eyes sting from the sweat and I have to down a bottle and a half of water before I feel even semi-human again. Never was too big on cardio, or the gym for that matter, but can’t risk gassing myself out in that ring. If I want any hope of going from beating people like Bison to standing toe to toe with a guy like Kyzer or Brennan then… well, I’m gonna need a sh*t ton more than just good cardio but let’s focus on one panic inducing thing at a time, right?
"Tyler Draven, found you at last."
Talk about panic inducing.
"Ms. Nix? Excuse the language but… what the f*ck are you doing here? Wait…"
My heart skips.
"Are you here on your own or…"
"Don’t worry that naive little mind of yours Tyler, Trace isn’t here. In fact that would be extremely difficult given his current situation, don’t you think?"
Right, the coma. She’s got a point, that’d do a pretty good job of impairing anybody’s travel arrangements. Doesn’t make her presence here any less f*cking petrifying. Elinor Nix is a scary chick, no doubts about it, but you’ve probably got to be if Trace Demon of all people is gonna trust you with all his business dealings. At least, that’s what I think she did, Trace never really let me in on any of that. Probably didn’t trust me. Guess he had reason not to… Also, I heard her and Trace liked to bang, so there’s that to.
"Now I understand what you’re thinking-"
I mean now I’m thinking of her naked so not f*cking likely.
"But I’m here on business. What happened between you and Trace, as messed up as it may sound, has no baring on me, and I’m not going to pretend it does."
"That’s pretty cold."
"Coming from you?"
Point taken.
"Despite what you might believe Tyler, myself and Trace Demon were business associates, nothing more. I had no connection to him beyond that, and I certainly didn’t like or dislike him, one way or the other. As a boss, he was fine, as a person? Well I won’t shed any tears over his current predicament. That’s not to say that others aren’t. Trace Demon had a family, after all."
Way to remind me. Emily, Caitlin, Eliza… f*ck man, he had a daughter. A f*cking four year old kid.
"Regardless, my job’s still the same as it always was, to manage Trace Demon’s businesses and estate, which brings me to my reason for being here. A couple of months ago Trace entrusted me with a number of letters. This one is for you."
She hands me an envelope, my name scrawled in Trace’s handwriting on the front of it.
"A letter? Why?"
"I was told not to open it, or to give it to anyone unless something happened to Trace that would leave him out of the picture. I think I’m safe in saying that this would count as being out of the picture, wouldn’t you?"
Who even writes letters anymore? Never pegged Trace as the sentimental sort.
"Are you sure this isn’t filled with anthrax or a bomb or something?"
"Not at all. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave it until I’m at a safe distance before opening it."
Reassuring.
"Anything else?"
She hesitates, which makes me more worried about what she’s gonna say that whatever biological weapon could be in this bloody envelope.
"They reckon there’s currently a twenty percent chance that Trace will wake up within the next six months. If I was you I’d start praying to whoever you believe in that doesn’t happen. Or don’t, I don’t really care."
And with that she takes her leave, and I’m left holding a letter at eight in the morning in the basement gym of a hotel. It’s been an odd start. I tuck the letter into my bag, tell myself I’ll read it later, but that’s a lie. The one upside of Elinor’s visit is that I’m not just thinking about the sound a barbed wire bat makes when it hits flesh and bone, now I’m thinking about what happens if and when Trace Demon wakes up, because sure, I could take her advice and start praying, but let’s be honest here, after what I did… who’d even listen to me?
< *** >
Pre-Flight Entertainment
Another show means another city, so I’m bunkered down for the next two hours at LAX, waiting for the flight to Philly. Trace hated airports, couldn’t stand all the people, he preferred to drive whenever he could, even if it took two days to travel from one side of the country to the next sometimes. Me? I don’t mind airports, people don’t bother me as long as they let me keep to myself, and it’s a hell of a lot better than being stuck in a car for sixteen hours listening to Trace’s rants.
Course it’d probably be a different story if I was stuck in here with Anders. In the two weeks I’ve had him as my ‘handler’ or whatever sh*t Lila called it I’ve quickly clicked as to why Trace thought so little of him. The guy’s a tool, grade A all the way. Everything he talks about is just so f*cking dull. Sure, he’s had a tough time of it the past year, what with his daughter ending up in a coma and all, but apparently she woke up a few weeks back, not long after I bludgeoned Trace’s head in. You’d think he’d be back home looking after her instead of trailing around after me trying to relive his glory days, if he ever had any, but from what I can tell his ex-wife can’t stand the sight of him and would probably kill him if he was hanging around all the time.
Can’t say I’d blame her.
Luckily for me he headed back home for a few days to check in on her so I get to fly out in piece. He’ll be meeting me on the other side to take my to the hotel, because I can’t be trusted to make it on my own, but I’ll take peace and quiet wherever and whenever I can get it, especially when it means I can sneak in a sh*tty airport burger. I get it, I’m a ‘professional wrestler’ now, I need to load up on healthy sh*t and protein or whatever, but come on, it’s not the easiest thing to be eating when you’re sitting opposite Anders shovelling whatever the sloppiest burger in the place is down his throat. The guy could do with listening to his own advice.
I check my phone, not sure what I’m expecting, the only person that messages me nowadays is Anders and I’ve muted the f*ck out of him. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a mother and son. The kid, probably about thirteen, fourteen, is pointing at me, which immediately turns my gut. I might be fine with people, but not when they’re actually paying attention to me. One thing I’m not used to is being noticed, and thank god barely anyone ever does. I didn’t get into this to make fans, don’t really care if people like me or not, I got into it to be paid to fight because I’m good at it and because it’s the only way I’ve got to make the money to help my sister. But Trace warned me people recognising you was part of parcel of being in this business.
"When people see you on TV, whether they like you or not, they want a part of you. They’ll want to speak to you just so they can go back and tell people they did, to make their own miserable f*cking lives feel more important."
Before I can move the kid’s pulled away from his mom and is already heading towards me. I’m a second too slow processing it to get the hell out of dodge and suddenly he’s right in the my face, this barely-a-teenager looking at me with wide eyes.
"You’re a wrestler, right?!"
He says it with such enthusiasm, like it’s something to be proud of. Hard to believe I thought the same when I was his age. Hell, I thought the same this time last year. Now though…
"Wrong guy, sorry kid."
"No, it’s definitely you. You’re the baseball bat guy, the one who bashed Trace Demon’s head in!"
F*ck. He’s not even a fan of me as a wrestler, he’s a fan of me as a butcher.
"Kid, I’m telling you I’m-"
"I can’t believe it’s you! I thought what you did to Trace was awesome!"
What?
"Seriously, you messed him up! It was so cool, he never saw it coming! Can I get your autograph?"
I’m too shocked to say anything, so I just scrawl my signature on whatever piece of paper. Of all the reactions I thought that massacre would get I didn’t think awe would be one of them.
"When my mom lets me I’m gonna become a wrestler too, and then I’ll get to hit people with bats as well!"
"Jason!"
And now the mom’s here, dragging the kid away, running him down, sending him off to his dad. The kid’s smile never fades, he stares at the autograph, grinning from ear to ear. The mom doesn’t follow, she stares at me, like I’ve killed her f*cking dog or something.
"I know who you are."
"Um… okay?"
"You should be ashamed of yourself."
"What now?"
"What you did was disgusting! People saw that, my son saw that, but you don’t care, do you? Because you’re sick. Don’t argue with me, you know it’s true!"
She started firm, but now she’s shouting, and people are starting to stare. I’ve never felt so awkward.
"You don’t hit someone with a bat over and over unless you’re sick in the head. You shouldn’t be wrestling, you should be locked up! How can you live with yourself? Going around hurting people like that! Do you ever think what you’re doing to them, to their family? You’re ruining people and you should be ashamed of yourself! Your parents must be absolutely disgusted with you!"
"Oh shut the f*ck up."
If everyone wasn’t already staring they sure as hell are now, but honestly? I don’t care. Not sure if it was the parents jab or just my patience wearing so thin it’s non-existent but I’ve had enough of this b*tch.
"One, my parents are dead, so I don’t think they care all that much. Two, you’ve got no f*cking idea what you’re talking about, Trace Demon was a monster and I did what I did because it was the right thing to do. Three, the only person here who should be ashamed of themselves is you. I mean come on, that kid’s what? Twelve? Thirteen? And you’re letting him watch sh*t like the WFWF? That ain’t no family viewing. Hell, people have gotten f*cking shanked on live TV! So why don’t you worry less about what I’m doing and more about raising your kid so he doesn’t turn into the next f*cking Obo or something. F*cks sake."
I grab my bag and storm off, ignoring the woman’s dumbstruck stare. Maybe I should start driving around after all.
< *** >
Good Guy, Bad Guy
A five hour flight later and we land in Philly without any more incidents. Anders is waiting for me on the other side. He looks more miserable than normal.
"Lila is pissed."
"Maybe she should quit day drinking then."
I walk past him, letting him trail behind me even though I’ve got no idea where he’s parked.
"What were you thinking?"
"I mean I thought it’d be funny, but I guess our sense of humour is a bit different."
"No, about this!"
He pulls out his phone and shoves it into my hands. I stare at the screen, watching my run-in with that b*tch of a mom earlier today. Whoever thought every phone needing a video camera was a good idea is a f*cking d*ck.
"She started it Anders."
"That’s not the point! This right here, this is some Trace Demon level sh*t! This is a god damned sh*t storm! A PR nightmare! You already had an uphill battle to repair your reputation after that massacre but we could make that work with the whole doing what’s right thing-"
"I was doing what was right."
"Right, okay, sure. But this Tyler, there’s no way of playing this off where you come out looking good."
I eventually spot his Mercedes in the parking lot, did I mention Anders is in the midst of a midlife crisis? I chuck my bag on the backseat and climb into the passengers seat. Anders gets behind the wheel, not even slowing down for air as he keeps mouthing off.
"Lila’s got a lot invested in you Tyler, and she needs to make sure everyone knows that you’re someone they can support in spite of what you did."
"In spite of?! She wasn’t saying that when she asked me to bash a man’s skull in!"
"Look no matter whether it was the right thing to do, and trust me, it was, what you did to Trace isn’t the actions of a ‘good guy’, so it’s extremely important right now that you project a good public image. I didn’t think that’d be a problem for you Tyler."
He’s right. What happened back at LAX was out of character. That’s not me.
"I blew up at her, I messed up, I get it. But she was poking at me Anders, she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about."
"Maybe not, but that’s not the way the world works. People talk without knowing the full story, hell, it’s what the entire world is based on. But you know the full story, you know what you did was right, that don’t change based on what people say. But you’ve gotta realise that people are still gonna try and call you out on it, because that’s just the way it works."
"So I’m meant to just keep my mouth shut?"
"When it comes to the fans? Hell yes. These people pay your wages. Or more accurately, they pay for the sponsors products and the sponsors pay your wages. You cause too much trouble for the company then don’t think for a moment Lila won’t cut you, you’re not a big enough star to get away with sh*t like that."
"Right, sure."
That’s what it all boils down to. I’m not a ‘big enough star’, because that makes any difference to my actions. The likes of Kyzer and Schneider can get away with whatever they want because of their name value, but I’m a bad guy because nobody knows who I am. But if that’s the only difference between me and them then am I really any better? Am I really the kind of guy kids should be looking up to? What makes me different than any of the other sociopaths on the roster? If I was that kid, if I was watching a guy crush a guys skull in… would I really think the guy with the bat was a good guy?
…
Hours later I’m in my room at the hotel, my mind still running over that very question. I dig through my bag, looking for my razer, when I find something I stuffed in here ten days back, something I haven’t had the courage to pull out since then.
Trace’s letter.
I hold it in my hand, running my finger along the crease of the envelope. I begin to pull at one end, wondering what Trace Demon would have written to me before I smashed his head in. What this guy, who trusted me, well, as much as he trusted anyone, only for me to betray him and possibly end his career. I think about all the possibilities, all the reasons he’d write me a letter in the first place. And I stop. I shove it back into my bag and I leave it there.
Because right now, with everything else swirling through my brain, the last thing I need are the words of the man I butchered…
< *** >
Tyler Draven. Jason Sykes. People seem to be comparing those two names a lot right now. Apparently if you’ve got a couple of things in common you may as well be the same person in the eyes of wrestling fans, but let’s be honest here, the people comparing us are just grasping at straws. Let’s break things down, piece by piece. First off, you’ve got the fact that we’re both trained by ‘great mentors’. Not my words, let’s make that clear right now. See I was trained by a Hall of Famer, a former two time World Champion, a man who hung around for over ten years and made himself a household name. You? You were trained by a guy called Devilkiller. I mean come on, how desperate was he to be EXTREME that he decided on that for a f*cking ring name. Sure, Trace Demon’s not much better, but at least that was the guy’s real name, not some sh*tty horror film name he thought was cool. Sad thing is that’s the only memorable thing about the guy. Yeah, he had a pretty long run as National Champion, but that’s like saying he’s good at lacrosse.
Nobody f*cking cares man.
Then there’s all the talk about how we both won on our debuts, but again, let’s look at the facts. I beat Brandon Bison, a guy who, yeah, sure, he’s not done much of anything really, but at least he’s a name. He’s been around the WFWF longer than a hot minute, people know who he is. Hell, at least he’s won a match before. You? You beat the janitor. Now that’s not a slight on Billy Broom at all, the guy’s doing something nobody thought he could do and he’s not doing completely sh*t at it, but if you can’t beat the guy who cleans up the blood after the show then you probably shouldn’t be in the ring in the first place. Now sure, you’re probably riding pretty high after that win and don’t let me put you down man, but I’m trying to do things a bit differently to the guy who trained me and be honest with everyone, so let me be honest with you.
I’m a bit insulted people think there’s anything worth comparing. Now I don’t want to sound arrogant, because I know I’m not the most polished guy around here, and I’m not saying that you’ve not got talent either, I’m just saying what you’ve done and what I’ve done in the WFWF are on two different levels, and saying they’re even remotely similar is a f*cking insult to the guy who beat an actual wrestler last show. Now it’ll probably be hard to not take that the wrong way, but to be honest I don’t care all that much how you do take it, cause as far as I’m concerned it’s the truth. Last show I got handed a challenge, and you got handed a cakewalk, so when I see people saying this’ll answer who’s the contender and who’s the pretender I can’t help but laugh, because right now the only thing you’ve proven you’re a contender for is the sh*ttest catchphrase.
Come on man! "Always believe in yourself because in the end you’ll always have yourself?" What the f*ck even is that? Man, a catchphrase is meant to be catchy, it’s meant to be something you can sell some T-shirts with. Only place you’re selling sh*t with believe in myself on is the self-help section of your local hipster book store. I get what you’re selling here, but take it from someone who’s actually had to look out for himself most of his life, words don’t mean sh*t. Telling people to believe in themselves? It’s not gonna help them, not one bit. You want to help those people? You tell them the truth. You tell them that life is f*cking hard and that sometimes you’ve gotta do sh*t you’re not proud of, and if you can’t dig up the balls to do that when it counts, when it helps you and your family, then you don’t deserve to believe in yourself or any of that sh*t, because there ain’t nothing about yourself worth believing in.
Me? I’m not gonna sit here and shout off generic crap about believing in myself, because the only thing I care about is doing my talking in the ring. When we step in there Sykes you can talk all you want, but I won’t be listening. I’ll be fighting, because I’ve done too much to get cut down here to the likes of you. That don’t mean you’re gonna get any crap from me, because I’m gonna keep proving that I can get this done fair and square, but I promise you right here, right now that I’ll keep fighting until my last breath to make sure I keep winning, because right now that’s all I’ve got. So call it desperation, call it determination, call it whatever you want, the only thing that matters is that I’m gonna tear you apart to make sure that people know there are no comparisons between people like me and you.
And you can believe in that.
