Fic: Mayhem
Feeling melancholy for a bundle of different reasons, and this fic feeds into it.
Dedicated to my friend...you know who you are...with love.
Mayhem
It wasn't a conscious thing I don't think. One day he was there as often as he could be, the next he stopped coming home on his off days. Too much pride for me to call and ask why. I left the lights on, and brought in extra food, but each morning found Ginger sniffing at the door and casting her doleful eyes on me when his scent was still missing.
There's an uneasy alliance with the Wiccan Rayna. She irritates me, but she's a necessary evil. I count on her to watch after my little girl on the rare occasions when I am gone. This time to Vegas for yet another round as K1's whipping boy. I don't expect this outing to be any different than any of the others.
But there is a difference. This time I don't have Brian's support. I'm not willing to let on how much that hurts, even to myself.
The match was over in less than a minute. After all the usual letting go in Sin City I ended up going back to RC with Millis. Workouts in the Tank are a release of physical energy as well as mental fatigue.
Friday. Cinco de Mayhem, and me still bedding down on Millis's front couch. Fluttery memories in the back of my head...I said I'd be home on Wednesday.
And it's already Friday.
I raise my hands to my face and cover my eyes, remembering a cheap ass motel in the middle of nowhere with fireworks exploding over the vacant lot behind it and an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. This doesn't quite feel the same.
It can get cool out here in the desert, especially with the premature June gloom. The blanket Millis gave me is surprisingly soft, and I surprise myself even more by wrapping up tight in it, taking comfort from the way it feels against mostly naked flesh.
I don't have an excuse. I haven't been on a bender, not this time. Sure, I tanked it up after my abysmal failure that was illuminated by the bright lights of the ballroom at the Mirage. A failure I suffered by myself in a room full of what felt like a million people. But after that petulant bout with self-doubt I've been sober, and focused.
Work out, learn, talk. Consider my future.
I pull the blanket tighter, feel a tickling at the back of my throat.
What makes my life perfect is him. I know that. In my heart the words are etched forever...
Brian Kendrick is my life.
So why haven't I called him?
Deep down I think there's a large dose of fear.
Facing an opponent whose goal in the match is to savagely beat the living hell out of me doesn't scare me in the least.
Emotions are a whole different story.
But why I choose to hide behind them now is beyond my realm of understanding.
I see the cell on the table before me, the red LED seems to pulsate.
Today I'll drive home, most likely to find the apartment empty again.
Dedicated to my friend...you know who you are...with love.
Mayhem
It wasn't a conscious thing I don't think. One day he was there as often as he could be, the next he stopped coming home on his off days. Too much pride for me to call and ask why. I left the lights on, and brought in extra food, but each morning found Ginger sniffing at the door and casting her doleful eyes on me when his scent was still missing.
There's an uneasy alliance with the Wiccan Rayna. She irritates me, but she's a necessary evil. I count on her to watch after my little girl on the rare occasions when I am gone. This time to Vegas for yet another round as K1's whipping boy. I don't expect this outing to be any different than any of the others.
But there is a difference. This time I don't have Brian's support. I'm not willing to let on how much that hurts, even to myself.
The match was over in less than a minute. After all the usual letting go in Sin City I ended up going back to RC with Millis. Workouts in the Tank are a release of physical energy as well as mental fatigue.
Friday. Cinco de Mayhem, and me still bedding down on Millis's front couch. Fluttery memories in the back of my head...I said I'd be home on Wednesday.
And it's already Friday.
I raise my hands to my face and cover my eyes, remembering a cheap ass motel in the middle of nowhere with fireworks exploding over the vacant lot behind it and an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. This doesn't quite feel the same.
It can get cool out here in the desert, especially with the premature June gloom. The blanket Millis gave me is surprisingly soft, and I surprise myself even more by wrapping up tight in it, taking comfort from the way it feels against mostly naked flesh.
I don't have an excuse. I haven't been on a bender, not this time. Sure, I tanked it up after my abysmal failure that was illuminated by the bright lights of the ballroom at the Mirage. A failure I suffered by myself in a room full of what felt like a million people. But after that petulant bout with self-doubt I've been sober, and focused.
Work out, learn, talk. Consider my future.
I pull the blanket tighter, feel a tickling at the back of my throat.
What makes my life perfect is him. I know that. In my heart the words are etched forever...
Brian Kendrick is my life.
So why haven't I called him?
Deep down I think there's a large dose of fear.
Facing an opponent whose goal in the match is to savagely beat the living hell out of me doesn't scare me in the least.
Emotions are a whole different story.
But why I choose to hide behind them now is beyond my realm of understanding.
I see the cell on the table before me, the red LED seems to pulsate.
Today I'll drive home, most likely to find the apartment empty again.