Post by Matt on Nov 22, 2022 22:49:07 GMT -5
Let’s kick things off with a question for the class. How many of you out there are familiar with the concept of a “controlled burn”?
I know you guys have some dipshit running around calling himself “The All Consuming Fire”, so at least one of you has a vague notion about what I’m talking about. As far as that goes, anyways, a moniker that stupid suggests there’s not a whole hell of a lot between his ears otherwise.
Back on topic. A controlled burn is something done to stimulate the growth of a forest and remove dangerous material to keep uncontrolled damage from occurring and completely ruining the whole damn forest.
While it’s something generally applied to nature, it happens in other settings too, although we might not really consider it by that name. Remember the purge? Controlled burn. This Rumble match? It’ll be a controlled burn as well.
Hello OCW, we meet at last. The pleasure is all yours, I can assure you.
For those of you too busy living under your rock to peek out and see the sun from time to time, I’m Shane Donovan, and I’m here because OCW is in dire need of some shaking up.
By that I mean the positive kind of shaking up that gets rid of the stank of stagnation, not the bad kind that OCW always seems to be subject to that just leaves the lingering stench of a bloated corpse that should’ve been buried a decade ago filling the building.
Yes, I see you there, Bifford. Glad to see you’re still oversized leech sucking every company you’re associated with dry. Sorry that for the past eleven years or holiday cards got lost in the mail, I’ll ask the office to get me the proper address for the next one.
Promise.
Speaking of promises, I think it’s important that I make something clear to the people that might not be familiar with me: when I make a promise I keep it. I know that might be difficult for all of you to grasp. After all, being let down by the guys in the ring is a time-honored tradition in OCW. Especially when you’re dealing with a bunch of guys who were has-beens when I ran into them over ten years ago and a bunch of never-wases.
Those kinds of guys never deliver when it matters, and they’re sure as shit aren’t Digorno’s. With me? You’re dealing with a completely different caliber of competitor. When I show up, love me or hate me, people pay attention. They pay attention because they know that every single time I get into that ring it’ll be worth their time.
There’s three guarantees in life. Death, taxes, and Shane Donovan putting on an absolute banger of a match.
Promises aren’t always positive though, yeah? After all, OCW is straddled with a champion who has made that part of his whole shtick. “That you can count on, that is a promise”? What do you know, he’s been a man of his word, delivering the same warmed over microwaved mediocrity the rest of the guys he’s run with over the years.
Brand new flavor, same terrible aftertaste.
No, sometimes a promise is a curse. My promise to you, OCW, is a curse upon everyone else who plans on stepping into that ring for that rumble match. I could take the time to run down the whole roster, poke holes in the aspirations of everyone currently under OCW contract, but that’s the same old shit all of you fans are already conditioned to accept, isn’t it?
I throw an insult and you’re all “thank you sir may I have another” on me. I’m going to cut my losses here and move onto more important things before one of you moans and screams “harder daddy”.
Just a bunch of freaks enjoying the freak show.
As I was saying, I’m a man of my word, and I keep my promises, even ones made to shifty bitches who likely would rather see me in the dirt as opposed to actually getting what she’s owed from me, but we all gotta make concessions in life.
I visited Dame Fortune a couple of months ago seeking assistance in trying to get my head straight after some events in my personal and professional life left me feeling some kind of way.
Asking a fake psychic and reputed former crime boss for a favor to be repaid later seemed cheaper than therapy at the time. Considering the deductibles on my insurance I’m pretty sure it still is, regardless of what she asks me for.
Unless she asks me for an organ. I already pickled those pretty good, so she’d be SOL there.
“You surprise me Shane, I figured you’d try to weasel your way out of this.”
Already she’s making this a house of lies. Of course, the two of us are standing in the middle of her “reading” room, which is so chock full of shitty bogus paranormal crap that I’m pretty sure Zac Bagans would drop dead from envy. As always, Dame is hiding her face behind a porcelain mask, and as always I’m left wondering to myself how many people out there actually get taken in by all of this.
Then again, the sheer number of The Lost Soul fans that exist tell the tale of how stupid people can be.
“A deal is a deal. What do you need?”
Rather than answer the damn question like a normal person Dame pulls out what looks like a deck of Tarot cards and goes about shuffling them.
“We’re going to play a game, you and I.”
“I don’t feel like I should have to tell you that those aren’t playing cards, Dame.”
Even with the mask tag teaming with her hair to keep me from getting a good view of her eyes I can feel the baleful glare upon me.
“This is for determining the first move. Any other smartass comments you’d like to make before we continue, Shane?”
I wave the comment off, observing as she riffles the deck within her grip before presenting it to me.
I’ve never been a big fan of games of chance. Too often they’re rigged in the house’s favor, and this felt incredibly rigged to me. Too bad I don’t really have a say in it. I take from the center, pulling out a pile of cards and putting it on top.
“Let me guess, the top card is going to tell me the way I’m going to lose this game, isn’t it?”
“The cards are a path. Once you’ve begun upon it you must complete it. You came to me before seeking clarity in return for a favor, and the favor you owe me is that you follow through.”
Smugness oozed from her words as she spoke them to me, and it was taking everything I had to simply not flip the table over and storm out of the room.
A promise is a promise.
“I get it. What sort of time frame are we talking about on this little project? Do I have to do it all in one sitting, or is this going to be some sort of dragged out affair? I do have a life, you know.”
“As long as it takes. If anything, I’d greatly recommend you take your time with it. Too hasty and you’ll end up right back where you started. I know thinking isn’t your strong suit but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Hearty har har. Let’s do this, the smell of frankincense is giving me a damn headache.”
I can’t see the smirk on her face, but I know it’s there as she flips over the top card of the deck. On the card was a painting of a woman holding a baby.
My stomach instantly knotted. I don’t like where this is going.
“The Mother. Fascinating.”
That’s one word for it. I study the card for another moment before looking up at Dame, who produces a small vial with a clear liquid within it.
“Call her. Have dinner with her. Make sure she drinks this, and listen to what she has to say.”
“She’s not going to go for that.”
“Luckily for you the holidays make people put up with those they have no desire to deal with then, isn’t it?”
Touché, you damn bitch. I hold out my hand, and she places the vial onto my palm, which only serves to twist my gut even more.
“All right. I’ll be in contact once it’s done.”
“I’m sure you will, and Shane? Make sure you really listen.”
I can feel the acid rising up from my stomach to leave a bitter taste in my mouth as I make my exit. The same sick feeling everyone gets when they’re subjected to a Scott Syren match.
Scratch that. It’s the same feeling any sane person gets watching the current OCW product. There’s some diamonds in the rough there, people who could be something with a bit of hard work and elbow grease like Diana Watts and Harmon Egan. For the most part though?
Thad Duke would be wise to pull his head out of his ass and do another purge. Controlled burn.
He’s too busy playing wrestler though, isn’t he? Bad enough he bought a company so his wife had a place to be after she burned every bridge she could, he’s gotta get into the ring and mix it up.
That’s fine though, one, possibly two less actual threats in this match.
Hell, a match like this is going to draw out all the little parasites that swarm around OCW. The powers that be moved the proverbial fridge and all the roaches came scurrying out.
A controlled burn would deal with that too. Just saying.
I’m expecting a list of entrants as illustrious as it is boring. After all, we already know that Alice Knight will be there, desperately clinging onto her fifteen minutes of fame. I’m sure Strader is stirring her cauldron and is going to perform some necromancy to get all the long past their expiration date stars of yesterday to make an appearance.
Scott Syren, The Lost Soul, The Big Bifford, Lurrr, I’m sure each one will be in that rumble match, and I’m sure each one will make a total ass of themselves before eating safety padding on the outside of the ring.
It’ll be good for your diets. Old men need their fiber.
Getting dropped on their heads would probably do wonders for the likes of Crash Rodriguez and Dylan Thomas as well, knock some sense into them if they are stupid enough to sign up. I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t.
Hope springs eternal, especially when you’re in complete denial.
Enjoy those runner-up title reigns you’ve had, they’ll be the closest you ever get to the real thing. Should be grateful though, I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of people who enter who won’t even get that far in OCW. One step up from the bottom of the barrel is still a step up.
I hope you made sure to take a bow and enjoy the moment when it happened. Congrats, you did better than all the people who peaked in high school. Make sure you save some of that glory for the rest of them.
Speaking of peaking in high school, I’m sure the BoB are going to be showing up in their clown shoes pretending like they’re important parts of the wrestling world while the rest of us bite back the laughter as how much of a joke they are goes flying right over their collective heads.
Their success in OCW is an indictment in and of itself. Everyone involved in this company should be absolutely ashamed of themselves for allowing that to happen.
This is why OCW needs me to win the Rumble in the Bronx. This is why OCW needs someone to set things straight and actually get the job done, someone who actually follows through on their promises and lives up to their promise. Before I can fix OCW’s future, though, I have a bit of my past to address.
Once upon a time Sandy Miller and I had a thing going. It went until I did what I always do when it comes to romantic entanglements and failed with the same level of grace offered up by the average OCW roster member.
While it was going, we had a kid. Nathan’s the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, but that’s a story for another time.
He must’ve done some prodding on his end though, because his mom agreed to meet me for dinner. I was pretty damn surprised by that, but I wasn’t about to pass up what was likely my one opportunity to get what I wanted to get done, done.
I know that all of you associated with OCW know the struggles of getting a date lined up, don’t need to explain.
I suggest a local sushi place as the destination, and sweeten the pot by offering to pay. As I should’ve expected, she arrives fashionably late, looking quite annoyed.
It’s an expression she wears with practiced ease.
Very few words are exchanged before we get seated at our table, and the waitress quickly takes down our food orders before leaving. One thing in Sandy’s order stands out to me though, enough that I gotta say something.
“Sake?”
“If I’m going to be spending part of my evening dealing with your bullshit Shane I’m drinking, cope.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, want to tell me why you wanted to have dinner?”
“I wanted to discuss with you about Nathan coming to visit me over the holiday break, and I thought maybe I could do that with a civil gesture instead of passive-aggressive texting.”
It’s a convenient half-truth, since that's not the only reason but I did want to get that squared away too. May as well kill as many birds with one stone as possible.
“He has been asking about that.”
“I know he has, he and I have been discussing it for a while. My school’s running well, I’m getting steady gigs and I’m staying sober without the looming threat of legal repercussions.”
The waitress brings out our drinks, setting the bottle of sake in front of Sandy along with a glass of water for the both of us. The sake is my in here, a little too much of that and Sandy likely wouldn’t even question whatever discussion Dame intended for her and I to have.
Now I just need to give myself an opening. Sandy opens the bottle, pouring some sake into a glass as I reach across the table, reaching for the soy sauce when my hand hits the glass of water in front of her.
Whoops.
“Goddamnit Shane!”
Sandy stands up in a hurry as the water ends up on her lap, cursing. She shoots me a death glare before she storms off to the restroom to clean up. A few other patrons look over at me, but they lose interest quickly enough that I’m able to pour out some of the sake from her glass and replace the displaced amount with the contents of the vial. I then go about making an effort to clean up so that once Sandy returns she isn’t questioning me standing over there.
“Sandy, I’m really sorry about that.”
“Save it. Just. Let’s get this over with.”
I move out of the way so Sandy could sit back down, and she quickly tosses back the drink as I return to my own seat. Perfect.
“So, assuming my clumsiness didn’t completely torpedo our son’s plans, what did you think?”
“I think. I think I need some more sake and some food in me first before we fully sort that out.”
“Fair enough.”
Sandy has a few more shots of sake before the food arrives, and we manage to move onto general discussion about how Nathan is doing. Nothing I didn’t already know, but considering it was pretty much the only topic we could discuss without a shouting match occurring, it seems like the best option.
By the time we get through our meals, Sandy has worked her way through half the bottle, and she finally seems calm enough for me to press the question again.
“So, what’s the verdict? Can Nathan come visit or what?”
Sandy lets out a sigh before giving a nod as she leans back in her seat.
“Fiiiiine. I’ll be expecting him to check in every night though, and we will definitely set up rules he’ll need to follow.”
“Not a problem.”
“I need you to understand something though, Shane. If something happened to him I would never forgive you.”
Can’t say I blame her there. My track record historically isn’t the best when it comes to keeping myself on the straight and narrow.
Not like I am currently, but she hopefully won’t figure out otherwise.
“Understood. Whatever ground rules you lay down I’ll make sure he follows them.”
“No, Shane. The ground rules aren’t for him, they’re for you.”
Excuse me?
“I’m giving you this chance, but you need to understand that you’re a fucking wrecking ball, and Nathan is the only good thing to come out of the time I’ve spent with you over the years.”
“Point taken.”
“Is it Shane? I’ve known you for seventeen years and you’ve never gotten the point. Not once!”
Sandy stands up, walking around the table so she could be standing over me as she continues.
“You damn near ruined my life. I want you to take some time and actually process that, Shane. You’re a self-destructive asshole and it took me years to get out of the gravitational pull of your fucking bullshit…”
Sandy’s stance begins to fail her as her legs wobble and she shifts in an attempt to brace herself against the table with her hand.
“I jus–”
The words trail off as Sandy slumps over, falling limp into the table with a crash. I make an attempt to catch her, but it happens too fast for me to do much other than yell for someone to call 911.
Promises are promises, and sometimes they’re a curse.
I know you guys have some dipshit running around calling himself “The All Consuming Fire”, so at least one of you has a vague notion about what I’m talking about. As far as that goes, anyways, a moniker that stupid suggests there’s not a whole hell of a lot between his ears otherwise.
Back on topic. A controlled burn is something done to stimulate the growth of a forest and remove dangerous material to keep uncontrolled damage from occurring and completely ruining the whole damn forest.
While it’s something generally applied to nature, it happens in other settings too, although we might not really consider it by that name. Remember the purge? Controlled burn. This Rumble match? It’ll be a controlled burn as well.
Hello OCW, we meet at last. The pleasure is all yours, I can assure you.
For those of you too busy living under your rock to peek out and see the sun from time to time, I’m Shane Donovan, and I’m here because OCW is in dire need of some shaking up.
By that I mean the positive kind of shaking up that gets rid of the stank of stagnation, not the bad kind that OCW always seems to be subject to that just leaves the lingering stench of a bloated corpse that should’ve been buried a decade ago filling the building.
Yes, I see you there, Bifford. Glad to see you’re still oversized leech sucking every company you’re associated with dry. Sorry that for the past eleven years or holiday cards got lost in the mail, I’ll ask the office to get me the proper address for the next one.
Promise.
Speaking of promises, I think it’s important that I make something clear to the people that might not be familiar with me: when I make a promise I keep it. I know that might be difficult for all of you to grasp. After all, being let down by the guys in the ring is a time-honored tradition in OCW. Especially when you’re dealing with a bunch of guys who were has-beens when I ran into them over ten years ago and a bunch of never-wases.
Those kinds of guys never deliver when it matters, and they’re sure as shit aren’t Digorno’s. With me? You’re dealing with a completely different caliber of competitor. When I show up, love me or hate me, people pay attention. They pay attention because they know that every single time I get into that ring it’ll be worth their time.
There’s three guarantees in life. Death, taxes, and Shane Donovan putting on an absolute banger of a match.
Promises aren’t always positive though, yeah? After all, OCW is straddled with a champion who has made that part of his whole shtick. “That you can count on, that is a promise”? What do you know, he’s been a man of his word, delivering the same warmed over microwaved mediocrity the rest of the guys he’s run with over the years.
Brand new flavor, same terrible aftertaste.
No, sometimes a promise is a curse. My promise to you, OCW, is a curse upon everyone else who plans on stepping into that ring for that rumble match. I could take the time to run down the whole roster, poke holes in the aspirations of everyone currently under OCW contract, but that’s the same old shit all of you fans are already conditioned to accept, isn’t it?
I throw an insult and you’re all “thank you sir may I have another” on me. I’m going to cut my losses here and move onto more important things before one of you moans and screams “harder daddy”.
Just a bunch of freaks enjoying the freak show.
As I was saying, I’m a man of my word, and I keep my promises, even ones made to shifty bitches who likely would rather see me in the dirt as opposed to actually getting what she’s owed from me, but we all gotta make concessions in life.
I visited Dame Fortune a couple of months ago seeking assistance in trying to get my head straight after some events in my personal and professional life left me feeling some kind of way.
Asking a fake psychic and reputed former crime boss for a favor to be repaid later seemed cheaper than therapy at the time. Considering the deductibles on my insurance I’m pretty sure it still is, regardless of what she asks me for.
Unless she asks me for an organ. I already pickled those pretty good, so she’d be SOL there.
“You surprise me Shane, I figured you’d try to weasel your way out of this.”
Already she’s making this a house of lies. Of course, the two of us are standing in the middle of her “reading” room, which is so chock full of shitty bogus paranormal crap that I’m pretty sure Zac Bagans would drop dead from envy. As always, Dame is hiding her face behind a porcelain mask, and as always I’m left wondering to myself how many people out there actually get taken in by all of this.
Then again, the sheer number of The Lost Soul fans that exist tell the tale of how stupid people can be.
“A deal is a deal. What do you need?”
Rather than answer the damn question like a normal person Dame pulls out what looks like a deck of Tarot cards and goes about shuffling them.
“We’re going to play a game, you and I.”
“I don’t feel like I should have to tell you that those aren’t playing cards, Dame.”
Even with the mask tag teaming with her hair to keep me from getting a good view of her eyes I can feel the baleful glare upon me.
“This is for determining the first move. Any other smartass comments you’d like to make before we continue, Shane?”
I wave the comment off, observing as she riffles the deck within her grip before presenting it to me.
I’ve never been a big fan of games of chance. Too often they’re rigged in the house’s favor, and this felt incredibly rigged to me. Too bad I don’t really have a say in it. I take from the center, pulling out a pile of cards and putting it on top.
“Let me guess, the top card is going to tell me the way I’m going to lose this game, isn’t it?”
“The cards are a path. Once you’ve begun upon it you must complete it. You came to me before seeking clarity in return for a favor, and the favor you owe me is that you follow through.”
Smugness oozed from her words as she spoke them to me, and it was taking everything I had to simply not flip the table over and storm out of the room.
A promise is a promise.
“I get it. What sort of time frame are we talking about on this little project? Do I have to do it all in one sitting, or is this going to be some sort of dragged out affair? I do have a life, you know.”
“As long as it takes. If anything, I’d greatly recommend you take your time with it. Too hasty and you’ll end up right back where you started. I know thinking isn’t your strong suit but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Hearty har har. Let’s do this, the smell of frankincense is giving me a damn headache.”
I can’t see the smirk on her face, but I know it’s there as she flips over the top card of the deck. On the card was a painting of a woman holding a baby.
My stomach instantly knotted. I don’t like where this is going.
“The Mother. Fascinating.”
That’s one word for it. I study the card for another moment before looking up at Dame, who produces a small vial with a clear liquid within it.
“Call her. Have dinner with her. Make sure she drinks this, and listen to what she has to say.”
“She’s not going to go for that.”
“Luckily for you the holidays make people put up with those they have no desire to deal with then, isn’t it?”
Touché, you damn bitch. I hold out my hand, and she places the vial onto my palm, which only serves to twist my gut even more.
“All right. I’ll be in contact once it’s done.”
“I’m sure you will, and Shane? Make sure you really listen.”
I can feel the acid rising up from my stomach to leave a bitter taste in my mouth as I make my exit. The same sick feeling everyone gets when they’re subjected to a Scott Syren match.
Scratch that. It’s the same feeling any sane person gets watching the current OCW product. There’s some diamonds in the rough there, people who could be something with a bit of hard work and elbow grease like Diana Watts and Harmon Egan. For the most part though?
Thad Duke would be wise to pull his head out of his ass and do another purge. Controlled burn.
He’s too busy playing wrestler though, isn’t he? Bad enough he bought a company so his wife had a place to be after she burned every bridge she could, he’s gotta get into the ring and mix it up.
That’s fine though, one, possibly two less actual threats in this match.
Hell, a match like this is going to draw out all the little parasites that swarm around OCW. The powers that be moved the proverbial fridge and all the roaches came scurrying out.
A controlled burn would deal with that too. Just saying.
I’m expecting a list of entrants as illustrious as it is boring. After all, we already know that Alice Knight will be there, desperately clinging onto her fifteen minutes of fame. I’m sure Strader is stirring her cauldron and is going to perform some necromancy to get all the long past their expiration date stars of yesterday to make an appearance.
Scott Syren, The Lost Soul, The Big Bifford, Lurrr, I’m sure each one will be in that rumble match, and I’m sure each one will make a total ass of themselves before eating safety padding on the outside of the ring.
It’ll be good for your diets. Old men need their fiber.
Getting dropped on their heads would probably do wonders for the likes of Crash Rodriguez and Dylan Thomas as well, knock some sense into them if they are stupid enough to sign up. I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t.
Hope springs eternal, especially when you’re in complete denial.
Enjoy those runner-up title reigns you’ve had, they’ll be the closest you ever get to the real thing. Should be grateful though, I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of people who enter who won’t even get that far in OCW. One step up from the bottom of the barrel is still a step up.
I hope you made sure to take a bow and enjoy the moment when it happened. Congrats, you did better than all the people who peaked in high school. Make sure you save some of that glory for the rest of them.
Speaking of peaking in high school, I’m sure the BoB are going to be showing up in their clown shoes pretending like they’re important parts of the wrestling world while the rest of us bite back the laughter as how much of a joke they are goes flying right over their collective heads.
Their success in OCW is an indictment in and of itself. Everyone involved in this company should be absolutely ashamed of themselves for allowing that to happen.
This is why OCW needs me to win the Rumble in the Bronx. This is why OCW needs someone to set things straight and actually get the job done, someone who actually follows through on their promises and lives up to their promise. Before I can fix OCW’s future, though, I have a bit of my past to address.
Once upon a time Sandy Miller and I had a thing going. It went until I did what I always do when it comes to romantic entanglements and failed with the same level of grace offered up by the average OCW roster member.
While it was going, we had a kid. Nathan’s the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, but that’s a story for another time.
He must’ve done some prodding on his end though, because his mom agreed to meet me for dinner. I was pretty damn surprised by that, but I wasn’t about to pass up what was likely my one opportunity to get what I wanted to get done, done.
I know that all of you associated with OCW know the struggles of getting a date lined up, don’t need to explain.
I suggest a local sushi place as the destination, and sweeten the pot by offering to pay. As I should’ve expected, she arrives fashionably late, looking quite annoyed.
It’s an expression she wears with practiced ease.
Very few words are exchanged before we get seated at our table, and the waitress quickly takes down our food orders before leaving. One thing in Sandy’s order stands out to me though, enough that I gotta say something.
“Sake?”
“If I’m going to be spending part of my evening dealing with your bullshit Shane I’m drinking, cope.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, want to tell me why you wanted to have dinner?”
“I wanted to discuss with you about Nathan coming to visit me over the holiday break, and I thought maybe I could do that with a civil gesture instead of passive-aggressive texting.”
It’s a convenient half-truth, since that's not the only reason but I did want to get that squared away too. May as well kill as many birds with one stone as possible.
“He has been asking about that.”
“I know he has, he and I have been discussing it for a while. My school’s running well, I’m getting steady gigs and I’m staying sober without the looming threat of legal repercussions.”
The waitress brings out our drinks, setting the bottle of sake in front of Sandy along with a glass of water for the both of us. The sake is my in here, a little too much of that and Sandy likely wouldn’t even question whatever discussion Dame intended for her and I to have.
Now I just need to give myself an opening. Sandy opens the bottle, pouring some sake into a glass as I reach across the table, reaching for the soy sauce when my hand hits the glass of water in front of her.
Whoops.
“Goddamnit Shane!”
Sandy stands up in a hurry as the water ends up on her lap, cursing. She shoots me a death glare before she storms off to the restroom to clean up. A few other patrons look over at me, but they lose interest quickly enough that I’m able to pour out some of the sake from her glass and replace the displaced amount with the contents of the vial. I then go about making an effort to clean up so that once Sandy returns she isn’t questioning me standing over there.
“Sandy, I’m really sorry about that.”
“Save it. Just. Let’s get this over with.”
I move out of the way so Sandy could sit back down, and she quickly tosses back the drink as I return to my own seat. Perfect.
“So, assuming my clumsiness didn’t completely torpedo our son’s plans, what did you think?”
“I think. I think I need some more sake and some food in me first before we fully sort that out.”
“Fair enough.”
Sandy has a few more shots of sake before the food arrives, and we manage to move onto general discussion about how Nathan is doing. Nothing I didn’t already know, but considering it was pretty much the only topic we could discuss without a shouting match occurring, it seems like the best option.
By the time we get through our meals, Sandy has worked her way through half the bottle, and she finally seems calm enough for me to press the question again.
“So, what’s the verdict? Can Nathan come visit or what?”
Sandy lets out a sigh before giving a nod as she leans back in her seat.
“Fiiiiine. I’ll be expecting him to check in every night though, and we will definitely set up rules he’ll need to follow.”
“Not a problem.”
“I need you to understand something though, Shane. If something happened to him I would never forgive you.”
Can’t say I blame her there. My track record historically isn’t the best when it comes to keeping myself on the straight and narrow.
Not like I am currently, but she hopefully won’t figure out otherwise.
“Understood. Whatever ground rules you lay down I’ll make sure he follows them.”
“No, Shane. The ground rules aren’t for him, they’re for you.”
Excuse me?
“I’m giving you this chance, but you need to understand that you’re a fucking wrecking ball, and Nathan is the only good thing to come out of the time I’ve spent with you over the years.”
“Point taken.”
“Is it Shane? I’ve known you for seventeen years and you’ve never gotten the point. Not once!”
Sandy stands up, walking around the table so she could be standing over me as she continues.
“You damn near ruined my life. I want you to take some time and actually process that, Shane. You’re a self-destructive asshole and it took me years to get out of the gravitational pull of your fucking bullshit…”
Sandy’s stance begins to fail her as her legs wobble and she shifts in an attempt to brace herself against the table with her hand.
“I jus–”
The words trail off as Sandy slumps over, falling limp into the table with a crash. I make an attempt to catch her, but it happens too fast for me to do much other than yell for someone to call 911.
Promises are promises, and sometimes they’re a curse.