Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2019 19:56:30 GMT -5
Five days after Stay Gold…
You have reached the voicemail of –
You know, you’d think that winning would help me forget. Help me get over this…mountain out of a molehill that I’ve created for myself since Dallas. It sure felt good beating that bitch Daisy. Beat her by reversing her own hold too. Not gonna lie, I surprised myself there but I was running on pure instinct and I wasn’t going to let a rejected Harley Quinn beat me. Not after everything that’s happened.
They always told us in the service that it’s better to be killed in action than be captured by the enemy. Daisy had me captured there but that survival instinct took over and did the rest for me. I don’t remember much after that, when I came to it was my hand that was being raised.
Maybe now Jenny will choose to acknowledge my existence. Hopefully, I made up for the embarrassment that I caused her at SuperBrawl by winning at Tulsa. If she watched the show, which I doubt she did but a there’s a glimmer of hope inside me that tells me she did and when I won, she smiled.
I should be ecstatic about winning, pretty much undoing every, bad thing that happened at SuperBrawl. Well, not every bad thing but at least I didn’t go 0-2 in back-to-back matches, but reality is a cruel monster; it hits me across the face like a cheap shot. Jenny ain’t calling me anytime soon. Then the anxiety sets in, creeping up on me like a vampire in the darkness, leaving me defenseless as it consumes me.
I get the urge. The all too familiar feeling that has become a part of me since Dallas.
You have reached the voicemail of –
The urge to drown myself in liquid bread. The urge to drink myself silly to the point where I forget my own name, much like Jenny did. That sounds good right about now.
I know how I get when I drink, and I certainly don’t want to give in to those urges. It doesn’t help that the paranoia is getting worse too. I’ll be at work and my heart races whenever someone looks at me funny because in my head, they’re looking at me funny because I’m obviously wasted. I don’t think it’s too obvious, but I can’t afford to have work know that I’m drinking again.
I’d get canned then I’d be unemployed. I mean – it ain’t the end of the world if I do. I could go work at a school or something but being a janitor is hard enough with everyone constantly reminding me of the integrity and class that such a profession has. I don’t need teenagers that have no respect for their elders doing that s**t to me on a daily basis.
But on the plus side, I did win a match after drinking again. I embarrassed my daughter as well as myself when I was sober so maybe it’s a sign that I should keep doing it, right? Right.
I grind my teeth as I sit up off the floor, having no idea how I got there and make my way towards the cabinet where the dishes used to be.
I’ve been stocking up for rainy days, leaving me with so many choices to choose from. Jack Daniels or Smirnoff? Bacardi or Hennessy?
I’ll go with Jack and Smirnoff tonight.
I awkwardly fall onto my couch, both bottles in hand and open them up. The smell of Jack Daniel’s sends electricity down my spine. The smell of woody fruits and I can taste the vanilla as it goes down.
The Smirnoff is like drinking a nice, cold Sprite mixed with lemonade. Goddamn, it tastes good. Call it a woman’s drink, I don’t care. Billy Saturn Broom loves Smirnoff!
I feel the Smirnoff doing its thing because I feel like I’m ten feet tall and bulletproof. My arms feel tight like I just spent an hour at the gym.
You have reached the voicemail of –
S**t.
She’s still not answering the phone. It’s been two months without a word from Jenny and I’m starting to get worried.
I know she’s okay and all that. Despite her attitude problem and warped sense of worth, Victoria’s a good mom but she’ll never hear that from me.
What worries me is how long Jenny will go without speaking to me. I can go years without hearing Victoria’s screechy voice but not hearing from my daughter cuts on a whole, different level. A deep cut, the ones that usually result in a lot of blood loss.
It’s not like she’s keeping Jenny from me, she’s choosing not to talk to me which makes it worse.
F**k.
Maybe she’s asleep.
It is August and school and it’s starting up soon.
I’ll call her again. Maybe she’s just not in her room.
*ring, ring*
*ring, ring*
Come on, Jenny. Please, it’s dad.
*ring, ring*
*ring, ring*
Jenny….please….
*ring, ring*
*ring, ring*
You have reached the voicemail of –
F**k!
F**k!
The sense of dread that has consumed me since SuperBrawl decides to make its presence known. I can’t shake this sense of foreboding. It’s just me, stuck in my s**tty apartment, barely dressed and enough booze coursing through my veins, a breathalyzer would spontaneously combust.
My daughter, the only person in the world that matters - hates me and that’s enough to destroy me completely.
I down the remaining Smirnoff in one gulp to cope with the thought. I lost the bottle of Jack somewhere, s**t.
Better go get some mor-
Lambs in the Abattoir
A Billy Broom RP
A Billy Broom RP
“William!”
“William!”
“William! Wake up!”
“What did you do?? William!”
I struggle opening my eyes, everything is such a blur. It’s enough to cause my stomach to churn, giving me the urge to vomit, a hot acidic sensation burning at the back of my throat. It doesn’t help that I can literally feel the sun on my skin, causing my head to burn. Hangovers suck.
In fact, my entire body hurts like hell. My chest feels like an anvil was dropped on it and I feel a sharp, piercing pain on my back, like I’m laying on a bunch of broken glass.
I hear garbled nonsense followed by a high shrieking sound, like a banshee flying overheard and it’s deafening.
“William! Wake up!”
“What did you do?? William!”
Through my internal haze, I’m able to make out Victoria, my ex-wife, hunching over me like some freakish giant.
I remember winning in Tulsa, but I think Daisy actually killed me and I ended up in Hell, burning for all eternity…with her.
Then suddenly, another figure emerges from my ex-wife’s back, yet I can see her clearly through the fogginess. Her voice sobers me up. Kinda.
“Dad, are you okay?”
That voice. The voice of an angel.
My angel.
Okay, I’m actually in Heaven but somehow, my ex-wife snuck out of Hell to torment me in the afterlife. Hell must not have enough gold for her.
“J-Jenny? Jenny baby?”
She stays hidden behind her mother, but I see her and a jolt of energy sparks within me. I’m able to sit up off the floor and make my way towards the couch, despite my ribs feeling cracked, maybe broken as I hold my arms out, the universal signal for ‘give your low-life father a hug’.
I don’t even notice her reluctancy, but you know what? I don’t care. In this moment, it’s just me and her. No one else. My little girl I forget for a brief minute that my ex-wife is right next to me, shouting and giving me a headache.
“What is the matter with you? Calling your daughter repeatedly like a madman at midnight! You frightened her!”
Nothing really makes sense right now. For once in my life, I go to Vicki for answers.
“Wha-what are you talking about?”
She scoffs, taken aback by my confusion.
“Your daughter woke up to 27 missed calls from her father and she became hysterical when you didn’t answer!”
“I wasn’t hysterical.”
From where I’m sitting, I’m able to see my broken cell phone, lying in pieces by the concrete balcony as if it was thrown through the glass sliding door. I don’t know what to say, instead looking around my apartment to see that it’s a mess. A bottle of Jack was smashed on the table in the living room, there are stains of what I hope is Jack on the floor as it dripped off the sides. The couch is riddled in liquor stains. A trail of blood is coming from the kitchen where I can see broken glass everywhere.
The blinds are crumbled, and part of the bookshelf is broken. The sliding glass door is slid halfway open and the window is shattered with a cell phone sized hole.
The old table that we’ve had for years is broken in two pieces, as if someone got bodyslammed through it.
I must’ve blacked out because I don’t remember any of this.
“Is everything okay, dad?”
I just keep looking at Jenny who's dressed in all black instead of her usual colorful attire. She doesn't look happy. She looks as if she was forced to come see her old man who's going through stuff but she doesn't need to know that.
I just keep looking at Jenny who's dressed in all black instead of her usual colorful attire. She doesn't look happy. She looks as if she was forced to come see her old man who's going through stuff but she doesn't need to know that.
“Yeah, everything is fine.”
Jenny groans and rolls her eyes before dashing towards the front door.
“Let’s go then, mom.”
She makes towards the door
“Jenny, please! I’m sorry!”
And just like that, she’s gone. Out of my life for another two months, maybe even more this time and suddenly, the pain in my chest becomes worse. So much worse that I lean back on the couch but that causes me even more pain, wincing at the sensitivity of my back.
“She’s ran away twice now.”
Gripping my chest, I look up at my ex-wife. She can act like she’s better than me or whatever, but all that luxury can’t hide the expression on her face or, lack thereof. She’s frozen stiff, her eyes focused on the shattered glass door where my cell phone rests in pieces.
“What?”
“Your daughter has run away from her home twice now.”
“Our daughter, you mean.”
She scoffs.
“Point is – she’s starting to rebel against her mother, and I don’t know what to do with her.”
“She clearly wants nothing to do with me. Can’t help you there.”
I really don’t mean to sound so cold about Jenny but at this point, I don’t know what to do. I don’t like that though – the fact that she’s running away from home. She’s rebelling against her parents. I know she’s a teenager, she’s going through stuff physically and such but we – I raised her better than this. She’d never just run off, where the hell does she go?
The thought of Jenny, out in the streets alone causes me to remember that dream…. there’s guys like Needles out there, even worse than Needles if that's even possible and I won’t be there to save her….again.....
I can feel my heartbeat through my chest. The thoughts in my mind right now cause me to sweat even though the air conditioner is on.
“Of course, William. You never know to help me with raising your daughter!”
Bitch. It’s never your fault, is it? Talking about Jenny as if she's some kind of burden or something.
“Our daughter, Vicki. She didn’t come out of my vagina.”
Did I just insinuate that I have a vagina? She gasps, as if she’s never heard the v-word before.
“How dare you use that foul language with me!”
This isn’t helping with my headache. I go to sit up, but it hurts. A pain shoots up my right leg when I realize that the blood coming from the kitchen…is mine. I check the bottom of my foot and there’s a nasty looking gash, looks like I stepped in glass while I was drunk. I don’t remember any of that.
Vicky sees the gash and gasps again. Not for my well-being but because blood makes her woozy.
“Don’t just sit there! Put a bandage on it, I feel sick!”
I’m the one that’s in pain yet I have to do something because she’s feeling sick. It hurts, yeah but I stumble towards the bathroom, leaving even more bloody footprints on the carpet.
Vicky screams as I turn my back, but I ignore her and her overdramatic tendencies. I sit on the toilet and put some alcohol on the cut which makes me want to scream but I don’t.
Put a gauze on it, wrap it in my best bandage job and we’re okay. Had Doc survived that humvee attack, I think he’d be proud of this considering I wasn’t a field medic. With the mirror just an earshot away, I’m able to see why my back feels like I passed out on a bed of glass…
Because I did pass out on a bed of glass. Small, jagged shards digging into my back with the thicker pieces drawing blood.
“What did you do to yourself, William?”
No way in hell I’m going to tell her the truth. Our relationship and marriage were all based on lies so I figure it’s only fair I lie to her about my drinking. If she ever found out that I’m drinking again, I’ll never see Jenny again, though this time it’d be legal and I’d have no chance of seeing her again or at least, working things out with her. Not having Jenny in my life is a fate worse than death. Time to get creative, Billy.
“I was robbed, okay?”
Her expression doesn’t change. She looks like I’m just taking up her valuable time.
“Who in their right mind would rob you? There’s nothing of value in this…. pigsty.”
Gee, thanks. So, pictures of our daughter, some of the mementos I’ve saved from the service – all of that is nothing of value? Bitch.
I don’t think she believes me and that concerns me. S**t.
“In case you didn’t know, I’m a wrestler. I’m on TV. People assume I have money.”
She scoffs again.
“You’re a janitor first and foremost.”
Again with the knocking of my profession.
“They ganged up on me and asked if I had any money. When I tried fighting them off, they must’ve broken a glass over my head or something.”
I notice her checking her phone, as if she has somewhere to go.
“What does that say about you as a man if you can’t even defend your own home?”
I scoff now. Who does she think she is? She’s Vicki, the most narcissistic, self-centered woman I’ve ever met.
“Imagine if Jennifer was here. You’d probably just fail to protect her too!”
Okay, that was too far. She has no idea how much SuperBrawl f**ked things up for me and how hard I’m trying to fix them. She has no idea how much not talking to Jenny has affected me. I keep telling myself that I did the best I could in Dallas, but I haven’t exactly had the clearest head as of late, so I start to believe it. I find myself agreeing with Vicki’s claims. I get angry because of the attack on my pride, not my actions. Despite yelping in pain, I manage to sit up from the toilet and the look on my face changes Vicki’s expression to switch, her eyes get big.
“Okay, you can get the f**k out of my house! Now!”
She gasps again.
“How dare you!”
And before I know it, we’re fighting again. Just like old times. We’re right in each other’s face, airing all the dirty laundry that we’ve kept hidden away for just the right situation. I bring up the constant lying, she brings up the embarrassment I brought her and her family by becoming a janitor. I bring up Paul, she insults my manhood.
We’re holding nothing back. It’s like we’ve both been wanting this, but it just shows why we weren’t good together.
Oh, now she’s bringing up my alcoholic father. I bring up her less-than-fortunate parents. We’re fighting like high schoolers right now and it’s embarrassing.
She calls me a pathetic janitor. I call her an arrogant gold digger.
Then, a third voice chimes in and it’s enough to shut us both up.
“Stop! Stop fighting!”
We both turn our heads to see our daughter, standing by the doorway with tears streaming down her face. Before any of us can say a word, Jenny takes off. I want to go after her, but something tells me that me doing so would only make things worse. The sharp pain in my foot stops me as well.
“Look what you did. I really hope you’re happy with yourself, William.”
Vicki scoffs again before going after our daughter, even if it is at a snail’s pace.
And like that, she’s gone as well, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I limp my way back towards the couch after calming myself down and really examine all the damage I caused while cockeyed.
S**t.
I don’t know what’s worse – cleaning up this mess or maintaining the lie about my drinking.
Eight days after Stay Gold…
There, the apartment isn’t quite as messy as it was yesterday. The kitchen floor is clean enough to eat off as the sharp scent of the cleaning solution causes my nostrils to flare up. The key to a good clean is when you can’t see streaks where you mopped. If you do see streaks, that means there’s more water than solution in the bucket. The sun is shining through the kitchen window, glistening off the floor, almost blinding me but I don’t see any streaks. It was huge pain in the ass to sweep up all the broken glass, but I got it done.
Regarding the living room, I ended up tossing the broken table, it was old as hell anyway. It was bittersweet though, that thing is been in the family for years. I remember Jenny would use it when she would color, it served as the mat for board game night.
It’s been a fixture in the house for years and all that ended after I decided to bodyslam myself through it after a night of drinking although I still don’t remember doing that.
Some scotch tape to patch up the broken glass door that leads to the patio outside, I’ll have to call a glass company to come by and just replace the glass altogether. The blinds went bye-bye as well, I can get new ones later.
The blood on the carpet was the trickiest part but I ain’t never met a stain I couldn’t beat. All you need for that sorta job is a steel brush to remove the stains on the surface. After that, mix some dishwashing soap with two cups of cold water and dip a cloth into the mixture and there you have it – a clean carpet.
Vicki would still call this place a pigsty, even after spending most of the day cleaning it but to me, this place is home. I go to the kitchen and grab the bags of garbage before there’s a knock on my door.
Who the hell is it now?
I look through the peephole and to my surprise, it ain’t Vicki, the manager of the building or some delivery boy – it’s Bartholomay, one of Ms. Sleater’s assistants. This is a first. No one from work has ever come to the house but it must be something serious if they’re coming here right?
I immediately open the door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Broom, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. What brings you here?”
“Ms. Sleater has been trying to reach you for the last couple of days, but it always goes to voicemail. She was concerned so she sent me here to check on you.”
I forgot about my phone. Still need to get a new one.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. My phone broke on the flight from Tulsa and I’ve been busy with other things to get it replaced.”
I’m lying to my ex-wife and now I’m lying to work. What’s that saying about lying? Tell a lie once and all your truths become questionable or something like that?
“No worries, Mr. Broom. Ms. Sleater wanted to talk to you regarding the upcoming show in Hell, Michigan. Now since you don’t have a phone at the moment, please send Ms. Sleater an email so she can get in touch-“
“Can’t I just use your phone instead? It’d be much easier.”
I’m not that knowledgeable when it comes to today’s technology and there’s no way in hell that I’m revealing that to Bart, even if he is a good guy. He stands there, unsure of how to respond. I’m old-fashioned when it comes to business. A phone call is the best way to handle business.
“Umm..sure. Here you go.”
Bart unlocks his phone and it’s one of those super fancy ones from today. It’s about the size of a brick but it’s so thin. How do they put all that technology inside this? I have – well, had one of those touch screen ones but it wasn’t like Bart’s.
I dial Ms. Sleater and it rings twice before she answers.
“Hey, Bart. Did you find Billy?”
“Uhh hi, Ms. Sleater. This is Billy.”
There’s a pause followed by a sigh of relief.
“Billy! Why are you using Bart’s phone?”
I tell her the same story I told Bart about how my phone broke on the flight back from Tulsa and all that jazz. I just left out the part where I drunk myself silly, trashed my apartment and broke my phone by throwing it out a window in the process.
“Well then, that’s a relief. I’ve been trying to reach you for a week now, but I never got through and needless to say I was worried.”
Wow. She really does care about me.
“I appreciate it, Ms. Sleater but I’m okay. What did you need?”
“Well, I’m sure Bart mentioned to you that we have a show coming up in Michigan –“
“You mean Hell.”
She chuckles. I do too. It’s too funny that after people saying for years that the company was headed for hell, that’s exactly where we’re going.
“I thought it could be a clever way to market and promote the show by saying that the WFWF is going to Hell. After everything that happened in Tulsa, I think we should have some fun. Agree?”
“Oh, for sure Ms. Sleater.”
“Good. Now, speaking of Hell – I need someone to face Luke Marshall.”
“The false prophet?”
Sleater laughs but I’m being serious. I don’t know if God exists but what I do know is that guys like him have always existed. False prophets who claim to have spoken to God who made it their mission to cleanse the world from sinners and all that. It’s a bunch of bulls**t.
“Sure, him. You two looked impressive in Tulsa so logically, it makes sense to put you two together.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Of course. I don’t like his holier than you attitude and I’m feeling good after beating Daisy.”
Another lie.
“I’m really glad to hear that, Billy. I really appreciate you helping me out and please, do me a favor?”
“Sure, Ms. Sleater.”
“Get a new phone. I’d prefer if all my staff had quick and convenient ways of communication. You know it can get backstage.”
“Of course. You got it, boss.”
“Thank you, Billy. Please take care of yourself, okay?”
“You too.”
Sleater hangs up and with my newfound sense of purpose, I close the door to my apartment.
“Umm…Mr. Broom, can I have my phone back?”
***
Luke Marshall.
Yeah, I know you like to call yourself “The Father” but you ain’t my father and you certainly aren’t the second coming of God.
I highly doubt God has spoken to you. I ain’t a believer but I’m not a denier either. God works in weird ways sometimes. Us being booked to face each other after the things I’ve experienced these last few months is too convenient for some unknown force to not be at play here.
If there is a God, it certainly isn’t you. I don’t know for sure if God truly does exist but what I do know is that you’re a fraud. Your followers are lambs and you’re the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I’ve met plenty of guys like you in my day; guys that talk a whole lot of s**t but never back it up. In fact – you remind me a lot of Reverend Shadow, a guy whose head was so far up his own ass he ate s**t when I kicked his ass and kicking your ass is exactly what I’m going to do to you when we get to Hell.
You promise your followers everything, but you’ll still lead them to their doom, like lambs in the abattoir.
Men like David Koresh and Jim Jones. Men who all had convinced themselves that God had spoken to them and given them powers and they promised their followers salvation and freedom…only for them to wind up dead.
You’re no different and unfortunately, your followers will suffer the same fate unless I stop you. Poor, innocent souls that you’re taking advantage of – can’t say I have any respect for you as a man. I can only imagine the things that you do to your followers to keep them in line.
Try that s**t with me and I’ll put you in the ground. I look at your followers like hostages – being held against their own will out of fear. Some tough guy you are.
We’re both on the road to hell but only one of us is staying there and it isn’t me. People like you speak about this place where all the bad people in the world go in the afterlife. A place full of fire and pain and suffering for all eternity.
Believe me, hell is real because I’ve seen it. Some of the things I saw while in the service are enough to destroy a man’s mind, leaving him a shell of who he once was. Picking body parts that belonged to men you called friends does something to your psyche. Seeing some of the most tenacious soldiers crumble at the psychological damage that war inflicts on them messes you up permanently.
Some of my best friends didn’t come home from the war, I’m one of the lucky ones but I use the word ‘lucky’ loosely. Every day, I wake up suffering as a result. I’ll occasionally see glimpses of soldiers crying out for help after they’ve been blown to pieces. I hear their screams and their cries in my head, and it can drive you insane. Some men can’t take it and do things to themselves to silence the noises.
We live with the constant reminder of the hell that we went through as soldiers, yet I continue to persevere. I continue to endure because I’m a soldier and a soldier never says die!
When that bell rings, I want you to do your worst and I mean that. I want you to inflict as much pain on me as you can so I can be reminded of war because when a man is in war, the killer inside comes out in the form of a monster. He becomes unstoppable.
The only way I’m going to expose you and save your followers is to become a monster.
I stopped Daisy and now, it’s your turn.
I’ll see you in hell!
Yippee-ki-yay, you bastard.