Post by Rated R on Dec 9, 2018 5:35:45 GMT -5
Tyler Draven Presents
Loss
Lifeline
"Everyone has to lose at some point."
F*ck.
"Fact of life Tyler, nobody can win forever. Nobody."
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
"It’s just not the way things work."
I glance up at her from my perch against the wall. Lila Sleater, in all her smug glory. She tries to hide the thin smile that’s creeping across her face, tries to hide the fact that she’s happy my play failed. My grand scheme, scuppered by Frank Lynn of all people. All I had to do was win. Go out there, accept the open challenge, become the WFWF International Champion and just like that Lila wouldn’t be able to control me. She wouldn’t be able to threaten me with suspension, or as she calls it a "few shows off to think about things". She wouldn’t be able to take away the one thing I’m here for.
Money.
But I f*cked it. I lost. And now I’ve got nothing.
"I gave you opportunity Tyler, why did you feel the need to go out there and try and make a fool out of me? Have I really done anything that wasn’t in your best interests? All I’ve wanted was to help you, to make sure you didn’t follow the same path as Trace Demon. I don’t understand why you’re so resistant to being a good man. It’s who you are."
Or at least, that’s the way it looks to you.
"Maybe you were right."
Four words. That’s all it takes to disarm her, to make her forget whatever it was she was going to say next. Things shift. Now I have an audience, not a lecture. I’m not a talker, but that plays in my favour. When I do speak, people listen. In theory anyway.
"I was so obsessed with being my own person, with making my own decisions that everything you did just felt like, I dunno, like you were stopping me from doing what I needed to do. The suspensions, or ‘time off’, it was stopping me from making the money I need to help my sister, to build a better life."
"That’s not what it was about Tyler. I was just-"
"I know, trying to help. But I was too focused on the short-term-"
"To see the benefits long-term. It’s understandable, you’re new to this world, that’s why you need to let me help you, let Anders help you. You could be something great Tyler, you could be something the WFWF desperately needs, if you’ll just let us help."
Somewhere, in that head of hers, she means what she says.
"I can’t keep missing shows. If I’m ready to fight, you need to let me fight. This doesn’t work otherwise."
"Okay. Maybe I was being too harsh taking you off shows. You’re a wrestler, you need to wrestle. But if I agree to that, then you need to work with me, not against me. No more going behind my back. Accept that if I say something then it’s for a good reason, not just to spite you. Listen to me, listen to Anders, can you do that?"
I can’t bring myself to spit the words out of my mouth, so I just nod. She takes this as a victory and leaves me to stew in my self-pity, though not without a few parting words.
"Remember what I said, everybody loses. It’s just life, it’s how you pull yourself together after it that matters."
She couldn’t get any more cliched if she’d tried, but it doesn’t matter. What, you thought I was sitting here stewing over the fact I lost? No, I’m not as pathetic as that. I get that you can’t win them all. Would I have preferred to have beat Frank, become the International Champion? Of course, what’s the point in being here if I didn’t at least want to win? No, I was p*ssed off because I thought I’d thrown it all away, thought that I was done here after trying to get one up on Lila.
But ego’s a funny thing, makes people do funny things, like make stupid decisions, like keeping someone around when they’re clearly going to f*ck you over just because you think you can change them. Lila thinks she’s got me back in her pocket, like I’m back on board with being her puppet. But that’s not gonna happen. I need her, for now, to make sure I keep getting booked, keep getting paid. Maybe her intentions are pure, maybe she does just want the best for me. I’m starting to think Lila isn’t as bad as I thought, that she actually does care about the WFWF.
Problem is I don’t. I don’t care about this company and I don’t care about her. I think I did, months ago, when I first started. Not anymore. If it’s either taking care of me and my sister and being the "hero of the WFWF" Lila Sleater thinks I can be…
Well, that’s not even a real question, is it?
"You alright in here?"
Anders tentatively lets himself into the room. I figure he knows by now that I don’t like him all that much, but he’s got a job to do. Namely not letting my turn into the next Trace Demon, and I reckon that’s the kind of job he’s got a personal stake in, all things considered.
"Never better."
"Lila says you’re sticking around."
"Looks like it."
"Glad to see you’ve come to your senses."
Like I said, ego does funny things to people. Makes them think they’re in control when they’re not. Trace told me one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal is knowing how to use people’s ego’s against them.
"I have. As much as it pains me to say it, you were right all along."
It’s time to start using some of the things he taught me.
"At least you’ve got some sense in that head of yours. Look kid, we’ve not exactly got off to the best start. Why don’t you come round to mine sometime, I’ll get the other half to cook you up an actual meal. How’s that sound?"
Even if I promised myself I never would.
"Anders… that sounds perfect to me."
< *** >
Switchblades & Demons
Sometimes when I’m on my own for too long my mind starts to drift.
I’m fifteen. We’re in the car on the way back from my Aunt and Uncle’s place up north. We’re asleep in the back, my head rested against the window, Lucy’s in my lap. In the front our parents are arguing, again. Not loud, their voices kept to a hushed whisper as to not wake us up.
Only I’m not asleep, I’m pretending, because I couldn’t think of anything worse than making more awkward conversation. The whole trip has been bad because the two of them can barely be in the same room as each other. Mum’s blaming him for everything, for the affair. They think we don’t know dad cheated on her, also think we don’t know it was with another man. But they’re not this quiet when they’re screaming at each other at night, not this quiet when we’re not in such a confined space.
My head spins, anger bubbling up. She doesn’t understand why he’d do this, why he’d throw it all away. He says something about her anger, her ‘problem’, how ‘he’ has it too. I’m not sure who they mean but I get a twang of guilt right down deep, like this is all because of me somehow. Their voices grow just a little louder, a little more heated. Talk about how he can’t blame her, that it isn’t her fault. He says that sooner or later it’ll go too far, that ‘he’ is too messed up, that they never should have had kids.
And then a scream, or more of a roar. One of them erupts, the car swerves suddenly and we hurtle into a barricade…
Then the car door opens and someone gets in next to me. Not in my memory.
Now.
F*ck.
"What the f*ck do you think you’re doing here."
Should’ve been paying attention, should’ve noticed her sneaking up on me. Now I’m stuck in a car with Caitlyn, Trace’s f*cking punk-rock lodger, brandishing a switchblade pointed right at me.
"Well?"
"There an answer where you put that thing away?"
"Not f*cking likely."
Shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I learned my lesson last time, when Emily nearly saw me, but after the other night, I just had to be sure, I had to know.
"Well?"
"I was looking for Trace."
Can’t tell whether she’s too shocked to slice my throat or if her hands about to jerk right at me. Cars too closed in to do anything about it safely either. Honestly, not the way I thought I’d go.
"You’re f* joking, right?"
"People have always said I’ve not got much of a sense of humour."
"I dunno, that whole you being a decent human being schtick was a bit of a joke, right?"
Well that was a bit of a low blow.
"Go on, why don’t you explain what all that was about, I know people like you like an audience."
"People like me?"
"Yeah, sociopaths."
My hand fidget at the word and I’ve got to consciously remind myself that I’m not in a position to do much of anything right now.
"I don’t expect you to understand why I did what I did-"
"Oh I understand, you wanted the attention. You wanted to be a big strong boy so you smashed the guy who was trying to help you over the head with a f*cking baseball bat. Well good job, you look real strong right now."
"I’m done justifying myself. I did what I did, move on or don’t, it doesn’t matter to me. I just need to know, is Trace here?"
She falters, like she can’t believe I’m asking this.
"Why would he be here?"
"Because he was in my apartment a few weeks ago. At least, I think he was and… I need to know for sure. Is he here Cait?"
"Don’t call me that, you don’t get to call me that."
It’s hard, seeing her like this, knowing she hates me this much. This is a woman I trusted to look after my sister when me, Trace and Emily were driving around Canada and now she can’t even look at me without anger bubbling up inside her. All that because of me. I might have done the right thing, or what I thought was the right thing, but I’m constantly being reminded of the repercussions.
"Trace couldn’t have been in your apartment. He’s still in hospital."
"I called there, spoke to his guy, Doc Brown. Couldn’t get much out of him but I do know Trace isn’t there."
"He got moved when they… when they realised he might never wake up, he got moved to a special care facility. Even if he does wake up he might never be the same. You did that. You Tyler. You put Trace in a coma and for what? Glory? Some twisted sense of justice? He has a kid! You left Eliza without a dad, left Emily without a brother! You did that you sick f*ck. Why shouldn’t I just carve you up."
"Honest answer?"
"D’you even know how to give one?"
"It’s because you’ve not got it in you. You’re not like me, you couldn’t do that to someone regardless of whether it’s right or not."
I stop short of calling her weak, even though that’s what I’m thinking. Which shocks me even more. I never thought I’d be capable of thinking someone weak for not taking somebody’s life into their own hands.
"You’re f*cked up, you know that right? And if you ever come round here again I will cut you up on the spot."
I’m starting to think she might not be wrong. She lowers the knife and I stop myself going for it, let her out of the car, let her walk up to the house. I know full well that if this gets back to Sleater or Anders then I’m screwed but I’m pretty sure it won’t. She’ll keep it to herself, won’t want Emily knowing that I’ve been around, not when she knows how much it’d hurt.
So Trace is still out of action, maybe permanently, which means I must be going mad. Or I’m just sleep deprived and I was half-dreaming that night. Felt so real though. Caitlyn could’ve been lying I suppose, but I don’t think so, she seemed too emotional, too caught up in it all to by lying.
Which means I’ve got nothing to worry about, right?
< *** >
Chris Priceless almost died.
What, you already knew that? Well obviously, it’s the only thing keeping the guy relevant. Sorry, I’ve gone straight to the insults, how rude of me. I should have said how almost dying in a match shows his passion, shows his determination, shows his relentless fighting spirit.
And then pointed out how all that is bulls*it and that what really happened was Chris Priceless got beat within an inch of his f*cking life and we’re all making out like he’s a hero because of it. This guy flew all the way out to London to get himself mutilated and didn’t even win the match and for some reason we’re all acting like that’s something to be proud of! They say that failing should be a learning experience so let me tell you what I learned in my first loss.
That there is absolutely nothing to be proud of in losing.
Now I know that’s not something I should be saying, that it’s not the right message to be sending out to the world, but let me double down right now and tell you all, point blank, that the only reason people tell you that there is pride in fighting and losing is because they need a reason not to think of themselves as a f*cking loser. But the truth is, that’s what they are. Right now that’s what I am, a loser, and I couldn’t imagine for one second that I could ever be proud of that. And anyone that is? Well they’re gonna be a loser for the rest of their pathetic lives.
I lost to Frank Lynn, and I am ashamed of that. Because that’s the right reaction to have to losing. I’m not going out there trying to justify it by saying I fought hard, or that I could have beat him if I’d just hit one move, or that I was having a bad week and Lynn got lucky. Because fact is, the reasons don’t matter, the history books aren’t gonna throw a little asterix next to the match with reasons. The history books aren’t gonna say Ryan Needles defeated Chris Priceless but the guy fought real hard. They’re gonna say Ryan Needles won, Chris Priceless lost.
They’re gonna say Chris Priceless is a loser.
So Chris, I urge you, no, I beg you, the next person who steps up to you and tells you well done on a great match, the next person who says good job, you almost died but you fought hard… slap the words right out of their mouth, tell them to f*ck off and then step inside that ring and fight me with no intention of losing. Fight me like losing means the end of your god damned life. Because that’s how I’ll be fighting. I’ll be fighting like there’s nothing else because if I lose again, there isn’t. I’ll just be another loser.
And that can’t happen.
Frank, good job, you beat me, you taught me a lesson I won’t soon forget. But don’t for a second think we’re done. I lost, and I’ll own than, I’ll wear that like the humiliation it is, but don’t think I’m not coming back for another round. If Ante had been f*cking man enough to show up this week then it’d be happening one show earlier. But f*ck it, I’ll wait. I have to. If I have to go through the whole roster to get my hands on that title then I will, because I will not be the man who has a loss to Frank Lynn hanging over me unreturned.
So Frank, I hope you’re watching. You too Ante. I want you both to see what happens when you back me up against a wall. Chris Priceless almost died?
Well I’m going to finish the job.
Loss
Lifeline
"Everyone has to lose at some point."
F*ck.
"Fact of life Tyler, nobody can win forever. Nobody."
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
"It’s just not the way things work."
I glance up at her from my perch against the wall. Lila Sleater, in all her smug glory. She tries to hide the thin smile that’s creeping across her face, tries to hide the fact that she’s happy my play failed. My grand scheme, scuppered by Frank Lynn of all people. All I had to do was win. Go out there, accept the open challenge, become the WFWF International Champion and just like that Lila wouldn’t be able to control me. She wouldn’t be able to threaten me with suspension, or as she calls it a "few shows off to think about things". She wouldn’t be able to take away the one thing I’m here for.
Money.
But I f*cked it. I lost. And now I’ve got nothing.
"I gave you opportunity Tyler, why did you feel the need to go out there and try and make a fool out of me? Have I really done anything that wasn’t in your best interests? All I’ve wanted was to help you, to make sure you didn’t follow the same path as Trace Demon. I don’t understand why you’re so resistant to being a good man. It’s who you are."
Or at least, that’s the way it looks to you.
"Maybe you were right."
Four words. That’s all it takes to disarm her, to make her forget whatever it was she was going to say next. Things shift. Now I have an audience, not a lecture. I’m not a talker, but that plays in my favour. When I do speak, people listen. In theory anyway.
"I was so obsessed with being my own person, with making my own decisions that everything you did just felt like, I dunno, like you were stopping me from doing what I needed to do. The suspensions, or ‘time off’, it was stopping me from making the money I need to help my sister, to build a better life."
"That’s not what it was about Tyler. I was just-"
"I know, trying to help. But I was too focused on the short-term-"
"To see the benefits long-term. It’s understandable, you’re new to this world, that’s why you need to let me help you, let Anders help you. You could be something great Tyler, you could be something the WFWF desperately needs, if you’ll just let us help."
Somewhere, in that head of hers, she means what she says.
"I can’t keep missing shows. If I’m ready to fight, you need to let me fight. This doesn’t work otherwise."
"Okay. Maybe I was being too harsh taking you off shows. You’re a wrestler, you need to wrestle. But if I agree to that, then you need to work with me, not against me. No more going behind my back. Accept that if I say something then it’s for a good reason, not just to spite you. Listen to me, listen to Anders, can you do that?"
I can’t bring myself to spit the words out of my mouth, so I just nod. She takes this as a victory and leaves me to stew in my self-pity, though not without a few parting words.
"Remember what I said, everybody loses. It’s just life, it’s how you pull yourself together after it that matters."
She couldn’t get any more cliched if she’d tried, but it doesn’t matter. What, you thought I was sitting here stewing over the fact I lost? No, I’m not as pathetic as that. I get that you can’t win them all. Would I have preferred to have beat Frank, become the International Champion? Of course, what’s the point in being here if I didn’t at least want to win? No, I was p*ssed off because I thought I’d thrown it all away, thought that I was done here after trying to get one up on Lila.
But ego’s a funny thing, makes people do funny things, like make stupid decisions, like keeping someone around when they’re clearly going to f*ck you over just because you think you can change them. Lila thinks she’s got me back in her pocket, like I’m back on board with being her puppet. But that’s not gonna happen. I need her, for now, to make sure I keep getting booked, keep getting paid. Maybe her intentions are pure, maybe she does just want the best for me. I’m starting to think Lila isn’t as bad as I thought, that she actually does care about the WFWF.
Problem is I don’t. I don’t care about this company and I don’t care about her. I think I did, months ago, when I first started. Not anymore. If it’s either taking care of me and my sister and being the "hero of the WFWF" Lila Sleater thinks I can be…
Well, that’s not even a real question, is it?
"You alright in here?"
Anders tentatively lets himself into the room. I figure he knows by now that I don’t like him all that much, but he’s got a job to do. Namely not letting my turn into the next Trace Demon, and I reckon that’s the kind of job he’s got a personal stake in, all things considered.
"Never better."
"Lila says you’re sticking around."
"Looks like it."
"Glad to see you’ve come to your senses."
Like I said, ego does funny things to people. Makes them think they’re in control when they’re not. Trace told me one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal is knowing how to use people’s ego’s against them.
"I have. As much as it pains me to say it, you were right all along."
It’s time to start using some of the things he taught me.
"At least you’ve got some sense in that head of yours. Look kid, we’ve not exactly got off to the best start. Why don’t you come round to mine sometime, I’ll get the other half to cook you up an actual meal. How’s that sound?"
Even if I promised myself I never would.
"Anders… that sounds perfect to me."
< *** >
Switchblades & Demons
Sometimes when I’m on my own for too long my mind starts to drift.
I’m fifteen. We’re in the car on the way back from my Aunt and Uncle’s place up north. We’re asleep in the back, my head rested against the window, Lucy’s in my lap. In the front our parents are arguing, again. Not loud, their voices kept to a hushed whisper as to not wake us up.
Only I’m not asleep, I’m pretending, because I couldn’t think of anything worse than making more awkward conversation. The whole trip has been bad because the two of them can barely be in the same room as each other. Mum’s blaming him for everything, for the affair. They think we don’t know dad cheated on her, also think we don’t know it was with another man. But they’re not this quiet when they’re screaming at each other at night, not this quiet when we’re not in such a confined space.
My head spins, anger bubbling up. She doesn’t understand why he’d do this, why he’d throw it all away. He says something about her anger, her ‘problem’, how ‘he’ has it too. I’m not sure who they mean but I get a twang of guilt right down deep, like this is all because of me somehow. Their voices grow just a little louder, a little more heated. Talk about how he can’t blame her, that it isn’t her fault. He says that sooner or later it’ll go too far, that ‘he’ is too messed up, that they never should have had kids.
And then a scream, or more of a roar. One of them erupts, the car swerves suddenly and we hurtle into a barricade…
Then the car door opens and someone gets in next to me. Not in my memory.
Now.
F*ck.
"What the f*ck do you think you’re doing here."
Should’ve been paying attention, should’ve noticed her sneaking up on me. Now I’m stuck in a car with Caitlyn, Trace’s f*cking punk-rock lodger, brandishing a switchblade pointed right at me.
"Well?"
"There an answer where you put that thing away?"
"Not f*cking likely."
Shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I learned my lesson last time, when Emily nearly saw me, but after the other night, I just had to be sure, I had to know.
"Well?"
"I was looking for Trace."
Can’t tell whether she’s too shocked to slice my throat or if her hands about to jerk right at me. Cars too closed in to do anything about it safely either. Honestly, not the way I thought I’d go.
"You’re f* joking, right?"
"People have always said I’ve not got much of a sense of humour."
"I dunno, that whole you being a decent human being schtick was a bit of a joke, right?"
Well that was a bit of a low blow.
"Go on, why don’t you explain what all that was about, I know people like you like an audience."
"People like me?"
"Yeah, sociopaths."
My hand fidget at the word and I’ve got to consciously remind myself that I’m not in a position to do much of anything right now.
"I don’t expect you to understand why I did what I did-"
"Oh I understand, you wanted the attention. You wanted to be a big strong boy so you smashed the guy who was trying to help you over the head with a f*cking baseball bat. Well good job, you look real strong right now."
"I’m done justifying myself. I did what I did, move on or don’t, it doesn’t matter to me. I just need to know, is Trace here?"
She falters, like she can’t believe I’m asking this.
"Why would he be here?"
"Because he was in my apartment a few weeks ago. At least, I think he was and… I need to know for sure. Is he here Cait?"
"Don’t call me that, you don’t get to call me that."
It’s hard, seeing her like this, knowing she hates me this much. This is a woman I trusted to look after my sister when me, Trace and Emily were driving around Canada and now she can’t even look at me without anger bubbling up inside her. All that because of me. I might have done the right thing, or what I thought was the right thing, but I’m constantly being reminded of the repercussions.
"Trace couldn’t have been in your apartment. He’s still in hospital."
"I called there, spoke to his guy, Doc Brown. Couldn’t get much out of him but I do know Trace isn’t there."
"He got moved when they… when they realised he might never wake up, he got moved to a special care facility. Even if he does wake up he might never be the same. You did that. You Tyler. You put Trace in a coma and for what? Glory? Some twisted sense of justice? He has a kid! You left Eliza without a dad, left Emily without a brother! You did that you sick f*ck. Why shouldn’t I just carve you up."
"Honest answer?"
"D’you even know how to give one?"
"It’s because you’ve not got it in you. You’re not like me, you couldn’t do that to someone regardless of whether it’s right or not."
I stop short of calling her weak, even though that’s what I’m thinking. Which shocks me even more. I never thought I’d be capable of thinking someone weak for not taking somebody’s life into their own hands.
"You’re f*cked up, you know that right? And if you ever come round here again I will cut you up on the spot."
I’m starting to think she might not be wrong. She lowers the knife and I stop myself going for it, let her out of the car, let her walk up to the house. I know full well that if this gets back to Sleater or Anders then I’m screwed but I’m pretty sure it won’t. She’ll keep it to herself, won’t want Emily knowing that I’ve been around, not when she knows how much it’d hurt.
So Trace is still out of action, maybe permanently, which means I must be going mad. Or I’m just sleep deprived and I was half-dreaming that night. Felt so real though. Caitlyn could’ve been lying I suppose, but I don’t think so, she seemed too emotional, too caught up in it all to by lying.
Which means I’ve got nothing to worry about, right?
< *** >
Chris Priceless almost died.
What, you already knew that? Well obviously, it’s the only thing keeping the guy relevant. Sorry, I’ve gone straight to the insults, how rude of me. I should have said how almost dying in a match shows his passion, shows his determination, shows his relentless fighting spirit.
And then pointed out how all that is bulls*it and that what really happened was Chris Priceless got beat within an inch of his f*cking life and we’re all making out like he’s a hero because of it. This guy flew all the way out to London to get himself mutilated and didn’t even win the match and for some reason we’re all acting like that’s something to be proud of! They say that failing should be a learning experience so let me tell you what I learned in my first loss.
That there is absolutely nothing to be proud of in losing.
Now I know that’s not something I should be saying, that it’s not the right message to be sending out to the world, but let me double down right now and tell you all, point blank, that the only reason people tell you that there is pride in fighting and losing is because they need a reason not to think of themselves as a f*cking loser. But the truth is, that’s what they are. Right now that’s what I am, a loser, and I couldn’t imagine for one second that I could ever be proud of that. And anyone that is? Well they’re gonna be a loser for the rest of their pathetic lives.
I lost to Frank Lynn, and I am ashamed of that. Because that’s the right reaction to have to losing. I’m not going out there trying to justify it by saying I fought hard, or that I could have beat him if I’d just hit one move, or that I was having a bad week and Lynn got lucky. Because fact is, the reasons don’t matter, the history books aren’t gonna throw a little asterix next to the match with reasons. The history books aren’t gonna say Ryan Needles defeated Chris Priceless but the guy fought real hard. They’re gonna say Ryan Needles won, Chris Priceless lost.
They’re gonna say Chris Priceless is a loser.
So Chris, I urge you, no, I beg you, the next person who steps up to you and tells you well done on a great match, the next person who says good job, you almost died but you fought hard… slap the words right out of their mouth, tell them to f*ck off and then step inside that ring and fight me with no intention of losing. Fight me like losing means the end of your god damned life. Because that’s how I’ll be fighting. I’ll be fighting like there’s nothing else because if I lose again, there isn’t. I’ll just be another loser.
And that can’t happen.
Frank, good job, you beat me, you taught me a lesson I won’t soon forget. But don’t for a second think we’re done. I lost, and I’ll own than, I’ll wear that like the humiliation it is, but don’t think I’m not coming back for another round. If Ante had been f*cking man enough to show up this week then it’d be happening one show earlier. But f*ck it, I’ll wait. I have to. If I have to go through the whole roster to get my hands on that title then I will, because I will not be the man who has a loss to Frank Lynn hanging over me unreturned.
So Frank, I hope you’re watching. You too Ante. I want you both to see what happens when you back me up against a wall. Chris Priceless almost died?
Well I’m going to finish the job.