Post by Deleted on Nov 10, 2019 20:53:45 GMT -5
October 22nd, 2019
Mr. William Saturn Broom
1706 Jacobs Street
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15212
RE: Broom versus Freitag/Sanchez; Case #0126942067
Dear Mr. Broom,
Your case has been set for a hearing on December 3rd at 5 o’clock in the parish courthouse, located at 100 Center Drive in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Your case is before Judge Price in courtroom Pittsburgh Superior Court.
This is a hearing on the charges of assault and battery and disorderly conduct that were made on the 25th of September.
We are aware of your profession which requires you to tour on a consistent basis but we must ask you to stay in the city until the day of the hearing. Please be present for the hearing. Any failure to do so could result in a possible new charge against you. If you have any questions, please feel free to call us at 412-881-0299.
Sincerely,
Joe Strubachincoscow
STRUBACHINCOSCOW LAW OFFICE
Mr. William Saturn Broom
1706 Jacobs Street
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15212
RE: Broom versus Freitag/Sanchez; Case #0126942067
Dear Mr. Broom,
Your case has been set for a hearing on December 3rd at 5 o’clock in the parish courthouse, located at 100 Center Drive in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Your case is before Judge Price in courtroom Pittsburgh Superior Court.
This is a hearing on the charges of assault and battery and disorderly conduct that were made on the 25th of September.
We are aware of your profession which requires you to tour on a consistent basis but we must ask you to stay in the city until the day of the hearing. Please be present for the hearing. Any failure to do so could result in a possible new charge against you. If you have any questions, please feel free to call us at 412-881-0299.
Sincerely,
Joe Strubachincoscow
STRUBACHINCOSCOW LAW OFFICE
I don’t really remember much about that night. I remember being home, taking to a f**king mop then I must've passed out because last thing I remember was waking up outside where I beat up those two kids.
Now, their families want to press charges.
S**t.
I take a swig of the freshly opened Jack Daniels, tasting sweet as honey going down. I immediately pour myself some more Jack before crumbling the letter up into a ball. The perfect metaphor of my life since Dallas.
To me, that piece of paper is just another reminder. A reminder of just how I've lost control.
I'm so far down the rabbit hole, I don't know if I'm climbing up or digging down.
Nothing but darkness.
Destroyer made this personal so looks like I'm going to break the law once more, but I don't care. I haven't cared in months.
He won't get off that easy.
He won't get off that easy.
Relapsing to alcohol is one thing, it was bound to happen. When you can never say no to a cold one, eventually it’s going to evolve to the hard stuff. When I used to drink, it was never like this.
I was a functioning drunk. I could go out, get s**tfaced and still arrive back at base to complete my mission. It was how I bonded with the rest of Delta.
Now I'm a 53-year-old wrestler that nearly killed some college kids.
Bashing their heads in with a piece of wood.
As I go to take another sip of the hard stuff, that's when the irony of my situation rears its ugly head.
Oh, s**t.
Mesh. The poor kid.
The reason why everything fell apart. Because I failed to save her. Because I, like everyone else was glued to my monitor, watching her get mangled in front of 100,000 people. Like watching a gazelle being ripped apart by a lion.
Jenny must've been horrified, watching her heroine get dismembered all by herself.
I know she was. I've never seen her so frozen with fear in my life.
And that's when she decided she wanted nothing to with me.
I feel like I just took a cheap shot to the gut. That feeling of dread and despair is creeping up on me. I try taking another sip to calm my nerves, but my hand is shaking too much, causing me to nearly spill Jack all over the floor.
I made it my mission to never let anything like that happen to anyone else again.
But I failed my mission.
Because now I’m that guy.
A heartless bastard who violently hurts people and leaves them for dead.
The only difference between Bat Boy and myself is that I know I have a conscience. I know I have a heart and I always will.
He doesn't.
I'm an amalgamation of emotions; pissed off, sad, scared.
In a rage, I toss the glass at the wall, shattering it into tiny, jagged daggers.
"F**k!"
I hear myself curse as the sadness consumes me. As a result, I start to cry, hot tears stemming down my face with my back towards the wall.
It's become too much and too real in a short amount of time.
What I did to those two kids, I know it's wrong and I know that I have to pay the price for what I did, whether it be a fine or even jail time.
Maybe this is how I atone for my mistakes. All of them.
Maybe then Jenny will forgive me.
I hope she forgives me.
It's going to kill me if she doesn't...
The Mariner’s Lament
A Billy Broom RP
I down the remaining amount of scotch left in my glass as I start packing my things for the big expedition across the world and for some reason, things feel different this time.
It's certainly not the first time I've gone to another country with the purpose to hurting my enemies.
I remember when Jenny and I went to Japan together. It was her first time ever leaving the country and she was so excited.
It's the first time she met Mesh and I've never seen her so happy. There was a light in her eyes that I haven't seen since.
She wanted to come to Mexico with me, but Vicki put a kibosh on that and I remember how upset she was.
That was all fine but that was three months and I always came back home at the end of the show.
Now we're going overseas in the UK for eight, goddamn months.
For all the s**t I've been through, I've always been a homebody. I've always felt comfortable around my own surroundings but being a stranger in a strange land is enough to churn my stomach.
I get bad flashbacks to arriving in Kuwait and immediately blowing chunks as soon as I got off the deployment truck because the new environment, which would be my home for many years made me sick to my stomach.
As I keep packing my suitcase, the carpet below my feet turns to hot sand and I'm suddenly blinded by the sun. My bed and suitcase are gone and next thing I know I'm in the desert with nothing but my camo gear and a bowie knife.
In front of me is the enemy. His native tongue completely foreign to me but I can tell what he's saying by his tone.
He wants to gut me like a fish, but I can't let him do that because every soldier’s mission is to come home and that the enemy is what stops us.
We start pacing back-and-forth, both of us waiting for someone to make the first move. The grip of my bowie knife pressing against the palm of my hand as the enemy continues wishing death upon me, the evil invader.
And in his world, invaders must die.
He lunges at me, screaming the name of his God but I catch his arm and keep him at bay. His screams grow frantic, almost panicked. I can sense the fear of death in his voice, as if his death will somehow give him a free pass to the pearly gates in the sky.
He grabs a handful of hot ash and throws it at my face, burning my eyes. Although hazy, I'm able to make out the enemy holding the knife above his head, ready to strike me down but I move, and he stabs the sand.
I get behind him and start choking him, but he must've sensed me coming because he shoves himself back into what I thought was nothing.
Until I feel a pounding sensation in the back of my head.
A beam that wasn't there before suddenly appears out of thin air and connects with my skull. I can't see and my ears are ringing, temporarily deafening me. I can feel myself being lifted off the sand and thrown against the beam which only makes my current state worse.
I hear muffled sounds, seemingly the enemy reading me my last rites but then as if some spiritual force is pulling the strings, I puppeteer around the slashes and gashes from the enemy and his knife.
Then I see him, clear as day.
The enemy, fetching after his knife like a dog after I somehow kicked it out of his hands.
I charge towards him, tackling him down to the ground, the enemy screaming hysterically as he tries desperately to stop my knife from going into his throat.
I can hear my grunting breathes as I struggle too, the enemy putting up a fight.
Our hands, although united in this tug-of-war of life and death quiver at the strength of a man trying to end a life and a man trying to save his life.
I can feel his fight, his will to live waning as the edge of my knife draws closer and closer to his throat.
In a last-ditch effort, the enemy spits in my eye, a thick slimy substance blotched on my face. He scurries away, the f**king coward.
He grabs his knife and lunges at him, but I grab his arm.
We do the dance of death, both of us jockeying for position. His face is covered by the balaclava but his razor sharp teeth are bearing and his eyes are bulging wide.
I manage to get my leg off the sand and drive my knee into his ribs.
I go to finish the job, gripping my knife as tight as possible and throwing myself towards him but he catches me and now we're cutting the air with out knives, hoping that at least one of our swings will connect.
But they don't.
Just swooshing of air as the edges of our knives barely graze our bodies.
I manage to get my leg off the sand and drive my knee into his ribs.
I go to finish the job, gripping my knife as tight as possible and throwing myself towards him but he catches me and now we're cutting the air with out knives, hoping that at least one of our swings will connect.
But they don't.
Just swooshing of air as the edges of our knives barely graze our bodies.
The enemy leans back and kicks me right in the heart, knocking all the wind out of me, sending me flying onto the beam behind me.
My head bounces off the beam like basketball and again, I'm in a haze only this time I lost my knife, a few inches away from me.
The enemy realizes the giant opportunity in front of him - and so do I.
Screaming his God's name, he runs towards me as if I was the matador and he was the bull.
I toss myself aside, hoping to be within reach of the knife but he saw me and adjusts accordingly.
His screams grow closer and closer as I scramble for my knife.
Then he leaps into the air, the knife high above his head...
In that moment, I can see him slowly fall right on top of me, all the air being knocked out of me.
I can't breath but neither can the enemy.
We're both unsure of who the blade was plunged into.
I then feel a hot warmth right in my stomach. I manage to peer my head off to the side and I see dark red blood oozing out.
My breathing then becomes short and faint.
I then realize that this is the end for me.
A cold knife has been plunged into my body and now the life is slowly seeping out of me.
As a soldier, I know the risks that come with the service. Every soldier signs his own death certificate the moment he enlists because it's a possibility every single day.
And now death caught up to me and it's my time.
I can feel the hot sand turn cold behind my back as it feels like I'm slowly sinking.
The enemy hasn't moved an inch either but it's just the shock.
When you take the life of another man, it does something to you. It causes you to freeze.
You aren't sure what just happened but you know that another man - another person ceased to exist because of you.
It's a real f**ked up thing but that's war and for some of us, that's a daily thing that you must learn to compartmentalize.
Otherwise, you're already dead.
The enemy's arms suddenly go limp and he slumps off me, dead as a doornail.
In my panic induced moment of adrenaline, I didn't even remember picking up my knife, now dripping with his blood, not mine.
A dark red puddle begins to form underneath his corpse, the stab wound a direct hit into his heart.
A near instant death.
Quick and painless.
With the fight over, I'm able to collect my thoughts. It's not the first fight with death where I survived but goddamn it, this one was pretty close.
I tower over my fallen enemy, looking at his once vengeful soul at peace.
The anger that was once a fire in his eyes now lie peaceful and still.
Something compels me though. As if death itself was guiding my hand, I hunch down next to the body and slowly peel off the balaclava.
His blood may be pouring but my blood curdles upon the sight in front of me.
The man in the balaclava, the man who nearly ended my life.....is me.
I watch myself succumb to the wounds I gave myself.
I can see the little life remaining just fizzle away until it's just a body without a soul.
I feel more warmth, only this time its in my chest.
I look down.
And there's a stab wound - exactly like the one I gave the enemy.
Right in the heart.
Before I can even realize what's going on, I collapse. I can hear myself wheezing like an old squeak toy.
It's getting harder to breathe, they're getting shorter...and shorter.....
I can sense the feelings in my limbs leaving my body, starting at the bottom of my feet and slowly working itself up to my face.
The sun is blazing down on me like the devil's breathe yet a severe chill consumes me, causing me to shake and shiver.
I don't want to die.
Not yet.
Not like this.
I never got the chance to say goodbye to....to....
I want to say her name but I can't.
I can't bring myself to say it as I start sink deeper and deeper into the sand, slowly devouring my body whole.
I use whatever strength I have to dig myself out but that just makes the sinkhole more powerful, leaving me powerless.
The sudden coldness is counteracted by the hot lava that is the sand, eating me alive.
I start to have spasms, my body violently contorting and convulsing.
What little air I have left is replaced by nearly black blood gushing out of my mouth.
I try to scream.
I try to cry.
But I can't.
I'm unable to.
The sand reaches my neck and I can feel everything start to close in around me.
The hot and cold along with the deathly fear is too much.
It's a feeling that I can't describe.
Once the sand reaches my face, the sun's gone out and then I'm surrounded by a pitch blackness, colder than the devil's heart.
I lay still in my fiery coffin, my home for the rest of eternity.
The place where my body will be left to rot.
My home now.
I start to feel sleepy, the sand constricting my every move, forcing me to lie still like a corpse.
I can hear myself struggling to breathe.
The silence is uncomfortable but in a way, it's like how I always envisioned dying to be like.
It's quiet and it hurts but the longer you fight it, the more it hurts.
Once you learn to accept the fate that has been dealt to you, you learn to let go.
Once you let go, it makes fading away that less painful.
I can only think of....
F**k, why can't I say her name?
"Dad? Daddy?"
My silence is broken by the voice of an angel. I hear that voice from above the sand as if she's looking for me.
Maybe it's not my time.
"Dad? Daddy?"
I use whatever life I have left to raise my arm, reaching to the sky, hoping to just....feel her hand one more time before I....
I can hear the sane start to crumble behind me the more I reach but I'm not going without saying bye to my....my....
"JENNY!"
Suddenly, my sand casket shatters and I'm falling.
Falling into the unknown.
I scream as loudly as I ever have but it just echoes.
No one can hear me.
No one can help me.
I wake up in a panic, a pain in my chest from the sudden heart attack. I'm cold and my body is shaking.
I'm alone with my bowie knife in hand and my apartment obliterated.
Not like last time where I could easily dispose of any evidence only proving my insanity.
This is the equivalent of a tornado ripping through a trailer in the south. Everything I once held dear is destroyed, ripped, crushed and sliced.
Large punctures are all over the walls, stab marks on the floor and the couch has been eviscerated.
Blood is smeared on the walls.
My blood.
I look down and see deep slashes to my wrists. I can see bone and just an oozing of a red sanguine fluid.
The intent of what I was trying to do is crystal clear.
Blood is smeared on the walls.
My blood.
I look down and see deep slashes to my wrists. I can see bone and just an oozing of a red sanguine fluid.
The intent of what I was trying to do is crystal clear.
S**t.
Then I hear loud, pounding sounds, followed by the sound of keys jingling.
"Что за хрень с тобой?"
Everything is a blur.
A short man with more fuzz on his chest than a peach marches towards me, shouting and pointing fingers.
"Что с тобой случилось!?"
I don't understand a word he's saying.
He's both pissed and scared at the tenant whose apartment he just walked in.
He just walked in as a former soldier-turned-janitor-turned wrestler tried to commit suicide.
I muster whatever energy I have left to get up, which only causes the large pools of blood to splash onto the carpet.
"Не ковер! Давай я помогу тебе!"
The short hairy man approaches me but I keep him at bay with my blooded bowie knife.
"Who the - who the f**k are you?"
He responds in....whatever he's speaking.
I stumble and nearly trip as the bottom of my feet squeak on the kitchen floor. I grunt and groan as I reach my bags which have been placed on my kitchen table. I run over to the sink and proceed to wash out the giant wounds on my wrist.
The sudden coldness from the water causes me to scream.
"Motherf**ker!"
The hairy man is startled, shouting expletives at me in his native tongue.
I grab two towels, wrap them around my wrists before grabbing some scotch tape from the bathroom, making them as tight as possible.
By this point, other concerned neighbors have left the comfort and safety of their own homes to see what madness was taking place outside their doors.
Holding the towels in place, I look for some tape, something to keep the pressure on the wounds that I decorated for myself. I search like a madman for anything to stop the oozing amount of life from draining me completely.
I manage to slip onto the kitchen floor, thanks to the blood dripping down my arm and bonk my head against the drawers. That isn't enough to settle myself down, I pry them apart and find some scotch tape.
Like a cannibal, I tear the tape apart with my canines and lock the blood-soaked towels in place as best I can. I see the hairy man talk to some of the concerned neighbors, only this time I can understand him perfectly.
"Man crazy! Call police please!"
I see the older woman with those scrunches in her hair immediately flee the scene upon seeing the bald, blooded psychopath in the background. Rather than walking towards them as they feared, I limp to my bedroom and grab my plaid hoodie, the one I've been wearing to shut myself out from the world, grab my bags from the kitchen table and walk right past the concerned crowd.
They try and stop me but I give them a look with those eyes of a lunatic that I have and they back off. The hairy man's thick accent trails behind me.
"Я собираюсь позвонить в полицию! You never come back here again!"
I understood that part.
He just kicked me out of my own home.
I don't care though.
Without Jenny, that place wasn't much of a home anymore.
It was a cage.
My cage.
I leave the place that once was home behind, taking only with me clothes and my gear with me.
Leaving everything else I once held dear behind me.
He's both pissed and scared at the tenant whose apartment he just walked in.
He just walked in as a former soldier-turned-janitor-turned wrestler tried to commit suicide.
I muster whatever energy I have left to get up, which only causes the large pools of blood to splash onto the carpet.
"Не ковер! Давай я помогу тебе!"
The short hairy man approaches me but I keep him at bay with my blooded bowie knife.
"Who the - who the f**k are you?"
He responds in....whatever he's speaking.
I stumble and nearly trip as the bottom of my feet squeak on the kitchen floor. I grunt and groan as I reach my bags which have been placed on my kitchen table. I run over to the sink and proceed to wash out the giant wounds on my wrist.
The sudden coldness from the water causes me to scream.
"Motherf**ker!"
The hairy man is startled, shouting expletives at me in his native tongue.
I grab two towels, wrap them around my wrists before grabbing some scotch tape from the bathroom, making them as tight as possible.
By this point, other concerned neighbors have left the comfort and safety of their own homes to see what madness was taking place outside their doors.
Holding the towels in place, I look for some tape, something to keep the pressure on the wounds that I decorated for myself. I search like a madman for anything to stop the oozing amount of life from draining me completely.
I manage to slip onto the kitchen floor, thanks to the blood dripping down my arm and bonk my head against the drawers. That isn't enough to settle myself down, I pry them apart and find some scotch tape.
Like a cannibal, I tear the tape apart with my canines and lock the blood-soaked towels in place as best I can. I see the hairy man talk to some of the concerned neighbors, only this time I can understand him perfectly.
"Man crazy! Call police please!"
I see the older woman with those scrunches in her hair immediately flee the scene upon seeing the bald, blooded psychopath in the background. Rather than walking towards them as they feared, I limp to my bedroom and grab my plaid hoodie, the one I've been wearing to shut myself out from the world, grab my bags from the kitchen table and walk right past the concerned crowd.
They try and stop me but I give them a look with those eyes of a lunatic that I have and they back off. The hairy man's thick accent trails behind me.
"Я собираюсь позвонить в полицию! You never come back here again!"
I understood that part.
He just kicked me out of my own home.
I don't care though.
Without Jenny, that place wasn't much of a home anymore.
It was a cage.
My cage.
I leave the place that once was home behind, taking only with me clothes and my gear with me.
Leaving everything else I once held dear behind me.
***
I arrive outside Frank's house as the tires from the Prius that picked me up from the airport causes the rocks to snap, crackle and pop. I can't bring myself to look up to face the home. The Lyft driver that picked me up has no idea of the chaos that ensued just two hours and fifteen minutes prior.
No one did.
I somehow managed to get on the first plane to Boston without causing much a scene. People knew to leave me alone
I check the towels on my wrists, obscured by the long sleeves of my hoodie, some blood has started seeping through but they're sill clean. I don't have any extras so I'm hoping Frank has something I can use to clean up these wounds.
No one did.
I somehow managed to get on the first plane to Boston without causing much a scene. People knew to leave me alone
I check the towels on my wrists, obscured by the long sleeves of my hoodie, some blood has started seeping through but they're sill clean. I don't have any extras so I'm hoping Frank has something I can use to clean up these wounds.
I've never been one to ask for help. Call me stubborn but I have pride.
But I have no other options left.
I ruined all of them.
I have no daughter and no home.
Now, I'm truly nothing.
Now, I'm truly nothing.
My heavy feet drag on the floor as I make my way up the stairs until the tip of my nose touches the front door.
I knock the door just loud enough so Frank could hear me but not enough to wake up the baby.
After some rustling on the other side, the door veers open.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"You okay? What are you doing here?"
"I need help, man."
Hoping that my act will somehow garner me some sympathy, I roll my sleeves up, causing me to wince from the tenderness.
I show Frank my scars.
"I got kicked out of my apartment and I have nowhere to stay. You know I would never ask you if I knew I didn't have any other choice."
He eyes the wounds, then looks at me before looking at the wounds again.
"Jesus, Bill."
I don't say a word as Frank lets me in, like an embarrassed child after being sent to his room.
I notice Frank's distance as he leads me to the living room where I will call home for the night. Last time I visited, the lights were on and it was lively.
Now it seems abandoned almost. Sarah and the baby are nowhere to be seen but I get it. After having some psychopath like Drakz inches away from my home, I'd make sure those I loved were safe as well.
That and I'd have my M16 ready.
I sigh as I hunch down and sit on the family couch in the center of the room but I'm left confused when I see Frank keep walking.
"You're staying in the barn, man."
I don't know what took over me but I felt insulted by that.
"What am I? A f**king animal?"
The tone in my voice made it obvious.
Frank's demeanor doesn't change. I can hear him take a deep breath as if he wants to tell me off but doesn't.
Though I wouldn't blame him if he did.
"Look. Don't take it personal but I read what you did to those two kids -"
As I needed another reminder, especially from someone who I consider a real good friend.
"This is my home. Thanks to Drakz, it doesn't feel very safe. I won't put my family in harm's way, intentional or unintentional. Take what you can get Billy and be grateful"
I talk under my breath as I get off the couch and follow Frank outside, down the winding path overlooking the wooden gazebo besides the house with two lonely chairs set up on the back patio.
The sounds of crickets and twigs breaking underneath our feet is the music of the night.
He stops, slides the barn door open and allows me inside.
"Look, Frank. I really apprec-"
Before I can finish, the barn door is slid back shut and I'm left alone in another darkened room.
Déjà vu.
It seems like no matter where I go, darkness has a habit of trailing behind me.
I fidget around the dark until I feel the switches and the low hum of the lights turning one all at once breaks the awkward tension of the night.
I see Frank's state-of-the-art gym and the ring where we once sparred. Now it seems like Frank would rather just spike me on my head on it instead.
I head for the squared circle and unpack my stuff, making myself as comfortable as I can be in such a situation. The mat is cold and very firm but it has some give to it to where my whole body won't ache the next day. I lay on he mat with my arms spread out. It's only way I can lie still without being in pain.
I'm already on edge for pretty much ignoring what my attorney told me to do but I can't and I won't give Destroyer the satisfaction of beating me.
F**k that.
As I try to get some sleep, I idly stare at the ceiling of the barn and that's where my mind starts to wander.
I can feel my wrist pulsating from the blood.
I can't do this anymore.
I can't keep drinking.
It's going to kill me.
I pushed Jenny away and I don't want to push Frank away.
My head is throbbing.
I feel like throwing up.
Everything that has led up o this point starts to replay in my mind like the opening of a real bad sitcom.
The janitor.
The wrestler.
The drunk.
I can feel my wrist pulsating from the blood.
I can't do this anymore.
I can't keep drinking.
It's going to kill me.
I pushed Jenny away and I don't want to push Frank away.
My head is throbbing.
I feel like throwing up.
Everything that has led up o this point starts to replay in my mind like the opening of a real bad sitcom.
The janitor.
The wrestler.
The drunk.
Who almost killed two college kids, possibly looking at jail time.
The first man to beat The Dragon.
The cruel irony.
Personal life falling to shambles but my professional life is booming.
The first man to beat The Dragon.
The cruel irony.
Personal life falling to shambles but my professional life is booming.
I keep hearing talks of the possibility of Billy Broom getting his first shot at the gold, but you know what? F**k that.
A gold belt isn’t going to change anything.
I lost my Jenny and now it seems like I lost Frank.
After a while, the pity party can only get you so far.
After a while, a man must look himself in the mirror and realize that maybe he's the problem.
I know I'm the problem.
Frank letting me stay in his barn rather than inside his home is understandable. If anyone ever got that close to Jenny, I'd hunt that motherf**ker to the end of the earth 'til I had his head on a pike.
I'm a dangerous man, Frank knows that.
He let me stay at his house on such short notice but it still hurts.
He let me stay at his house on such short notice but it still hurts.
There's a knock on the door which breaks the tension of the crickets mixed with the noises from my own thoughts.
"Here, man. Can't have you going hungry on us."
He walks over towards the ring and hands me a plate - hot fried chicken, creamy mashed potatoes with a side of steamed broccoli. In his other hand is a tall glass of iced tea to wash it down, a slice of lemon on the brim of the glass.
"Sarah just made the iced tea."
I wince as I sit up, reaching for the humble gesture. It's a bit overwhelming, if I'm being honest.
"Thanks. I really appreciate it."
I see Frank crack a smile, one of genuine concern but part of it is also of pity.
"I'm sorry for being a dick. I know you're not Drakz."
Damn right I'm not.
"You're welcome to stay here as long as you want but please - no alcohol."
He really empathized the "no".
"You take one sip and you're out. Got it?"
I look at Frank directly in the eye.
"Got it. I won't be staying long, I'll be on the first plane to Scotland in the morning."
Frank doesn't react. He just stands there, half of body turned towards the door.
"Admitting you have a problem is the first step to getting better. Ever think about AA?"
He says like some sort of guardian angel before he completely turns his back to me and leaves the barn.
Leaving me alone again for the remainder of the night.
Leaving me alone with my thoughts.
"Sarah just made the iced tea."
I wince as I sit up, reaching for the humble gesture. It's a bit overwhelming, if I'm being honest.
"Thanks. I really appreciate it."
I see Frank crack a smile, one of genuine concern but part of it is also of pity.
"I'm sorry for being a dick. I know you're not Drakz."
Damn right I'm not.
"You're welcome to stay here as long as you want but please - no alcohol."
He really empathized the "no".
"You take one sip and you're out. Got it?"
I look at Frank directly in the eye.
"Got it. I won't be staying long, I'll be on the first plane to Scotland in the morning."
Frank doesn't react. He just stands there, half of body turned towards the door.
"Admitting you have a problem is the first step to getting better. Ever think about AA?"
He says like some sort of guardian angel before he completely turns his back to me and leaves the barn.
Leaving me alone again for the remainder of the night.
Leaving me alone with my thoughts.
***
You have some nerve, Destroyer.
I slayed the dragon but you just had to come back and ruin my moment!
Who the hell do you think you are?
When I first decided to be a wrestler, nobody expected me to last – Hell, I didn't think I would last either.
But goddamn it, I'm still here.
And now, I'm coming for you.
You made a bad choice by attacking me because in doing so, you made an enemy.
You won't like me as your enemy.
I've been trained to eliminate the enemy and that's exactly what I'm going to do with you.
I'm going to pulverize you until you're nothing but dust.
And just like before you decided to show your face here again, you're going to be obsolete and you will fade away.
I promise you that, bitch!
I've been trained to eliminate the enemy and that's exactly what I'm going to do with you.
I'm going to pulverize you until you're nothing but dust.
And just like before you decided to show your face here again, you're going to be obsolete and you will fade away.
I promise you that, bitch!
When whackjobs like Daisy decide to run their mouths, I’m the one that put that bitch in the ground.
When false prophets like Luke Marshall come to my world, I’m the one that gave him a reality check.
When monsters like Tugarin Zmey are hyped up to the point where they're deemed unbeatable, I'm the one who stands toe-to-toe with the beast….and wins.
Frank couldn't beat him.
Ante couldn’t beat him.
Bat Boy couldn’t beat him.
Hell, even the almighty Drakz couldn't beat him.
I beat him.
The motherf**king janitor!
Which brings me to you.
I've gone through more s**t these last few months than you have in your entire life so there's not a whole lot you can do to me that’ll hurt.
Life has cut me deeper than any knife.
Life has bludgeoned me harder than any of your pathetic moves.
Life has bludgeoned me harder than any of your pathetic moves.
You caught me off guard, which was smart on your part, otherwise I would’ve taken that wooden mask and shoved it down your throat and watched as you choked to death.
What you did at Destroy was a bitch move.
Why don't you fight me like a man?
You’re gonna have to kill me because I’m going to destroy you.
See what I did there?
Be sure to wear your best suit to Scotland because I'll be sure to cover it in your own blood.
See what I did there?
Be sure to wear your best suit to Scotland because I'll be sure to cover it in your own blood.
***
“You have arrived in Scotland. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
I can barely understand the voice greeting me over the intercom as it rings throughout the airport, echoing amidst the crowd. I'm surrounded by strangers, which doesn't help with the feeling of uneasiness.
My wrists continue to throb and that general ill feeling that has been with me since leaving Pittsburgh.
My mind is fixated on Destroyer and how I want to bash his head in.
I'm getting so worked up that I start to shake.
I go to clinch my fists but the pain from my wrists is too strong. I cut through the crowd, making my way to the front exit until I feel a rattling in my pocket.
It's Vicki.
The f**k does she want?
My wrists continue to throb and that general ill feeling that has been with me since leaving Pittsburgh.
My mind is fixated on Destroyer and how I want to bash his head in.
I'm getting so worked up that I start to shake.
I go to clinch my fists but the pain from my wrists is too strong. I cut through the crowd, making my way to the front exit until I feel a rattling in my pocket.
It's Vicki.
The f**k does she want?
"Oh, God! Oh, God!"
She's hysterical but not in her usual way.
I can sense the fear in her voice.
"Vicki, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"It's Jennifer!"
I can feel my pounding heart and I can hear it.
That's all I can hear - my rapid heartbeat.
I have this need to know what the hell she's talking about but in that same vein, I'm deathly afraid.
What if something happen-
No.
Don't think that.
"....what are you talking about? What about Jenny?"
She's howling. I've never heard her sound like this ever. I can hear Chuck's voice in the background, his usual calm demeanor now one of a frenetic stepfather.
"Vicki! Talk to me! What happened to Jenny!"
I raise my voice in the middle of the crowded airport and people are staring.
Not exactly the kind of welcome I want to create for myself in Scotland, especially when I'm on parole.
"Vicki? Vicki!"
The silence is unbearable. I can hear her quivering on the line.
The silence is unbearable. I can hear her quivering on the line.
"Someone....someone took her!"