Post by Crash Rodriguez on Jan 26, 2023 6:05:15 GMT -5
I hold my son in my arms as I slowly make my way through the hallway. I struggle to keep my eyelids open as I stroll through the corridor and into his bedroom. Carefully, I bend down and place him in his racecar bed, and he begins to toss and turn, but luckily he ceases his movements as I lay his blanket over him. I’ve been deprived of sleep for far too long, thanks to my own son, but watching him lay so peacefully is enough to remind me that every headache and heart attack that he gives me is worth it. I feel myself smile, as I slowly push the door open, trying my damndest to keep it from squeaking and waking up Bash. I slide the door closed before stumbling into my bedroom and collapsing onto my mattress. I take a second to feel the aches from all over my body. The street lamps casts a dim flickering light into my bedroom. At first my thoughts are still, but before I know it my mind wanders to Bash, and the recent shenanigans of parenthood, sending me into a recent memory.
"BASH, NO!"
I feel my face is warm from frustration. My boy looks up at me, my shoes still in his hand, floating over the trash can. I watch as a smirk fills his face.
"Bash. Do not throw away Dada's sho-"
I'm unable to finish my sentence before he drops my footwear into the garbage.
"MOTHER FUCK!"
The words escape my mouth effortlessly. I look into the garbage and notice my shoe now surrounded by discarded food and dirty diapers. A sigh leaves my throat as Lou calls out from the other room, his voice barely audible.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you."
Lou pops his head into the room.
"I said watch your language around the kid."
He pops a smirk in my direction, obviously eating up how the tables have turned. I swear the man has the most punchable face sometimes. Who am I kidding? Most of the time.
"Afterall, with how many times you tell me to watch what I say, you'd think you'd know better. I mean you gotta lead by example, kid."
"Go fuck yourself. It's my kid, I'll say whatever I want in front of him."
"Yeah, we'll see if you're still singing that tune when he starts repeating you."
"For fucks sake, don't you have anything better to do?"
"I'm just saying that if you keep saying it in front of him, he's gonna catch on and say it himself."
"Oh yeah? Well, fuck fuck fuckitty fucking fuck… OH! Look at that, he's not repeat-"
"Fuck!"
Bash smiles widely at me, waiting for the usual praise that comes each time he's increased his vocabulary. I look at Lou, taking notice of the shit eating grin that now stains his mouth. I pull my shoe for the garbage bin as Bash rhythmically repeats the curse word. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My face drops into my palms as I recompose myself, before taking off after him.
“Bash, that's a bad word we don’t say that.”
"There we go! Now you're starting to sound like Outcast!"
"And you're starting to sound unemployed."
"Ha, you couldn't live without me."
Lou strides out of the kitchen, leading Bash by the hand.
"I did before and it was wonderful."
I look down at my soiled shoe, before deciding to drop it back in the trash.
“Nothing like sleepless nights spent raising a child to prepare for a match, amirite?”
I look over my shoulder, noticing Lou puffing a cigarette of his own. Usually his presence is an uplifting force, but instead I find it grating.
“How long have you been there?”
“Eh, came out only a moment before you. So how are you holding up?”
“Bash has been driving me nuts all month. I’ve barely had time to prepare for the match.”
“Well you’ve beaten her before, can’t be that difficult. Just do it again.”
I shake my head as I take another puff of my cancer stick.
“Stakes are a lot higher. It'd be a mistake to take her lightly.”
“Take her lightly? We are talking about the same woman, right? It’s Sahara. I mean she awarded herself a title shot without competing, meanwhile that same night you made history, completing a 3 year journey that every viewer was glued to. Hell, everytime your name is on the card, people are interested.”
“It’s a match, not a popularity contest.”
“Exactly. It’s a match. Don’t you see how easy she has had it? Hell, her last title defense was against a Strader who had one foot out the door. Oh, oh, how about her actual title win? She’s had it easy since she showed up. Meanwhile, here you are."
I take a puff as I lean over the railing.
"Here I am. What makes me so special?"
"Somebody who actually puts in the work, who shows up even when you don't have to. You’re different from any other opponent she’s had yet. You’re Crash fucking Rodriguez and we both know you’re not going anywhere except to the fucking top of this company. Hell, you got the potential to be the face of this whole fucking industry.”
Lou’s eyes are filled with fire, proving how much he believes each word spoken. I smile as I pat his shoulder.
“Then I guess we better start making that happen?”
“First step is Decadence. Just hit that ring, rip the bitch apart and grab your win. Business as usual.”
Lou snuffs out his cigarette, before departing back inside. Before he disappears inside, he calls out to me.
“Get some sleep, kid.”
I nod as I take another puff. I stand alone for a few moments, watching as a streetlight begins to flicker. In the moment I envision myself in front of cameras and reporters, all waiting on the edge of their seats for my parting words.
"Sahara is a textbook example of all sizzle and no substance. Ever wonder why she feels the need to constantly bring up how 'great' she is? That's her trying to throw the wool over our collective eyes, and disguise her mediocrity. You see nobody in the lockerroom likes her. Not because they feel inferior, but simply because she simply doesn't belong. Her husband couldn't cut it here, and it's about time she sees that neither can she. For the first time since she disgraced us with her presence, the cards aren't in her favor. Welsh can load the dice against me, against BoB. But it won't matter, because this Sunday in Key West, she's finally going to send the fans happy, as she hobbles out the ring titleless."
I lick my lips, fully embracing the fantasy I've created.
"OCW has had a problem for awhile. Pieces of garbage coming in, demanding the world, while barely being worthy of lacing my boots. Sahara, clearly is part of that problem, but fear not… I'm the solution."
I smother the embers of my cigarette and head back inside, carefully closing the door to make no sound and locking it behind me. I make my way through the halls, stopping to peek into Bash’s room to see him fast asleep. A grin washes over my face, as I enter into my room and sprawl out over my sheets. My thoughts drift towards Decadence, but before anything substantial can enter my brain, sleep pulls me into a warm embrace, my eyes flutter shut and the world is finally at peace as I drift away into my slumber. Before I know it, I'm jolted awake by a sudden pain. Groggy still, I sit up and slap my assailant. A clean pop echoes in my bedroom, as I finally make sense of reality. I feel my eyes grow to the size of saucers as horror encapsulates my entire being. Everything feels like it's in slow-mo, as I stare at Bash, his hand still grasping my hair, his eyes building with tears. Before I can even react, my son begins screeching, his expression is enough to break my heart. Lou runs into the room, damn near kicking the door open. I catch a glimpse of my representation, his face painted with the unfamiliar look of disappointment. My attention shifts to my hand, a mild sting still radiating off of it…
"What have I done?"
~~~~~
My heart pounds as I chase after my spawn. He has an iron grip on my left shoe, as his feet patter across the floor, barely a wobble in his step. He looks back at me, a smile stretched across his face from ear to ear. Meanwhile, I slowly catch up to him."BASH, NO!"
I feel my face is warm from frustration. My boy looks up at me, my shoes still in his hand, floating over the trash can. I watch as a smirk fills his face.
"Bash. Do not throw away Dada's sho-"
I'm unable to finish my sentence before he drops my footwear into the garbage.
"MOTHER FUCK!"
The words escape my mouth effortlessly. I look into the garbage and notice my shoe now surrounded by discarded food and dirty diapers. A sigh leaves my throat as Lou calls out from the other room, his voice barely audible.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you."
Lou pops his head into the room.
"I said watch your language around the kid."
He pops a smirk in my direction, obviously eating up how the tables have turned. I swear the man has the most punchable face sometimes. Who am I kidding? Most of the time.
"Afterall, with how many times you tell me to watch what I say, you'd think you'd know better. I mean you gotta lead by example, kid."
"Go fuck yourself. It's my kid, I'll say whatever I want in front of him."
"Yeah, we'll see if you're still singing that tune when he starts repeating you."
"For fucks sake, don't you have anything better to do?"
"I'm just saying that if you keep saying it in front of him, he's gonna catch on and say it himself."
"Oh yeah? Well, fuck fuck fuckitty fucking fuck… OH! Look at that, he's not repeat-"
"Fuck!"
Bash smiles widely at me, waiting for the usual praise that comes each time he's increased his vocabulary. I look at Lou, taking notice of the shit eating grin that now stains his mouth. I pull my shoe for the garbage bin as Bash rhythmically repeats the curse word. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My face drops into my palms as I recompose myself, before taking off after him.
“Bash, that's a bad word we don’t say that.”
"There we go! Now you're starting to sound like Outcast!"
"And you're starting to sound unemployed."
"Ha, you couldn't live without me."
Lou strides out of the kitchen, leading Bash by the hand.
"I did before and it was wonderful."
I look down at my soiled shoe, before deciding to drop it back in the trash.
~~~~~
The screeching of tires erupts outside my window, shaking me back to reality. I sit up, running my hands through my hair as I inhale a large breath. I pull myself from the bed, and make my way out the room, down the stairs and out the front door. The cold air nips at my nose, as I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it. I take a few puffs, allowing the much needed nicotine to calm my nerves. These moments are the most blissful, where time stands still and I'm truly alone to think.“Nothing like sleepless nights spent raising a child to prepare for a match, amirite?”
I look over my shoulder, noticing Lou puffing a cigarette of his own. Usually his presence is an uplifting force, but instead I find it grating.
“How long have you been there?”
“Eh, came out only a moment before you. So how are you holding up?”
“Bash has been driving me nuts all month. I’ve barely had time to prepare for the match.”
“Well you’ve beaten her before, can’t be that difficult. Just do it again.”
I shake my head as I take another puff of my cancer stick.
“Stakes are a lot higher. It'd be a mistake to take her lightly.”
“Take her lightly? We are talking about the same woman, right? It’s Sahara. I mean she awarded herself a title shot without competing, meanwhile that same night you made history, completing a 3 year journey that every viewer was glued to. Hell, everytime your name is on the card, people are interested.”
“It’s a match, not a popularity contest.”
“Exactly. It’s a match. Don’t you see how easy she has had it? Hell, her last title defense was against a Strader who had one foot out the door. Oh, oh, how about her actual title win? She’s had it easy since she showed up. Meanwhile, here you are."
I take a puff as I lean over the railing.
"Here I am. What makes me so special?"
"Somebody who actually puts in the work, who shows up even when you don't have to. You’re different from any other opponent she’s had yet. You’re Crash fucking Rodriguez and we both know you’re not going anywhere except to the fucking top of this company. Hell, you got the potential to be the face of this whole fucking industry.”
Lou’s eyes are filled with fire, proving how much he believes each word spoken. I smile as I pat his shoulder.
“Then I guess we better start making that happen?”
“First step is Decadence. Just hit that ring, rip the bitch apart and grab your win. Business as usual.”
Lou snuffs out his cigarette, before departing back inside. Before he disappears inside, he calls out to me.
“Get some sleep, kid.”
I nod as I take another puff. I stand alone for a few moments, watching as a streetlight begins to flicker. In the moment I envision myself in front of cameras and reporters, all waiting on the edge of their seats for my parting words.
"Sahara is a textbook example of all sizzle and no substance. Ever wonder why she feels the need to constantly bring up how 'great' she is? That's her trying to throw the wool over our collective eyes, and disguise her mediocrity. You see nobody in the lockerroom likes her. Not because they feel inferior, but simply because she simply doesn't belong. Her husband couldn't cut it here, and it's about time she sees that neither can she. For the first time since she disgraced us with her presence, the cards aren't in her favor. Welsh can load the dice against me, against BoB. But it won't matter, because this Sunday in Key West, she's finally going to send the fans happy, as she hobbles out the ring titleless."
I lick my lips, fully embracing the fantasy I've created.
"OCW has had a problem for awhile. Pieces of garbage coming in, demanding the world, while barely being worthy of lacing my boots. Sahara, clearly is part of that problem, but fear not… I'm the solution."
I smother the embers of my cigarette and head back inside, carefully closing the door to make no sound and locking it behind me. I make my way through the halls, stopping to peek into Bash’s room to see him fast asleep. A grin washes over my face, as I enter into my room and sprawl out over my sheets. My thoughts drift towards Decadence, but before anything substantial can enter my brain, sleep pulls me into a warm embrace, my eyes flutter shut and the world is finally at peace as I drift away into my slumber. Before I know it, I'm jolted awake by a sudden pain. Groggy still, I sit up and slap my assailant. A clean pop echoes in my bedroom, as I finally make sense of reality. I feel my eyes grow to the size of saucers as horror encapsulates my entire being. Everything feels like it's in slow-mo, as I stare at Bash, his hand still grasping my hair, his eyes building with tears. Before I can even react, my son begins screeching, his expression is enough to break my heart. Lou runs into the room, damn near kicking the door open. I catch a glimpse of my representation, his face painted with the unfamiliar look of disappointment. My attention shifts to my hand, a mild sting still radiating off of it…
"What have I done?"