Post by Murdoc on Jul 1, 2014 19:51:16 GMT -5
****
The morning arrives with little fanfare, save for the light pitter-patter of rain on the bedroom window.
A subdued sort of reminder that life must trudge onwards.
Ever onwards. Inexorably.
‘Nnnngh.’
For a while, it was outer space. Cold and black, bottomless ... tumbling weightless. No brain, no body and that was fine by me. But then ... the broken bits start up. The nagging. The jagged little fuckers dance under my skin like so many splinters. It brings me back to the soft, chilly skin of the Queen that lays in my bed. And the hurt. That living hurt, streaking from behind my eyes ... finding places to have its’ fun. A smell hits my nose. Hard. Burning. Acrid. The light grows in front of me and I dive for it.
Instantly, I regret it.
I’m awake and my body is mad as all hell for it. The recent weeks of in-ring competition have left me sore and weary; no sense in trying to hide it.
It’s early. TOO early.
Why am I up again?
Staring at the calendar, waiting for my vision to sharpen ... it’s all mist and fog. Blurred lines and ghost whispers. The frustration grows in my belly, unable to make sense of the dates on the wall. Did I really sleep that hard, or did I not even sleep at all? I can’t tell; my gut is a coal-furnace now. Burning ... crackling ... thoughts only kindling for the fire. There’s only one thought that makes sense right now, one thought not chucked into the abyss. I have to ...
... ahhh.
The door shuts softly behind me, I can’t imagine it stopped me from waking her. At least I’ll have a few minutes to clear my head. The rain. A mean torrent that turns the streets to glass and chills you to the bone. Not that warm-as-sweat rain that evaporates before it hits the ground. Most people hate when it rains nasty like this. Not me. I love it.
It helps me think.
I love it when everything goes slick, the icy way it creeps down my neck. The way the air goes electric. You breathe in and your nostrils WORK. That’s what I do. I breathe in and let my mind take its’ first halting steps into the world again, a sudden change from the insulated bubble of the past few weeks. Breaching, breaking the surface. Seeing the open air and getting a good lung full before you dive again.
‘You’re up early.’ She’s there, just as I knew she would be. It’s rare I can hear her walk up behind me. I just always assume that she’ll be on my heels should I be trying to keep quiet. She’s good like that. I turn to face her, my body perfectly chilled and ready for the morning ahead. I remember now. Hair thrown violently behind me, I can’t help but smile as I watch that perfect angel sullied with common raindrops. She doesn’t even consider them and I know in that moment that she considers the rain as I do.
Purifying.
‘We have business to attend this morning.’ She doesn’t even ask, though I know she’s trying like hell to hide her curiosity. It’s not working. I side-step the cat-like look on her face. ‘Dress appropriately.’ I don’t have to tell her the context; I trust her. I kiss her on the forehead and breathe in her fresh scent with my very soul. She smells the way heaven should. Lavender and life and I thank my luck that I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. It lets me know that the better part is still to come.
I just have to walk through the shit in front of me.
****
The drive is uneventful.
For the most part.
My brain is stretched between two trains of thought the entire ride. Makes for a tense trip; she notices. I’m not smooth enough to hide it, though I probably could if I gave any thought to it. Of course, we’re talking about business along the way. Every time she sees a bar, or a billboard featuring booze ... hell, every bum she sees ... ‘Fuck Whitey Ford and his barley-and-hops tinged bullshit.’ I smile on the outside; it’s really entertaining when she gets mad at someone. Funny because I’m never sure of exactly what she’s going to say or how she’s going to phrase it.
She doesn’t talk at length about it. Or him.
Just a pointed reminder every so often.
She’s more interested in talking about MY plans for Living a Legacy.
‘Why haven’t you addressed them?’, she asks. ‘You ALWAYS have something to say. ALWAYS.’ She’s right; I always have something to say. Doesn’t matter what’s going on, there’s always some pearl of wisdom to be gleaned or some flash of brilliance to be offered. Murdoc ... always with the quick wit. It’s true - Living A Legacy is a BIG moment. Possibly one of the biggest to date for me. It’s only appropriate that I’m balls deep into concentration for the tough road ahead.
For the moment, however ...
... it means nothing to me.
She knows something is going on. Not only by my demeanor, but just the simple act of NOT wearing the mask in public is enough to set her on edge. The skin on my face is smooth where hair fails to exist. She loves the feel of it; random fingertips on my cheek every so often. It feels nice. It feels ...
... I still feel.
There’s a reason I haven’t spoken at length about the upcoming pay-per-view just yet. There are more important things to attend to FIRST. I turn off the drowned asphalt ... the looming iron before me, gates wide open. Sporadic hints of life amidst the calm serenity of death. I am an interloper here; arrived before my time. The look on her face is one of annoyance and resignation. She may very well understand how Whitey goes through life after today is all said and done. Hell, I might be completely wrong about all of that.
Never had to bring her to something like this.
Loki, Stormm and Majors don’t have the time; they’re too busy chicken-braining about the pay-per-view. Worrying about what’s going to happen and how I’m going to attack them and how to beat me and what to do and yadda yadda yadda. All these three are is ‘yadda yadda yadda’. There’s not a decent human being among them. Not one of them could be fucking bothered. Not ONE of them could take the time out of their busy goddamned schedule. None of them are halfway decent men.
None of them deserve the praise they get from these fans.
Living a legacy, indeed ...
****
