Post by Applesauce on Sept 19, 2022 20:28:32 GMT -5
A TEXT FROM A FRIEND
TEXTER 1: Hey Bubba. It’s been a while.
TEXTER 2: What do you want?
TEXTER 1: We need to talk.
TEXTER 2: No, we don’t.
TEXTER 1: I’m pregnant.
TEXTER 2: No, you aren’t.
TEXTER 1: Yes, I am, dick.
TEXTER 2: Are you just fucking with me?
TEXTER 1: That’s how we got here. Lol.
TEXTER 2: Are you sure it’s mine?
TEXTER 1: Fuck you! It’s yours, asshole!
TEXTER 2: So what are we supposed to do about this?
TEXTER 1: Can we meet?
TEXTER 2: When?
TEXTER 1: I’ll be in Florida tomorrow for a thing. I’ll text you the address.
TEXTER 2: You’d better not be making this up.
TEXTER 1: Girls lie about their age and their weight. They do not lie about having a baby. Give me more credit than that.
TEXTER 2: Just tell me where I’m supposed to be.
TEXTER 1: 13601 Moss Park Rd, Orlando, FL 32832. 8pm
TEXTER 2: Fine. I’ll be there.
TEXTER 1: I knew you’d do the right thing, Bubba.
THE CONFESSION
My name… is Buster Gloves. I’m an addict. My drugs of choice are alcohol and professional wrestling. A month ago, I shared a piece of my life with the world. I invited a camera crew to follow me to a meeting for people who are suffering from addiction. I thought it was important to share what I’ve been dealing with, privately, for a very long time.
Most of you either don’t know or don’t care about my problems. I don’t blame you. I haven’t spoken about it much on Level Up TV and I’m pretty good at hiding it. It has damaged me, my kids, and my family. That’s not easy to admit, but I want to make it up to them if I can.
Level Up deserves a good champion. Not one who’s self-righteous and a little bit arrogant. They need someone better than a heavily flawed individual like me. Simple little shit like fireworks and pyrotechnics fuck with my head. They take me back to Afghanistan and make me remember all that shit that I can’t forget. I’m a grown man who’s afraid of loud noises. Like a shivering dog in a thunder vest. The only thing that makes the noise go away is fighting people until I can’t tell whose blood is on me.
The point I’m trying to make is that just because someone doesn’t come out and tell you every day about their problems, doesn’t mean that they aren’t dealing with any less stuff than you are. Some people keep their baggage in the trunk of the car and not on top of it. They cope, in whatever way works for them. You can’t see their pain, you can’t measure their struggle, but it’s there.
When I met Sarah Wolf, I recognized her as a hurt person. I could feel her pain. You can see it too. She wears it like armor for God’s sake. I tried to give her hope. I thought that if I bared my soul, she would find the goodness in herself. But there is no goodness left in her.
Sarah Wolf wants to pleasure herself in front of the world while it burns. She’s a champion now, but you tell me, Johnny Wrestlingfan, when you look at Sarah, does she seem any happier to you? Any less damaged?... No. She’s still miserable. She WANTS to be miserable. Why should anyone really care anymore?
She beat me, plain and simple. I was off my game and I lost. But I won’t do what every other champion has done after a big loss. They all picked up their ball and went home. They quit. They walked away from the fans. Well, that ain’t me. I’m still here, and I’m still hungry.
There is one champion that didn’t quit though. I’m talking about Duncan Shepard. He’s just great… ain’t he, folks? He lost his Power Championship and then went on to become the Final Boss. Heroic stuff. Some people say that my story looks like his, if you drew it from memory. The titles, the streaks, the drinking, the women. They say I copied his homework and changed it a little. Maybe they’re right, but the fact that Duncan exists doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to. The Commander casts a long shadow and regardless of which way I go in life, I seem to always be standing in it. Maybe there isn’t enough room for the both of us in Level Up.
Being constantly compared to Shep’ has taken most of the fun out of my run in this company. The only thing I can think about these days is finding a way to get him in a ring, make him unconscious, and prove that I’m more than just a discount version of the wrestler of the year.
A year after signing with Level Up I’m standing here in stasis, with nowhere to go. There’s no path to the goal of meeting Duncan in the ring. It’s my fault, but what am I supposed to do now? No title to defend. No partner to work with. And a contract that still hasn’t been renewed.
If you were me, what would you do? Would you quit, like every other FORMER champion? Would you turn heel? Would you look for happiness at the bottom of a bottle? Honestly, I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore…
DRIVE
William Glover leaves his house later than he wanted to. He has to lie to his girlfriend about where he’s going, but she’d want to come with him if she knew the truth. If there’s a silver lining here, it’s that Emily has been begging for some quality time alone with Buster’s kids and she’ll finally get it. Although, once she finds out about the baby, she may never want to speak to him again. Emily makes a sandwich, he kisses her on the forehead, and he jumps in his truck to head off to an interview with a new federation. It’s technically true. He does have an interview with a fedhead, but it’s a video call and shouldn’t take more than an hour. Buster notices the glossiness of her eyes before he throws his bags into his pick-up truck. Does she know that he’s hiding something from her? Trust will always be an issue in their relationship, but that’s something he can worry about later. For the last two months, Buster has been on a strict one-problem-at-a-time policy. And Riley Heart has presented him one heck of a problem.
The one hour forty-five-minute drive to some random spot in Orlando gives Buster plenty of time to think about how his life is going. The highlight of his career was retaining the title against Donny Mason at Super Adventure Island. It’s a cursed memory though. Everyone involved in that match has vanished from the Level Up roster. Donny isn’t being booked anymore and all eight lumberjacks are off the roster page. Buster is the designated survivor. And the weight of failure is buckling his knees.
A championship defense against Chelsea Skye happened the next week. He won, but it was bittersweet. Before Buster could retrieve his belt, the lights went out and that championship vanished, along with Buster’s new object of affection, Emily Simms. Things turned out ok. Emily was fine and the belt was returned, but the experience was a reminder that everything can be taken away.
Emily Simms is a fellow Level Up wrestler and an influencer. She took a liking to Buster while she was still in a romantic situation with Final Boss Champion Duncan Shepard. Buster had his own relationship issues with Riley Heart at the time. But eventually, those relationships would end and a new one would begin.
Riley Heart always pushed Buster to do things he wasn’t comfortable with. Things that were borderline illegal. Her lust for life was insatiable. And Buster found it difficult to keep up. Any person would. Everybody in wrestling, knows that while Riley was dating Buster, she was also sleeping with a bunch of other people, including Emily Simms. It’s something that has made it difficult for the fans to approve of the new relationship.
Doing the right thing has never paid off for the Bull of the North. The people around him get sick. They die. They get killed in combat. They get kidnapped. They get beat up. Buster is cursed. And now, there’s a baby, being born to a devil woman, by the name of Riley Heart. Buster doesn’t want more kids. But you can’t unfuck what’s already been fucked. If Riley Heart decides to keep this baby, Buster has no choice but to do the right thing and support them. It will likely mean the end of his relationship with Emily Simms.
He's not a good wrestler. He’s not a good partner. He’s barely a father.
The sign on the dimly-lit road reads ‘Crosby Island Marsh Preserve.’ It’s an odd place to meet, especially this late at night, but it’s not completely out of character for Riley Heart. She once forced Buster to have sex with her in a church parking lot at midnight on Easter Sunday. There’s a good chance she will try to seduce him tonight. He will probably say no.
GET WELL SOON
The beat-up pickup truck pulls into the parking lot. A single SUV is parked, engine running, lights on. The GMC Denali is kitted-out with expensive trim. A vehicle fitting of Riley Heart’s lofty financial status. Buster knocks on the tinted window. But there is no driver. So, he walks out in front of the vehicle to find an old wooden picnic table with a pink baby-themed gift bag on it. White tissue paper sticking out of the top. A card taped to the front.
He reaches for the card, because that’s what a discipline father does first. He expects it to say ‘It’s a girl!’ but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s a picture of a cartoon bull with his head wrapped in bandages. And the words ‘Get well soon!’ written in cursive at the top. Confused anger boils.
A male voice interrupts the cricket chirps from behind the Denali. But Buster can’t see anyone through the high beams.
“You suck!” *clap clap* “You suck!” *clap clap* “You suck!”
That’s NOT Riley.
“What’s wrong Big Daddy? Did you expect someone else?”
“Did Riley send you?”
“You really are a dumb shit; you know that right? The gulli-BULL of the North. I’m just gonna step on your dick for a minute and kill the fantasy. Riley isn’t coming. She never was. Not for you at least.”
“Who are you?”
“You’re starting to hurt my feelings, Bubba.” Jason chuckles at the pet name invented by Riley Heart. “You know who I am… Say my name.”
“I don’t care who you are.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. This whole thing works much better if you play along. Do me a favor, Buster. Open your present. Maybe that will get the juices flowing.”
Buster hesitates. Still unsure about what is real. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he picks up the bag. He stops when he feels how heavy it is. Instead, he pulls the tissue paper out and inspects the contents. It’s a six pack of beer bottles, still capped. He pulls one out to examine it. Luke warm to the touch. The custom label on the bottle reads ‘Dream Killer’.
“I know your story. I can respect the fact that you served this country. That’s commendable. It’s just such a shame that you’ve lost your balls since then.”
“Fuck you, Jason.”
“Oh, you DO remember my name.”
“If you want a piece of me…”
Just then Buster is attacked with a steel bar, from out of nowhere. The Dream Killer, Jason Ryan, stands over his dirty work, and injects a syringe of mystery liquid into Buster’s shoulder.
“Now, as I was saying before, it takes a lot of guts to show the world how much of a drunk you are. You speak about demons, but you forget to mention the most important one of all. The demon who has made your life a living hell. That demon is me. And you can’t even remember my name!!!”
Buster regains his footing but begins to feel… off. A cocktail of sedatives racing through his veins.
“Why do you refuse to give the devil his due? Why can’t you acknowledge that I’m the better man? Do you realize how offensive that is?! I told you to keep that strap safe until I was ready to take it away from you. I made that very clear. AND YOU DISOBEYED ME!
“Why, did you do that? Did you lose that match on purpose or were you just careless? We both know that shitty performance you gave at Combat Evolved was beneath you. So why? Why did you throw the match? Are you THAT afraid of facing me again? So…what? I beat you bloody in a parking lot. AND, I beat the shit out of your old man. AND, I traumatized your bimbo girlfriend with the great ass. But, you weren’t supposed to break already. I still have so many things planned for you.”
“Is your main squeeze still traumatized from our lights-out encounter a few weeks ago? That has to bug the shit out of your massive hero complex, being so far away from her and not being able to save her from the boogeyman. You’re sitting there, mouth breathing in Florida, while she’s shifting in her sleep, muttering my name, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You broke your promise to keep her safe. That’s destroying you inside right now, isn’t it? Makes you want to have a drink or two, I bet.”
Buster is now partially paralyzed, still aware of his surroundings and trying to hate Jason Ryan to death.
“I told you that there would be consequences if you lost that belt. It’s RIGHTFULLY MINE! So, listen up, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re either going to get that belt back… like, immediately… or I’m going to make your life unbearable. I will torture you to the furthest extent of my imagination. I will hurt everyone you love and make you watch. And it’ll be all your fault.
“You’ll have to drink, to cope with the stress. The anxiety of knowing that behind every door and around every corner, I’ll be waiting there to ruin you. You’ll drink until you become the loser that everyone knows you are, and when that happens, all these idiots who cheer for you, your girl, your kids, they will abandon you in disgust.”
“When I’m done, I’ll do what you can’t. I’ll go on to be the Final Boss. I’ll be the one that leads this company into a golden era, with me, ‘The Dreamkiller’, standing on top of it all.”
“And as for your kids… it sure would be a shame if an anonymous tip came into CPS, and they had to intervene to protect them from their drunken father. Maybe I’ll take them in, and they can have a real man for a father for once. I…
Buster has heard enough, despite the poison in his veins, he pulls himself to his feet and takes a wild swing at Jason, punching him in the chest.
Jason scrambles and picks up the beer bottle Buster had been holding. He clocks Buster over the head with it, dropping him back to the ground and sending liquid shards flying.
“Well shit, I must have gotten the dosage wrong on that one!”
Buster gets back up to a knee. A dark red gash drips blood over his right eyebrow. Jason circles and spits on the downed former champion. Then reaches into the gift bag to pull out another bottle. He smashes it over Buster again, dropping him flat. A set of handcuffs is fished out of Ryan’s back pocket.
Jason rolls the body, and cuffs Buster, belly forward, to the picnic table. The remaining six pack emerges from the gift bag. Two of them missing. He grabs the third, twists the top off, and takes a long drink from it before dumping the rest on the recovering alcoholic’s face. He gets close and laughs maniacally, before spiking it into his shoulder.
He grabs a fourth bottle. Toasting it to the moon and chugging its contents. The empty bottle is busted over the lower back of the Bull of the North. Buster shifts into an awkward position to shield his ribs from further attacks. Almost near his limit for abuse.
Jason pulls another bottle from the carrier, dumps it on Buster and then spikes it on his lap, inspiring new guttural sounds. Breathing becomes labored. Defeated. Hopeless.
“You’re pathetic Buster. I should just end you right now. Put you out of your misery.”
Jason, grabs the last bottle, fully giving into his rage. Holding the neck of it. Lining up for the kill shot… and that’s when sirens can be heard in the distance. Jason places the bottle on the picnic table with the label facing Buster, then leaps into the Denali, flying gravel and middle fingers in the air.
CAPTIVE AUDIENCE
Emily and Buster,
In an SUV,
Riding from the airport
To E,X,P.
It’s late at night. Buster closes his eyes, head still throbbing, top 40 station on the radio. Emily just drives. She’s too quiet. Trying to find the words. Hands at ten and two. Knuckles white on the wheel.
She huffs and puffs. Buster stirs.
“Hey, Kitten, everything okay? You’re not singing. You always sing.”
“We need to talk.”
Buster opens one eye.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I know about…your drinking.”
His eyes are open. Hers are on the road.
“Yeh… Uh… I wanted to tell you…”
“How long has it been going on for?”
“It’s not like that. It was just that one time.”
“Is that why I couldn’t get a hold of you after the show? You were ignoring me. You told me your phone died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I had to come to Florida just to talk to you. I was worried about you.”
“I’m sorry, Em.”
Emily stops at a red light and finally stares at Buster. Fury and sadness in her eyes.
“Is it going to be like this all the time now? Are you just going to disappear whenever you want?”
“It’s out of my system. No more drinking. I promise.”
“We know that’s not true. You told me that you were leaving town to try out for a new fed and then you came back with this crazy story involving Riley Heart and Jason Ryan. I’m not stupid, William! You came home with stitches in your forehead and smelling like beer. If you went out drinking and got in a fight, you should have just told me so. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid!”
Emily furrows her brow as the light turns green and she hits the gas a little too hard.
“You’re right. I did lie to you about where I was going. But I showed you the text messages. I thought I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t fair to you, but I swear, I was not drinking.”
“What could have been so bad that you gave up that many years of sobriety in the first place?”
“The one time I did drink, it was because I lost a match.”
“You lost a match? So what? Everyone loses matches William! Even the great and powerful Bullshitter of the North.”
“Hey… come on.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have understood, I could have helped you.”
“What could you have done?”
“I don’t know, but I could have done something. I’d do anything to help you. I… I like you. You know that.”
“It won’t happen again. Losing doesn’t matter to me anymore. I get to start over now. Every day is a new chance to do it right.
“Well, you don’t get an infinite number of chances with me. I want us to be together. I wish that we could be together more. But it feels like your mind is someplace else when you’re around me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… in my own head. Working things out. Protecting you and the kids from my own issues. I don’t want to put that on you guys.”
“I just want you to hold my hand. Be here. Be with me.”
Buster takes Emily’s hand into his.
“I’m here Emmy. Where I go, you go. I figured out what’s really important. It’s you. It’s us. And that’s worth more than any championship.”
Emily offers a tearful frown-smile and clenches Buster’s hand tighter. Minutes later, the radio is back on and the California Kitten is singing like all is ok in the world.
TEXTER 1: Hey Bubba. It’s been a while.
TEXTER 2: What do you want?
TEXTER 1: We need to talk.
TEXTER 2: No, we don’t.
TEXTER 1: I’m pregnant.
TEXTER 2: No, you aren’t.
TEXTER 1: Yes, I am, dick.
TEXTER 2: Are you just fucking with me?
TEXTER 1: That’s how we got here. Lol.
TEXTER 2: Are you sure it’s mine?
TEXTER 1: Fuck you! It’s yours, asshole!
TEXTER 2: So what are we supposed to do about this?
TEXTER 1: Can we meet?
TEXTER 2: When?
TEXTER 1: I’ll be in Florida tomorrow for a thing. I’ll text you the address.
TEXTER 2: You’d better not be making this up.
TEXTER 1: Girls lie about their age and their weight. They do not lie about having a baby. Give me more credit than that.
TEXTER 2: Just tell me where I’m supposed to be.
TEXTER 1: 13601 Moss Park Rd, Orlando, FL 32832. 8pm
TEXTER 2: Fine. I’ll be there.
TEXTER 1: I knew you’d do the right thing, Bubba.
THE CONFESSION
My name… is Buster Gloves. I’m an addict. My drugs of choice are alcohol and professional wrestling. A month ago, I shared a piece of my life with the world. I invited a camera crew to follow me to a meeting for people who are suffering from addiction. I thought it was important to share what I’ve been dealing with, privately, for a very long time.
Most of you either don’t know or don’t care about my problems. I don’t blame you. I haven’t spoken about it much on Level Up TV and I’m pretty good at hiding it. It has damaged me, my kids, and my family. That’s not easy to admit, but I want to make it up to them if I can.
Level Up deserves a good champion. Not one who’s self-righteous and a little bit arrogant. They need someone better than a heavily flawed individual like me. Simple little shit like fireworks and pyrotechnics fuck with my head. They take me back to Afghanistan and make me remember all that shit that I can’t forget. I’m a grown man who’s afraid of loud noises. Like a shivering dog in a thunder vest. The only thing that makes the noise go away is fighting people until I can’t tell whose blood is on me.
The point I’m trying to make is that just because someone doesn’t come out and tell you every day about their problems, doesn’t mean that they aren’t dealing with any less stuff than you are. Some people keep their baggage in the trunk of the car and not on top of it. They cope, in whatever way works for them. You can’t see their pain, you can’t measure their struggle, but it’s there.
When I met Sarah Wolf, I recognized her as a hurt person. I could feel her pain. You can see it too. She wears it like armor for God’s sake. I tried to give her hope. I thought that if I bared my soul, she would find the goodness in herself. But there is no goodness left in her.
Sarah Wolf wants to pleasure herself in front of the world while it burns. She’s a champion now, but you tell me, Johnny Wrestlingfan, when you look at Sarah, does she seem any happier to you? Any less damaged?... No. She’s still miserable. She WANTS to be miserable. Why should anyone really care anymore?
She beat me, plain and simple. I was off my game and I lost. But I won’t do what every other champion has done after a big loss. They all picked up their ball and went home. They quit. They walked away from the fans. Well, that ain’t me. I’m still here, and I’m still hungry.
There is one champion that didn’t quit though. I’m talking about Duncan Shepard. He’s just great… ain’t he, folks? He lost his Power Championship and then went on to become the Final Boss. Heroic stuff. Some people say that my story looks like his, if you drew it from memory. The titles, the streaks, the drinking, the women. They say I copied his homework and changed it a little. Maybe they’re right, but the fact that Duncan exists doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to. The Commander casts a long shadow and regardless of which way I go in life, I seem to always be standing in it. Maybe there isn’t enough room for the both of us in Level Up.
Being constantly compared to Shep’ has taken most of the fun out of my run in this company. The only thing I can think about these days is finding a way to get him in a ring, make him unconscious, and prove that I’m more than just a discount version of the wrestler of the year.
A year after signing with Level Up I’m standing here in stasis, with nowhere to go. There’s no path to the goal of meeting Duncan in the ring. It’s my fault, but what am I supposed to do now? No title to defend. No partner to work with. And a contract that still hasn’t been renewed.
If you were me, what would you do? Would you quit, like every other FORMER champion? Would you turn heel? Would you look for happiness at the bottom of a bottle? Honestly, I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore…
DRIVE
William Glover leaves his house later than he wanted to. He has to lie to his girlfriend about where he’s going, but she’d want to come with him if she knew the truth. If there’s a silver lining here, it’s that Emily has been begging for some quality time alone with Buster’s kids and she’ll finally get it. Although, once she finds out about the baby, she may never want to speak to him again. Emily makes a sandwich, he kisses her on the forehead, and he jumps in his truck to head off to an interview with a new federation. It’s technically true. He does have an interview with a fedhead, but it’s a video call and shouldn’t take more than an hour. Buster notices the glossiness of her eyes before he throws his bags into his pick-up truck. Does she know that he’s hiding something from her? Trust will always be an issue in their relationship, but that’s something he can worry about later. For the last two months, Buster has been on a strict one-problem-at-a-time policy. And Riley Heart has presented him one heck of a problem.
The one hour forty-five-minute drive to some random spot in Orlando gives Buster plenty of time to think about how his life is going. The highlight of his career was retaining the title against Donny Mason at Super Adventure Island. It’s a cursed memory though. Everyone involved in that match has vanished from the Level Up roster. Donny isn’t being booked anymore and all eight lumberjacks are off the roster page. Buster is the designated survivor. And the weight of failure is buckling his knees.
A championship defense against Chelsea Skye happened the next week. He won, but it was bittersweet. Before Buster could retrieve his belt, the lights went out and that championship vanished, along with Buster’s new object of affection, Emily Simms. Things turned out ok. Emily was fine and the belt was returned, but the experience was a reminder that everything can be taken away.
Emily Simms is a fellow Level Up wrestler and an influencer. She took a liking to Buster while she was still in a romantic situation with Final Boss Champion Duncan Shepard. Buster had his own relationship issues with Riley Heart at the time. But eventually, those relationships would end and a new one would begin.
Riley Heart always pushed Buster to do things he wasn’t comfortable with. Things that were borderline illegal. Her lust for life was insatiable. And Buster found it difficult to keep up. Any person would. Everybody in wrestling, knows that while Riley was dating Buster, she was also sleeping with a bunch of other people, including Emily Simms. It’s something that has made it difficult for the fans to approve of the new relationship.
Doing the right thing has never paid off for the Bull of the North. The people around him get sick. They die. They get killed in combat. They get kidnapped. They get beat up. Buster is cursed. And now, there’s a baby, being born to a devil woman, by the name of Riley Heart. Buster doesn’t want more kids. But you can’t unfuck what’s already been fucked. If Riley Heart decides to keep this baby, Buster has no choice but to do the right thing and support them. It will likely mean the end of his relationship with Emily Simms.
He's not a good wrestler. He’s not a good partner. He’s barely a father.
The sign on the dimly-lit road reads ‘Crosby Island Marsh Preserve.’ It’s an odd place to meet, especially this late at night, but it’s not completely out of character for Riley Heart. She once forced Buster to have sex with her in a church parking lot at midnight on Easter Sunday. There’s a good chance she will try to seduce him tonight. He will probably say no.
GET WELL SOON
The beat-up pickup truck pulls into the parking lot. A single SUV is parked, engine running, lights on. The GMC Denali is kitted-out with expensive trim. A vehicle fitting of Riley Heart’s lofty financial status. Buster knocks on the tinted window. But there is no driver. So, he walks out in front of the vehicle to find an old wooden picnic table with a pink baby-themed gift bag on it. White tissue paper sticking out of the top. A card taped to the front.
He reaches for the card, because that’s what a discipline father does first. He expects it to say ‘It’s a girl!’ but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s a picture of a cartoon bull with his head wrapped in bandages. And the words ‘Get well soon!’ written in cursive at the top. Confused anger boils.
A male voice interrupts the cricket chirps from behind the Denali. But Buster can’t see anyone through the high beams.
“You suck!” *clap clap* “You suck!” *clap clap* “You suck!”
That’s NOT Riley.
“What’s wrong Big Daddy? Did you expect someone else?”
“Did Riley send you?”
“You really are a dumb shit; you know that right? The gulli-BULL of the North. I’m just gonna step on your dick for a minute and kill the fantasy. Riley isn’t coming. She never was. Not for you at least.”
“Who are you?”
“You’re starting to hurt my feelings, Bubba.” Jason chuckles at the pet name invented by Riley Heart. “You know who I am… Say my name.”
“I don’t care who you are.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. This whole thing works much better if you play along. Do me a favor, Buster. Open your present. Maybe that will get the juices flowing.”
Buster hesitates. Still unsure about what is real. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he picks up the bag. He stops when he feels how heavy it is. Instead, he pulls the tissue paper out and inspects the contents. It’s a six pack of beer bottles, still capped. He pulls one out to examine it. Luke warm to the touch. The custom label on the bottle reads ‘Dream Killer’.
“I know your story. I can respect the fact that you served this country. That’s commendable. It’s just such a shame that you’ve lost your balls since then.”
“Fuck you, Jason.”
“Oh, you DO remember my name.”
“If you want a piece of me…”
Just then Buster is attacked with a steel bar, from out of nowhere. The Dream Killer, Jason Ryan, stands over his dirty work, and injects a syringe of mystery liquid into Buster’s shoulder.
“Now, as I was saying before, it takes a lot of guts to show the world how much of a drunk you are. You speak about demons, but you forget to mention the most important one of all. The demon who has made your life a living hell. That demon is me. And you can’t even remember my name!!!”
Buster regains his footing but begins to feel… off. A cocktail of sedatives racing through his veins.
“Why do you refuse to give the devil his due? Why can’t you acknowledge that I’m the better man? Do you realize how offensive that is?! I told you to keep that strap safe until I was ready to take it away from you. I made that very clear. AND YOU DISOBEYED ME!
“Why, did you do that? Did you lose that match on purpose or were you just careless? We both know that shitty performance you gave at Combat Evolved was beneath you. So why? Why did you throw the match? Are you THAT afraid of facing me again? So…what? I beat you bloody in a parking lot. AND, I beat the shit out of your old man. AND, I traumatized your bimbo girlfriend with the great ass. But, you weren’t supposed to break already. I still have so many things planned for you.”
“Is your main squeeze still traumatized from our lights-out encounter a few weeks ago? That has to bug the shit out of your massive hero complex, being so far away from her and not being able to save her from the boogeyman. You’re sitting there, mouth breathing in Florida, while she’s shifting in her sleep, muttering my name, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You broke your promise to keep her safe. That’s destroying you inside right now, isn’t it? Makes you want to have a drink or two, I bet.”
Buster is now partially paralyzed, still aware of his surroundings and trying to hate Jason Ryan to death.
“I told you that there would be consequences if you lost that belt. It’s RIGHTFULLY MINE! So, listen up, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re either going to get that belt back… like, immediately… or I’m going to make your life unbearable. I will torture you to the furthest extent of my imagination. I will hurt everyone you love and make you watch. And it’ll be all your fault.
“You’ll have to drink, to cope with the stress. The anxiety of knowing that behind every door and around every corner, I’ll be waiting there to ruin you. You’ll drink until you become the loser that everyone knows you are, and when that happens, all these idiots who cheer for you, your girl, your kids, they will abandon you in disgust.”
“When I’m done, I’ll do what you can’t. I’ll go on to be the Final Boss. I’ll be the one that leads this company into a golden era, with me, ‘The Dreamkiller’, standing on top of it all.”
“And as for your kids… it sure would be a shame if an anonymous tip came into CPS, and they had to intervene to protect them from their drunken father. Maybe I’ll take them in, and they can have a real man for a father for once. I…
Buster has heard enough, despite the poison in his veins, he pulls himself to his feet and takes a wild swing at Jason, punching him in the chest.
Jason scrambles and picks up the beer bottle Buster had been holding. He clocks Buster over the head with it, dropping him back to the ground and sending liquid shards flying.
“Well shit, I must have gotten the dosage wrong on that one!”
Buster gets back up to a knee. A dark red gash drips blood over his right eyebrow. Jason circles and spits on the downed former champion. Then reaches into the gift bag to pull out another bottle. He smashes it over Buster again, dropping him flat. A set of handcuffs is fished out of Ryan’s back pocket.
Jason rolls the body, and cuffs Buster, belly forward, to the picnic table. The remaining six pack emerges from the gift bag. Two of them missing. He grabs the third, twists the top off, and takes a long drink from it before dumping the rest on the recovering alcoholic’s face. He gets close and laughs maniacally, before spiking it into his shoulder.
He grabs a fourth bottle. Toasting it to the moon and chugging its contents. The empty bottle is busted over the lower back of the Bull of the North. Buster shifts into an awkward position to shield his ribs from further attacks. Almost near his limit for abuse.
Jason pulls another bottle from the carrier, dumps it on Buster and then spikes it on his lap, inspiring new guttural sounds. Breathing becomes labored. Defeated. Hopeless.
“You’re pathetic Buster. I should just end you right now. Put you out of your misery.”
Jason, grabs the last bottle, fully giving into his rage. Holding the neck of it. Lining up for the kill shot… and that’s when sirens can be heard in the distance. Jason places the bottle on the picnic table with the label facing Buster, then leaps into the Denali, flying gravel and middle fingers in the air.
CAPTIVE AUDIENCE
Emily and Buster,
In an SUV,
Riding from the airport
To E,X,P.
It’s late at night. Buster closes his eyes, head still throbbing, top 40 station on the radio. Emily just drives. She’s too quiet. Trying to find the words. Hands at ten and two. Knuckles white on the wheel.
She huffs and puffs. Buster stirs.
“Hey, Kitten, everything okay? You’re not singing. You always sing.”
“We need to talk.”
Buster opens one eye.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I know about…your drinking.”
His eyes are open. Hers are on the road.
“Yeh… Uh… I wanted to tell you…”
“How long has it been going on for?”
“It’s not like that. It was just that one time.”
“Is that why I couldn’t get a hold of you after the show? You were ignoring me. You told me your phone died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I had to come to Florida just to talk to you. I was worried about you.”
“I’m sorry, Em.”
Emily stops at a red light and finally stares at Buster. Fury and sadness in her eyes.
“Is it going to be like this all the time now? Are you just going to disappear whenever you want?”
“It’s out of my system. No more drinking. I promise.”
“We know that’s not true. You told me that you were leaving town to try out for a new fed and then you came back with this crazy story involving Riley Heart and Jason Ryan. I’m not stupid, William! You came home with stitches in your forehead and smelling like beer. If you went out drinking and got in a fight, you should have just told me so. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid!”
Emily furrows her brow as the light turns green and she hits the gas a little too hard.
“You’re right. I did lie to you about where I was going. But I showed you the text messages. I thought I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t fair to you, but I swear, I was not drinking.”
“What could have been so bad that you gave up that many years of sobriety in the first place?”
“The one time I did drink, it was because I lost a match.”
“You lost a match? So what? Everyone loses matches William! Even the great and powerful Bullshitter of the North.”
“Hey… come on.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have understood, I could have helped you.”
“What could you have done?”
“I don’t know, but I could have done something. I’d do anything to help you. I… I like you. You know that.”
“It won’t happen again. Losing doesn’t matter to me anymore. I get to start over now. Every day is a new chance to do it right.
“Well, you don’t get an infinite number of chances with me. I want us to be together. I wish that we could be together more. But it feels like your mind is someplace else when you’re around me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… in my own head. Working things out. Protecting you and the kids from my own issues. I don’t want to put that on you guys.”
“I just want you to hold my hand. Be here. Be with me.”
Buster takes Emily’s hand into his.
“I’m here Emmy. Where I go, you go. I figured out what’s really important. It’s you. It’s us. And that’s worth more than any championship.”
Emily offers a tearful frown-smile and clenches Buster’s hand tighter. Minutes later, the radio is back on and the California Kitten is singing like all is ok in the world.
