Post by Lex Collins on Jul 4, 2019 18:31:07 GMT -5
Madrid, Spain || March 30, 2019
The dripping faucet was rhythmic, lulling him towards that drowsy place once the adrenaline started to fade. He slid down further into the dirty, opaque water. The ice had already melted. It was inching towards lukewarm now and he still felt too hot. Maybe it was anger. Everything hurt. He'd lost a lot of blood and his ribs felt like they might be cracked. He didn't mind that. It was as familiar as that old Ramones hoodie that Hannah had stolen from him when he was seventeen. It was threadbare and the zipper was missing teeth but she still wore it more often than not. There was something to be said about repetition, after all.
"Finished it." His voice came out raspy, barely there and he knew it would be like that for a few days.
"You did." Hannah's voice floated to his ears from the direction of the doorway. He didn't open his eyes or turn his head to look. He could hear the pride in her voice. "Beat him within an inch... he had no choice but to go through that table."
The way she said it was weird. He hadn't seen Kintaru's fall. He'd just heard the sickening crack as the tables broke on impact. A sigh escaped his lips as he sank lower into the bathtub, feeling every single one of his thirty-five years. Water splashed over the side, soaking into the hotel's bathmat. He didn't care. Didn't even notice. Something didn't sit right with what she'd said and as if she could feel the shift in the atmosphere when he drew in a deep breath, she started talking again.
"It's over, Lex. He lost. That's all that matters." Hannah leaned forward, staring at him, trying to catch his attention before he got lost in his own head. "You set the precedent. People know not to come at you now and expect to get-"
"What the fuck are you even saying?" He was staring at her now, bloodshot eyes open and fixed on her even though the bright lights had halos around them. The fatigue was setting in, making him feel vaguely sick. "What happened?"
She shook her head, refusing to answer and he couldn't help the anger that flared up. He'd thought it was gone, spent in the ring along with the rest of the bodily fluids. Apparently not. "Goddamnit. Tell me." He tasted iron in his mouth, blood from that split in his lip that still hadn't quite healed – it had been torn open again tonight and it was a wonder he hadn't lost any teeth in the process. The whole thing had become tiresome in the worst sort of way. "Han..."
He knew she'd watched it the way she always did – obsessively and analytically. She watched him for tics, for any tells that he might be hurt because she knew he wouldn't let them look at him after a match like this. He couldn't. He had to break himself too much to throw caution to the wind and she knew what that meant, how raw the wounds would be.
"You can watch the replay later. " She said, hoping to buy enough time for the blood to clot, for the wounds to start to close over.
"No." He lifted his hand to his face, rubbing it over his mouth, "I don't think... I... I can't." He didn't articulate the rest. He knew she knew that he didn't want to because it was supposed to be over. This was supposed to be the final match and he'd already made up his mind on the subject. The place had grown toxic, too damn dangerous now that he had two daughters and a wife to protect.
She understood what the silence meant. She knew by the way he was breathing, as if he was about to lose control. She didn't want to see how that would play out, didn't want to be in the same room when he finally exploded. He could tear apart the company better than any of those other wannabes could. Even with Awoken gone, even with Lilith and the rest of the rejects not there to buck the norm, Lex could take the fight to the upper echelon. She believed that more than she knew he did. He'd never seen himself as being at that level. He probably never would and that broke her heart in the worst way. Hannah felt the prickle of tears and tried to blink them away before meeting his gaze. It wasn't fair, the way the universe kept dumping on him over and over again.
"He didn't fall." She said the words softly, haltingly. She knew deep down what he was going to say, how it was going to make him feel. "He was at the top after you went down. He looked like he was going to lose his balance and..." she swallowed hard, inching closer to the tub. His eyes were the only thing she saw, dead black and wounded the way she remembered from their childhood. He was still, quiet as she took a deep breath, "he crossed his arms over his chest and he fell back on his own, Lex. He didn't fall accidentally. He didn't fall because of what you did or because he couldn't hang on. He did it on purpose and I know what you're gonna say. I know, baby, but you can't let him take this from you. You won. That's what goes in the record books and in a few months, nobody will remember how it came about. You know that, baby, right? You know-"
"Take what?" He tore his gaze away from her, unable to stomach that look she was giving him. "My fuckin' dignity? My championships? My... what'm I supposed to be holdin' back, Han? What else do I got left? Nothing. The fucker was right. I win an' what do I get out of it other'n the knowledge of all the time I wasted since Christmas, jumpin' every time some dickbag jerked my chain?"
She didn't reply at first, instead walking over and sitting down on the edge of the tub. Gently, she reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder. She expected him to flinch, to tense up and shy away like he had so many times before.
He didn't. He closed his eyes, sighing softly, feeling the warmth of her fingers as they became spider legs, tickling as they moved around the back of his neck and into his thick, sweat-matted hair. "Seppuku, that's what they call it, right? Fall on the sword, go out with fuckin' honor in a way you choose – we all got these suicidal tendencies. What'm I supposed to do with this? Let him walk away? Let it go? That's what you want me to do, isn't it? You want me to pull the plug? Get the fuck outta this place an' never look back? Go back to a steady job without hazard pay? Get old fixin' cars, pretendin' to be a normal Joe? Is that who you wanna be married to? Some fuckin' nobody nine-to-fiver?"
She winced at his words, at the hatred she heard in his voice that she knew what self-directed. When they were kids, he just wanted to do something good, fix things that were broken. He wanted to fix cars, restore old bikes. Make things shine. Clay had torn it apart, made him think he was only meant to be abused and even though the bastard was dead and buried and feeding the worms, he still couldn't break that cycle. He let the worst ones tear him apart. He let them get in his head because they validated those words that had been hurled at him all his life. The poison was in those memories. "Lex. No," she shook her head, "you'd still be somebody even if you didn't fight. You'd still be Freddie and Allegra's dad. You'd still be the love of my life, my hero. Aren't those things enough?"
"I don't..." he couldn't even finish saying that, couldn't bring himself to lash out even though the anger was so bitter in the back of his throat that he could taste it. "Tell me what to do. Please?" His voice broke on the question and he averted his eyes, ashamed of that weakness. Even in victory, he couldn't be proud. Pride comes before a fall. He couldn't handle another one.
He wanted her to give him the answer, to tell him what he was supposed to do – she knew that. She knew he was trying to use her as the barometer, to gauge morality on the grandest scale but she couldn't bring herself to answer. Either way held damnation. Tell him to let it go, and it would be another necrotic wound, festering under the skin until it poisoned them both. If she told him to go after Kintaru, to end the nonsense on his terms, she'd be encouraging him to walk that dark path. She wanted to see the man destroyed, completely. She wanted to see the smile permanently rubbed off the man who'd called himself Ken Valentine's face.
When she said nothing, Lex let out a derisive snort, shaking his head. "Fucked. It's all fucked."