Post by theravenmattknox on Feb 8, 2021 1:51:58 GMT -5
He would have liked to brag and say that he was riding up to the same home in Vegas as he had before because he had figured Ryan’s movements out. Hell, if he wanted to play at something else he could just say it was due to his flight being from Vegas to Baltimore. But honestly, he didn’t feel much like pretense or bullshit. He was wrong, and there was no denying it now.
The old Jaguar pulled up into the driveway much quieter than the Panhead had in his previous visit. He shoved it in park and exhaled slowly, before shaking his head, accepting that he had to do this before throwing the door open, and stepping out of the car. Trudging along slowly, almost hesitant to the front door. And then, he knocked.
"Oh. It's you…"
Indifference became reluctance as Amber materialised at the door, her vaguely lopsided gait moving from the middle of the doorway. Despite not having invited Knox in, she left the way unimpeded as though simply expecting him to waltz on in like last time.Matthew lingers for a moment, clearing his throat once and stepping in after her, closing the door.
“Ankle holding up okay?”
His tone is somewhere between distant and tentative, eyes scanning every detail of everything in the room except for her. No, she was the last thing he wanted to look at right now. Idiot that he’d been.
With an exasperated sigh, likely having been withheld for weeks on end, Amber whips around with a dead eye stare.
"Cut the crap Knox. All this false sympathy and shit, just stop yeah.
You walk into our house and act like you care- only to throw me off a proverbial cliff cause you wanna be entertained."
With a hardened expression- the kind that had been building up likely over months, the kind that had grown to resent the fickle nature of many, the kind that perfected from years of hurt.
"If you came here to give me another 'pep talk', you may as well just walk straight back on out that door.
I gave everyone what they wanted, what you wanted… isn't that enough?"
Resignation echoed, cracks in the facade showing through the patchwork repairs.Initially, Matthew’s face twists like he’s going to bark back with his own unpleasantries but the clenched fist opens slowly, he raises a hand to the back of his head, scratching at something that doesn’t even itch.
“No, Amber..I...fuck” his mouth twisted as if he was biting a lemon. He was awful at this, always had been.
“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbled, eyes instantly averting once more, and something between that mouthful of lemon look and a snarl twisting his face. A near childish petulance. His tone was sincere, but holy fuck he didn’t want to admit he fucked up. “Coming here, pushing you..thinking I got you more than I did? It was...fucking stupid and out of line.”
Amber wasn't sure what kind of reaction Matt had expected- but she was sure it wasn't laughter. Harsh, almost raucous from the otherwise impassive redhead.
"... And it's exactly what everyone else does. That's the thing Matt, everyone I face, everyone I know… everyone except Mac… thinks that they can draw something out of me like they're the first to try it.
You wanted to rattle my cage, and you don't like the fact I didn't react cause my cage- it's never stopped rattling. There's always some fucking asshole trying to prove that their brave or stupid, trying to piss in my cereal like it's not already overflowing."
She couldn't stop the words flowing, the lava dripping from her tongue that she'd fought so hard to restrain.
"... And then you come and you think you can just apologize and it all goes away. You aren't different Matt, you certainly aren't special. You're just the fucking latest."
“And you are?” And like that, the unsure and apologetic man disappeared.
“You think you’re the only person to look for the loneliest place they can after a match? Sit there, take the tape off and try to be bigger than the pain? Find reason in the shit you just did and let be done to you?” he scoffs now, taking a bold step forward toward her, a hand raising up with his pointer finger extended, right at those dead and deadly eyes of hers.
“I came here, doing what I did because I’m not afraid to acknowledge how much of me I see in you. The shit we do, the shit we let slide and the dark moments where we realize we only do it because it’s what everyone expects of us, because we don’t know a fucking thing else.”
His tone softens as he runs a hand through his hair, taking a moment to run a small circle over a lump on the back of his nogging, letting out a sigh before continuing.
“You and me, Red? We’re more ghosts than people. If you want to keep starin knives into my head, that’s on you. Believe what you want, think i’m just full of shit and provoking you for whatever reason. I came here the first time because I thought you needed your cage rattled. I came here today because I fucked up and hurt someone I consider a friend.” a sneer, “If you can’t accept that, I can’t make you.”
Amber turned away, not entirely though. Just enough to avert both their gazes and create enough distance so that the illusion of control might still be preserved a few seconds longer.
"Friends huh. Bit rich, isn't it?
Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen and all that I suppose. You walk into people's lives like you understand everything that makes them tick and then when they don't react the way you expect- you poke and prod, you rattle at their cages, you take a sledgehammer to justifiable walls until you get what you want…"
Amber trails off as though her train of thought casually derailed.
"... Then you stand there and say we're friends.
You know what- fine, sure.
Whatever you say and whatever it takes to ease your guilty conscience and get this bullshit sympathy act done and dusted so we can both just move on…
Sure. I accept Matt. Everything is fine and fucking dandy now."
Amber moved slowly into the lougeroom, almost slumping into a chair whilst drawing her knees up. Her lithe frame slightly contorted in places as scars previously hidden came peeking from behind their fabric sanctuaries. She didn't have it in her to tell him to leave, part of her just hoped he would, as if saying it would have done anything, anyways.
Matthew closed his eyes, soaking in her words, he let out a slow exhale and raised his hands, stepping back.
“Yeah. It’s my ego, my bruised emotions on trial here, huh Red?
Fine. Fuck it, fuck...whatever I was trying to do here. If you want to fester in yourself with Mac, your dog, your insecurities, motorcycles and hatred? It’s not my concern.” He runs his tongue over dried lips, eyes opening halfway “I fucked up. I apologized. I meant it. Absolves me in my eyes, and god's eyes. You ever finish...whatever the fuck this is? I’m around, and i’ve got your back.”
He turns to leave then, stopping once more and turning to say something, but only letting out something between a sigh and a grunt before waving the words and the thought away and heading for the door. As his hand rests upon the doorknob, he lets out one more sigh and speaks up, struggling to keep his tone audible.
“After my match with Dunn, I fell into the hotel room and couldn’t hardly move. I didn’t want to get up. Here in a week, I'm going to be fighting someone I’m in love with for something I keep telling myself I can’t live without. This whole thing, the business we’re in? It doesn’t make sense. You and me don’t make any sense. Mac, JC, Dunn, Mosh...it’s all fucked up.” a pause, “It’s even more fucked up when you don’t have people in your corner.”
If it weren't for a limp, it could have been argued that he'd never have heard her re-enter the hallway. Despite it's emptiness and lack of sentimentality, the desperate tension between them more than filled the space- Amber rolled her shoulders back, uncoiling the tight clench she'd held in her fists. Cocking her head to the side, maybe there was something human and real beneath all the rubble of broken walls and false identities she'd worn throughout her career.
"Stay... For now at least cause we're not going round in fucking circles…
Fuck it. I'm making coffee."
He turned his head to her, reading her the best he could for a moment, before smirking.
“Any hazelnut?”
"You would say that."
Silently Amber floated into the kitchen, her movements less measured and her expression almost amused. Something about the quiet wake she left was almost inviting… perhaps in the same way a siren might lure a sailor to their imminent death.
The old Jaguar pulled up into the driveway much quieter than the Panhead had in his previous visit. He shoved it in park and exhaled slowly, before shaking his head, accepting that he had to do this before throwing the door open, and stepping out of the car. Trudging along slowly, almost hesitant to the front door. And then, he knocked.
"Oh. It's you…"
Indifference became reluctance as Amber materialised at the door, her vaguely lopsided gait moving from the middle of the doorway. Despite not having invited Knox in, she left the way unimpeded as though simply expecting him to waltz on in like last time.Matthew lingers for a moment, clearing his throat once and stepping in after her, closing the door.
“Ankle holding up okay?”
His tone is somewhere between distant and tentative, eyes scanning every detail of everything in the room except for her. No, she was the last thing he wanted to look at right now. Idiot that he’d been.
With an exasperated sigh, likely having been withheld for weeks on end, Amber whips around with a dead eye stare.
"Cut the crap Knox. All this false sympathy and shit, just stop yeah.
You walk into our house and act like you care- only to throw me off a proverbial cliff cause you wanna be entertained."
With a hardened expression- the kind that had been building up likely over months, the kind that had grown to resent the fickle nature of many, the kind that perfected from years of hurt.
"If you came here to give me another 'pep talk', you may as well just walk straight back on out that door.
I gave everyone what they wanted, what you wanted… isn't that enough?"
Resignation echoed, cracks in the facade showing through the patchwork repairs.Initially, Matthew’s face twists like he’s going to bark back with his own unpleasantries but the clenched fist opens slowly, he raises a hand to the back of his head, scratching at something that doesn’t even itch.
“No, Amber..I...fuck” his mouth twisted as if he was biting a lemon. He was awful at this, always had been.
“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbled, eyes instantly averting once more, and something between that mouthful of lemon look and a snarl twisting his face. A near childish petulance. His tone was sincere, but holy fuck he didn’t want to admit he fucked up. “Coming here, pushing you..thinking I got you more than I did? It was...fucking stupid and out of line.”
Amber wasn't sure what kind of reaction Matt had expected- but she was sure it wasn't laughter. Harsh, almost raucous from the otherwise impassive redhead.
"... And it's exactly what everyone else does. That's the thing Matt, everyone I face, everyone I know… everyone except Mac… thinks that they can draw something out of me like they're the first to try it.
You wanted to rattle my cage, and you don't like the fact I didn't react cause my cage- it's never stopped rattling. There's always some fucking asshole trying to prove that their brave or stupid, trying to piss in my cereal like it's not already overflowing."
She couldn't stop the words flowing, the lava dripping from her tongue that she'd fought so hard to restrain.
"... And then you come and you think you can just apologize and it all goes away. You aren't different Matt, you certainly aren't special. You're just the fucking latest."
“And you are?” And like that, the unsure and apologetic man disappeared.
“You think you’re the only person to look for the loneliest place they can after a match? Sit there, take the tape off and try to be bigger than the pain? Find reason in the shit you just did and let be done to you?” he scoffs now, taking a bold step forward toward her, a hand raising up with his pointer finger extended, right at those dead and deadly eyes of hers.
“I came here, doing what I did because I’m not afraid to acknowledge how much of me I see in you. The shit we do, the shit we let slide and the dark moments where we realize we only do it because it’s what everyone expects of us, because we don’t know a fucking thing else.”
His tone softens as he runs a hand through his hair, taking a moment to run a small circle over a lump on the back of his nogging, letting out a sigh before continuing.
“You and me, Red? We’re more ghosts than people. If you want to keep starin knives into my head, that’s on you. Believe what you want, think i’m just full of shit and provoking you for whatever reason. I came here the first time because I thought you needed your cage rattled. I came here today because I fucked up and hurt someone I consider a friend.” a sneer, “If you can’t accept that, I can’t make you.”
Amber turned away, not entirely though. Just enough to avert both their gazes and create enough distance so that the illusion of control might still be preserved a few seconds longer.
"Friends huh. Bit rich, isn't it?
Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen and all that I suppose. You walk into people's lives like you understand everything that makes them tick and then when they don't react the way you expect- you poke and prod, you rattle at their cages, you take a sledgehammer to justifiable walls until you get what you want…"
Amber trails off as though her train of thought casually derailed.
"... Then you stand there and say we're friends.
You know what- fine, sure.
Whatever you say and whatever it takes to ease your guilty conscience and get this bullshit sympathy act done and dusted so we can both just move on…
Sure. I accept Matt. Everything is fine and fucking dandy now."
Amber moved slowly into the lougeroom, almost slumping into a chair whilst drawing her knees up. Her lithe frame slightly contorted in places as scars previously hidden came peeking from behind their fabric sanctuaries. She didn't have it in her to tell him to leave, part of her just hoped he would, as if saying it would have done anything, anyways.
Matthew closed his eyes, soaking in her words, he let out a slow exhale and raised his hands, stepping back.
“Yeah. It’s my ego, my bruised emotions on trial here, huh Red?
Fine. Fuck it, fuck...whatever I was trying to do here. If you want to fester in yourself with Mac, your dog, your insecurities, motorcycles and hatred? It’s not my concern.” He runs his tongue over dried lips, eyes opening halfway “I fucked up. I apologized. I meant it. Absolves me in my eyes, and god's eyes. You ever finish...whatever the fuck this is? I’m around, and i’ve got your back.”
He turns to leave then, stopping once more and turning to say something, but only letting out something between a sigh and a grunt before waving the words and the thought away and heading for the door. As his hand rests upon the doorknob, he lets out one more sigh and speaks up, struggling to keep his tone audible.
“After my match with Dunn, I fell into the hotel room and couldn’t hardly move. I didn’t want to get up. Here in a week, I'm going to be fighting someone I’m in love with for something I keep telling myself I can’t live without. This whole thing, the business we’re in? It doesn’t make sense. You and me don’t make any sense. Mac, JC, Dunn, Mosh...it’s all fucked up.” a pause, “It’s even more fucked up when you don’t have people in your corner.”
If it weren't for a limp, it could have been argued that he'd never have heard her re-enter the hallway. Despite it's emptiness and lack of sentimentality, the desperate tension between them more than filled the space- Amber rolled her shoulders back, uncoiling the tight clench she'd held in her fists. Cocking her head to the side, maybe there was something human and real beneath all the rubble of broken walls and false identities she'd worn throughout her career.
"Stay... For now at least cause we're not going round in fucking circles…
Fuck it. I'm making coffee."
He turned his head to her, reading her the best he could for a moment, before smirking.
“Any hazelnut?”
"You would say that."
Silently Amber floated into the kitchen, her movements less measured and her expression almost amused. Something about the quiet wake she left was almost inviting… perhaps in the same way a siren might lure a sailor to their imminent death.