Post by James Raven on Nov 18, 2020 18:15:18 GMT -6
RAVEN: It was five days ago. You need to get over it.
Jackson Hart does not heed my advice, sunken into my sofa with equally sunken eyes and Doritos crumbs crusted to his fingertips. He’d barely moved from this position all week, parked in front of my television set and rewatching a recording of last weeks Friday Night Inferno every few hours to boil his blood all over again.
HART: It’s bull shit. We were cheated…
RAVEN: It happens, man.
HART: Not to us. WE don’t lose, and not to a team whose neck was under our goddamn boot!
RAVEN: Welcome to wrestling, Jax. Just don’t let it become a pattern and keep moving forward.
Jackson shakes his head and grumbles to himself under his breath. I roll my eyes. We’ve discussed this a lot over the last few days, and while I shared his outrage initially I’d found it easier to swallow and digest. Maybe it’s because holding or losing title belts isn’t as novel or exciting to me as it is to him, and maybe it’s because I already had a bigger opportunity on the horizon… but Jackson could tell he was alone on his island of bitterness and misery, and he made himself right at home on the beach.
HART: What’s the point of working with Deanna Barrows if she’s going to let something like this happen? Why didn’t she overturn the decision? Why is she letting Ka’Derrion and Lux carry OUR belts around instead of fixing this?!
I sigh and roll my eyes.
RAVEN: I can’t read her mind, I don’t know. Chalk it up to complicated family dynamics? Write it off as inexperience reacting to massive swerves, and trust that she’ll make it right and be better if something like this ever happens again?
HART: No. Not good enough.
He grabs the remote from the side table and aims it at the television, firing up the entertainment system and selecting ‘Inferno’ from my list of recordings. I audibly groan as Jackson scowls at me.
RAVEN: Dude, you’ve got to let this go. I honestly can’t sit here and watch this again…
HART: So don't. You have a big house. There’s plenty of rooms.
He presses play, and I lunge from my armchair and try to snatch the remote from him but he pulls it away just in time.
RAVEN: This isn’t healthy. You need to move on, trust me. I forbid you to watch the show again, Jax. I’m fucking serious.
He stares at me for a long moment, but finally relents. He sighs and stops the recording, and finally satisfied I stand up out of my chair. All he needs is to shift his focus to whatever he wants to do next, and within a day or two it’ll all be back to normal, and we’ll be focused on Darkness Falls and claiming the World Heavyweight title.
Jackson aims the remote back at the television, a smirk on his face.
HART: Then we’re watching TMZ.
RAVEN: You know I hate that shit…
HART: Exactly. But I love it, and it’s not my fault that you live in constant fear of some news outlet or gossip rag leaking one of your sex tapes or trying to cancel you.
In an instant, a third voice calls out from the other room;
BETSY: ONE OF your sex tapes?!?!
I glare at Jackson with a fiery intensity that could melt steel beams. I plaster a smile on my face and turn my attention to Betsy as she appears in the doorway of the room. She hardly looks upset by Jackson’s statement, but there’s a curious demeanour about her as her eyebrow arches inquisitively.
RAVEN: Hey babe… ‘sup?
She grins at me, leaning against the doorframe.
BETSY: Don’t change the subject. We’re absolutely discussing this. I want to know details.
HART: That’s hot.
RAVEN: … no… no you don’t.
HART: Because one of the tapes was with Warstein?
RAVEN: Can you shut the fuck up?
Betsy shrugs her shoulders.
BETSY: Hell, I’d watch it. I’d probably even pay… wait… James… oh… oh my god...
Her voice trails off towards the end of her sentence, her eyes locking on the television screen behind me. Jackson and I both notice the colour draining from her face, her eyes widening as her jaw drops in horror.
BETSY: Turn around.
Her voice is barely audible, just above a whisper as Jackson and I strain to hear her. Slowly we turn to the screen, and in unison mimic her exact reaction.
RAVEN: Holy fuck… that has to be a joke, right?
The three of us watch as still images of a familiar face are shown on the television, Lissie Hope staring back at us as TMZ talking heads chatter away. The volume is too low to hear them, but a scrolling headline at the bottom of the screen tells us all that we need to know:
“VERY IMPORTANT, SUCCESSFUL WRESTLER HOSPITALIZED SUDDENLY”
RAVEN: This is insane.
BETSY: It- it cant be happening…
HART: I know, right? Calling her a “very important” and “successful” wrestler? Who fact checked this?
Betsy and I turn to Jackson. I spend nearly every day with the guy, and that might be the most savagely distasteful thing I’ve ever heard him say.
I’m so fucking proud.
I point to the television and motion at Jackson.
RAVEN: Turn up the volume.
He obliges.
“The scene outside of Mercy Hospital is incredible.It’s clear that Lissie is a beloved figure in wrestling as close to fifty fans are gathered in front with signs of support, embracing and openly weeping for their hero. We expect the crowd to grow.”
RAVEN: What… the fuck… ?
HART: Seriously. Fifty people would watch a homeless man eat his own shit, so by TMZ’s standards that makes him a beloved community figure. Where is the truth in journalism these days?
I stand up, grabbing the remote from Jackson and turning off the television set, Betsy look to me.
BETSY: So what does this mean for Darkness Falls?
HART: … I think it means he’s the World Heavyweight champion…
The three of us stand in silence.
FADE
TO
BLACK
TO
BLACK
