Post by Deleted on Feb 10, 2015 8:10:51 GMT -6
The door flies open, sending paperwork on the desk flying everywhere. Jesse Styles sits at his desk, confused, as the door shuts equally as fast as it opened, and a sunken face, heavily bearded man bursts into the office. The face is nearly unrecognizable, but the heavily branded leather jacket, tattered jeans, and Converse Chuck Taylors instantly gives the man away.
“Jesus Christ, what kind of hell have you been through in a year?” Jesse Styles asks, showing a bit of concern on his face.
“Don’t you mind what the hell I have been through like you give a shit, I am not even sure why I showed up. Had I not been in town already anyway I sure as hell wouldn't be in this colossal dump. Now who wants to talk about what shit they've been through, I have heard all about your kiddy porn accusations, and your legal and money troubles.” Davey Dynamo responds.
“Davey, Davey, contrary to belief, I am not here to make your life hell. I know you and I have had our differences, but Davey, for some damn reason we have ALWAYS been drawn together, it’s like our hatred for each other has always forced us to wind up in the same place at the same time.”
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” Davey interrupts, “I have NO business with you anymore. If you don’t recall, I was freed from my bond to you, and left out high and dry. You ripped up my contract, and with that, my severance, my insurance, all of it. I was left broke, uninsured, and homeless. All because of you, and you have the AUDACITY, to tell me that we are drawn together...like you have some sort of scheme that will some how benefit me, but in the end wind up blowing up in my face like EVERY one of your schemes and plans and proposals have. Hell no, I’m out of here.”
Davey starts towards the door, and Jesse yells out.
“DAVEY! DAVEY STOP, PLEASE!”
Davey stops, hand on the door handle, and turns his head only just.
“Davey, I need you.”
Davey tilts his head a little, and skeptically looks back at Jesse.
“Davey, I’m broke, I’m short on talent, and I need a reliable guy in the ring. Someone who can be a contender. I’ve lost talent. Ryan Pugh retired, Inkt followed suit. Johnny Styles is gone. Hell Blair Buchannan just won my world title. I need another loose cannon, someone colorful like Valora.”
“So let me get this straight, YOU...need...ME? Just like EVERY other time that you’ve schemed to get me into an NEW ring, you FINALLY admit that YOU...NEED...ME? I don’t know that I am convinced.” Davey looks at Jesse with an arrogant smirk on his face. He knows he is now in a position of power.
“I’m not going to beg you smug son of a bitch, so put that dirty thought out of your head right now. I am only here asking you because I know that you will never retire, you will die in the ring.”
“FIRST OF ALL, Mary Dynamoschowitcz was a SAINT, secondly, as much as that idea gives you a massive hard-on, it would be a reality sadly.”
“What do you mean?” Jesse asks, now confused.
“Jesse, I have COPD. My lungs, are shot. There is no fucking cure for this. I can’t run, I can barely walk a flight of steps. Getting in the ring, would surely kill me.”
Jesse throws a stapler across the room.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I CAN’T CATCH A BREAK.”
“Look Jesse, I got a deal for you, and I CANNOT believe I am about to do this, but,” Davey pulls out a cigarette and lights it up, “You cover the cost of my medical bills, so I can get this shit stabilized, and I will bring in a contender for you. I just want to be around long enough to see him win the title.”
“I’m not guaranteeing a title if that is what you are hinting at, but I’ll tell you what. At this point, a body is a body, you get someone in here, and I will put him in a big match right away in two weeks at Ignite 200, I’ll cover your medical costs, and put you up in an apartment here in Chicago. I can’t cover travel, and it won’t be a fancy penthouse, but it will be livable. BUT FOR FUCK SAKE PUT THE CIGARETTE OUT. THAT SHIT IS KILLING YOU AND YOU KEEP IT UP?”
“I’m already dying.”
“If I cover your medical costs, you are kicking that habit. I want to see you around here for a while. We were never friends, but honestly, no matter your motives, you were one of the most loyal men in NEW.”
“Fair enough,” Davey swallows deeply, puts the cigarette out on his thigh, drops the butt, and looks over at Jesse, sizing him up, trying to see if Jesse hints that this is just a scheme to fuck Davey over, not seeing any obvious tell, Davey reaches in, grasps Jesse’s hand firmly, and pulls Jesse close to him, so they are now cheek to cheek and whispers in Jesse’s ear. “You fuck me over, and it will be the last thing you AND I both do.”
With that, Davey walks out the door to the room, pauses, and bends over, hands on his knees, breathing deeply, gasping for breath. He struggles heavily trying to catch his breath again. He hears the handle to the office door turn, and quickly stands straight up, pulls out his Motorola RAZR flip phone, and holds it to his ear like he’s talking on it, and begins walking away, struggling with each step to maintain a steady breath.
Jesse Styles watches as the once mighty Davey Dynamo walks off, struggling, and shakes his head, before walking towards the entrance ramp area.
Davey gets to a nearby washroom, throws open the door, and collapses into a stall, pulling out an inhaler, takes two long puffs, and sits there a moment catching his breath. Finally he stands up, and looks down at the toilet, reaches into his pocket, pulls out the pack of Parliament Lights, crumples them up into a wad, and throws them hard into the toilet and flushes.
“What a stupid fucking idea. Do I really have that big an ego?” Davey thought to himself, as he watched the crumpled pack of broken and wet cigarettes spin in the whirlpool of fresh toilet water, and slowly catch right at the mouth of the drain, and pop back up with the refilling water. Davey flushes again, and again, they get right to the drain, and then come back up into the filling bowl. Davey tries again, and again, and again before getting pissed off, and kicking the handle to the toilet, breaking it off, causing water to spray sideways against the wall, and Davey to crumple backwards through the stall door, lying on the ground gasping for breath.
After what feels like an hour, but was in reality only a few minutes, a security officer walks into the bathroom, seeing Davey on the floor clutching his lungs, and drops down to his knees next to him.
“SIR, ARE YOU OK?” He asks, grabbing Davey’s shoulder.
Davey, gasping for breath tries to tell him about the inhaler in his jacket pocket, but cannot catch his breath long enough to get out more than “inhu...inhu...inhu…”
“Are you having a heart attack sir?” The man asks Davey.
Davey shakes his head no.
“Yes? You are?”
Davey again shakes his head no, this time more adamantly. The man still miss read Davey’s head shake, and pulls out his radio.
“We need some medics down to the south men’s restroom. We have a man down here who is having a heart attack. I am going to proceed with mouth to mouth.”
Davey tries hard to get the man’s attention to tell him no, but could not. Before he knew it, the man’s fat Mexican lips are pressed hard against Davey’s, blowing into his mouth. Even though it was warm and tasted of stale cheetos, the burst of air that hit Davey’s lungs did, admittedly feel briefly relieving. After two breaths in, the man pulls up just as the doors fly open, and two medics come rushing in.
“ISRAEL, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” One medic asks, pushing the big man off of Davey.
“I was trying to keep him alive.” The big man said, now sitting off to the side.
“You don’t give mouth to mouth to a heart attack victim. It isn’t going to do them any good.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” Israel replied, apologetic.
The medics look at Davey, and see that he is grasping his lungs, and struggling for breath. They quickly listen to his lungs through a stethoscope, and realize instantly its his lungs not his heart, and start pumping fresh air into his lungs through their self inflating bag mask. After a few minutes Davey has caught his breath, enough to where he can move a little, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his emergency inhaler, and shows the medics. They pull the bag away, and he takes too puffs, and sits up, leaning against the bathroom wall.
“Fucking COPD.” Davey forces out, still breathing heavy.
“We’re in Houston though, and I hardly think the Houston Police Department had ANYTHING to do with this” Israel responds from the corner.
“Iz, thank you for the call, you can go now.” One medic responds, removing the facemask from the bag, and tossing it in the trash.
“But I have to pee.” Israel responds, standing up.
“There’s other bathrooms. We are with a patient.”
“Fine,” Israel leaves the bathroom, as the medics finish cleaning up.
“You going to be ok?” The medic asks Davey.
“Yeah, I have my oxygen tank in the car, I just was trying to tough it out.”
“Well, we are going to get a wheelchair in here to wheel you out to your vehicle so you don’t have to work so hard.”
“NO! I said I would be fine. I’m almost to the exit. Let me walk out of here with dignity. I used to wrestle with these guys. How would it look if I’m wheeled out in a chair.”
“Very well, but you’re going to be winded again by the time you get to the car.”
“So I’ll keep taking hits of this stupid thing.” Davey pulls out his inhaler and shakes it at the medics.
“You’re going to repeatedly pump Albuterol into your system? You are going to be shaking like a tree in the wind by the time you get out there.”
“I’ll be fine. Just let me go.”
“Look, you’re a grown man, we can’t stop you, but WE do not recommend it.”
“I DON’T CARE,” and with that, Davey gets up and starts out the door. He starts walking down the hallway, puffing his inhaler the entire way, until he finally gets to his car. He puts his oxygen tube into his nose, turns on the tank, and sits in the drivers seat a moment, taking in the sweet, sweet oxygen. The medics were correct. Davey looks down at his hands, and they are indeed shaking. He inhales deep, fires up the car, and drives out of the parking garage, and down the streets of Houston towards the Airport.
----------------MEANWHILE---------------
On a cold street in downtown Minneapolis, Austen Impact walks through the brisk February morning air, swinging a key-ring on his right index finger. He twirls the keys two, three, four times, and then the ring flies off, landing about five feet in front of him.
“God Dammit.” He runs up, picks up the keys, and takes a swig of coffee from the mug in his left hand. He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air hit his lungs, leaving that brief shortness of breath to wash over him. The exhilaration of quickly feeling like you’re losing the ability to breath was a rush to him. Then that euphoric first breath made him feel so alive.
Ever since the birth of his daughter, it was the little things that made him so happy. 2014 was a year that had saw everything come up roses for Austen. He opened his wrestling camp, right in Minneapolis, the city that saw him become a four time state champion, only to completely shit on the hometown school that had recruited him since he was a sixth grader, that he had committed to enrolling, and joining their wrestling squad, before deciding to sign his deal with the devil Jesse Styles for a big paycheck, and instant fame. Instant fame was for certain, however; like all other drugs, it was temporary.
Austen’s supposed good friend, Davey Dynamo, turned his back on him, midst a heated political race, one that saw Austen spend his entire earnings on, and have ALL of his dirty laundry aired, and left Austen hang out to dry.
Davey took Austen’s roster spot, claiming that the political race was a conflict of interest, and went on to squander it away, like he always did, due to personal vendettas, drugs, alcohol, and a myriad of bad choices, and caused Austen to be broke, and jobless. His parents refused to take him in, because his father was ashamed of the “man” that Austen became, and the shame he brought to the family with his commitment, and then bailing on that for money. So where did he turn? The bottle. A man now with no money, no name to speak of, turns to the only comfort he can get, a bottle of alcohol. Ultimately though, it was that bottle that saved him.
Austen had just spent the night at his favorite watering hole, pestering the bartender for just “One more freebie” as he called them, essentially the bartender emptied the spill rail into a cup for Austen, and when the bartender refused, Austen got up to leave. He walked out to his car, unlocked the door, and just as he sat down, lights flashed from behind him. Austen got out of the car, threw the keys across the street, and started stumbling down the sidewalk. An officer runs up behind him, and hollers for him to stop.
Austen stops, and turns to the officer, “Oh hi officer, how are you tonight,” he says in an obviously intoxicated voice.
“I’m just fine sir, I have to ask you, do you realize that it’s illegal to operate a moving vehicle while under the influence of alcohol?” The officer asks Austen.
“Excuse me sir, I am not under the influence of alcohol, alcohol is under the influence of me. I control ALL alcohol.” Austen responds, poking his chest with his thumbs.
“Well sir, be that as it may, you are clearly intoxicated. Would you mind performing a field sobriety test for me?”
“Sir, I am a professional wrestler. If I were good at tests, I would have gone to college like my dad wanted, gone to the Olympics, but nooooooo...I wanted the mo...NEY.” Austen points his finger hard towards the ground with that final syllable.
“That’s fine sir, but what you did was still illegal.”
“What? I’m walking. I wasn’t driving.” Austen responds adamantly.
“Sir, we saw you get out of that vehicle over there, and throw your keys. My partner just found the keys across the street in a snowbank, and I’m sure if we run the plates they will come up registered in your name.”
“NUH UH.” Austen says sticking his tongue out.
“Ok sir, well still, we saw you climb into the drivers seat with keys in your hand, that is enough to arrested you on suspicion of attempt to operate a motorized vehicle while intoxicated.”
“I’m not intoxicated, I just drank alcohol. That’s not a poison.”
“Sir you are under arrest, anything you say can and will be used against you.”
Being a first time offender, Austen got off relatively easy. He just had to attend a court appointed rehab program. So he did, he traveled all the way up to Hibbing Minnesota, and checked himself into Midrange Chemical Dependency Center. The process was hell, but he made it through, thanks in part to the help of a kind young woman, a nurse, who seemed to always be right there when Austen needed her. When he was having a bad day, she would sit and talk with him, when he was feeling like shit from withdrawals, she was right there to help him. On the last day, of his two month stay, she came into his room with an envelope, and placed it in his bag, so when he got home he would find it. Austen said his goodbyes, and left.
When he got home to his parents, he found the envelope. Inside was a check for 1500.00 and a note that just said, you’re not my patient anymore, call me. Austen instantly picked up the phone, and dialed the digits.
“Hello,” the always perky voice answered.
“S...Sarah?” Austen stammered, unsure how to address her, as it had always been Nurse Gustafson at the facility.
“Yes, Austen?”
“Yes.” Austen was clearly nervous.
“I’m so glad you called…”
“Why did you give me that money,” Austen immediately interrupted, getting up the nerve he knew he would lose if he let her go on.
“To find us an apartment.” She replied matter of factly.
“Us? There’s an us?” Austen was clearly confused.
“Well, there might as well have been, we were inseparable at the facility, I am crazy about you, I know you are about me as well, so why not just jump right in. I’ve been wanting to move to the cities for a while anyway, I already have a job offer, c’mon, lets do it.”
“OK!” Austen replied almost instantly, letting impulse take over. That turned out to be the best decision of his life. He married her less than a year later, and now they have a beautiful daughter.
Austen finally walks up to the door of his wrestling camp, and unlocks it, opening the door, and flipping on the light. The facility is not very big, enough room for two wall to wall mats with 4 wrestling circles on them, and a small weight room in the back, and an office. Austen slides off his Doc Marten’s boots, and slips into his wrestling shoes, before walking across the mats to the offices, where he sits down behind the desk, not noticing the door creak open in front of him.
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“Attention Passengers, this is your captain speaking, we are making our final descent to Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. We kindly request that you return all tray tables and seat backs to their upright and locked positions. The current temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit. On behalf of myself and the crew, we would like to thank you for flying Delta Airlines.”
Davey raises his seat back, as the freakishly tall man behind him finally breaths a sigh of relief, stretching his legs in the aisle before Davey kicks the seat back again, until a stewardess asks him to please sit up. Davey finishes thumbing through his playboy magazine that he likes to get just to make the fellow passengers uncomfortable, and rolls it up, sliding it into his duffel bag, hitting his head on the seat back as the plane starts screeching to a halt.
“SON OF A BITCH.” Davey hollers, rubbing his head. He feels himself getting worked up, and takes a shot of his inhaler.
"Everything ok sir?" The stewardess asks, leaning down in front of Davey. He could clearly see down her shirt, and it took EVERYTHING in him to keep calm about it.
"Yes, everything is...perfect." Davey couldn't help but stare, the large mammaries in an epic battle with the lacy powder blue bra, nearly winning, but just being held back.
She looks down, and then back at Davey. She turns bright red, and Davey winks at her. She winds up and smacks him hard across the face.
"PERVERT." She yells, as the entire plane stares at the disheveled man sitting there, wondering how far he had really fallen. Just a year ago they would be in the bathroom having the wildest of sex, now, he can't even take a peek down her blouse without getting hit and embarrassed.
Finally the plane finishes taxiing to terminal, and Davey grabs his stuff and pushes his way to the front, to exit the plane first. The door opens, and Davey is out of it almost immediately. He makes his way to the exit, bypassing baggage claim, and hails a taxi. He sits down, smelling the putrid smell of the Somali man’s pungent earthy body oil. Davey gives the man the address, and his sandaled feet slam on the accelerator ripping through Twin Cities traffic like it were a race. When they finally reach the destination, Davey hands the man the money, and exits the vehicle, making his way to the glass door of the building that lay just before him. Davey opens it, walking in, he sees the light in the office glow through the cracked doorway, and makes his way back.
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Sitting at his desk, Impact pours over paperwork, mainly applications for the new batch of students. Due to the current size he has to accept an application process, which saddens Austen, but he knows this won’t be forever. As he’s reading on a local applicant, he sees the light in the office shift a little, and looks up to see a haggard man leaning in the doorway, holding onto a duffel bag with a Playboy mag sticking out the side pocket in one hand, and an oxygen tank in a bag in the other. The man leans himself upright, and tosses the duffel at Impact.
“What the fuck are you doing here Davey?” Austen asks, looking at Davey in the doorway.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Davey asks, fearing the response.
“Friends don’t stab you in the back leaving you broke, while you take my opportunities, only to piss them away.”
“If I recall, you had a contract with NEW that needed to be honored, and you were HELL BENT on becoming governor. I’m not even sure why.”
“I was a fame chaser, you knew this about me. I went where the people cheered. I wanted the fame, the fortune, but now I realize everything I need is right here. I have a wife, I have a kid, I own my own business and am quite successful. I don’t need the fame.” Austen opens up the duffel bag, pulling out his old singlet, and boots. “What the fuck is this for?”
“One more run, you and me. Take it straight to the top.”
“Davey, are you deaf. I am not about that life anymore. My life is here. My life is Sarah, Haylee, the camp. My life is here. Not on the road, not in shitty hotels, not with you.”
“Well, Jesse is about a stones throw from bankruptcy court, so all events are currently taking place in Chicago. He has an investor that is willing to pay for you and I to have a place in Chicago for the weekend of events, and pay our salary, plus Jesse has a match for Ignite 200, the winner gets a shot at the world title at their next Pay Per View. He wants you in it.” Davey says, trying to appeal to the Austen he once knew.
“Davey, I…” Austen thinks long and hard on this. He did love the bright lights, and it’s not like he couldn’t still have his life at home. Chicago was only a six and a half hour drive. He could leave Saturday morning, and be home by Monday evening, “What’s your play in all this, I know you wouldn’t come here begging me to follow unless you had some skin in the game.”
“It’s true, my intentions are not just to try to get you back in the spotlight and win the title you deserve. Austen, I’m dying.”
“Cut the act, the whole I’m dying bullshit, trying to tug on my heartstrings.” Austen interrupted.
“No, honest, see this oxygen tank. I have COPD. I can still live several years but eventually my lungs are going to be so congested with mucus and worn away that I am going to die. Jesse has offered with the help of his investor to cover my medical debt, and future bills, in return I need to get a quality talent into NEW that will be someone that can compete for the title. You were the first name on my list.”
“Over Sloan, or Franco Cruz, over Bobby Backdoor or Joka, all these great talents you’ve worked with in the past, and my name was at the top.” Austen was flattered.
“I saw the most potential in you kid. You could have gone far in this industry, but I led you down a rabbit hole, distracted you, all for my own gain. I wanted to have fun, cause chaos, and I took you down with me. I should have focused on YOU, on YOUR career. I’m sorry, I want us to ride again. It was fun, the two of us, in front of the crowd, soaking in the cheers, winning matches. I want that again.” Davey was nearly begging Austen at this point.
“Fine, I’m in, but all my training is done here. I go to Chicago on Saturday come back Monday morning. Are we understood?” Austen explains, putting his foot down.
“Crystal clear.” Davey salutes, before turning around, “One more thing, work on your cardio this week.”
With that Davey walks out the door, leaving Impact to look down at his singlet and boots, trying to hold back the beaming grin that was creeping across his face.
“Jesus Christ, what kind of hell have you been through in a year?” Jesse Styles asks, showing a bit of concern on his face.
“Don’t you mind what the hell I have been through like you give a shit, I am not even sure why I showed up. Had I not been in town already anyway I sure as hell wouldn't be in this colossal dump. Now who wants to talk about what shit they've been through, I have heard all about your kiddy porn accusations, and your legal and money troubles.” Davey Dynamo responds.
“Davey, Davey, contrary to belief, I am not here to make your life hell. I know you and I have had our differences, but Davey, for some damn reason we have ALWAYS been drawn together, it’s like our hatred for each other has always forced us to wind up in the same place at the same time.”
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” Davey interrupts, “I have NO business with you anymore. If you don’t recall, I was freed from my bond to you, and left out high and dry. You ripped up my contract, and with that, my severance, my insurance, all of it. I was left broke, uninsured, and homeless. All because of you, and you have the AUDACITY, to tell me that we are drawn together...like you have some sort of scheme that will some how benefit me, but in the end wind up blowing up in my face like EVERY one of your schemes and plans and proposals have. Hell no, I’m out of here.”
Davey starts towards the door, and Jesse yells out.
“DAVEY! DAVEY STOP, PLEASE!”
Davey stops, hand on the door handle, and turns his head only just.
“Davey, I need you.”
Davey tilts his head a little, and skeptically looks back at Jesse.
“Davey, I’m broke, I’m short on talent, and I need a reliable guy in the ring. Someone who can be a contender. I’ve lost talent. Ryan Pugh retired, Inkt followed suit. Johnny Styles is gone. Hell Blair Buchannan just won my world title. I need another loose cannon, someone colorful like Valora.”
“So let me get this straight, YOU...need...ME? Just like EVERY other time that you’ve schemed to get me into an NEW ring, you FINALLY admit that YOU...NEED...ME? I don’t know that I am convinced.” Davey looks at Jesse with an arrogant smirk on his face. He knows he is now in a position of power.
“I’m not going to beg you smug son of a bitch, so put that dirty thought out of your head right now. I am only here asking you because I know that you will never retire, you will die in the ring.”
“FIRST OF ALL, Mary Dynamoschowitcz was a SAINT, secondly, as much as that idea gives you a massive hard-on, it would be a reality sadly.”
“What do you mean?” Jesse asks, now confused.
“Jesse, I have COPD. My lungs, are shot. There is no fucking cure for this. I can’t run, I can barely walk a flight of steps. Getting in the ring, would surely kill me.”
Jesse throws a stapler across the room.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I CAN’T CATCH A BREAK.”
“Look Jesse, I got a deal for you, and I CANNOT believe I am about to do this, but,” Davey pulls out a cigarette and lights it up, “You cover the cost of my medical bills, so I can get this shit stabilized, and I will bring in a contender for you. I just want to be around long enough to see him win the title.”
“I’m not guaranteeing a title if that is what you are hinting at, but I’ll tell you what. At this point, a body is a body, you get someone in here, and I will put him in a big match right away in two weeks at Ignite 200, I’ll cover your medical costs, and put you up in an apartment here in Chicago. I can’t cover travel, and it won’t be a fancy penthouse, but it will be livable. BUT FOR FUCK SAKE PUT THE CIGARETTE OUT. THAT SHIT IS KILLING YOU AND YOU KEEP IT UP?”
“I’m already dying.”
“If I cover your medical costs, you are kicking that habit. I want to see you around here for a while. We were never friends, but honestly, no matter your motives, you were one of the most loyal men in NEW.”
“Fair enough,” Davey swallows deeply, puts the cigarette out on his thigh, drops the butt, and looks over at Jesse, sizing him up, trying to see if Jesse hints that this is just a scheme to fuck Davey over, not seeing any obvious tell, Davey reaches in, grasps Jesse’s hand firmly, and pulls Jesse close to him, so they are now cheek to cheek and whispers in Jesse’s ear. “You fuck me over, and it will be the last thing you AND I both do.”
With that, Davey walks out the door to the room, pauses, and bends over, hands on his knees, breathing deeply, gasping for breath. He struggles heavily trying to catch his breath again. He hears the handle to the office door turn, and quickly stands straight up, pulls out his Motorola RAZR flip phone, and holds it to his ear like he’s talking on it, and begins walking away, struggling with each step to maintain a steady breath.
Jesse Styles watches as the once mighty Davey Dynamo walks off, struggling, and shakes his head, before walking towards the entrance ramp area.
Davey gets to a nearby washroom, throws open the door, and collapses into a stall, pulling out an inhaler, takes two long puffs, and sits there a moment catching his breath. Finally he stands up, and looks down at the toilet, reaches into his pocket, pulls out the pack of Parliament Lights, crumples them up into a wad, and throws them hard into the toilet and flushes.
“What a stupid fucking idea. Do I really have that big an ego?” Davey thought to himself, as he watched the crumpled pack of broken and wet cigarettes spin in the whirlpool of fresh toilet water, and slowly catch right at the mouth of the drain, and pop back up with the refilling water. Davey flushes again, and again, they get right to the drain, and then come back up into the filling bowl. Davey tries again, and again, and again before getting pissed off, and kicking the handle to the toilet, breaking it off, causing water to spray sideways against the wall, and Davey to crumple backwards through the stall door, lying on the ground gasping for breath.
After what feels like an hour, but was in reality only a few minutes, a security officer walks into the bathroom, seeing Davey on the floor clutching his lungs, and drops down to his knees next to him.
“SIR, ARE YOU OK?” He asks, grabbing Davey’s shoulder.
Davey, gasping for breath tries to tell him about the inhaler in his jacket pocket, but cannot catch his breath long enough to get out more than “inhu...inhu...inhu…”
“Are you having a heart attack sir?” The man asks Davey.
Davey shakes his head no.
“Yes? You are?”
Davey again shakes his head no, this time more adamantly. The man still miss read Davey’s head shake, and pulls out his radio.
“We need some medics down to the south men’s restroom. We have a man down here who is having a heart attack. I am going to proceed with mouth to mouth.”
Davey tries hard to get the man’s attention to tell him no, but could not. Before he knew it, the man’s fat Mexican lips are pressed hard against Davey’s, blowing into his mouth. Even though it was warm and tasted of stale cheetos, the burst of air that hit Davey’s lungs did, admittedly feel briefly relieving. After two breaths in, the man pulls up just as the doors fly open, and two medics come rushing in.
“ISRAEL, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” One medic asks, pushing the big man off of Davey.
“I was trying to keep him alive.” The big man said, now sitting off to the side.
“You don’t give mouth to mouth to a heart attack victim. It isn’t going to do them any good.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” Israel replied, apologetic.
The medics look at Davey, and see that he is grasping his lungs, and struggling for breath. They quickly listen to his lungs through a stethoscope, and realize instantly its his lungs not his heart, and start pumping fresh air into his lungs through their self inflating bag mask. After a few minutes Davey has caught his breath, enough to where he can move a little, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his emergency inhaler, and shows the medics. They pull the bag away, and he takes too puffs, and sits up, leaning against the bathroom wall.
“Fucking COPD.” Davey forces out, still breathing heavy.
“We’re in Houston though, and I hardly think the Houston Police Department had ANYTHING to do with this” Israel responds from the corner.
“Iz, thank you for the call, you can go now.” One medic responds, removing the facemask from the bag, and tossing it in the trash.
“But I have to pee.” Israel responds, standing up.
“There’s other bathrooms. We are with a patient.”
“Fine,” Israel leaves the bathroom, as the medics finish cleaning up.
“You going to be ok?” The medic asks Davey.
“Yeah, I have my oxygen tank in the car, I just was trying to tough it out.”
“Well, we are going to get a wheelchair in here to wheel you out to your vehicle so you don’t have to work so hard.”
“NO! I said I would be fine. I’m almost to the exit. Let me walk out of here with dignity. I used to wrestle with these guys. How would it look if I’m wheeled out in a chair.”
“Very well, but you’re going to be winded again by the time you get to the car.”
“So I’ll keep taking hits of this stupid thing.” Davey pulls out his inhaler and shakes it at the medics.
“You’re going to repeatedly pump Albuterol into your system? You are going to be shaking like a tree in the wind by the time you get out there.”
“I’ll be fine. Just let me go.”
“Look, you’re a grown man, we can’t stop you, but WE do not recommend it.”
“I DON’T CARE,” and with that, Davey gets up and starts out the door. He starts walking down the hallway, puffing his inhaler the entire way, until he finally gets to his car. He puts his oxygen tube into his nose, turns on the tank, and sits in the drivers seat a moment, taking in the sweet, sweet oxygen. The medics were correct. Davey looks down at his hands, and they are indeed shaking. He inhales deep, fires up the car, and drives out of the parking garage, and down the streets of Houston towards the Airport.
----------------MEANWHILE---------------
On a cold street in downtown Minneapolis, Austen Impact walks through the brisk February morning air, swinging a key-ring on his right index finger. He twirls the keys two, three, four times, and then the ring flies off, landing about five feet in front of him.
“God Dammit.” He runs up, picks up the keys, and takes a swig of coffee from the mug in his left hand. He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air hit his lungs, leaving that brief shortness of breath to wash over him. The exhilaration of quickly feeling like you’re losing the ability to breath was a rush to him. Then that euphoric first breath made him feel so alive.
Ever since the birth of his daughter, it was the little things that made him so happy. 2014 was a year that had saw everything come up roses for Austen. He opened his wrestling camp, right in Minneapolis, the city that saw him become a four time state champion, only to completely shit on the hometown school that had recruited him since he was a sixth grader, that he had committed to enrolling, and joining their wrestling squad, before deciding to sign his deal with the devil Jesse Styles for a big paycheck, and instant fame. Instant fame was for certain, however; like all other drugs, it was temporary.
Austen’s supposed good friend, Davey Dynamo, turned his back on him, midst a heated political race, one that saw Austen spend his entire earnings on, and have ALL of his dirty laundry aired, and left Austen hang out to dry.
Davey took Austen’s roster spot, claiming that the political race was a conflict of interest, and went on to squander it away, like he always did, due to personal vendettas, drugs, alcohol, and a myriad of bad choices, and caused Austen to be broke, and jobless. His parents refused to take him in, because his father was ashamed of the “man” that Austen became, and the shame he brought to the family with his commitment, and then bailing on that for money. So where did he turn? The bottle. A man now with no money, no name to speak of, turns to the only comfort he can get, a bottle of alcohol. Ultimately though, it was that bottle that saved him.
Austen had just spent the night at his favorite watering hole, pestering the bartender for just “One more freebie” as he called them, essentially the bartender emptied the spill rail into a cup for Austen, and when the bartender refused, Austen got up to leave. He walked out to his car, unlocked the door, and just as he sat down, lights flashed from behind him. Austen got out of the car, threw the keys across the street, and started stumbling down the sidewalk. An officer runs up behind him, and hollers for him to stop.
Austen stops, and turns to the officer, “Oh hi officer, how are you tonight,” he says in an obviously intoxicated voice.
“I’m just fine sir, I have to ask you, do you realize that it’s illegal to operate a moving vehicle while under the influence of alcohol?” The officer asks Austen.
“Excuse me sir, I am not under the influence of alcohol, alcohol is under the influence of me. I control ALL alcohol.” Austen responds, poking his chest with his thumbs.
“Well sir, be that as it may, you are clearly intoxicated. Would you mind performing a field sobriety test for me?”
“Sir, I am a professional wrestler. If I were good at tests, I would have gone to college like my dad wanted, gone to the Olympics, but nooooooo...I wanted the mo...NEY.” Austen points his finger hard towards the ground with that final syllable.
“That’s fine sir, but what you did was still illegal.”
“What? I’m walking. I wasn’t driving.” Austen responds adamantly.
“Sir, we saw you get out of that vehicle over there, and throw your keys. My partner just found the keys across the street in a snowbank, and I’m sure if we run the plates they will come up registered in your name.”
“NUH UH.” Austen says sticking his tongue out.
“Ok sir, well still, we saw you climb into the drivers seat with keys in your hand, that is enough to arrested you on suspicion of attempt to operate a motorized vehicle while intoxicated.”
“I’m not intoxicated, I just drank alcohol. That’s not a poison.”
“Sir you are under arrest, anything you say can and will be used against you.”
Being a first time offender, Austen got off relatively easy. He just had to attend a court appointed rehab program. So he did, he traveled all the way up to Hibbing Minnesota, and checked himself into Midrange Chemical Dependency Center. The process was hell, but he made it through, thanks in part to the help of a kind young woman, a nurse, who seemed to always be right there when Austen needed her. When he was having a bad day, she would sit and talk with him, when he was feeling like shit from withdrawals, she was right there to help him. On the last day, of his two month stay, she came into his room with an envelope, and placed it in his bag, so when he got home he would find it. Austen said his goodbyes, and left.
When he got home to his parents, he found the envelope. Inside was a check for 1500.00 and a note that just said, you’re not my patient anymore, call me. Austen instantly picked up the phone, and dialed the digits.
“Hello,” the always perky voice answered.
“S...Sarah?” Austen stammered, unsure how to address her, as it had always been Nurse Gustafson at the facility.
“Yes, Austen?”
“Yes.” Austen was clearly nervous.
“I’m so glad you called…”
“Why did you give me that money,” Austen immediately interrupted, getting up the nerve he knew he would lose if he let her go on.
“To find us an apartment.” She replied matter of factly.
“Us? There’s an us?” Austen was clearly confused.
“Well, there might as well have been, we were inseparable at the facility, I am crazy about you, I know you are about me as well, so why not just jump right in. I’ve been wanting to move to the cities for a while anyway, I already have a job offer, c’mon, lets do it.”
“OK!” Austen replied almost instantly, letting impulse take over. That turned out to be the best decision of his life. He married her less than a year later, and now they have a beautiful daughter.
Austen finally walks up to the door of his wrestling camp, and unlocks it, opening the door, and flipping on the light. The facility is not very big, enough room for two wall to wall mats with 4 wrestling circles on them, and a small weight room in the back, and an office. Austen slides off his Doc Marten’s boots, and slips into his wrestling shoes, before walking across the mats to the offices, where he sits down behind the desk, not noticing the door creak open in front of him.
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“Attention Passengers, this is your captain speaking, we are making our final descent to Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. We kindly request that you return all tray tables and seat backs to their upright and locked positions. The current temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit. On behalf of myself and the crew, we would like to thank you for flying Delta Airlines.”
Davey raises his seat back, as the freakishly tall man behind him finally breaths a sigh of relief, stretching his legs in the aisle before Davey kicks the seat back again, until a stewardess asks him to please sit up. Davey finishes thumbing through his playboy magazine that he likes to get just to make the fellow passengers uncomfortable, and rolls it up, sliding it into his duffel bag, hitting his head on the seat back as the plane starts screeching to a halt.
“SON OF A BITCH.” Davey hollers, rubbing his head. He feels himself getting worked up, and takes a shot of his inhaler.
"Everything ok sir?" The stewardess asks, leaning down in front of Davey. He could clearly see down her shirt, and it took EVERYTHING in him to keep calm about it.
"Yes, everything is...perfect." Davey couldn't help but stare, the large mammaries in an epic battle with the lacy powder blue bra, nearly winning, but just being held back.
She looks down, and then back at Davey. She turns bright red, and Davey winks at her. She winds up and smacks him hard across the face.
"PERVERT." She yells, as the entire plane stares at the disheveled man sitting there, wondering how far he had really fallen. Just a year ago they would be in the bathroom having the wildest of sex, now, he can't even take a peek down her blouse without getting hit and embarrassed.
Finally the plane finishes taxiing to terminal, and Davey grabs his stuff and pushes his way to the front, to exit the plane first. The door opens, and Davey is out of it almost immediately. He makes his way to the exit, bypassing baggage claim, and hails a taxi. He sits down, smelling the putrid smell of the Somali man’s pungent earthy body oil. Davey gives the man the address, and his sandaled feet slam on the accelerator ripping through Twin Cities traffic like it were a race. When they finally reach the destination, Davey hands the man the money, and exits the vehicle, making his way to the glass door of the building that lay just before him. Davey opens it, walking in, he sees the light in the office glow through the cracked doorway, and makes his way back.
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Sitting at his desk, Impact pours over paperwork, mainly applications for the new batch of students. Due to the current size he has to accept an application process, which saddens Austen, but he knows this won’t be forever. As he’s reading on a local applicant, he sees the light in the office shift a little, and looks up to see a haggard man leaning in the doorway, holding onto a duffel bag with a Playboy mag sticking out the side pocket in one hand, and an oxygen tank in a bag in the other. The man leans himself upright, and tosses the duffel at Impact.
“What the fuck are you doing here Davey?” Austen asks, looking at Davey in the doorway.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Davey asks, fearing the response.
“Friends don’t stab you in the back leaving you broke, while you take my opportunities, only to piss them away.”
“If I recall, you had a contract with NEW that needed to be honored, and you were HELL BENT on becoming governor. I’m not even sure why.”
“I was a fame chaser, you knew this about me. I went where the people cheered. I wanted the fame, the fortune, but now I realize everything I need is right here. I have a wife, I have a kid, I own my own business and am quite successful. I don’t need the fame.” Austen opens up the duffel bag, pulling out his old singlet, and boots. “What the fuck is this for?”
“One more run, you and me. Take it straight to the top.”
“Davey, are you deaf. I am not about that life anymore. My life is here. My life is Sarah, Haylee, the camp. My life is here. Not on the road, not in shitty hotels, not with you.”
“Well, Jesse is about a stones throw from bankruptcy court, so all events are currently taking place in Chicago. He has an investor that is willing to pay for you and I to have a place in Chicago for the weekend of events, and pay our salary, plus Jesse has a match for Ignite 200, the winner gets a shot at the world title at their next Pay Per View. He wants you in it.” Davey says, trying to appeal to the Austen he once knew.
“Davey, I…” Austen thinks long and hard on this. He did love the bright lights, and it’s not like he couldn’t still have his life at home. Chicago was only a six and a half hour drive. He could leave Saturday morning, and be home by Monday evening, “What’s your play in all this, I know you wouldn’t come here begging me to follow unless you had some skin in the game.”
“It’s true, my intentions are not just to try to get you back in the spotlight and win the title you deserve. Austen, I’m dying.”
“Cut the act, the whole I’m dying bullshit, trying to tug on my heartstrings.” Austen interrupted.
“No, honest, see this oxygen tank. I have COPD. I can still live several years but eventually my lungs are going to be so congested with mucus and worn away that I am going to die. Jesse has offered with the help of his investor to cover my medical debt, and future bills, in return I need to get a quality talent into NEW that will be someone that can compete for the title. You were the first name on my list.”
“Over Sloan, or Franco Cruz, over Bobby Backdoor or Joka, all these great talents you’ve worked with in the past, and my name was at the top.” Austen was flattered.
“I saw the most potential in you kid. You could have gone far in this industry, but I led you down a rabbit hole, distracted you, all for my own gain. I wanted to have fun, cause chaos, and I took you down with me. I should have focused on YOU, on YOUR career. I’m sorry, I want us to ride again. It was fun, the two of us, in front of the crowd, soaking in the cheers, winning matches. I want that again.” Davey was nearly begging Austen at this point.
“Fine, I’m in, but all my training is done here. I go to Chicago on Saturday come back Monday morning. Are we understood?” Austen explains, putting his foot down.
“Crystal clear.” Davey salutes, before turning around, “One more thing, work on your cardio this week.”
With that Davey walks out the door, leaving Impact to look down at his singlet and boots, trying to hold back the beaming grin that was creeping across his face.