Post by Deleted on Nov 11, 2022 12:46:17 GMT -5
OOC: Continued from Sahara 'The Truth Hurts'
“Now where were we?” Lauren asks as Berta closes the bedroom door.
There’s a twinkle in her as she gazes into mine. The love she has for me returns just as suddenly as it left minutes ago. These fights don’t happen very often. When they do, they’re pretty epic in the worst ways imaginable. Lauren and I have a matching intensity and sometimes, it turns into a war zone. I’ve never hit her and I never would. That just isn’t me. Some may watch what unfolds during these vicious arguments and think to themselves ‘jesus christ, just fucking smack the bitch.’ I am not a violent man for violence sake and I do not believe that a husband should ever strike his wife.
"You're bleeding," she says with an apologetic tone as she runs her thumb across my bleeding left eyebrow.
“I’ll be okay,” I say quietly in an effort to take the slight sadness away from her while looking at the culprit lodged in the drywall- a Virgin Mary statue. She's thrown hundreds of things at me during our 10 months together. This is the first time she’s ever hit the bullseye. And she managed to do it twice. While the top of my eye socket might be throbbing and I’ll likely have a nasty cut and a goose egg sort of bump, it won’t bother me physically so much as it does mentally.
It’s hard sometimes. To look at the one person you can’t live without and she looks back at you with nothing but anger and hatred as she actively tries to hurt you. Yet at the same time, it’s also kind of a turn on. Maybe I went too far this time though. She doesn’t respond to her ass being kissed. Like me, she hates sycophancy. I know how good I am, I don’t need to be told. Lauren though, her confidence has always been a thin veneer. When it breaks, it shatters into a million pieces and the only way I have ever been able to help her rebuild it is to berate her and break her down so that she is the one that rebuilds it. So that she is the one that comes to the realization that she’s pretty fucking good at this and a bad day at the office is just that.
It hurts so much to do it. From far too young of an age, all she’s ever known is people using her for her looks or her bedroom talents while tearing her down in order to keep her small and dependent. There has to be another way.
Another thing is, she’s still learning what it is to be a Lionheart. Yes, it’s a nickname. Yes, it’s a derivative of my actual name and it sells t-shirts. But, being the Lionheart, is a way of life. It’s not a gimmick for wrestling. It’s how I’ve lived my entire life. To me, being lionhearted has less to do with achieving victory as it is a means to ensure its possibility. Being lionhearted means you don’t quit no matter the odds. Being lionhearted means that even if you fail, you’re still in the game because of your own will and determination to not go down, to not stay down and if you do fail, you get your ass back up and try again.
I need to figure out another way to reach her. I hate tearing her down. I hate getting lamps chucked at my head. Worst of all, I hate being that guy.
Reaching up, she places her hands on either side of my head and pulls me toward her. I give in without resistance. With our lips locked, she places her hand on the back of my head, touching the other spot she hit me earlier. Quickly, she removes her hand and releases the kiss.
“What the hell?” she murmurs aloud to herself as blood from the back of my head covers the tips of her fingers. “Twice?” she asks with deepening sadness as she looks at me.
Looking at the busted lamp lying on the floor then back at her, I nod. Deflated, saddened and apologetic, she leans against my chest and wraps her arms around me. We stand there in an embrace silently for a little while. Soon though, a warm tear drops from Lauren’s cheek, to my arm.
“Look at me,” I say as I almost force her to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” she says with a sniffle. Gently, I rub my thumb beneath her eye, wiping away her tears.
“I know,” I reply quietly.
This right here is how I know I love her. As much as it hurts when she gets like this and she legitimately wants to hurt me, it pales in comparison to seeing her in pain because of it. Bending down, I lift her off of her feet, cradling her in my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck as I bring my lips to hers.
“Where are you taking me?” She asks as I start to navigate around the bed.
“I’m bloody and you’re still in your ring gear,” I say with a half smile. “Clearly we’re gonna shower.”
After the shower and the ensuing make up session, Lauren and I decided to have lunch with Frankie and Berta. Unfortunately, my wobbly toddlers Caty and T.J. are in North Carolina at their mothers place so they’re not in attendance.
Sitting at the breakfast bar as Berta sets turkey club sandwiches in front of Frankie and I, Lauren stands behind me with her arms around my shoulders.
“Still feeling guilty?” I ask as I take my first bite.
“Shut up,” she answers.
That’s a yes.
“You really think that’s the best example we’re setting for our son?” I ask her before taking another bite.
“Don’t bring me into this,” Frankie says with his mouth full.
Lauren lightly slaps him in the back of the head.
“Hey!” he protests.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Lauren chides him.
“Sorry,” he says before stuffing his face again.
“Hypocrite, you were just talking with your mouth full up in the bedroom,” I say with a laugh. Berta chuckles from her place by the sink.
“Oh my god GROSS!” Frankie chimes in.
“LEANDER!” she yells playfully with a light smack on my shoulder.
“Gross?” I question the boy. “You watch milf porn on your laptop because you have a hot mom.”
“FRANCIS ROBERT!?” she says incredulously as the boys face turns red.
“I’m done with lunch,” he says as he reaches down with his sandwich, feeding it to his dog Minkah before backing away from the bar.
“Frankie!” she shouts and he stops and turns. Minkah barks.
“You saw his laptop, you already knew that,” I remind her.
“Okay but I blocked that memory out,” she says to me before turning to Frankie. “You’re too young to be watching that stuff!”
“Frankie, she’s mad,” I warn him. “Watch out for flying lamps.”
Saying nothing, she just furrows her brow and smacks me in the back of the head. “Baby,” she says while looking at her hand. “Your head’s still bleeding.”
“Let me see,” Berta says as she comes up behind me, moving Lauren aside with her hips.
“Excuse you,” Lauren protests after a grunt.
“Frankie, go get my kit,” Berta calls out as she runs her finger through my hair. “This one’s gonna need stitches.”
“See what you did Lauren?” I ask playfully. “You’re so abusive that you gave me stitches.”
“Need I remind you,” she begins as she takes Frankie’s seat. “We’re in the kitchen with all the knives,” she concludes while grabbing my junk.
“Thank you for reminding me,” I say to her quietly as Frankie returns and Berta goes to work stitching up my head. “I did not previously think of that when I said it.”
She replies with a kiss on my cheek before going to the fridge.
“Ever thought about just shaving your damn head again?” Berta asks.
“Never,” I reply with a wince as she stabs my skin.
“He shaves his head, we’re getting a divorce,” Lauren jokes… probably.
Berta stops and leans to my ear. “Should I get the clippers?” she whispers to me, causing me to laugh.
“Real funny fat ass,” Lauren says as she drinks milk straight from the jug. A little trickles from the corner of her mouth.
“Hey that looks like earlier,” I joke as she wipes the milk from her mouth.
“You’re an overproducer,” she protests before throwing the empty milk jug into the recycling bin. “That’s not my fault.”
“It’d be so much easier if you had less hair,” Berta says. “These god damn curls make this harder than it should be.”
“Babydoll, clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon,” I say to her, ignoring Berta’s protests about my hair.
“For what?” she asks as she pulls the cheesecake from the fridge and sets it on the counter.
“I ummmm, oww,” I blurt out as Berta stabs too deep.
“Done,” she says as she leaves to clean herself up.
“I made you an appointment with Dr. DeVille,” I inform her. For the moment, she just looks at me. “My shrink.”
“I know who it is,” she says somewhat coldly. “I’m not interested.”
“Seriously, Lauren we’re setting a terrible ex…”
“Shrinks are for crazy people Thad,” she interrupts me. “Do you think I’m crazy?” she asks angrily.
“What? No…”
“We have one fight and I accidentally hit you with something and suddenly Lauren’s a crazy bitch and needs a fucking shrink!?”
“That’s not…”
“Go fuck yourself,” she says with a shake of her head before turning her back to me.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask of her.
“You talk to dead people Thad, that’s not exactly sane,” she answers.
That’s… yeah that’s actually a fair point.
“I’m just saying, he can help you channel your anger in a way that doesn’t include chucking heavy objects at my beautiful head.”
“The last thing I wanna do is sit there and whine to a stranger,” she says quietly.
“It’s not whining,” I argue. “It’s about taking control of your life. It’s about taking control of all the things that have hurt you in 32 years. It’s about not letting your past dictate your present and future.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says quietly. “There’s one piece of cheesecake left. You want it?”
“Sure,” I answer.
Reaching up into the cabinet for a plate, she places the piece on it and grabs a fork from the drawer. Turning to me, she stops, then proceeds to throw both the plate and the cheesecake into the trash.
“Really?” I say with a sigh as she silently exits the kitchen.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice the mixed reaction I received in Key West as I made the announcement that I was returning to active competition. For my entire six year career, I have tailored myself to match the reaction of the fans. If they love me, I’d turn up the volume and do things they liked. If they hated me, I’d do all the things they hate. Over the years, they either loved loving me, or they loved hating me but either way, I’ve just been me and that’s never waivered.
Historically speaking, Key West has never loved me. I’ve given them very little reason to do so, so hearing so much booing and cheering in that town gave me pause. I’ve always been very intuitive to what fans want and strived to give them that. For instance, when I first bought OCW, I tried to play it on the straight and narrow. I tried to not show either side, but that’s not what they wanted. The fans of OCW wanted to hate me.
So I made certain they did.
It seems to me, the faithful fans of OCW are now clamoring for me to flip the script. They seem to want to cheer for me and shower me with all that love and passion… if I’d just give them a reason to do it. Thing is… I’ve realized over the years that no matter whether they love me or not, they’re still ponying up the money to watch me work.
Maybe the Frankie debacle forced their hand. Maybe seeing my kid made a victim for no other reason than he was my son started to turn their hate for me into the love I truly deserve from them.
The Lionheart returns to the beating heart of Duke Nation this week as OCW takes Long Island. The crowd will be loud. New Yorkers are never shy about showing you what they think of you. New York in general, as one of their own, they’ve always loved me.
It’ll be nice to be home again.
“Now where were we?” Lauren asks as Berta closes the bedroom door.
There’s a twinkle in her as she gazes into mine. The love she has for me returns just as suddenly as it left minutes ago. These fights don’t happen very often. When they do, they’re pretty epic in the worst ways imaginable. Lauren and I have a matching intensity and sometimes, it turns into a war zone. I’ve never hit her and I never would. That just isn’t me. Some may watch what unfolds during these vicious arguments and think to themselves ‘jesus christ, just fucking smack the bitch.’ I am not a violent man for violence sake and I do not believe that a husband should ever strike his wife.
"You're bleeding," she says with an apologetic tone as she runs her thumb across my bleeding left eyebrow.
“I’ll be okay,” I say quietly in an effort to take the slight sadness away from her while looking at the culprit lodged in the drywall- a Virgin Mary statue. She's thrown hundreds of things at me during our 10 months together. This is the first time she’s ever hit the bullseye. And she managed to do it twice. While the top of my eye socket might be throbbing and I’ll likely have a nasty cut and a goose egg sort of bump, it won’t bother me physically so much as it does mentally.
It’s hard sometimes. To look at the one person you can’t live without and she looks back at you with nothing but anger and hatred as she actively tries to hurt you. Yet at the same time, it’s also kind of a turn on. Maybe I went too far this time though. She doesn’t respond to her ass being kissed. Like me, she hates sycophancy. I know how good I am, I don’t need to be told. Lauren though, her confidence has always been a thin veneer. When it breaks, it shatters into a million pieces and the only way I have ever been able to help her rebuild it is to berate her and break her down so that she is the one that rebuilds it. So that she is the one that comes to the realization that she’s pretty fucking good at this and a bad day at the office is just that.
It hurts so much to do it. From far too young of an age, all she’s ever known is people using her for her looks or her bedroom talents while tearing her down in order to keep her small and dependent. There has to be another way.
Another thing is, she’s still learning what it is to be a Lionheart. Yes, it’s a nickname. Yes, it’s a derivative of my actual name and it sells t-shirts. But, being the Lionheart, is a way of life. It’s not a gimmick for wrestling. It’s how I’ve lived my entire life. To me, being lionhearted has less to do with achieving victory as it is a means to ensure its possibility. Being lionhearted means you don’t quit no matter the odds. Being lionhearted means that even if you fail, you’re still in the game because of your own will and determination to not go down, to not stay down and if you do fail, you get your ass back up and try again.
I need to figure out another way to reach her. I hate tearing her down. I hate getting lamps chucked at my head. Worst of all, I hate being that guy.
Reaching up, she places her hands on either side of my head and pulls me toward her. I give in without resistance. With our lips locked, she places her hand on the back of my head, touching the other spot she hit me earlier. Quickly, she removes her hand and releases the kiss.
“What the hell?” she murmurs aloud to herself as blood from the back of my head covers the tips of her fingers. “Twice?” she asks with deepening sadness as she looks at me.
Looking at the busted lamp lying on the floor then back at her, I nod. Deflated, saddened and apologetic, she leans against my chest and wraps her arms around me. We stand there in an embrace silently for a little while. Soon though, a warm tear drops from Lauren’s cheek, to my arm.
“Look at me,” I say as I almost force her to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” she says with a sniffle. Gently, I rub my thumb beneath her eye, wiping away her tears.
“I know,” I reply quietly.
This right here is how I know I love her. As much as it hurts when she gets like this and she legitimately wants to hurt me, it pales in comparison to seeing her in pain because of it. Bending down, I lift her off of her feet, cradling her in my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck as I bring my lips to hers.
“Where are you taking me?” She asks as I start to navigate around the bed.
“I’m bloody and you’re still in your ring gear,” I say with a half smile. “Clearly we’re gonna shower.”
After the shower and the ensuing make up session, Lauren and I decided to have lunch with Frankie and Berta. Unfortunately, my wobbly toddlers Caty and T.J. are in North Carolina at their mothers place so they’re not in attendance.
Sitting at the breakfast bar as Berta sets turkey club sandwiches in front of Frankie and I, Lauren stands behind me with her arms around my shoulders.
“Still feeling guilty?” I ask as I take my first bite.
“Shut up,” she answers.
That’s a yes.
“You really think that’s the best example we’re setting for our son?” I ask her before taking another bite.
“Don’t bring me into this,” Frankie says with his mouth full.
Lauren lightly slaps him in the back of the head.
“Hey!” he protests.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Lauren chides him.
“Sorry,” he says before stuffing his face again.
“Hypocrite, you were just talking with your mouth full up in the bedroom,” I say with a laugh. Berta chuckles from her place by the sink.
“Oh my god GROSS!” Frankie chimes in.
“LEANDER!” she yells playfully with a light smack on my shoulder.
“Gross?” I question the boy. “You watch milf porn on your laptop because you have a hot mom.”
“FRANCIS ROBERT!?” she says incredulously as the boys face turns red.
“I’m done with lunch,” he says as he reaches down with his sandwich, feeding it to his dog Minkah before backing away from the bar.
“Frankie!” she shouts and he stops and turns. Minkah barks.
“You saw his laptop, you already knew that,” I remind her.
“Okay but I blocked that memory out,” she says to me before turning to Frankie. “You’re too young to be watching that stuff!”
“Frankie, she’s mad,” I warn him. “Watch out for flying lamps.”
Saying nothing, she just furrows her brow and smacks me in the back of the head. “Baby,” she says while looking at her hand. “Your head’s still bleeding.”
“Let me see,” Berta says as she comes up behind me, moving Lauren aside with her hips.
“Excuse you,” Lauren protests after a grunt.
“Frankie, go get my kit,” Berta calls out as she runs her finger through my hair. “This one’s gonna need stitches.”
“See what you did Lauren?” I ask playfully. “You’re so abusive that you gave me stitches.”
“Need I remind you,” she begins as she takes Frankie’s seat. “We’re in the kitchen with all the knives,” she concludes while grabbing my junk.
“Thank you for reminding me,” I say to her quietly as Frankie returns and Berta goes to work stitching up my head. “I did not previously think of that when I said it.”
She replies with a kiss on my cheek before going to the fridge.
“Ever thought about just shaving your damn head again?” Berta asks.
“Never,” I reply with a wince as she stabs my skin.
“He shaves his head, we’re getting a divorce,” Lauren jokes… probably.
Berta stops and leans to my ear. “Should I get the clippers?” she whispers to me, causing me to laugh.
“Real funny fat ass,” Lauren says as she drinks milk straight from the jug. A little trickles from the corner of her mouth.
“Hey that looks like earlier,” I joke as she wipes the milk from her mouth.
“You’re an overproducer,” she protests before throwing the empty milk jug into the recycling bin. “That’s not my fault.”
“It’d be so much easier if you had less hair,” Berta says. “These god damn curls make this harder than it should be.”
“Babydoll, clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon,” I say to her, ignoring Berta’s protests about my hair.
“For what?” she asks as she pulls the cheesecake from the fridge and sets it on the counter.
“I ummmm, oww,” I blurt out as Berta stabs too deep.
“Done,” she says as she leaves to clean herself up.
“I made you an appointment with Dr. DeVille,” I inform her. For the moment, she just looks at me. “My shrink.”
“I know who it is,” she says somewhat coldly. “I’m not interested.”
“Seriously, Lauren we’re setting a terrible ex…”
“Shrinks are for crazy people Thad,” she interrupts me. “Do you think I’m crazy?” she asks angrily.
“What? No…”
“We have one fight and I accidentally hit you with something and suddenly Lauren’s a crazy bitch and needs a fucking shrink!?”
“That’s not…”
“Go fuck yourself,” she says with a shake of her head before turning her back to me.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask of her.
“You talk to dead people Thad, that’s not exactly sane,” she answers.
That’s… yeah that’s actually a fair point.
“I’m just saying, he can help you channel your anger in a way that doesn’t include chucking heavy objects at my beautiful head.”
“The last thing I wanna do is sit there and whine to a stranger,” she says quietly.
“It’s not whining,” I argue. “It’s about taking control of your life. It’s about taking control of all the things that have hurt you in 32 years. It’s about not letting your past dictate your present and future.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says quietly. “There’s one piece of cheesecake left. You want it?”
“Sure,” I answer.
Reaching up into the cabinet for a plate, she places the piece on it and grabs a fork from the drawer. Turning to me, she stops, then proceeds to throw both the plate and the cheesecake into the trash.
“Really?” I say with a sigh as she silently exits the kitchen.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice the mixed reaction I received in Key West as I made the announcement that I was returning to active competition. For my entire six year career, I have tailored myself to match the reaction of the fans. If they love me, I’d turn up the volume and do things they liked. If they hated me, I’d do all the things they hate. Over the years, they either loved loving me, or they loved hating me but either way, I’ve just been me and that’s never waivered.
Historically speaking, Key West has never loved me. I’ve given them very little reason to do so, so hearing so much booing and cheering in that town gave me pause. I’ve always been very intuitive to what fans want and strived to give them that. For instance, when I first bought OCW, I tried to play it on the straight and narrow. I tried to not show either side, but that’s not what they wanted. The fans of OCW wanted to hate me.
So I made certain they did.
It seems to me, the faithful fans of OCW are now clamoring for me to flip the script. They seem to want to cheer for me and shower me with all that love and passion… if I’d just give them a reason to do it. Thing is… I’ve realized over the years that no matter whether they love me or not, they’re still ponying up the money to watch me work.
Maybe the Frankie debacle forced their hand. Maybe seeing my kid made a victim for no other reason than he was my son started to turn their hate for me into the love I truly deserve from them.
The Lionheart returns to the beating heart of Duke Nation this week as OCW takes Long Island. The crowd will be loud. New Yorkers are never shy about showing you what they think of you. New York in general, as one of their own, they’ve always loved me.
It’ll be nice to be home again.