Post by Deleted on Jul 5, 2019 4:11:09 GMT -5
“Help me, dad! Please!”
“I’m coming, Jenny!”
My heart beats like a drum at the thought of my baby daughter in danger. I charge towards her bedroom door where her screams seem to be emerging from.
Her screams get louder and louder which only make me more nervous.
And scared.
“Daddy please! He’s going to hurt me!”
Dark thoughts start playing in my head like a film reel, the thought of some stranger…alone…with my daughter is enough to make me want to grab my M16 and put a bullet in his head.
She screams again, and this time I hear very frenetic pounding on the other side of her door.
“Dad!!!!!”
My hand grabs the doorknob, but it refuses to open, despite me putting all I have into it. It’s locked, bolted, welded shut.
In a frenzy, I ram the door with my shoulders but that isn’t enough either.
“Jenny! Hang on!”
I panic, struggling to breathe.
I can feel myself starting to choke.
My baby screams again before it’s cut short following a loud bang.
“Jenny!!!!! No!!!!!”
I wail at the top of my lungs, screaming so loud that my throat starts to hurt.
The uncomfortable silence makes me sick to my stomach as I start to quiver.
I keep ramming the door in a blind rage but to no avail until from the other side of the door, I hear -
“I like it when you squeal, Janitor!”
My beating heart is suddenly all I can hear in my ear upon the realization.
Needles…hurt….my Jenny.
That’s what my head is telling me, but I pray to God that it isn’t true.
I really hope this is all in my head and my baby is okay.
“Don't worry, I took real good care of her.”
I can’t see the psychopath but the image in my head is terrifying.
“You motherf**ker!”
I go to use my shoulder as a battering ram until the door suddenly opens in front of me where a bloodied body slumps backwards, sprawled out in front of me.
I can feel my whole body start to shake when I realize that the body…is Jenny. Her lifeless blue eyes looking up at me which only causes the pain I’m feeling in my chest to grow stronger.
The blood spilling out of her forehead squirts out, causing a puddle to form as it trickles down her beautiful face and gathers around the bottom of my boots, soaking into the carpet.
I look up and there he is – f**king Needles. His entire body is a shadow but all I can see is that grin of his while that bat rests on his shoulder.
My vision becomes muddy as tears fall from my eyes.
I feel weak, unable to stand anymore as my legs give out, causing me to fall onto my knees, unable to breathe, sweating, my eyes unable to focus on anything but the body of my daughter.
Needles then takes a few steps forward, pointing at me with the bat.
I don’t react. I don’t even know how to at this point.
The sick son-of-a-bitch just grins as he walks behind me.
In the corner of my eye, I see Needles winding up, both hands gripping the handle of the bat tightly.
Suddenly, it all goes white…
Breathing Liquid
A Billy Broom RP
I wake up covered in sweat, catching my breath; my bedroom feels like I’m in a damn furnace. My back feels cold due to the sheets that are drenched in sweat mixed with the breeze from the air conditioner.
I feel a sharp tightness in my chest and the shakes are all over my body, despite not being cold.
It’s the nightmares again.
It's not the usual ones from the things I saw in the service.
This one was new.
All I can see in my head is a lifeless Jenny, looking up at me.
Her once vibrant skin now a pale complexion.
Her eyes, once full of life and charm now empty.
Then it hits me – I lost at SuperBrawl to that same psychopath who said awful things about my daughter.
It makes sense now.
I failed defending her honor.
I failed being the protective father.
By me getting my ass kicked by that sick bastard, she might as well be dead since I won’t be able to protect her.
Did I really just say that?
F**k.
Maybe it would've been better if I had been the one to get their head crushed instead of Mesh. I was about to until my daughter saved me, of all people.
Yet, I couldn’t save her friend.
Poetic.
I reach over to the nightstand by the bed and check my phone, it’s 3:14 in the morning.
No notifications. Just a picture of Jenny and I shining bright as my wallpaper.
I haven’t slept in weeks. Not well anyway. I keep waking up from the nightmares.
It’s all my fault though.
I know I screwed up in Dallas, probably the worst night of my life.
What’s even worse is that I haven’t heard from Jenny since we got home. She chose to go be with her mother afterwards.
Packed some stuff and walked out of the house without saying good-bye.
Normally, I'd look at this as just teen angst. She'll get over it eventually and come back home but I know better - this is different.
She hates me now. I know she told her friends about the match and everything and look what happened - everyone she knows realizes that she has a loser for a father and she must feel so embarrassed.
She would’ve hated me more so if I executed my authoritative power and prevented her from being with Mesh. There was a lot of blood, you'd think Mesh had jumped onto a grenade as to save the rest of the platoon.
I know because I've seen that happen.
Not something I wanted her to see but it would’ve broken her heart even more if I hadn’t let her go so it was a lose-lose for me.
I did the best I could, Jenny. I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry for everything.
Then there's the ex, she’s been blowing up my phone with emails and texts about how I’m the worst father in the world for letting my daughter ride an ambulance to be with her friend and how I don’t deserve to see her again, among other things.
She's very creative with her insults towards me but I think she's running out of martial because 'janitor' was her big insult in almost every text and email she's sent as if that's supposed to hurt.
I get up, not feeling relaxed or well-rested and make my way to the kitchen.
I don’t even bother to turn on the lights, I can see just fine.
I go over to the one spot in the house that I try and avoid – because it wouldn’t be good for me, but it wouldn’t be good for Jenny either.
In the backroom, by the kangaroo statue that Jenny made for me in elementary school is a safe.
The combination is the day I joined the service – 03/17/74
Inside is an old friend, Jack Daniels and his friend Scotch with one, pristine yet dusty glass keeping them company.
I haven’t had a drink since 1980.
A real drink. Beer doesn't count.
Once I married my ex-wife, I stopped for her sake as well as mine.
Once Jenny was born, I never had a reason to drink again.
I know what it’s like to have a parent who drinks.
My father, William Saturn Broom Sr. was your everyday average joe, working at a small factory.
My father was a very unhappy man though.
He was unhappy because all the goals and aspirations he set for himself never came to fruition.
He would always say that he was running in circles.
He was a good man, but he had one problem.
He loved his liquor.
Sometimes, more than he did my mother and I.
It was a pretty common occurrence to come home from school to see my drunk father beating the hell out of my mother.
Because he had no other outlets for his anger.
I’ll never forget standing by the door, watching him club my mother in the face with his right hand – where he liked to wear his jewelry while cradling the bottle in the other hand.
I remember clinching my fist, trembling in teen angst and pure rage.
I wanted to kill him, but I was terrified of my drunk father.
I remember hearing the sounds that the back of his hand would make when it would connect with my mother’s face.
I still remember the very first time he beat me too. My mother would watch, helplessly from the sides as he would beat me across the face with his jewelry-adorned hand.
I love my father, but back then I hated him.
That’s why I joined the army after I graduated high school so I could get away from him so, I could be something better.
So, I could rub it in his face.
But instead, the service made me into a shell of a man and as a result, I starting drinking to deal with it.
Like father, like son.
With all of that said, I grab both bottles, Jack going under my arm and the scotch gripped firmly in my hand with the glass in the other and make my way to the table in the kitchen.
I feel a slight hesitation coursing through my body as I feel the cold glass in my hand.
It’s like I know this is wrong.
Sinking this low but then again, I didn't expect my life to fall apart in an instant.
The old wooden chair that I’ve had since the divorce creaks as I squat down on it.
I take a deep breath and really think about what I’m planning on doing.
I twist the top of Jack and the smells hits me in the face like a –
A shot to the face with a baseball bat.
Goddamn it, I'm sorry kid.
I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you. Not just because my daughter pretty much hates me for not doing so but because you’re a good kid and what that prick did to you was uncalled for.
Seeing my Jenny upset makes me wish I had been there to help you.
I’d like to see him try that with me. I’d shove that bat down his throat.
But in the mindset I’m in at the moment, rational thinking isn’t a priority.
Jack fills the glass.
*buzz, buzz*
I nearly spill the glass as the hard vibrations from my phone on the wooden table startle me.
It’s from the ex, blowing up my phone with yet another goddamn e-mail.
You are the worst!!!!!!!!! is the subject title.
Great way to start a conversation.
What’s even more boggling is the fact that she’s awake at 3:23 in the morning.
My head starts to hurt when I think back of how…and why it went all went wrong.
I didn’t realize how much of a gold digger my ex truly was until years later after she took everything from me.
Well, what little I had anyway.
It’s funny how things have a way of making sense looking back. Had I known what I know now, I never would’ve married her, but I was young, dumb and in love.
No matter how many s**tty jobs I put up with to support her, I was never going to have enough to satisfy her needs.
No matter how hard I worked to make sure that she was happy before anything else, she always found something to complain about.
She nearly lost her s**t when I told her about the janitor position for the WFWF.
She couldn’t live with the embarrassment that came with having a husband, an ex-soldier who was a janitor because….that’s how she is.
Chuck must be a better man than me since they’ve lasted longer than we did.
I’m grateful that we divorced though.
Had I kept taking it and being her lapdog, I would be stone cold broke right now.
Thankfully, Jenny has plenty of money for college but after what happened at SuperBrawl, it wouldn’t surprise me if Jenny decided that she didn’t want to go to college just to spite me.
I try thinking positive thoughts but with the anxiety slowly creeping up on me, my mind tells me otherwise.
Add into that my minor PTSD from the service and you get one hell of a mental cocktail.
Maybe Jack and Scotch will help with that.
Maybe they'll just make things worse but right now, I'm out of options.
The light from my phone causes the liquor to glisten as I continue looking at it.
I’m hesitant but at the same time, I don’t care anymore.
The guilt has consumed most of my life.
The guilt for failing my daughter when guys like Drakz and Needles threatened to hurt her.
The guilt for somehow, blaming myself for my marriage falling apart.
The guilt that I couldn’t save Mesh, who my daughter loves more than me.
The guilt of not being able to save some of the men that fought alongside me in battle.
Picking up the severed limbs of people that I called my comrades does something to you.
I remember the day when we were ambushed in a Humvee.
Church squad was in front of us and I still remember seeing the Humvee explode due to splash damage from an RPG or was it a landmine?
Lots of good men were in that humvee and they lost their lives. They were all friends too.
This was the first time we had seen combat and we weren’t ready.
We were surrounded as the enemy had the high ground, so we were easy pickings for them. Well, that’s what they thought.
Hawkeye, Speedy, Stumpy and myself held them off in one of the most one sided fights in military history, taking down the enemy one by one, bullet by bullet. Hawkeye got shot in his shoulder but he made it through.
Somehow, we survived but that's not worse part. Upon further inspection, we learned that the enemy had recruited children to serve as soldiers.
I'll never forget seeing all the bodies of children soldiers that were dead because of us.
That's right.
Kids.
F**king kids.
Opening fire at an army of children is something that stays with you forever. It just doesn’t go away and it never will.
The world can be a horrible place sometimes.
The mere thought of that day sends chills up my spine.
I keep looking at the half-filled glass laying in front of me.
I figure the bad outweighs the good, so I scoop the glass up and walk over to the sink.
I'm better than this.
I go to pour it out but then I see my reflection in the liquor.
Geez, I look like s**t.
It’s the lack of sleep, the stress, the emotions that are eating me from the inside.
I’m tired of feeling this way. Nothing has helped.
Something compels me to walk back over to the table, sit down and take a sip.
As I bring the glass closer to my face, I can smell the liquid, giving me the aroma of acetone.
Seems healthy.
I gulp it down in one swig and it tastes like bananas.
Fruits are good for the body.
I feel small particles of something floating around in my mouth when I realize that I forgot to wash the dust from the glass.
Regardless, it tastes good going down.
Without washing the glass, I pour myself some scotch because f**k it. A little dust in my system won’t kill me.
I don’t know why but I smell the liquid again, causing my nostrils to flare up.
Smells like sharpies, it’s strong enough that I could get high off the aroma alone if I really tried but I don’t want to screw up my liver and my lungs.
I swig it down and I can taste woodchips.
Woodchips with a hint of banana. Delicious.
The scotch isn’t as good but it’s just as strong, causing me to grimace. I barely manage to get it down without gagging.
I pace myself as I start to feel the alcohol course through my veins, giving me a spark of energy that I haven’t felt in years.
The negative thoughts in my mind start to dwindle but they’re still there, poking at my brain, unable to let go.
Let go of everything.
Thanks to the buzz I’m getting, it’s helping.
Maybe a few more drinks and I’ll truly forget…
Everything.
The next morning.
*buzz, buzz*
*buzz, buzz*
*buzz, buzz*
Ugh.
I feel dizzy, causing my stomach to churn.
My ears are ringing, causing my head to throb.
I see the two bottles of liquor on the table next to me - both completely empty.
The glass is a shattered mess on the floor by my feet. Must've dropped it during my haze.
I forgot how much hangovers suck.
*buzz, buzz*
I hear a rumbling sound which only makes the ringing in my ears to get louder.
*buzz, buzz*
What the f**k is that?!
*buzz, buzz*
Oh. It’s my phone.
I can barely make out who’s calling me at…2:30 in the afternoon, getting my head off the kitchen table where I seemed to pass out on.
S**t, was I really out that long?
I have no idea who it is, so f**k them, I ain't answering.
It's quiet again and I feel myself dozing off until -
*buzz, buzz*
Motherf**ker! Whoever is calling me better get the message otherwise, I'll say something that I'll regret once I sober up.
*buzz, buzz*
"Who is this?”
“….it’s Lila.”
Reality smacks me across the face.
It’s the boss.
I suddenly tidy up, clear my throat, do everything I can to give the impression that I wasn’t up all night, drowning my sorrows in alcohol.
“Are you okay?”
She’s the only person from work that has reached out since Dallas.
“Yes, Ms. Sleater, everything is fine.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I saw the little…incident with Jenny at SuperBrawl. How is she?”
I don’t think she can tell that I'm hungover. Good.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t talked to me since Dallas.”
I can hear Ms. Sleater frown on the other end.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Give her some space, she saw her favorite wrestler almost get murdered right in front of her.”
I don’t know what to say to that. All I can think about is the elephant in the room.
The psychotic elephant with a baseball bat with that prick announcer as his wrangler.
“What are you going to do about that, Ms. Sleater? Knight and Needles?”
“Well, I have to do something. We got tons of backlash on social media and I got the Board of Directors breathing down my neck. I have to make a decision by the time we go to Tulsa, otherwise they’ve threatened to fire me.”
Of course, I like Ms. Sleater but it brings me joy to hear her so panicked. What Needles and Knight planned against Mesh was too far. He got off scot-free for the whole Twitter thing but now, she can’t protect Knight any longer.
She’s being forced to make an executive decision.
I like that.
“I trust you’ll make the right decision, boss.”
“I appreciate your support. I've made a few phone calls and I promise you - I'll have one by the time we get to Tulsa.”
We'll see about that, boss.
She clears her throat.
“Speaking of Tulsa, I was wondering if you would be interested in working this next show? We got a few new signees making their debut and we need someone to fill out the card. You know – the usual.”
“I don’t know, boss. After SuperBrawl, I don’t think I have the confidence.”
“You did great! Sure, you lost but you did what every father in America would have done. It’s admirable, nonetheless.”
She’s going to try and convince me why wrestling in Tulsa will be good for me, isn’t she?
“You’re one – if not, the most reliable employee in the company and it would mean so much to me if you could work Tulsa. The people want you to stand up to guys like Needles so what happened to Mesh never happens to anyone else again. Besides, I think your potential opponent will interest you.”
Goddamn it.
“Who is it this time?”
“Daisy.”
My mind draws a blank.
“Who’s that?”
“A last-minute signee I got from Massachusetts.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
I can sense Ms. Sleater smiling.
“She has the potential to be another Needles – driven by nothing but a thirst for blood.”
Hearing that name causes me to slightly gag as I fight down the urge to throw up while on the phone with my boss.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No, I’m not but that’s why I called you. To put her down. Show her how we run things in the WFWF.”
I appreciate the vote of confidence.
“I don’t know, Ms. Sleater. You know how I feel about fighting women.”
It’s like she was waiting for the right moment to tell me that –
“I know but I thought you should know that she tweeted something about Mesh getting hurt.”
Okay, now I’m interested.
“What did she say?”
It takes her a second to respond, as if she had the tweet ready to push my buttons with.
“And nothing of value was lost.”
Brave words for someone that no one knows.
I’m offended.
Mesh is a part of my daughter’s life and this Daisy talking s**t is like her insulting my daughter.
“Okay, I’m in then.”
I can hear Ms. Sleater sigh in relief.
“Thank you, Billy. I really appreciate it! I’ll pencil you in for Tulsa and announce it on the website.”
I just nod my head, feeling like a fool for letting Ms. Sleater push the right buttons like she always does with me.
But this Daisy made it personal with that tweet.
I couldn’t protect Mesh so now the least I can do is stand up to people to could pose a threat in the locker room.
Hopefully, I won't fail at doing that.
***
Daisy.
I don’t know who the hell you are, but I already don’t like you.
I get that you want to make a good first impression by badmouthing my daughter’s hero, but I won’t stand for that.
I failed to protect her at SuperBrawl but I won’t hesitate to hurt you in our match.
I just don’t care anymore.
I don’t think about doing “what’s right” anymore.
I only care about protecting those that need protecting.
Doing what’s right nearly got Mesh killed.
I made the mistake of not bashing Needles’ head in with a chair at SuperBrawl but I’m not afraid of doing that to you.
People like you are a disease.
People like Needles and you only live to hurt others.
Yes, this is wrestling where that’s our job but people like you and Needles take it a bit too far.
I risk being in a wheelchair every time I wrestle just so my daughter can have a better life.
I dare you to try and put my daughter’s future in jeopardy.
I heard of your little jab at Mesh on social media and I didn’t appreciate that.
I failed at SuperBrawl but I won’t fail this time.
People like you need to be put down and as long as I’m breathing, I’ll make it my job that no one ever gets hurt like Mesh did again.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
But therefore, you’ll never beat someone like me.
Why?
I’ve survived war.
I’ve survived combat.
You at your worst will be nothing compared to the things I saw in the service.
Hell – what Needles did to Priceless in that deathmatch is child’s play compared to the things I want to do to you.
The scary thing is – I don’t need weapons to tear your head off.
I can use my bare hands.
All the anger, all the frustrations, everything that I’ve kept bottled up inside will come out in the form of my hands as I rip you apart.
I used to have reservations about fighting a woman, but I don’t see you as a woman.
I see you as the enemy and every soldier’s mission is to eliminate the enemy.
You call yourself the ‘delicate little flower’ and at Stay Gold, I will rip off your petals until there’s nothing but the stem and then I’ll take the stem and break it in two.
Once I get rid of you, I’ll work on taking out the trash that is Needles since I’m the f**king janitor!
Drakz is a piece of garbage too now that I mention it.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten the things you said about my Jenny.
You're just another waste of skin that belongs in the garbage.
Taking out the garbage is what I do better than anyone on the roster!
So, come get some, Daisy.
Yippee-ki-yay....bitch.
“I’m coming, Jenny!”
My heart beats like a drum at the thought of my baby daughter in danger. I charge towards her bedroom door where her screams seem to be emerging from.
Her screams get louder and louder which only make me more nervous.
And scared.
“Daddy please! He’s going to hurt me!”
Dark thoughts start playing in my head like a film reel, the thought of some stranger…alone…with my daughter is enough to make me want to grab my M16 and put a bullet in his head.
She screams again, and this time I hear very frenetic pounding on the other side of her door.
“Dad!!!!!”
My hand grabs the doorknob, but it refuses to open, despite me putting all I have into it. It’s locked, bolted, welded shut.
In a frenzy, I ram the door with my shoulders but that isn’t enough either.
“Jenny! Hang on!”
I panic, struggling to breathe.
I can feel myself starting to choke.
My baby screams again before it’s cut short following a loud bang.
“Jenny!!!!! No!!!!!”
I wail at the top of my lungs, screaming so loud that my throat starts to hurt.
The uncomfortable silence makes me sick to my stomach as I start to quiver.
I keep ramming the door in a blind rage but to no avail until from the other side of the door, I hear -
“I like it when you squeal, Janitor!”
My beating heart is suddenly all I can hear in my ear upon the realization.
Needles…hurt….my Jenny.
That’s what my head is telling me, but I pray to God that it isn’t true.
I really hope this is all in my head and my baby is okay.
“Don't worry, I took real good care of her.”
I can’t see the psychopath but the image in my head is terrifying.
“You motherf**ker!”
I go to use my shoulder as a battering ram until the door suddenly opens in front of me where a bloodied body slumps backwards, sprawled out in front of me.
I can feel my whole body start to shake when I realize that the body…is Jenny. Her lifeless blue eyes looking up at me which only causes the pain I’m feeling in my chest to grow stronger.
The blood spilling out of her forehead squirts out, causing a puddle to form as it trickles down her beautiful face and gathers around the bottom of my boots, soaking into the carpet.
I look up and there he is – f**king Needles. His entire body is a shadow but all I can see is that grin of his while that bat rests on his shoulder.
My vision becomes muddy as tears fall from my eyes.
I feel weak, unable to stand anymore as my legs give out, causing me to fall onto my knees, unable to breathe, sweating, my eyes unable to focus on anything but the body of my daughter.
Needles then takes a few steps forward, pointing at me with the bat.
I don’t react. I don’t even know how to at this point.
The sick son-of-a-bitch just grins as he walks behind me.
In the corner of my eye, I see Needles winding up, both hands gripping the handle of the bat tightly.
Suddenly, it all goes white…
Breathing Liquid
A Billy Broom RP
I wake up covered in sweat, catching my breath; my bedroom feels like I’m in a damn furnace. My back feels cold due to the sheets that are drenched in sweat mixed with the breeze from the air conditioner.
I feel a sharp tightness in my chest and the shakes are all over my body, despite not being cold.
It’s the nightmares again.
It's not the usual ones from the things I saw in the service.
This one was new.
All I can see in my head is a lifeless Jenny, looking up at me.
Her once vibrant skin now a pale complexion.
Her eyes, once full of life and charm now empty.
Then it hits me – I lost at SuperBrawl to that same psychopath who said awful things about my daughter.
It makes sense now.
I failed defending her honor.
I failed being the protective father.
By me getting my ass kicked by that sick bastard, she might as well be dead since I won’t be able to protect her.
Did I really just say that?
F**k.
Maybe it would've been better if I had been the one to get their head crushed instead of Mesh. I was about to until my daughter saved me, of all people.
Yet, I couldn’t save her friend.
Poetic.
I reach over to the nightstand by the bed and check my phone, it’s 3:14 in the morning.
No notifications. Just a picture of Jenny and I shining bright as my wallpaper.
I haven’t slept in weeks. Not well anyway. I keep waking up from the nightmares.
It’s all my fault though.
I know I screwed up in Dallas, probably the worst night of my life.
What’s even worse is that I haven’t heard from Jenny since we got home. She chose to go be with her mother afterwards.
Packed some stuff and walked out of the house without saying good-bye.
Normally, I'd look at this as just teen angst. She'll get over it eventually and come back home but I know better - this is different.
She hates me now. I know she told her friends about the match and everything and look what happened - everyone she knows realizes that she has a loser for a father and she must feel so embarrassed.
She would’ve hated me more so if I executed my authoritative power and prevented her from being with Mesh. There was a lot of blood, you'd think Mesh had jumped onto a grenade as to save the rest of the platoon.
I know because I've seen that happen.
Not something I wanted her to see but it would’ve broken her heart even more if I hadn’t let her go so it was a lose-lose for me.
I did the best I could, Jenny. I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry for everything.
Then there's the ex, she’s been blowing up my phone with emails and texts about how I’m the worst father in the world for letting my daughter ride an ambulance to be with her friend and how I don’t deserve to see her again, among other things.
She's very creative with her insults towards me but I think she's running out of martial because 'janitor' was her big insult in almost every text and email she's sent as if that's supposed to hurt.
I get up, not feeling relaxed or well-rested and make my way to the kitchen.
I don’t even bother to turn on the lights, I can see just fine.
I go over to the one spot in the house that I try and avoid – because it wouldn’t be good for me, but it wouldn’t be good for Jenny either.
In the backroom, by the kangaroo statue that Jenny made for me in elementary school is a safe.
The combination is the day I joined the service – 03/17/74
Inside is an old friend, Jack Daniels and his friend Scotch with one, pristine yet dusty glass keeping them company.
I haven’t had a drink since 1980.
A real drink. Beer doesn't count.
Once I married my ex-wife, I stopped for her sake as well as mine.
Once Jenny was born, I never had a reason to drink again.
I know what it’s like to have a parent who drinks.
My father, William Saturn Broom Sr. was your everyday average joe, working at a small factory.
My father was a very unhappy man though.
He was unhappy because all the goals and aspirations he set for himself never came to fruition.
He would always say that he was running in circles.
He was a good man, but he had one problem.
He loved his liquor.
Sometimes, more than he did my mother and I.
It was a pretty common occurrence to come home from school to see my drunk father beating the hell out of my mother.
Because he had no other outlets for his anger.
I’ll never forget standing by the door, watching him club my mother in the face with his right hand – where he liked to wear his jewelry while cradling the bottle in the other hand.
I remember clinching my fist, trembling in teen angst and pure rage.
I wanted to kill him, but I was terrified of my drunk father.
I remember hearing the sounds that the back of his hand would make when it would connect with my mother’s face.
I still remember the very first time he beat me too. My mother would watch, helplessly from the sides as he would beat me across the face with his jewelry-adorned hand.
I love my father, but back then I hated him.
That’s why I joined the army after I graduated high school so I could get away from him so, I could be something better.
So, I could rub it in his face.
But instead, the service made me into a shell of a man and as a result, I starting drinking to deal with it.
Like father, like son.
With all of that said, I grab both bottles, Jack going under my arm and the scotch gripped firmly in my hand with the glass in the other and make my way to the table in the kitchen.
I feel a slight hesitation coursing through my body as I feel the cold glass in my hand.
It’s like I know this is wrong.
Sinking this low but then again, I didn't expect my life to fall apart in an instant.
The old wooden chair that I’ve had since the divorce creaks as I squat down on it.
I take a deep breath and really think about what I’m planning on doing.
I twist the top of Jack and the smells hits me in the face like a –
A shot to the face with a baseball bat.
Goddamn it, I'm sorry kid.
I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you. Not just because my daughter pretty much hates me for not doing so but because you’re a good kid and what that prick did to you was uncalled for.
Seeing my Jenny upset makes me wish I had been there to help you.
I’d like to see him try that with me. I’d shove that bat down his throat.
But in the mindset I’m in at the moment, rational thinking isn’t a priority.
Jack fills the glass.
*buzz, buzz*
I nearly spill the glass as the hard vibrations from my phone on the wooden table startle me.
It’s from the ex, blowing up my phone with yet another goddamn e-mail.
You are the worst!!!!!!!!! is the subject title.
Great way to start a conversation.
What’s even more boggling is the fact that she’s awake at 3:23 in the morning.
My head starts to hurt when I think back of how…and why it went all went wrong.
I didn’t realize how much of a gold digger my ex truly was until years later after she took everything from me.
Well, what little I had anyway.
It’s funny how things have a way of making sense looking back. Had I known what I know now, I never would’ve married her, but I was young, dumb and in love.
No matter how many s**tty jobs I put up with to support her, I was never going to have enough to satisfy her needs.
No matter how hard I worked to make sure that she was happy before anything else, she always found something to complain about.
She nearly lost her s**t when I told her about the janitor position for the WFWF.
She couldn’t live with the embarrassment that came with having a husband, an ex-soldier who was a janitor because….that’s how she is.
Chuck must be a better man than me since they’ve lasted longer than we did.
I’m grateful that we divorced though.
Had I kept taking it and being her lapdog, I would be stone cold broke right now.
Thankfully, Jenny has plenty of money for college but after what happened at SuperBrawl, it wouldn’t surprise me if Jenny decided that she didn’t want to go to college just to spite me.
I try thinking positive thoughts but with the anxiety slowly creeping up on me, my mind tells me otherwise.
Add into that my minor PTSD from the service and you get one hell of a mental cocktail.
Maybe Jack and Scotch will help with that.
Maybe they'll just make things worse but right now, I'm out of options.
The light from my phone causes the liquor to glisten as I continue looking at it.
I’m hesitant but at the same time, I don’t care anymore.
The guilt has consumed most of my life.
The guilt for failing my daughter when guys like Drakz and Needles threatened to hurt her.
The guilt for somehow, blaming myself for my marriage falling apart.
The guilt that I couldn’t save Mesh, who my daughter loves more than me.
The guilt of not being able to save some of the men that fought alongside me in battle.
Picking up the severed limbs of people that I called my comrades does something to you.
I remember the day when we were ambushed in a Humvee.
Church squad was in front of us and I still remember seeing the Humvee explode due to splash damage from an RPG or was it a landmine?
Lots of good men were in that humvee and they lost their lives. They were all friends too.
This was the first time we had seen combat and we weren’t ready.
We were surrounded as the enemy had the high ground, so we were easy pickings for them. Well, that’s what they thought.
Hawkeye, Speedy, Stumpy and myself held them off in one of the most one sided fights in military history, taking down the enemy one by one, bullet by bullet. Hawkeye got shot in his shoulder but he made it through.
Somehow, we survived but that's not worse part. Upon further inspection, we learned that the enemy had recruited children to serve as soldiers.
I'll never forget seeing all the bodies of children soldiers that were dead because of us.
That's right.
Kids.
F**king kids.
Opening fire at an army of children is something that stays with you forever. It just doesn’t go away and it never will.
The world can be a horrible place sometimes.
The mere thought of that day sends chills up my spine.
I keep looking at the half-filled glass laying in front of me.
I figure the bad outweighs the good, so I scoop the glass up and walk over to the sink.
I'm better than this.
I go to pour it out but then I see my reflection in the liquor.
Geez, I look like s**t.
It’s the lack of sleep, the stress, the emotions that are eating me from the inside.
I’m tired of feeling this way. Nothing has helped.
Something compels me to walk back over to the table, sit down and take a sip.
As I bring the glass closer to my face, I can smell the liquid, giving me the aroma of acetone.
Seems healthy.
I gulp it down in one swig and it tastes like bananas.
Fruits are good for the body.
I feel small particles of something floating around in my mouth when I realize that I forgot to wash the dust from the glass.
Regardless, it tastes good going down.
Without washing the glass, I pour myself some scotch because f**k it. A little dust in my system won’t kill me.
I don’t know why but I smell the liquid again, causing my nostrils to flare up.
Smells like sharpies, it’s strong enough that I could get high off the aroma alone if I really tried but I don’t want to screw up my liver and my lungs.
I swig it down and I can taste woodchips.
Woodchips with a hint of banana. Delicious.
The scotch isn’t as good but it’s just as strong, causing me to grimace. I barely manage to get it down without gagging.
I pace myself as I start to feel the alcohol course through my veins, giving me a spark of energy that I haven’t felt in years.
The negative thoughts in my mind start to dwindle but they’re still there, poking at my brain, unable to let go.
Let go of everything.
Thanks to the buzz I’m getting, it’s helping.
Maybe a few more drinks and I’ll truly forget…
Everything.
The next morning.
*buzz, buzz*
*buzz, buzz*
*buzz, buzz*
Ugh.
I feel dizzy, causing my stomach to churn.
My ears are ringing, causing my head to throb.
I see the two bottles of liquor on the table next to me - both completely empty.
The glass is a shattered mess on the floor by my feet. Must've dropped it during my haze.
I forgot how much hangovers suck.
*buzz, buzz*
I hear a rumbling sound which only makes the ringing in my ears to get louder.
*buzz, buzz*
What the f**k is that?!
*buzz, buzz*
Oh. It’s my phone.
I can barely make out who’s calling me at…2:30 in the afternoon, getting my head off the kitchen table where I seemed to pass out on.
S**t, was I really out that long?
I have no idea who it is, so f**k them, I ain't answering.
It's quiet again and I feel myself dozing off until -
*buzz, buzz*
Motherf**ker! Whoever is calling me better get the message otherwise, I'll say something that I'll regret once I sober up.
*buzz, buzz*
"Who is this?”
“….it’s Lila.”
Reality smacks me across the face.
It’s the boss.
I suddenly tidy up, clear my throat, do everything I can to give the impression that I wasn’t up all night, drowning my sorrows in alcohol.
“Are you okay?”
She’s the only person from work that has reached out since Dallas.
“Yes, Ms. Sleater, everything is fine.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I saw the little…incident with Jenny at SuperBrawl. How is she?”
I don’t think she can tell that I'm hungover. Good.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t talked to me since Dallas.”
I can hear Ms. Sleater frown on the other end.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Give her some space, she saw her favorite wrestler almost get murdered right in front of her.”
I don’t know what to say to that. All I can think about is the elephant in the room.
The psychotic elephant with a baseball bat with that prick announcer as his wrangler.
“What are you going to do about that, Ms. Sleater? Knight and Needles?”
“Well, I have to do something. We got tons of backlash on social media and I got the Board of Directors breathing down my neck. I have to make a decision by the time we go to Tulsa, otherwise they’ve threatened to fire me.”
Of course, I like Ms. Sleater but it brings me joy to hear her so panicked. What Needles and Knight planned against Mesh was too far. He got off scot-free for the whole Twitter thing but now, she can’t protect Knight any longer.
She’s being forced to make an executive decision.
I like that.
“I trust you’ll make the right decision, boss.”
“I appreciate your support. I've made a few phone calls and I promise you - I'll have one by the time we get to Tulsa.”
We'll see about that, boss.
She clears her throat.
“Speaking of Tulsa, I was wondering if you would be interested in working this next show? We got a few new signees making their debut and we need someone to fill out the card. You know – the usual.”
“I don’t know, boss. After SuperBrawl, I don’t think I have the confidence.”
“You did great! Sure, you lost but you did what every father in America would have done. It’s admirable, nonetheless.”
She’s going to try and convince me why wrestling in Tulsa will be good for me, isn’t she?
“You’re one – if not, the most reliable employee in the company and it would mean so much to me if you could work Tulsa. The people want you to stand up to guys like Needles so what happened to Mesh never happens to anyone else again. Besides, I think your potential opponent will interest you.”
Goddamn it.
“Who is it this time?”
“Daisy.”
My mind draws a blank.
“Who’s that?”
“A last-minute signee I got from Massachusetts.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
I can sense Ms. Sleater smiling.
“She has the potential to be another Needles – driven by nothing but a thirst for blood.”
Hearing that name causes me to slightly gag as I fight down the urge to throw up while on the phone with my boss.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No, I’m not but that’s why I called you. To put her down. Show her how we run things in the WFWF.”
I appreciate the vote of confidence.
“I don’t know, Ms. Sleater. You know how I feel about fighting women.”
It’s like she was waiting for the right moment to tell me that –
“I know but I thought you should know that she tweeted something about Mesh getting hurt.”
Okay, now I’m interested.
“What did she say?”
It takes her a second to respond, as if she had the tweet ready to push my buttons with.
“And nothing of value was lost.”
Brave words for someone that no one knows.
I’m offended.
Mesh is a part of my daughter’s life and this Daisy talking s**t is like her insulting my daughter.
“Okay, I’m in then.”
I can hear Ms. Sleater sigh in relief.
“Thank you, Billy. I really appreciate it! I’ll pencil you in for Tulsa and announce it on the website.”
I just nod my head, feeling like a fool for letting Ms. Sleater push the right buttons like she always does with me.
But this Daisy made it personal with that tweet.
I couldn’t protect Mesh so now the least I can do is stand up to people to could pose a threat in the locker room.
Hopefully, I won't fail at doing that.
***
Daisy.
I don’t know who the hell you are, but I already don’t like you.
I get that you want to make a good first impression by badmouthing my daughter’s hero, but I won’t stand for that.
I failed to protect her at SuperBrawl but I won’t hesitate to hurt you in our match.
I just don’t care anymore.
I don’t think about doing “what’s right” anymore.
I only care about protecting those that need protecting.
Doing what’s right nearly got Mesh killed.
I made the mistake of not bashing Needles’ head in with a chair at SuperBrawl but I’m not afraid of doing that to you.
People like you are a disease.
People like Needles and you only live to hurt others.
Yes, this is wrestling where that’s our job but people like you and Needles take it a bit too far.
I risk being in a wheelchair every time I wrestle just so my daughter can have a better life.
I dare you to try and put my daughter’s future in jeopardy.
I heard of your little jab at Mesh on social media and I didn’t appreciate that.
I failed at SuperBrawl but I won’t fail this time.
People like you need to be put down and as long as I’m breathing, I’ll make it my job that no one ever gets hurt like Mesh did again.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
But therefore, you’ll never beat someone like me.
Why?
I’ve survived war.
I’ve survived combat.
You at your worst will be nothing compared to the things I saw in the service.
Hell – what Needles did to Priceless in that deathmatch is child’s play compared to the things I want to do to you.
The scary thing is – I don’t need weapons to tear your head off.
I can use my bare hands.
All the anger, all the frustrations, everything that I’ve kept bottled up inside will come out in the form of my hands as I rip you apart.
I used to have reservations about fighting a woman, but I don’t see you as a woman.
I see you as the enemy and every soldier’s mission is to eliminate the enemy.
You call yourself the ‘delicate little flower’ and at Stay Gold, I will rip off your petals until there’s nothing but the stem and then I’ll take the stem and break it in two.
Once I get rid of you, I’ll work on taking out the trash that is Needles since I’m the f**king janitor!
Drakz is a piece of garbage too now that I mention it.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten the things you said about my Jenny.
You're just another waste of skin that belongs in the garbage.
Taking out the garbage is what I do better than anyone on the roster!
So, come get some, Daisy.
Yippee-ki-yay....bitch.