Post by "The Fabulous One" Dan Fierce on Apr 9, 2016 8:23:57 GMT -5
Thirteen Year Itch - Chapter Two
Just as it had haunted him the previous night, Dan's mind mulled over that fateful evening when his partner, then of seven years, had admitted to infidelity. It preoccupied him during his morning walk around Golden Gate Park. Now he sat at the Morning Dew Café, drinking his large mocha latte and picking absently at his bowl of fresh fruit and granola. On occasion, the random bite of fruit made it into his mouth, but he only chewed and swallowed, not bothering to savor the nuances, just mindlessly masticating mouthfuls like a cow.
The white painted brick exterior welcomed all visitors warmly. Right now, Dan hated it. He hated everything about it. He despised the white square bowl his food came in. He deplored the black wrought iron table and wholly uncomfortable matching chair he sat in. He detested the traffic whirring by on 17th Avenue. Most of all, he absolutely abhorred the memories flooding back to him like a tsunami: All of the breakfasts he and Brian had shared after a brisk walk through a laughably thick San Francisco foggy morn, the countless times they had met friends for a wonderful brunch or dinner, every single recollection that had previously brought him joy, only ached in his heart.
He felt as if he had been drowning in his own thoughts for so long that he'd reached the point where swimming against the tide had given way to point where he accepted his fate and let the dark abyss that had become his heart overtake him. Numbness and hate. That's all he had left inside. Oh sure, he could still put on a strong front, especially in front of the camera. After all, the show must go on, right?
Though it felt great to work out some of his aggressions on Raven Hex, but afterwards, he just slipped back into this odd, crimson nothingness that were his emotions. He even felt nothing when he overheard a stagehand say something about how he'd possibly injured Raven, taking his grudge a bit too far. He merely reassured himself that the bitch deserved what she got.
Viciously stabbing a piece of cantaloupe, he shoved it angrily into his maw, inadvertently jabbing the roof of his mouth in the process. "FUCK!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, swatting the tableware to the ground in a fit of rage, and toppling his coffee all over the glass topped table and his lap. "FUCK!" He jolted upright, sending the chair over onto its back.
His waitress, a transsexual older woman Dan had known for several years by the name of Carol rushed over to provide assistance. "Ohmigawd, sweetie! What happened?" She dabbed at the spill on the table, offering Dan a handful of napkins to tend to his personal areas.
The bitter copper taste of his own blood only sent his rage into overdrive. "Nothing! I'm fine!"
Carol knew that was a lie. She may not have known most of her regulars intimately, but some like Dan, she had many long conversations with on slow mornings. She was also savvy enough to know when not to press the issue. She finished gathering the shattered bowl and cup and located the offending fork that had been flung with the intention of seeing if it would stick in brick like a throwing star. Spoiler alert: it didn't.
Dan tossed a $20 onto the table, stewing more over his self-inflicted injury than the gawking onlookers passing by. He stalks over to the patio exit, snapping at a curious couple. "What're you looking at?" The pair hastened their exit without a word in their defense. As they left, his white hot rage morphed into deep regret. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he thought out loud. As he walked home to change out of his soiled clothes, and equally sullied mood, his mind returned to the conversation. His memory didn't fail him there at least.
*******
Brian and Dan stood in silence opposite each other in their meager sized kitchen as they attempted to process everything that was revealed with pain-filled tears streaming down their cheeks. Dan tried to speak a few times, but the lump caught the words in his throat each time. Brian simply watched him, hoping for his partner to say something, anything, good, bad, or indifferent. They both had discussed infidelity many times before and had the opinion that they should break up rather than go down that road. Now, he had done just exactly what he'd said he never would.
Dan's mind raced, never resting on one thing or the other. The facts laid before him caused confusion he had never felt in his life, so much so, that his brain looked for a distraction. The few dirty dishes in the sink beckoned to him, but Brian was nested near the sink, and there would be no guarantee that the dishes would survive if he were within striking distance.
"Please say something," whispered Brian through his shame.
Dan's face twitched with the effort, but he managed to finally speak. "Did you at least use protection?"
"I..." Brian stammered, "I don't know."
"Bitch," Dan snapped. "were you present when you were getting fucked? How can you NOT know if you used protection?"
"YES I WAS PRESENT!" Brian growled back. "I... I don't know what to tell you. He SAID he had a condom on, but I didn't check." The conversation stopped cold for several minutes again, the couple standing in uncomfortable silence. "What do you want to do?"
Dan contemplated his response carefully. He knew he had a habit of saying very hurtful things when he was infuriated, not that he felt his companion didn't deserve them at this moment. He breathed in deeply, letting it out with a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I think I need to step away from this right now, otherwise I'll say something I'll regret."
"Anything is better than nothing," Brian plead.
Dan glowered at him, staring daggers into his partner's soul. "You. Don't. Want. That. Right. Now." His unfaithful friend knew he meant business, backing away from the conversation with trepidation. "I need to go for a walk, maybe talk to a few people. If I clear my head I can decide what I need to do."
"You mean what WE need to do?"
"There is no 'we' right now, as far as I'm concerned." Dan exited the kitchen towards the door. "If 'we' have a future, then 'I'll' let you know." Frankie and Jonnie, their two dachshunds, felt the tension rise as he neared the door, begging him in their own way no to go. Dan reached down to reassure his babies with an insincere smile. "It's okay. Momma will be back." He stepped out of their Castro District apartment, no real destination in mind.
"The Icemann Invitational Tourney, huh?" Dan stared at the camera with his trademark smile. "It's been quite a while since I've been in something like this. It'll be interesting to see just how far I can make it.
"Then again, the deck may already be stacked against me. After all, I'm facing the President of PCW and the International Champion, 'Mr. Showtime' Michael Wryght. He has a pretty long and storied career, even without the power behind both of his titles. His time as a member of the Black Hand also proves that he's not above shenanigans, especially for self-promotion. Who's to say he wouldn't reverse the ref's decision if I were to win?
"I guess that leaves me no choice.
"Were you paying attention to the drumming I gave Raven Hex, Michael? I sincerely hope you were. President or not, champion or not, I will make it past you, even if that means taking you completely out of the picture to the point of unconsciousness, just so you don't have that ability at the end of the match.
"You're not the only vindictive bitch all up in this hizzie. Yeah. I paid attention to how you stripped Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr of the tag titles as a means of retribution. Then you proceeded to get your head handed to you by Saniti. You're a politician at best; all bluster and no muster. Sure, you have a title, but if there's one thing I've learned in my career, it's that a gold strap doesn't necessarily make you a true champion. Even a few successful defenses doesn't make you great.
"Greatness comes from the heart, not the pocketbook. You've got it in you to go all the way to the middle of the card. Oh wait..." Dan paused with a huge grin. "But me? When I set my mind to it, I can go to the top. At Trauma 190, I'll prove just exactly that to you and the PCW Faithful. That, you can take to the bank, sweetness."
