Post by Rated R on Apr 24, 2017 7:19:39 GMT -5
"…and an increased risk of death of a fatal or accident. Trace? Trace!”
"Huh, what?”
"Did you hear a word I just said?”
"Sorry doc, I’ve not been sleeping.”
"I know.”
"You do?”
"That’s what we’ve been speaking about for the past fifteen minutes.”
"Oh, my bad.”
I’m fourteen. Fifteen? Hard to keep track of memories nowadays, they all get so jumbled together. Age maybe? Could have been the years of alcohol and drug abuse, that’s got to hit you somewhere right? Honestly I’m surprised my brain’s held out as long as it has.
"Did you hear what I was saying?”
"Something about death?”
I’m talking to the school councillor, because the average Canadian teenager has so many problems that every school seems obliged to have a councillor, right? I mean seriously, what did we ever have to worry about? Being mistaken for an American? Either way, the school’s got me marked down as high risk. Of what? Who the f*ck knows, couldn’t even tell you what gave them the idea in the first place. I mean I’m just your usual teen. Smoking weed, drinking down the park, f*cking any girl that’ll let me, abusive dad, waste of space mum.
Normal stuff, y’know?
"I was explaining the risks of sleep deprivation. You understand that the longer you go without sleep the more dangerous it becomes, correct? Your brain will slowly start to shut down. You’ll have likely already experienced micro-sleeps, although you may not have noticed them. You run the risk of hallucinations and health complications, and like I said, you increase the risk of death from your body shutting down completely, or a lack of concentration leading to a fatal accident.”
"Real cheery stuff for second period Doc.”
"This isn’t a joke Trace. You say you haven’t slept in over two days yes? What exactly is it stopping you from sleeping? You don’t have any history of insomnia, so what has brought this on now? Have you recently gone through an incident of turmoil or increased stress?”
"I…”
I try to think, racking my brain for anything that’ll explain why I can’t just shut my eyes and drift off. But that’s the problem, because every time I do shut my eyes I see… him. Yes, it’s him, he’s the reason, he’s the one stopping me from sleeping, he’s the voice in my ear, the laugh running through my mind, he’s the-
"Trace!”
What? My eyes snap open, snapped away from his taunting presence in my head.
"Why’re you shouting?”
"Trace! Have you even listened to a word I’ve said?”
But he isn’t, he hasn’t said a word. He’s sat there, motionless, the voice echoing out from somewhere else. The room shakes with every word, because… oh.
"Damn it Trace! Every single god damn time! Will you just act like-“
He hasn’t said anything because he’s not real. None of this is. And that voice is… f*cks sake.
< *** >
Trace Demon Presents
Sleep No More
Chapter One
50 Hours
"A f*cking human being for once!”
"Why’re you shouting Anders, I’m sat right here. When did you even get here?”
Jason Anders. My former… friend? Associate? Lackey? Whatever you want to call it, it’s very much former in every sense.
"What? When did I get here? I’ve been here for fifteen bloody minutes trying to get some kind of sense out of you! Are you on something? Is that what this is, are you taking again?”
This is my… yeah, it’s my house alright. I’m stood in the living room, feeling a bit unsteady, with Anders face so red from shouting that he looks like he’s about to explode. Wait, did he say fifteen minutes? I don’t even remember him getting here. That can’t be a good sign.
"I’m clean Anders.”
I think, though it’d explain a lot. I’d remember getting high as a kite, right?
"All I want to hear from you right now is an explanation as to why you’re in my house. And why you’re shouting. Especially explain the shouting. Did nobody ever teach you about using your inside voice?”
"I know you went to see her.”
"Why do I always have to ask a question twice before getting an actual answer? Do I have a sign pinned to me that reads please answer cryptically?”
"Anna! I know you came to see her in the hospital!”
Ah, that.
"Well? You think I wouldn’t hear? You think when a nurse tells me there was some red headed serial-killer looking f*cker watching my daughter through the hospital window that I wouldn’t know who she was talking about?”
Do I have any moral grounds to be insulted by that?
"Well?”
"Honestly not sure what business it is of yours what I do with my free time.”
"That’s my daughter!”
"And my c*ck’s been inside her, what’s your point?”
Ooh, there’s that red colour again, and the vein protruding from his bald little head. Serious question, are bald people naturally angry or do they get angry because they don’t have hair?
"You son of a b*tch! After everything that I did for you, after all the sh*t you put me through! All the times I…”
I sit there, leaning in my chair, letting him spew his drivel. I wish I could describe all the abuse that Anders threw my way, honestly, nothing would amuse me more, but that’d mean I’d have actually had to have been listening to him, but that isn’t what happens. Because one second I’m there, listening to him shout, and the next I’m not. The next I’m gone. Where? Couldn’t tell you, wherever the brain slips to when everything goes black.
And in the black, all I hear is screaming.
< *** >
"What the f*ck is going on?!”
And then I’m back, still sat there, but now Anders is right up close, his hands clutched at the collar of my top, his eyes bulging from their sockets. I think he’s about to hit me and all I can wonder is if he’d have the balls to do it.
"Hands off.”
I think he’s surprised to hear me speak. Not sure how long I was out that time, seconds, maybe minutes at most, but I’m guessing it was the silence that p*ssed him off the most. Who knew I was as good at winding people up without talking as I am when I do?
He listens up and backs away, not feeling as tough now that my consciousness is back with my body. Emily’s stood in the hallway, trying to figure out what’s happening. My guess is she heard Anders ranting and probably thought he was a second away from being snapped in two. Usually that’d be a good bet, but today? Well, I couldn’t even tell you what day it is, so guessing what’s going on in my head might be a tough one.
"I’d leave, now.”
He sizes it up, pushed further than I’ve ever seen him. Really wants to take a swing at me. I sit there, forcing a grin, trying to urge him on. Usually I’d swing first but there’s no fun in that, I could kill Anders, take him out with a single blow, and he knows it. That’s why he backs down, despite how much he wants it. Shame.
"Stay away from my daughter.”
I’m expecting an ‘or else’ but I’m left sorely disappointed. Instead he storms out, making a point to slam the door behind him. At least I got the slamming door cliche, that’s something.
"What was that about?”
"Nothing important. I’m going out.”
"What? Trace, you can’t-“
"Too late, already going.”
"But Tra-“
Too late, already gone.
< *** >
Chapter Two
55 Hours
I sit at the back of the Brass Knucks nightclub, on my own, still sober. Some sh*t electro-pop nonsense. I should probably take more interest in what we play, but I’m pretty sure I’m out of touch. Live the gimmick bro.
My eyes are focused on a girl behind the bar, Kirsty. Barely twenty-one, hired solely because she has an eerie resemblance to Scarlett Quinn and I thought it’d be a fun challenge. There was no challenge, there rarely is. Not with a girl like this. I watch her, making drinks, fending off drunks. She knows who she’s going home with tonight.
Shouldn’t have come here. Music’s too loud, lights too bright. Heads pounding. Not even sure how long I’ve been here, can’t keep track of time.
Bored of this.
I push through the crowd to get to the bar, wave her over. She doesn’t hesitate, like a god damned dog being called by her keeper. Pathetic really, but the sick idea of f*cking someone who looks like that little b*tch is too much to overcome right now.
"I’m leaving. Come on.”
"I’ll grab my stuff.”
Like I said, pathetic.
< *** >
Inside her. Screaming, moaning, f*cking. Sweat, touch, taste. Thrusting hard, leaving marks, bruises. She doesn’t just look like Scarlett, she is Scarlett. That little girl with ideas above her station. Needs to be brought down a peg or three. I’m just the guy to do it. She’ll thank me for it, just like this one is. She’ll scream my name, beg for more, because she knows it’s what she deserves.
I’ll be happy to oblige.
My head spinning, trying to stay in it. Lights flash, like brain cells exploding. Room spins in the corner of my eyes. Somebody whispers, but I can’t place the voice. I push on, try to focus, fail. If she didn’t clench around me then maybe I’d have faded away.
But she does, and it pushes me over the edge.
< *** >
Later, the bathroom. She’s asleep in the other room, usually I’d have kicked her out or bailed, I’m not the cuddling sort, but tonight I don’t have the will. Still can’t sleep, thought a good f*ck would do the job but I feel as awake as ever.
Not my house, an apartment I own closer to the city centre for nights like this. No sleeping pills, not sure they’d do anything anyway. I glance through the gap in the bathroom door, letting the faint light shine onto the Scarlett doppleganger in my bed.
"Bit creepy if you ask me.”
The voice sends shivers up my spine, because it can’t be her. I swivel, looking around, but there’s nobody else in here but me. Just a trick of the mind, the lack of sleep playing tricks on me.
"Well obviously.”
No, hallucination or not it’s too much, can’t stay here. Can’t stay anywhere, it’s all wrong. Head’s bursting, eyes burn, can’t breath. God, I can’t breath. I crash through the door, waking Kirsty.
"Trace? Trace what are you doing?”
I’m pulling on my trousers, isn’t it obvious you stupid idiot?
"Oh don’t be so cruel to her, poor thing.”
"Did you hear that?”
"Hear what? Trace, what’s going on?”
Of course she didn’t, it’s not real, all in my head, got to go, get out of here, clear my head. Got to sleep.
"Trace? Where are you… Trace!”
Got to sleep, got to sleep, got to sleep.
< *** >
Chapter Three
86 Hours
Got to sleep… got to sleep… got to sleep…
"Lastly you’ve been under fire from some feminist groups who’re accusing you of… deviant and sexist behaviour.”
F*ck sake.
"Wait, what now?”
"They’re claiming you’re actions against Anna Ahriman and Scarlett Quinn are because you hate women and are, I quote, a sexist pig.”
"This is a joke, right?”
"They’re also claiming you simulated a derogatory sexual act when you pinned Anna.”
"They’re… no, wait, that one’s true, I did do that. That one’s on me. Oh who cares what they think.”
Sure was fun though. Wait, is that creepy? She’s legal right? I know the laws of the universe say no because that’s not how time works but this guy in the office called Shawn insisted that she was because “we don’t need sense around here”. No, I’m not sure what that means either, but if it’s good enough for the legal department then it’s good enough for me.
"That’s the problem, they’re saying that you don’t care what women think, or say, or do, that’s why they’re saying all this. Apparently it’s only a matter of time before you seriously injure a woman.”
"I seriously injure people all the time! I didn’t see anybody complaining when I beat Yukio Blaze into oblivion! But what, nobody cared because Yukio Blaze isn’t technically a woman?”
"See, saying things like that are what’s put you on shaky territory with female empowerment groups in the first place.”
"Oh f*ck them all! The one thing that’s obvious to anyone who knows me is I’m far too self centred to give a sh*t who you are, if you step in the ring with me then you’re the same as everyone else.”
I got to take a mouthful of my pancakes, but there’s no plate in front of me. Wait, I don’t remember even getting to BLD for this meeting. A quick spin of my head confirms this is not my favourite breakfast location, but rather my own home.
"Lila what’s…”
That’s not Lila.
"All I’m asking is for you not to hurt her too much.”
It’s Emily, but when did she get here? When did I get here? Have I just blacked out, missed an entire chunk of time?
"Who?”
"Scarlett! Haven’t you been listening?”
"Honestly, I’m not sure.”
This isn’t right. But… what exactly? It feels real, it is real, as far as I can tell, but I wasn’t here, not a second ago. At least, not my second ago. Does that even make sense?
"I know that we’re not together or anything, not anymore, but she’s still… god I don’t even know. I get that you don’t like her, or hell maybe it’s not even that you dislike her, maybe it’s just that… perverse joy you get out of hurting people-“
"I don’t get joy out of-“
She shoots me a look, and I know there’s no point claiming to be something I’m not.
"Alright, maybe I do, but that’s not what this is about.”
"Then what?”
I try to push aside the thought that something isn’t right, to ignore the pounding headache that has slowly been following me around for three days. I decide that this is real, that the only thing that’s wrong is with me, I decide to fix myself. How? I’ll figure that bit out later.
"It’s about the same thing it’s always been about. It’s about people knowing where they belong, that they know they don’t cross me or bad things happen. It’s about people knowing their place.”
"Because that’s so, so important to you, isn’t it Trace?”
The voice comes from behind me and I know it instinctively. I turn in place, ready to throw hands, and then nearly fall over in shock. This is not my house. I’m stood inside a ring, inside an empty arena, and opposite me is Joe Bishop, my legacy, the man who’ll forever carry me name, the man who… beat me. This isn’t real, this can’t be, but how can I even tell?
"People knowing their place, people staying where they belong, as long as it’s beneath your boot, that’s what matters to you, isn’t it? Not the wrestling, not the company, just the idea of you being the most important man in the building. That’s the only thing you care about.”
I move forward, go to grab him, but he slips through my fingers like smoke. The next thing I know he’s behind me, still spouting his garbage.
"But what happens when you stop being relevant Trace? What do you have then? We both know that legacy stuff is pure crap, just typical Trace Demon verbiage to save face in case you lost. And guess what, you did, you lost, I beat you Trace. But you’re a cockroach, aren’t you? It’s going to take something more than a loss to finally kill you off. It’s going to take a humiliation, a beating unlike any other, but that’ll come sooner or later as well, won’t it, because I’ve proven you’re not invincible. I’ve proven that you’re only human, and that’s when the losses start to come.”
"Get out of my head!”
It’s all in my head, but I can’t stop it, can’t control it. I’m losing myself, losing my grip, worse than before. This isn’t drugs, isn’t drink, this is him, the nightmare figure, taunting me, keeping me up when I should be gone.
"Oh he’s not going anywhere Trace. That’s right, I know what’s eating away at you, I know who’s there, whispering poison into your ear. He’s terrifying, isn’t he, when you really think about it, and you have, it’s all you’ve thought about, for years now.”
"You think you’re clever Bishop? Now that you can talk the talk, when we both know that I’m the one who taught you how to do that, I’m the one who taught you how to do everything! I’m the only reason you’re even getting a title shot!”
"Keep telling yourself that old man, won’t make your nightmare any less real.”
He smirks, nods behind me. I know what’s there before I turn, know who’s waiting for me. It’s the same thing I’ve seen every time I’ve closed my eyes. There’s a scream, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Feels like my eardrums are shattering into fragments. Takes a few seconds to realise the scream is coming from me.
"Trace? Trace?!”
I pull myself away from Emily, eyes darting around. Back in my house, but how do I know that’s real? How do I know whether she’s here or not. Can’t know, need space, need to get away.
"Trace? Where are you going? Come back, please!”
Snatching the keys up from the table and out the door, yanking the car door open. I hear her shouts from behind, know she’s going to try to stop me. Can’t let that happen, can’t stay here, need to be alone, need to get as far away from everything as possible, before it’s too late, before I break, before he catches up to me.
"Trace, no! Don’t do this!”
Too late. I’m gone.
< *** >
Chapter Four
90 Hours
Been driving for hours. No location in mind, just driving. Forward always, always forward. Focusing on the road means not focusing on anything else. Drive, don’t think, drive, don’t think, drive…
Left the city a while ago, now driving along some country road. I’ve not seen any signs of life beside the occasional car passing me. Just me, just me, just…
Phone rings for the twentieth time. Emily, Caitlyn, Elinor, Faith, Axel, all of them have tried. No answer, don’t use phones when driving kids. The ringing isn’t helping my head, feels like it’s going to crack open. I drop the window and lob the thing outside, let it ring on the tarmac if it survives the fall.
Still driving, concentrating, pushing forward. Don’t dare look back, or close my eyes. He’s waiting for me when I close my eyes. Waiting, waiting, waiting….
Am I broken? More than usual anyway? Has he pushed me over the edge? Is there any coming back? No, don’t think, just drive. Everything’ll be okay if you just…
< *** >
A horn, so loud it hurts. Eyes snap open, don’t know how long I was out.
Sh*t!
I swerve to avoid the oncoming truck, manage it, just. Instead of death all I get are some poor excuse for abuse. Car keeps going though, can’t get traction, off the road, wheel bursts on the gravel, head slams into the steering wheel.
F*ck.
< *** >
I sit there. For how long? Seconds, minutes, hours, longer? Not sure. Just waiting for the dull ache to pass. It doesn’t. I push open the car door and stagger out, narrowly manage to not collapse. Hand goes to my head, comes away red. Not bad, just a trickle, I’ve survived worse.
"You got lucky there.”
That voice again, but this time… not just a voice. She’s sat atop the hood of the car, legs crossed, cool as anything.
"Sh*t, I’m dead, aren’t I. All those uppers I used to take and I die because I fell asleep at the wheel.”
"You’re not dead you idiot, just overly-dramatic.”
Alexa Munroe, the mother of my child, the only woman who could deal with all my crazy. Also, dead.
"So if I’m not dead, that makes you what? A hallucination?”
"Something like that.”
"No, no somethings, let’s be clear. Are you a ghost? Because if you are, I’m not sure I believe in you.”
"Hallucination, figment of your imagination, ghost, what’s the difference really?”
She pushes off of the boot and looks out onto the desert that surrounds the road.
"All this because you lost a match, seriously? I know I always took the p*ss that you’re arrogance would be the death of you but I seriously thought it’d be all the illegal sh*t you got yourself involved with. What even was all that about?”
"Oh who knows, it was never fully explained. Can you please just tell me what the f*ck is going on? Because if I’m not dead then I should probably get this cut on my head seen to.”
"It’s just a knock, you’ll be fine. We both know why I’m here though, it’s because you-“
She pokes me in the chest as she says it, smirking.
"Haven’t slept in four days, all because of some irrational fear.”
"I am not afraid of anything, and if I was it would certainly not be irrational.”
"Everything about you is irrational, it always has been. If I hadn’t known you then I’d have sworn you were just playing some character because let’s be honest, people as crazy as you should not exist in the real world.”
"I’ll have you know I can name at least ten people crazier than I am.”
And that’s before I even get to Yukio Blaze, who’s on a whole other level.
"Look behind you Trace.”
I turn slowly and there he is, the nightmare figure, the man who invades my thoughts at every waking turn. He stares back at me, eyes focused, dark, hair shining red, a familiar black baseball bat swung over one shoulder. It’s all familiar though, isn’t it, because he is me.
"This is what you’re so afraid of? Yourself?”
"It’s not that easy.”
"Sure it is. Big bad Trace Demon let down the only person who he cares about - himself, and now he’s scared about what comes next.”
"I am not scared.”
"Of course you are, you’re terrified. It’s not that you can’t sleep, it’s that you won’t, because you’re terrified of being left alone with yourself, because you know you’ll end up asking yourself what comes next. You got so built up on the fact that you’ve got a lasting legacy, inside the ring with Joe, outside of it with Eliza, that you never thought about what that means for you. After all, what use is a man defined by wrestling when he can’t get the job done in the ring anymore?”
I meet eyes with the figure of myself. As much as I want to deny it she’s right, because who am I if I’m not a wrestler?
"Bull…sh*t. Trace, you think one loss defines your career? One f*cking loss? I’m dead and you got over that! Bit too quickly if you ask me, which you did, since I’m you.”
She steps between me and the figure, grabs me by the face to get my attention. Behind her the figure blurs.
"You fixate on things, you over-dramatise them, you always have, but imagine what would happen if you could let go, imagine the things you could do if you could see things clearly, if everything wasn’t life and death. Imagine how dangerous you’d be then. Hell, you might finally win that title you care so much about, but if you don’t, who cares really? What’s it matter? You’re a wrestler Trace, but that’s not what defines you.”
"Then what does?”
She steps back, grinning.
"Who the f*ck cares? You never did, and then you got older, and started worrying about all this sh*t you’ve got no need to worry about. I mean leaving a legacy Trace? Do you ever f*cking listen to yourself? Your rich! You’ve got a family! You’re f*cking alive! Who gives a sh*t about legacy?”
Alexa, or whatever she’s meant to be, steps beside the figure I’ve built up in my head, the version of me I think I’m meant to be.
"You want to leave a legacy, something for people to remember you by? Make them remember you, not what you leave behind. Make them remember the man who burnt everything down around him and had a good time doing it. We both know that’s who you really are.”
"That’s not something Alexa would have said.”
"I keep telling you, I’m not a f*cking ghost. Now get your act together before you turn yourself into one.
She clicks her fingers.
< *** >
I jerk awake at the wheel of the car, head pounding, a trickle of blood dripping onto the steering wheel. I kick the door open and half-step, half-fall out of the car.
"Trace?”
I look up to the edge of the road where Emily stands, looking at me uneasy.
"Thank god.”
She runs to me and throws her arms around my waist, then backs up and smacks me upside the head.
"Ow! Head injury! How the f*ck did you even find me?”
"The GPS on your phone, though it only did me as well as finding it halfway up the road. Luckily for you it’s pretty easy to find an expensive sports car that’s run off the bloody thing. What the f*ck were you thinking?”
"Thinking?”
I chuckle.
"I was thinking how much fun I’m going to have.”
But first, sleep.
Hour One
< *** >
Oh Scarlett. Scarlett my girl, what a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into. I bet you thought you were pretty bad ass running down that aisle and jumping me in my darkest hour. I bet you thought you were pretty cool as you listened to all those idiot fans chanting your name. “Scarlett! Scarlett! Scarlett!” Must have felt pretty good, right? And I mean, it makes sense, that I’d be the one to make you relevant again since I’m the one who did it the first time. And that must matter to someone like you, someone young with these big dreams and desires. It must matter to be relevant so I bet you felt pretty happy with the outcome of that little brawl of ours because suddenly people cared who you were again. I bet you’ve missed that feeling.
And like I said it makes sense that I’d be the one to give you that feeling back since I’m the one who did it the first time, since I’m the one who brought you into the WFWF, since I’m the one who helped train you, who helped you navigate your way up the card and become the youngest WFWF World Champion in history. You reached the peak of this business faster than anyone could have imagined and it was all because of me. I plucked you from obscurity and I made you someone that mattered. And you let me do it. You let me do whatever I wanted as long as you stayed relevant because that’s what mattered. You didn’t want to be your fathers daughter, you didn’t want to be a McGurk, you wanted to be a Quinn, you wanted to be you, you wanted to be relevant.
They say that a dog is a man’s best friend. Well I guess they’ve never encountered daddy issues, right?
Scarlett you had all the talent in the that ring, but you didn’t have the one thing that matters, you didn’t have the brains. Me? I’m the god damn Einstein of professional wrestling. I see this business in ways that no-one else does, so it was the easiest thing in the world to get that title on you knowing full well I could break you for it. And I did, and you’ve never been the same since. But in a way I now find myself at the same junction that you did way back then. See I lost to Joe Bishop, I’m man enough to admit that he had my number, that he got the better of me. I’m also man enough to admit that since that match I’ve had some… trouble. My heads been a bit all over the place. Here and there, here and there, I can’t keep tabs on it anymore! It’s like I went a little bit… crazy for a second. And if that was how it stayed then maybe, just maybe you’d have had a chance. I’m here to break the bad news to you that I’ve pulled myself together.
See Scarlett, I had to take a good hard look at myself and admit that everything I said going into that match with Bishop was a load of sh*t! See legacies are for people who are giving up. Legacies are for people more concerned about what happens when they’re gone than when they’re here. But me? I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. And you know what Scarlett, I’m done worrying about titles, I’m done worrying about wins and losses, I’m done worrying about Lila Sleater and those fans and Joe Bishop and everybody else. I’ve spent too long worry about what I’m meant to be, I’ve been ignoring who I am. So who am I Scarlett?
Am I the King of the Demons? Am I The Villain? Am I the best wrestler in the world? What do you think? Because me? I don’t think it matters. All these names, all these titles, all these aliases they put on posters and use for their t-shirts and their merchandise… I don’t think they matter. I don’t even think it matters who I am, because I’m done trying to figure it out. I’m done trying to make sense of all these thoughts floating through my head. All these fragments and broken pieces that make up this mind of mine… I’m done figuring them out. No, it doesn’t matter who I am, it doesn’t even matter what I say. The only thing that matters to me anymore is what I’m going to do. To you, and to the WFWF.
See Scarlett, what I did to Anna… that was the real me. I humiliated her, I reminded her that she was just a girl, and I did it simply because I could. I hurt that girl, I injured that girl because I wanted to and because I knew that I could do it. That’s who I am Scarlett, I’m the man who can do anything he wants because he is that damn good. I am the man who could stand here and tell you all about how I’m going to tear you apart and leave you broken for a second time in that ring and then I’d do it just because I can. But I’m not going to do that Scarlett, because I don’t know what I’m going to do to you. I don’t know how far I’m going to take this, I don’t know how much blood I’m going to spill, because quite frankly Scarlett… I’m going to do whatever I want when I want to. I’m going to stand in that ring opposite you… and whatever I feel like doing in that moment is what I will do.
And then I’ll look out at the WFWF, and I’ll do the same to it. See no more big grandiose claims about this being my company and my ring and my arena and all that sh*t. You know it’s all true, but it doesn’t f*cking matter. The only thing that matters is that from now on… I’m going to have a good f*cking time. And if that means everyone else has a really, really bad time.
Well that’ll just make it all the sweeter.
"Huh, what?”
"Did you hear a word I just said?”
"Sorry doc, I’ve not been sleeping.”
"I know.”
"You do?”
"That’s what we’ve been speaking about for the past fifteen minutes.”
"Oh, my bad.”
I’m fourteen. Fifteen? Hard to keep track of memories nowadays, they all get so jumbled together. Age maybe? Could have been the years of alcohol and drug abuse, that’s got to hit you somewhere right? Honestly I’m surprised my brain’s held out as long as it has.
"Did you hear what I was saying?”
"Something about death?”
I’m talking to the school councillor, because the average Canadian teenager has so many problems that every school seems obliged to have a councillor, right? I mean seriously, what did we ever have to worry about? Being mistaken for an American? Either way, the school’s got me marked down as high risk. Of what? Who the f*ck knows, couldn’t even tell you what gave them the idea in the first place. I mean I’m just your usual teen. Smoking weed, drinking down the park, f*cking any girl that’ll let me, abusive dad, waste of space mum.
Normal stuff, y’know?
"I was explaining the risks of sleep deprivation. You understand that the longer you go without sleep the more dangerous it becomes, correct? Your brain will slowly start to shut down. You’ll have likely already experienced micro-sleeps, although you may not have noticed them. You run the risk of hallucinations and health complications, and like I said, you increase the risk of death from your body shutting down completely, or a lack of concentration leading to a fatal accident.”
"Real cheery stuff for second period Doc.”
"This isn’t a joke Trace. You say you haven’t slept in over two days yes? What exactly is it stopping you from sleeping? You don’t have any history of insomnia, so what has brought this on now? Have you recently gone through an incident of turmoil or increased stress?”
"I…”
I try to think, racking my brain for anything that’ll explain why I can’t just shut my eyes and drift off. But that’s the problem, because every time I do shut my eyes I see… him. Yes, it’s him, he’s the reason, he’s the one stopping me from sleeping, he’s the voice in my ear, the laugh running through my mind, he’s the-
"Trace!”
What? My eyes snap open, snapped away from his taunting presence in my head.
"Why’re you shouting?”
"Trace! Have you even listened to a word I’ve said?”
But he isn’t, he hasn’t said a word. He’s sat there, motionless, the voice echoing out from somewhere else. The room shakes with every word, because… oh.
"Damn it Trace! Every single god damn time! Will you just act like-“
He hasn’t said anything because he’s not real. None of this is. And that voice is… f*cks sake.
< *** >
Trace Demon Presents
Sleep No More
Chapter One
50 Hours
"A f*cking human being for once!”
"Why’re you shouting Anders, I’m sat right here. When did you even get here?”
Jason Anders. My former… friend? Associate? Lackey? Whatever you want to call it, it’s very much former in every sense.
"What? When did I get here? I’ve been here for fifteen bloody minutes trying to get some kind of sense out of you! Are you on something? Is that what this is, are you taking again?”
This is my… yeah, it’s my house alright. I’m stood in the living room, feeling a bit unsteady, with Anders face so red from shouting that he looks like he’s about to explode. Wait, did he say fifteen minutes? I don’t even remember him getting here. That can’t be a good sign.
"I’m clean Anders.”
I think, though it’d explain a lot. I’d remember getting high as a kite, right?
"All I want to hear from you right now is an explanation as to why you’re in my house. And why you’re shouting. Especially explain the shouting. Did nobody ever teach you about using your inside voice?”
"I know you went to see her.”
"Why do I always have to ask a question twice before getting an actual answer? Do I have a sign pinned to me that reads please answer cryptically?”
"Anna! I know you came to see her in the hospital!”
Ah, that.
"Well? You think I wouldn’t hear? You think when a nurse tells me there was some red headed serial-killer looking f*cker watching my daughter through the hospital window that I wouldn’t know who she was talking about?”
Do I have any moral grounds to be insulted by that?
"Well?”
"Honestly not sure what business it is of yours what I do with my free time.”
"That’s my daughter!”
"And my c*ck’s been inside her, what’s your point?”
Ooh, there’s that red colour again, and the vein protruding from his bald little head. Serious question, are bald people naturally angry or do they get angry because they don’t have hair?
"You son of a b*tch! After everything that I did for you, after all the sh*t you put me through! All the times I…”
I sit there, leaning in my chair, letting him spew his drivel. I wish I could describe all the abuse that Anders threw my way, honestly, nothing would amuse me more, but that’d mean I’d have actually had to have been listening to him, but that isn’t what happens. Because one second I’m there, listening to him shout, and the next I’m not. The next I’m gone. Where? Couldn’t tell you, wherever the brain slips to when everything goes black.
And in the black, all I hear is screaming.
< *** >
"What the f*ck is going on?!”
And then I’m back, still sat there, but now Anders is right up close, his hands clutched at the collar of my top, his eyes bulging from their sockets. I think he’s about to hit me and all I can wonder is if he’d have the balls to do it.
"Hands off.”
I think he’s surprised to hear me speak. Not sure how long I was out that time, seconds, maybe minutes at most, but I’m guessing it was the silence that p*ssed him off the most. Who knew I was as good at winding people up without talking as I am when I do?
He listens up and backs away, not feeling as tough now that my consciousness is back with my body. Emily’s stood in the hallway, trying to figure out what’s happening. My guess is she heard Anders ranting and probably thought he was a second away from being snapped in two. Usually that’d be a good bet, but today? Well, I couldn’t even tell you what day it is, so guessing what’s going on in my head might be a tough one.
"I’d leave, now.”
He sizes it up, pushed further than I’ve ever seen him. Really wants to take a swing at me. I sit there, forcing a grin, trying to urge him on. Usually I’d swing first but there’s no fun in that, I could kill Anders, take him out with a single blow, and he knows it. That’s why he backs down, despite how much he wants it. Shame.
"Stay away from my daughter.”
I’m expecting an ‘or else’ but I’m left sorely disappointed. Instead he storms out, making a point to slam the door behind him. At least I got the slamming door cliche, that’s something.
"What was that about?”
"Nothing important. I’m going out.”
"What? Trace, you can’t-“
"Too late, already going.”
"But Tra-“
Too late, already gone.
< *** >
Chapter Two
55 Hours
I sit at the back of the Brass Knucks nightclub, on my own, still sober. Some sh*t electro-pop nonsense. I should probably take more interest in what we play, but I’m pretty sure I’m out of touch. Live the gimmick bro.
My eyes are focused on a girl behind the bar, Kirsty. Barely twenty-one, hired solely because she has an eerie resemblance to Scarlett Quinn and I thought it’d be a fun challenge. There was no challenge, there rarely is. Not with a girl like this. I watch her, making drinks, fending off drunks. She knows who she’s going home with tonight.
Shouldn’t have come here. Music’s too loud, lights too bright. Heads pounding. Not even sure how long I’ve been here, can’t keep track of time.
Bored of this.
I push through the crowd to get to the bar, wave her over. She doesn’t hesitate, like a god damned dog being called by her keeper. Pathetic really, but the sick idea of f*cking someone who looks like that little b*tch is too much to overcome right now.
"I’m leaving. Come on.”
"I’ll grab my stuff.”
Like I said, pathetic.
< *** >
Inside her. Screaming, moaning, f*cking. Sweat, touch, taste. Thrusting hard, leaving marks, bruises. She doesn’t just look like Scarlett, she is Scarlett. That little girl with ideas above her station. Needs to be brought down a peg or three. I’m just the guy to do it. She’ll thank me for it, just like this one is. She’ll scream my name, beg for more, because she knows it’s what she deserves.
I’ll be happy to oblige.
My head spinning, trying to stay in it. Lights flash, like brain cells exploding. Room spins in the corner of my eyes. Somebody whispers, but I can’t place the voice. I push on, try to focus, fail. If she didn’t clench around me then maybe I’d have faded away.
But she does, and it pushes me over the edge.
< *** >
Later, the bathroom. She’s asleep in the other room, usually I’d have kicked her out or bailed, I’m not the cuddling sort, but tonight I don’t have the will. Still can’t sleep, thought a good f*ck would do the job but I feel as awake as ever.
Not my house, an apartment I own closer to the city centre for nights like this. No sleeping pills, not sure they’d do anything anyway. I glance through the gap in the bathroom door, letting the faint light shine onto the Scarlett doppleganger in my bed.
"Bit creepy if you ask me.”
The voice sends shivers up my spine, because it can’t be her. I swivel, looking around, but there’s nobody else in here but me. Just a trick of the mind, the lack of sleep playing tricks on me.
"Well obviously.”
No, hallucination or not it’s too much, can’t stay here. Can’t stay anywhere, it’s all wrong. Head’s bursting, eyes burn, can’t breath. God, I can’t breath. I crash through the door, waking Kirsty.
"Trace? Trace what are you doing?”
I’m pulling on my trousers, isn’t it obvious you stupid idiot?
"Oh don’t be so cruel to her, poor thing.”
"Did you hear that?”
"Hear what? Trace, what’s going on?”
Of course she didn’t, it’s not real, all in my head, got to go, get out of here, clear my head. Got to sleep.
"Trace? Where are you… Trace!”
Got to sleep, got to sleep, got to sleep.
< *** >
Chapter Three
86 Hours
Got to sleep… got to sleep… got to sleep…
"Lastly you’ve been under fire from some feminist groups who’re accusing you of… deviant and sexist behaviour.”
F*ck sake.
"Wait, what now?”
"They’re claiming you’re actions against Anna Ahriman and Scarlett Quinn are because you hate women and are, I quote, a sexist pig.”
"This is a joke, right?”
"They’re also claiming you simulated a derogatory sexual act when you pinned Anna.”
"They’re… no, wait, that one’s true, I did do that. That one’s on me. Oh who cares what they think.”
Sure was fun though. Wait, is that creepy? She’s legal right? I know the laws of the universe say no because that’s not how time works but this guy in the office called Shawn insisted that she was because “we don’t need sense around here”. No, I’m not sure what that means either, but if it’s good enough for the legal department then it’s good enough for me.
"That’s the problem, they’re saying that you don’t care what women think, or say, or do, that’s why they’re saying all this. Apparently it’s only a matter of time before you seriously injure a woman.”
"I seriously injure people all the time! I didn’t see anybody complaining when I beat Yukio Blaze into oblivion! But what, nobody cared because Yukio Blaze isn’t technically a woman?”
"See, saying things like that are what’s put you on shaky territory with female empowerment groups in the first place.”
"Oh f*ck them all! The one thing that’s obvious to anyone who knows me is I’m far too self centred to give a sh*t who you are, if you step in the ring with me then you’re the same as everyone else.”
I got to take a mouthful of my pancakes, but there’s no plate in front of me. Wait, I don’t remember even getting to BLD for this meeting. A quick spin of my head confirms this is not my favourite breakfast location, but rather my own home.
"Lila what’s…”
That’s not Lila.
"All I’m asking is for you not to hurt her too much.”
It’s Emily, but when did she get here? When did I get here? Have I just blacked out, missed an entire chunk of time?
"Who?”
"Scarlett! Haven’t you been listening?”
"Honestly, I’m not sure.”
This isn’t right. But… what exactly? It feels real, it is real, as far as I can tell, but I wasn’t here, not a second ago. At least, not my second ago. Does that even make sense?
"I know that we’re not together or anything, not anymore, but she’s still… god I don’t even know. I get that you don’t like her, or hell maybe it’s not even that you dislike her, maybe it’s just that… perverse joy you get out of hurting people-“
"I don’t get joy out of-“
She shoots me a look, and I know there’s no point claiming to be something I’m not.
"Alright, maybe I do, but that’s not what this is about.”
"Then what?”
I try to push aside the thought that something isn’t right, to ignore the pounding headache that has slowly been following me around for three days. I decide that this is real, that the only thing that’s wrong is with me, I decide to fix myself. How? I’ll figure that bit out later.
"It’s about the same thing it’s always been about. It’s about people knowing where they belong, that they know they don’t cross me or bad things happen. It’s about people knowing their place.”
"Because that’s so, so important to you, isn’t it Trace?”
The voice comes from behind me and I know it instinctively. I turn in place, ready to throw hands, and then nearly fall over in shock. This is not my house. I’m stood inside a ring, inside an empty arena, and opposite me is Joe Bishop, my legacy, the man who’ll forever carry me name, the man who… beat me. This isn’t real, this can’t be, but how can I even tell?
"People knowing their place, people staying where they belong, as long as it’s beneath your boot, that’s what matters to you, isn’t it? Not the wrestling, not the company, just the idea of you being the most important man in the building. That’s the only thing you care about.”
I move forward, go to grab him, but he slips through my fingers like smoke. The next thing I know he’s behind me, still spouting his garbage.
"But what happens when you stop being relevant Trace? What do you have then? We both know that legacy stuff is pure crap, just typical Trace Demon verbiage to save face in case you lost. And guess what, you did, you lost, I beat you Trace. But you’re a cockroach, aren’t you? It’s going to take something more than a loss to finally kill you off. It’s going to take a humiliation, a beating unlike any other, but that’ll come sooner or later as well, won’t it, because I’ve proven you’re not invincible. I’ve proven that you’re only human, and that’s when the losses start to come.”
"Get out of my head!”
It’s all in my head, but I can’t stop it, can’t control it. I’m losing myself, losing my grip, worse than before. This isn’t drugs, isn’t drink, this is him, the nightmare figure, taunting me, keeping me up when I should be gone.
"Oh he’s not going anywhere Trace. That’s right, I know what’s eating away at you, I know who’s there, whispering poison into your ear. He’s terrifying, isn’t he, when you really think about it, and you have, it’s all you’ve thought about, for years now.”
"You think you’re clever Bishop? Now that you can talk the talk, when we both know that I’m the one who taught you how to do that, I’m the one who taught you how to do everything! I’m the only reason you’re even getting a title shot!”
"Keep telling yourself that old man, won’t make your nightmare any less real.”
He smirks, nods behind me. I know what’s there before I turn, know who’s waiting for me. It’s the same thing I’ve seen every time I’ve closed my eyes. There’s a scream, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Feels like my eardrums are shattering into fragments. Takes a few seconds to realise the scream is coming from me.
"Trace? Trace?!”
I pull myself away from Emily, eyes darting around. Back in my house, but how do I know that’s real? How do I know whether she’s here or not. Can’t know, need space, need to get away.
"Trace? Where are you going? Come back, please!”
Snatching the keys up from the table and out the door, yanking the car door open. I hear her shouts from behind, know she’s going to try to stop me. Can’t let that happen, can’t stay here, need to be alone, need to get as far away from everything as possible, before it’s too late, before I break, before he catches up to me.
"Trace, no! Don’t do this!”
Too late. I’m gone.
< *** >
Chapter Four
90 Hours
Been driving for hours. No location in mind, just driving. Forward always, always forward. Focusing on the road means not focusing on anything else. Drive, don’t think, drive, don’t think, drive…
Left the city a while ago, now driving along some country road. I’ve not seen any signs of life beside the occasional car passing me. Just me, just me, just…
Phone rings for the twentieth time. Emily, Caitlyn, Elinor, Faith, Axel, all of them have tried. No answer, don’t use phones when driving kids. The ringing isn’t helping my head, feels like it’s going to crack open. I drop the window and lob the thing outside, let it ring on the tarmac if it survives the fall.
Still driving, concentrating, pushing forward. Don’t dare look back, or close my eyes. He’s waiting for me when I close my eyes. Waiting, waiting, waiting….
Am I broken? More than usual anyway? Has he pushed me over the edge? Is there any coming back? No, don’t think, just drive. Everything’ll be okay if you just…
< *** >
A horn, so loud it hurts. Eyes snap open, don’t know how long I was out.
Sh*t!
I swerve to avoid the oncoming truck, manage it, just. Instead of death all I get are some poor excuse for abuse. Car keeps going though, can’t get traction, off the road, wheel bursts on the gravel, head slams into the steering wheel.
F*ck.
< *** >
I sit there. For how long? Seconds, minutes, hours, longer? Not sure. Just waiting for the dull ache to pass. It doesn’t. I push open the car door and stagger out, narrowly manage to not collapse. Hand goes to my head, comes away red. Not bad, just a trickle, I’ve survived worse.
"You got lucky there.”
That voice again, but this time… not just a voice. She’s sat atop the hood of the car, legs crossed, cool as anything.
"Sh*t, I’m dead, aren’t I. All those uppers I used to take and I die because I fell asleep at the wheel.”
"You’re not dead you idiot, just overly-dramatic.”
Alexa Munroe, the mother of my child, the only woman who could deal with all my crazy. Also, dead.
"So if I’m not dead, that makes you what? A hallucination?”
"Something like that.”
"No, no somethings, let’s be clear. Are you a ghost? Because if you are, I’m not sure I believe in you.”
"Hallucination, figment of your imagination, ghost, what’s the difference really?”
She pushes off of the boot and looks out onto the desert that surrounds the road.
"All this because you lost a match, seriously? I know I always took the p*ss that you’re arrogance would be the death of you but I seriously thought it’d be all the illegal sh*t you got yourself involved with. What even was all that about?”
"Oh who knows, it was never fully explained. Can you please just tell me what the f*ck is going on? Because if I’m not dead then I should probably get this cut on my head seen to.”
"It’s just a knock, you’ll be fine. We both know why I’m here though, it’s because you-“
She pokes me in the chest as she says it, smirking.
"Haven’t slept in four days, all because of some irrational fear.”
"I am not afraid of anything, and if I was it would certainly not be irrational.”
"Everything about you is irrational, it always has been. If I hadn’t known you then I’d have sworn you were just playing some character because let’s be honest, people as crazy as you should not exist in the real world.”
"I’ll have you know I can name at least ten people crazier than I am.”
And that’s before I even get to Yukio Blaze, who’s on a whole other level.
"Look behind you Trace.”
I turn slowly and there he is, the nightmare figure, the man who invades my thoughts at every waking turn. He stares back at me, eyes focused, dark, hair shining red, a familiar black baseball bat swung over one shoulder. It’s all familiar though, isn’t it, because he is me.
"This is what you’re so afraid of? Yourself?”
"It’s not that easy.”
"Sure it is. Big bad Trace Demon let down the only person who he cares about - himself, and now he’s scared about what comes next.”
"I am not scared.”
"Of course you are, you’re terrified. It’s not that you can’t sleep, it’s that you won’t, because you’re terrified of being left alone with yourself, because you know you’ll end up asking yourself what comes next. You got so built up on the fact that you’ve got a lasting legacy, inside the ring with Joe, outside of it with Eliza, that you never thought about what that means for you. After all, what use is a man defined by wrestling when he can’t get the job done in the ring anymore?”
I meet eyes with the figure of myself. As much as I want to deny it she’s right, because who am I if I’m not a wrestler?
"Bull…sh*t. Trace, you think one loss defines your career? One f*cking loss? I’m dead and you got over that! Bit too quickly if you ask me, which you did, since I’m you.”
She steps between me and the figure, grabs me by the face to get my attention. Behind her the figure blurs.
"You fixate on things, you over-dramatise them, you always have, but imagine what would happen if you could let go, imagine the things you could do if you could see things clearly, if everything wasn’t life and death. Imagine how dangerous you’d be then. Hell, you might finally win that title you care so much about, but if you don’t, who cares really? What’s it matter? You’re a wrestler Trace, but that’s not what defines you.”
"Then what does?”
She steps back, grinning.
"Who the f*ck cares? You never did, and then you got older, and started worrying about all this sh*t you’ve got no need to worry about. I mean leaving a legacy Trace? Do you ever f*cking listen to yourself? Your rich! You’ve got a family! You’re f*cking alive! Who gives a sh*t about legacy?”
Alexa, or whatever she’s meant to be, steps beside the figure I’ve built up in my head, the version of me I think I’m meant to be.
"You want to leave a legacy, something for people to remember you by? Make them remember you, not what you leave behind. Make them remember the man who burnt everything down around him and had a good time doing it. We both know that’s who you really are.”
"That’s not something Alexa would have said.”
"I keep telling you, I’m not a f*cking ghost. Now get your act together before you turn yourself into one.
She clicks her fingers.
< *** >
I jerk awake at the wheel of the car, head pounding, a trickle of blood dripping onto the steering wheel. I kick the door open and half-step, half-fall out of the car.
"Trace?”
I look up to the edge of the road where Emily stands, looking at me uneasy.
"Thank god.”
She runs to me and throws her arms around my waist, then backs up and smacks me upside the head.
"Ow! Head injury! How the f*ck did you even find me?”
"The GPS on your phone, though it only did me as well as finding it halfway up the road. Luckily for you it’s pretty easy to find an expensive sports car that’s run off the bloody thing. What the f*ck were you thinking?”
"Thinking?”
I chuckle.
"I was thinking how much fun I’m going to have.”
But first, sleep.
Hour One
< *** >
Oh Scarlett. Scarlett my girl, what a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into. I bet you thought you were pretty bad ass running down that aisle and jumping me in my darkest hour. I bet you thought you were pretty cool as you listened to all those idiot fans chanting your name. “Scarlett! Scarlett! Scarlett!” Must have felt pretty good, right? And I mean, it makes sense, that I’d be the one to make you relevant again since I’m the one who did it the first time. And that must matter to someone like you, someone young with these big dreams and desires. It must matter to be relevant so I bet you felt pretty happy with the outcome of that little brawl of ours because suddenly people cared who you were again. I bet you’ve missed that feeling.
And like I said it makes sense that I’d be the one to give you that feeling back since I’m the one who did it the first time, since I’m the one who brought you into the WFWF, since I’m the one who helped train you, who helped you navigate your way up the card and become the youngest WFWF World Champion in history. You reached the peak of this business faster than anyone could have imagined and it was all because of me. I plucked you from obscurity and I made you someone that mattered. And you let me do it. You let me do whatever I wanted as long as you stayed relevant because that’s what mattered. You didn’t want to be your fathers daughter, you didn’t want to be a McGurk, you wanted to be a Quinn, you wanted to be you, you wanted to be relevant.
They say that a dog is a man’s best friend. Well I guess they’ve never encountered daddy issues, right?
Scarlett you had all the talent in the that ring, but you didn’t have the one thing that matters, you didn’t have the brains. Me? I’m the god damn Einstein of professional wrestling. I see this business in ways that no-one else does, so it was the easiest thing in the world to get that title on you knowing full well I could break you for it. And I did, and you’ve never been the same since. But in a way I now find myself at the same junction that you did way back then. See I lost to Joe Bishop, I’m man enough to admit that he had my number, that he got the better of me. I’m also man enough to admit that since that match I’ve had some… trouble. My heads been a bit all over the place. Here and there, here and there, I can’t keep tabs on it anymore! It’s like I went a little bit… crazy for a second. And if that was how it stayed then maybe, just maybe you’d have had a chance. I’m here to break the bad news to you that I’ve pulled myself together.
See Scarlett, I had to take a good hard look at myself and admit that everything I said going into that match with Bishop was a load of sh*t! See legacies are for people who are giving up. Legacies are for people more concerned about what happens when they’re gone than when they’re here. But me? I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. And you know what Scarlett, I’m done worrying about titles, I’m done worrying about wins and losses, I’m done worrying about Lila Sleater and those fans and Joe Bishop and everybody else. I’ve spent too long worry about what I’m meant to be, I’ve been ignoring who I am. So who am I Scarlett?
Am I the King of the Demons? Am I The Villain? Am I the best wrestler in the world? What do you think? Because me? I don’t think it matters. All these names, all these titles, all these aliases they put on posters and use for their t-shirts and their merchandise… I don’t think they matter. I don’t even think it matters who I am, because I’m done trying to figure it out. I’m done trying to make sense of all these thoughts floating through my head. All these fragments and broken pieces that make up this mind of mine… I’m done figuring them out. No, it doesn’t matter who I am, it doesn’t even matter what I say. The only thing that matters to me anymore is what I’m going to do. To you, and to the WFWF.
See Scarlett, what I did to Anna… that was the real me. I humiliated her, I reminded her that she was just a girl, and I did it simply because I could. I hurt that girl, I injured that girl because I wanted to and because I knew that I could do it. That’s who I am Scarlett, I’m the man who can do anything he wants because he is that damn good. I am the man who could stand here and tell you all about how I’m going to tear you apart and leave you broken for a second time in that ring and then I’d do it just because I can. But I’m not going to do that Scarlett, because I don’t know what I’m going to do to you. I don’t know how far I’m going to take this, I don’t know how much blood I’m going to spill, because quite frankly Scarlett… I’m going to do whatever I want when I want to. I’m going to stand in that ring opposite you… and whatever I feel like doing in that moment is what I will do.
And then I’ll look out at the WFWF, and I’ll do the same to it. See no more big grandiose claims about this being my company and my ring and my arena and all that sh*t. You know it’s all true, but it doesn’t f*cking matter. The only thing that matters is that from now on… I’m going to have a good f*cking time. And if that means everyone else has a really, really bad time.
Well that’ll just make it all the sweeter.