Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2018 2:14:24 GMT -5
It's morning. About 8:00. At least, that's what it feels like based off where the sun is shining on my bed. I really need to get some curtains. Putting that on the to-do list. But I can't re-adjust because of the other person lying with me on my bed. Speaking of "to-do," or more like "have-done." That sounded better in my head; I'm groggy, it's morning. But last night was fun. Met a cute guy, took him home, had some fun and even to wake up with him in my bed. Granted, it was snowing outside and I'm not the type of jerk to kick someone out at two in the morning. I'll take this win, though. Needed one.
Of course, I couldn't bask in my personal victory for too long, not after the loud, obnoxious knocking on my door that jolted my friend awake, wondering what the hell is happening.
I reach under all the junk on my dresser before pulling my phone out of the evidence of an eventful night. The clock reads 8:10 AM.
Mak: Sh*t.
I begrudgingly roll off of the bed onto my feet and scramble to find clothing. I would rather be shirtless with boxer briefs for the mailman than the person on the other side of that door. Said person speaks up and says "You got 30 seconds before I make this awkward for all parties involved. And I will make it awkward." I say "Don't I know it" to myself, loud enough for my unfortunate third party to hear, but not the person on the other side. I end up deciding on a pair of shorts and the undershirt I wore with my dress shirt last night.
Adrian: Uh...have I stayed too long?
Adrian, having now sat up, perplexed at the circumstance I've just put him in.
Mak: No. Well, sort of. It's more like I forgot something was happening.
??: Fifteen!
I say this as I give Adrian a bundle of clothes that will eventually resemble what he wore last night. A look of realization comes over his face.
Adrian: Guess this means you're kicking me out.
??: Ten!
Mak: Not because I don't like you, I very much enjoyed last night, it's just I would rather not subject you to anymore of what's behind that door than you already will be.
He gets up and starts to put on his clothes. I take the time to get a last look at his semi-nude figure. Yeah. Definitely a personal victory. He notices my gazing and smirks as he fully covers himself as he gestures toward the door.
Adrian: And whose exactly behind that door?
I don't get the chance to answer before the door opens and said person reveals themselves. She's dressed in favorite pair of skinny jeans, a plain white t-shirt and the leather jacket I got her for her birthday two years ago. I'm not sure whether she's grinning at my look of irritation or the fact she correctly predicted this exact interaction would happen. "I look forward to the day I inevitably get to bust inside your bedroom and scar the poor boy who thinks he just slept himself into infidelity."
April: You know, Mak, if we were still married and I didn't know better, I would be so beside myself right now. Maybe even faint from the shock.
Mak: Good morning to you, too, April.
Adrian looks two parts confused and one part horrified. I want to crawl in a hole.
Adrian: Wait, did you chea-
April: Let me stop you there, sweetie. Mak's cheap, but he's not a cheat.
Mak: Did you just call me cheap?
Adrian: Well, we did just leave after one drink.
Et tu, Adrian? April just bursts into laughter at this. Look, I don't see any need of long-winded formalities when everyone knows what everyone wants. I motion for April to move to the side and she obliges as I gently push Adrian out my bedroom towards the hall so he could be on his way.
Mak: I much as I want to discuss sexual exploits, I must get on with the plans I have today. Thank you for the time last night, Adrian. It was fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime.
He expresses intrigue in a repeat performance and we make sure we have each other's numbers before he leaves through the stairwell. Definitely want to see him again. I turn back around towards April and she's giving me that look. You know the one. The look someone you know gives you when you might really be into someone. The look that just means 'I'm gonna hound you for this for a very long time.'
April: Don't think I didn't see that smirk you gave him.
Mak: What smirk?
April: If there's someone you can't play coy with, it's me, Mak.
Mak: You mean, this one?
I walk up to her giving that same smirk she was just referring to. Yeah, I have my moves, they're tried and tested. Don't replace a wheel that still has miles on it. When I'm close enough, I try to embrace her but she playfully squirms away, giving me a few playful tsk's as she heads towards the kitchen area.
April: Trying to cuddle up with his ex-wife, moments after showing his boytoy the door. Now there's a boldness from you I haven't seen in some time.
Mak: What can I say? Old habits die hard.
She takes a mug from the cupboard and places it under the faucet, getting what I thought was herself a glass of water before extending it to me.
April: You know what's proof of that? You neglecting to brush your teeth in the morning. Your breath smells like ass, hon. And I can't help but think it might be literal in this case.
That line gets an open breath of exasperation from me as she chuckles to herself in amusement. She'll never be without a quip, that's for sure. She's not wrong though, so I take the glass.
Mak: In my defense, you literally entered my place as I woke up. Can I at least ask for the courtesy of looking decent before you accost me in my home?
April: Hey, you were the one who gave me a key for this exact reason. And I don't care who you sleep with, as long as it's not on my time. But all jokes aside, Mak, it's good you're putting yourself out there. And the way you want to, as well.
Mak: As much as I appreciate that, when am I gonna be able to say the same about you?
April: Who says you can't?
Mak: Spill.
April: A lady never kiss and tells. Besides, you don't even have the time to hear my stories.
She gestures at the clock on the oven. 8:45.
Mak: Sh****t.
April: What I wouldn't give to be the fly on the wall when you come in umpteen minutes late.
I immediately rush into my bathroom and turn on the shower. I almost consider not even taking my clothes off and just climb in solely to save those extra bits of seconds but at this point, I know I'm late and I'm going to hear it and feel it. I hear April yell out "I'll be downstairs!" I climb inside the shower, taking my toothbrush with me.
---
The idea of a once married couple still being friends isn't that peculiar of a concept, but admittedly, even I wouldn't blame someone for being confused about the relationship between April and me. To be honest, I'm not even sure we know what it is. I'm not saying we should be confrontational towards each other or anything, but nothing really seemed to change outside of physical boundaries, and even then, that gets tested from time to time.
Maybe we just 'got it.' Some people can spend the rest of their lives with each other without needing the label of marriage attached to it. Certainly, not many ex-wives are willing to offer their former spouse a ride anywhere, much less a gym to get back into shape to rejoin the very same wrestling company that one could argue started the riff that eventually turned into divorce papers.
Sometimes, the realization we're no longer husband and wife bring some awkward moments.
Mak: Why are you willing to do this?
April: What do you mean?
She's clearly taken aback by my sudden line of questioning. I really need to stop thinking out loud around her.
Mak: I'm just saying. Thank you for doing this, but you're well within your right to say no. Especially in this instance. When I mentioned to everyone I was thinking about getting back into the ring, you were the one person who was hesitant. I can't blame you for that. Now, you're here giving me rides while my car is busted.
April: I'm not wild about you going back there of all places, no. But you're a grown ass man, and if this is something you want to do, I'm not going to stop you. I don't have that power anymore. At the end of the day, I want you to be safe. Not just in a physical sense, but mentally, too. If nothing else, I'm just racking up all of these favors you owe me.
Mak: Really? You're counting favors, now?
April: I may be doing this out of the goodness of my heart, but my generosity is no longer free for you, sir. Should have thought of that one beforehand.
Mak: Fair enough.
I look at the clock. 9:45. Today's gonna be a hard day.
Mak: Guess I should go meet my maker.
April: God, if only I didn't have work.
Mak: Always the sadist.
Before I leave, we decide to share a hug. I reflexively go for a kiss on the cheek but she pulls away at the first moment she senses it.
April: Look, Mak. I know we don't have much in the way of boundaries but that, that I'm not OK with. We can give each other crap like we like to, I can give your rides, we can even properly hang out on occasion. But stuff like that...we're not th-I'm not there yet. Can't say I will anytime soon. I hope that's clear to you.
Mak: Yeah. Sorry, I'm a jerk.
April: You are. But I know you didn't mean anything malicious. Like you said, old habits die hard. See you around.
Mak: Yeah. See you.
I exit the car and we give each other another look before she drives off to do her thing. That look that says 'let's not do anything rash and make this worse.' Maybe the physical torture I'll subject myself to will be a good way to clear my head.
---
"The gym" is more like a warehouse converted into a training space. There's some decent weightlifting equipment, giant tires, jump ropes, pads and of course, the squared circle herself. You know. Classic stuff. Though if the ring had three ropes instead of four, you'd think I'd be needing 18-ounce gloves, not elbow pads and spandex.
But I'll do with gym shorts for now. Judging from the look of the elderly man I've kept waiting, he's gonna make sure I use every single bit of equipment we've put into this place. He points at his watch impatiently.
Delaney: Now, look. I'm a reasonable man. I can handle people being a few minutes late. Traffic around here is rough in the morning. But in what world is it acceptable to be 45 minutes late over a piece of ass?
Mak: First off, what did April tell you?
Delaney: Enough, Romeo.
Mak: More importantly, I'm being scolded by the guy who used to hit on women in front of their partners?
Delaney: It was a different time. Don't change the subject. We got some catching up to do.
---
We're ringside. I'm not sure which between my arms and legs are burning the most but either way, kneedeep in Satan's sack would feel like a tropical vacation compared to how I'm feeling right now.
Mak: 98...99...200. There...are we square now?
Delaney: Square? Boy, square is when you start paying me for getting your ass back to form.
Mak: Weren't you the one who said money wasn't the reason you were willing to do this? And I do pay you.
Delaney: With the amount of no time you've given me, I should be charging for double.
Here's a tip for all you prospective pro wrestlers out there: you're better off training yourself at this point. Lest you follow my route and have to dig up curmudgeonly old skeletons from the grave because you thought getting back to basics was a good idea. Yeah, I would expect nothing less from Delaney Blood. Believe it or not, he was worse when he first trained me.
Mak: You've had me run multiple laps around the building-
Delaney: How about one more?
Mak: -multiple sets twice my bodyweight-
Delaney: Have you seen the brick sh*thouses out there these days? They must cornfeed these guys steroids at this rate.
Mak: -and now an obscene number of push-ups. We haven't even gotten to the in-ring stuff.
Delaney: With the way you're complaining, you wouldn't last five minutes in that ring anymore.
Mak: I'm tired of having my time wasted!
Delaney: Oh, so that's what this is now? Just a waste of time, is it? Have you forgotten the way I do things? I weed out the weak-willed. The ones who see someone on the tv or their laptop and think anyone can do this s*it.
At this point, I stop him before he tries to chatter on further. I'm up in his face, and tired of his mess.
Mak: I think the fact that I've been around the block a bit, quite literally today even, proves I'm not here to fulfill some fantasy. I didn't think I had to remind you of all people, just how godd*mn serious I am about returning to the WFWF.
Delaney: Boy, you mind your tone.
Mak: Or what, old man? You're gonna stretch me? Show the kid some humility?
I slide into the ring, get back up to my feet and walk over to the farthest turnbuckle from the side I entered. I climb it, then turn and sit on the top turnbuckle, looking down at Delaney who's back on floor level.
Mak: You got a problem with the way I speak to you? Well, feeling's mutual. So why don't you do something about it? That is, if it doesn't take you ten minutes to even get up onto the apron. How's your knee treating you today? Certainly not enough to keep your mouth closed.
I don't know exactly what I'm doing, but he's been pissing me off today. I'm just entertaining myself by this point. To his credit, the old man actually gets up onto the apron. He's got the grace of a baby rhino, but he's calling my bluff. He gets into the ring but by the time he's gotten fully inside, I've rushed down to the mat and caught him in a front facelock.
Mak: Damn, old man, how'd you end up falling for that trick?
Before I can gloat some more, he's suddenly rushed me into the turnbuckle and breaks free from my grasp. He acts as if he's going for a punch so I put my hands up out of reflex but immediately regret my decision as he just chops the hell of my sternum. The pain is biting but not incapacitating and I yell out before throwing an elbow towards him. He actually dodges out of the way just in time but yelps in pain, sounds like he may have hurt himself. When I turn around, he's clutching his right knee, the bad one.
It's been a while since he's properly bumped, and he barely has here, but this one looks serious.
Mak: Dell, you're ok?
Delaney: Well, I'm not dead, but I'm not exactly a spring chicken here.
Mak: Hey, I'm sorry, I was just messing around, I wasn't trying to-
Just as I get close enough to survey the potential damage myself, he grabs my arm and twists it into a wristlock and angles himself behind me, bending my arm into a hammerlock now. He applies enough pressure to get me down to a knee.
Delaney: Damn, boy, and this trick is older than you.
Mak: Next time you've actually fallen, I'm not helping you up. I'll let you starve.
Delaney: With what you're paying me, I'll have done so already.
Mak: I pay you fine!
He releases and we share a laugh. Bum knee or not, he'll find a way or two to surprise you. Now that we've gotten that out of our system, we start doing actual technique practice. I wasn't kidding when I said back to basics. It's not like I've forgotten how to wrestle or anything, but I want to shake off as much rust as I can before getting back into the ring when it counts. Especially when your first match back is against a champion.
A couple hours later, the camera crew WFWF brought down to my neck of the woods...or more like neck of the concrete to get some footage of me training. They even brought a sparring partner of sorts to make me look good. Now, everyone knows it's a lot more real than glamour shots of your best moves, no one with a brain is going to let you do anything to them, but this isn't a real match. I don't even know where the guy even came from. Can take a hell of a punch though.
Once all of that is done, I'm chilling at a table off to the side, at Dell's laptop. I'm looking at the last WFWF event, aptly named "Back to Basics." I see Frank Lynn, posing with the International Championship. I must have had quite the look on my face, because even Delaney is surprised by what he sees.
Delaney: I know I bust your balls about motivation, but the match ain't for another couple of weeks and it looks like you already want to tear him apart.
Mak: I mean, look at him. This guy looks great. Made a name for himself in another field, came to wrestling and in a couple years, now he's International Champion. Meanwhile here I am, haven't even competed in some four years, and I'm half certain I get booked against this guy to be fed to him.
Delaney: You really think this guy is gonna just steamroll over you?
Mak: Don't you worry, I'm gonna give Lynn a fight, but what happens if I lose? All this work, all this time spent, just to prove I should have stayed away. This guy, this guy is somebody. He made a name for himself. He's beaten some of the best. Guys I never beat.
Delaney: Now I know that's just that little part of you talking you give too much power to. So you didn't win titles, so you're not the most famous wrestler to walk in the company. You know what you have though? You got your life, you got your sanity.
Mak: And I got a neat little footnote on a Wikipedia article, too.
Delaney: All right, cut the self-deprecating crap. You want proof of Mak Cross? Here.
He turns the laptop towards him and moments later, he's pulled up a match of me at SuperBrawl against David Roberts in our Extreme Rules match. A war and a half I went through, but I came out the winner. He shows another. Survival of the Fittest. One more. Psycho Circus.
Delaney: You see that guy? Did he win every match? No, he didn't, and I don't need to ask you how you felt about that because I already know. Even when we weren't on speaking terms, I kept tabs on you. I saw you get cracked by bats wrapped with barbed wire. I saw you get dropped onto glass. Damn near set on fire. Tossed off cages God knows how far to the ground. But you know what else I see? A survivor. You were a man thrown into an environment that most men would never even have the gall to live through. You did. And you got the chance to say you wanted out. Most people in the WFWF don't get that chance. There exists a reality where guys like Schneider and Demon are seemingly dead and gone and you sit here with the privilege of dictated your own terms. And you want mope about if fans will remember you and if losing one match is going to make it a wash. Guess what motherf*cker? You're back. Everyone wonders whether you had a spot and just didn't take it? Now's your chance!
I sit there for a long while contemplating his thoughts. But a thought comes through my head, and I shoot up. I grab my belongings and start to head out.
Delaney: Where you heading off to?
Mak: I gotta clear my head. Don't wait up.
Delaney: Ain't I your ride?
Mak: Just pick me up, I won't be far.
Delaney: You're paying for gas.
Mak: Fine.
I head out, not walking towards anywhere in particular.
---
I know what he was doing. He was trying to give me a history lesson, of my own history nonetheless. It's funny, I always thought myself more on the technical side of professional wrestling. The skillset of wrestling where the moves matter, where the winner is the one who showcases the best technique. And then, I got hired by the WFWF. I got to show off a little bit of what I had to offer from the technical side. But very quickly I realized something. Those top guys? That upper echelon of talent? A lot of them had something in common with each other.
They were all some evil bast*rds.
If it wasn't bolted down, it got thrown at you or you thrown into it. You didn't really pay your dues here unless you spilt a drop of blood or two. If you were really lucky, the amount of blood you shed could have saved someone's life during a transfusion. Half the time, I didn't know whether or not the canvas was changed to red, because by the end of the night, it damn sure looked like it. But just as much as you had to be willing to shed someone else's blood, you had to be willing to shed your own. It didn't matter if it was from a fist, a chair or a blade, if it was put in your hands, you damn well have used it. Because no one would have had a problem using it on you.
Here's the shocking news for you: I wasn't comfortable with that. It wasn't the wrestling I wanted to be known for. Because it wasn't wrestling. It was glorified snuff fantasies made justifiable because we got to take home a nice shiny belt at the end of it if you got your hand raised, or what was left of it. But that's the real messed up thing about it -- when you get a taste of that gold, every single scar is more like a token of pride.
And then someone comes along and threatens your spot. So, you get more desperate, your methods are more drastic, your soul gets more depraved. The ends justify the means, it doesn't matter how many people you scar physically, or mentally, because at the end of the day, everyone eats it up anyways. My first run here, I went through Hell. I've been tortured by men just because I had the burden of being the next guy in line to take one of their spots.
But let me tell you, I hated every single second of it. Yet, I kept doing it. Deep down inside, there was a part of me that was OK with becoming as corrupted as they were, because I knew that just because I could stoop to their level, doesn't mean I couldn't climb my way back out of that hole. But every time I reminded myself of that little bit of humanity, I fell short. Others kept their repressed for longer, if they even had any humanity left by the time I got to them.
So, I left. I figured, if I don't even have that literal killer instinct to thrive in the WFWF upper echelon, why bother. I spent years away. Four years away. I thought that life was behind me.
And then Frank Lynn showed up.
I saw a man who oddly reminded myself of me. Got his hands dirty early, showed some promise. Had a couple of really good opportunities come his way but just fell short for one reason or another. He gets pushed away by a couple of the top guys, but that didn't stop him. He steps up. But here's the major difference.
He stayed up. All of a sudden, he kept winning. And winning. And winning. And he did so under the guise of pure competition, he made certain that if he was gonna change this company, he was going to do it the right way, the way that makes you proud to be a professional wrestler. He was going to bring about a revolution to the WFWF. And people ate that up.
So did I, to be honest. If there was Kool-Aid to be made by Frank Lynn, I would have drunk it no questions asked. And then it happened.
He had himself a taste of greatness. I no longer saw the man looking the clean up the act of the WFWF. I saw a man, who when his back is against the wall, when that little bead of sweat called desperation drops from his face, turns his back against his entire philosophy at the first chance he finds an opening before that drop even hits the floor. He gets himself put in power, steals a Golden Opportunity and the International Championship in the same damn night.
You dare call your movement a "revolution," when all I see is a man who just chose preserve the status-quo around here. And as luck would have it, as all of this is happening, WFWF calls me. Say what you will about my philosophy; I'm as much of a hypocrite as you, but at least I'm damn man enough to admit I am one.
I find our first meeting at a show called New Day Rising to be ill-fitting. Because we may have a new guard on the rise, but this new dog just used the same old tricks as any of our other villains would have used, he just calls himself a hero and for a time being, convinced the fans he was one. And here I am, now that vet, coming back like so many before him, looking to take a spot. The only difference is, and let's put it out on the table, I don't have the resume a lot of those guys had.
But you know what I do have? The nerve. The nerve to look the International Champion in the eye and say you gotta go through me, champ. Damn a Trace Demon, damn a Kyzer, damn an Ante Whitner, damn a David Brennan.
You. Have. To. Go. Through. Me.
So what kind of man will I see at New Day Rising, Frank? Am I going to get the guy who just got others before they could get him once more and now that he has the gold, can mold the WFWF in his own image? Or am I gonna get the guy who inevitably gets that dark grip on his heart, and turns into yet another sadistic zombie?
I don't know. The fun part of it all? I don't even know what I'll be. Not until the bell rings, anyway.