Post by Deleted on Feb 8, 2021 7:52:24 GMT -5
"... You know, you keep looking at me like I'm going to spontaneously combust or something."
Even with her back to Matt Knox, she could feel his gaze trace down her spine and found herself more grateful than ever for her oversized hoodie and loose jeans.
Something about it made her feel as though she'd turned to glass and was now desperately trying to disguise the fine cracks and chips that marred it's surface in hopes of avoiding an awkward conversation.
Hell, it wasn't as though there were lust or attraction between them, their relationship had thankfully never self-sabotaged in that direction- no, it was a look of a man who perhaps couldn't understand why the two plus two in front of him kept equalling the square root of 17 down to three decimal places.
"I mean I know things have been said about my temper- but I can assure you… I only breathe and throw fire. I don't generally catch on it."
Trying to create levity where guilt and tension reigned was never Amber's strong point- her dry and vaguely macabre sense of humour only serving to exacerbate open wounds instead of soothing them.
Her high ponytail swayed as she flitted about the kitchen, the lack of sentimental touches and new appliance smell were somewhat negated by her familiarity in the space, the heady aroma of coffee and her surprisingly deft touch as mismatched mugs chinked softly onto the wooden table top.
"... Before you ask, by the way, Mac is in town. Though, while he might be likely to take my side in a fight, I'm sure he'd be equally content to let us brawl and punch our aggressions out before he steps in.
Milk?"
More flitting. More distraction. More silence between syllables and soft, padding footsteps across floorboards that betrayed the changes in her usually light-footed gait.
“Nah. Trying to keep dairy at a minimum.” He picks up the cup, nodding a thanks before taking a drink of the bitter liquid, brow furrowing “Believe it or not, and not to dig sometimes i’m not sure what you believe about me, I really have no desire to brawl with you today. You or anyone else, really.”
He set the cup down, sliding down in the seat slightly and resting a forearm on the table. He drums his fingers, glasz eyes watching them a moment before he speaks up, “It’s...I don’t know how we got here, you know? Aside from me misreading your situation, I could have sworn we were somewhere better. Hate to think we let that prick in Baltimore really make us hate each other after the fight with Jack.”
Amber wrinkled her nose before lackadaisically dropping into a nearby chair. Which part she had reacted to though was relatively unclear as she drank from her own mug- the rich, dark liquid still swirling as it reached her lips and obscured any further sign of emotion.
"Mere difference in perspective. You can only know what you see and experience- then make judgements accordingly. It's the basis of what we do… as for Baltimore. Yeah, there's no blame left to lay with that… rather just pretend it never happened. Makes me feel a little less... bitter... about everything."
Bitter. She was always bitter these days it seemed, just the variance in levels and reasons seemed to change.
Even now she couldn't pin point when it had become such an integral part of her life, but part of her was ready to let it go… the rest knew she couldn't live without it.
"Fact is you're more than a big mouth morbid corvid with a death wish and I'm…"
Trailing off thoughtfully, the words got lost somewhere between the back of her tongue and good intentions. She was alot of things to alot of people- shuffling identities and pulling off masks trying to be what everyone had come to expect, only to lose the real thing somewhere in the shuffle.
"... Well, I guess I'm everything that everyone says I am."
Her tone rang of resignation and acceptance, of a fight long fought and lost against mass societal perception. It rang of someone who'd long since lost their way and had never been brought home.
“That include Mac?” he asked, his eyes shifting to her face finally “I’ know he’s crazy, cut from the same cloth. But I don’t think he’d try to be domesticated with someone who was always...what you’ve presented in the ring. If that makes sense?” He lifts the mug, taking another sip before setting it down and turning to face her in his seat.
“It’s hard to forget you know? That place I...guess I was in some place similar to where you are after it. I resolved to stay alone when I came back. Got sucked in, and when I left it all...crashed down and I was put in the a box and labeled…” he feels a thump of realization as a rusty gear in his head finally turns, clicking.
“Like I did to you..” ‘fuck’
Amber scoffed quietly, sensing an epiphany of sorts had taken place without the benefit of anything to show for the effort. Watching a man attempt to dismantle himself in her kitchen wasn't exactly how she'd anticipated things going- but it made a nice change from having to do the heavy lifting herself.
"You make the world sound very straight forward- very black and white, forward and reverse. Definable I suppose, everything needs a label or it exists beyond comprehension…
No wonder you get yourself into so much trouble, darl."
Twirling her hair reflexively as it traced over her shoulder, Amber tried to pick through her thoughts for the right words to… fuck, she wasn't even sure if words were even right anymore. Mostly wrong with a touch of southpaw.
"Alone is easy, it's comfortable. I spent too many years pushing people away cause I couldn't bear the idea that they might actually be sincere- even now, a compliment sounds like it's dripping in venom cause it's sandwiched between vitriolic observations.
Trust me, every day I keep thinking it's going to be the day that Mac clicks and realizes that he deserves better… that alone and miserable is far easier than pretending like I understand why anyone cares about anyone."
Another scoff, though this one verged on the point of amusement- if only in her head.
"Mac's a special kinda crazy. He's a fixer, sees the best in people till given reason otherwise…
He was my first match back in 2019, beat me clean. I beat him a month or two later and he dislocated my shoulder twice in that match… That kind of war with someone, you can't deny it tethers you… I just never expected it would be in this way."[./color]
Thoughtfully Amber sipped, cradling the cup between crooked fingers.
"You don't get rid of the loneliness and the past doesn't just dissipate into the wind Matt. You just start learning to look past it, through it sometimes… like rose tinted glasses except it's stuck in your eyes."
“The rose fell off my glasses awhile ago,” He mused with a quiet chuckle “I..I guess i’ve been the way I have been between before, and when I came at you because I haven’t been as alone as I was since..” a pause, a sharp inhale.
“Since I was slamming heroin to try and forget I ever existed. Melodramatic as that sounds. Like..I know I’m not alone. Me and my kids, we’re better now. Even if I dont see her as much as I’d like to i’m still with Pea--The Dragon Lady. Bert is in Indy kicking ass, and I trained the kid but...I dunno. The physical isolation? It’s deafening, you know.” his mind latches onto what she said about Mac and chuckles,
“And I guess i’m dreading going to London because I get to be the Mac in that situation. Don’t know If I got it in me like he does, though..Swear the guy is all hard hat and lunch pail in the ring. Could be his mom waiting for him and he’d clothesline her out of her bunny slippers..”
Amber shrugged, restraining the chuckle that bubbled in the back of her throat. Laugh at the man's jokes and you'll never hear the end of them, she mused silently, and she doubted she could emotionally handle the amount of drinking it would take to cleanse the jokes from her system.
"Mac is, well… he's something else. Better than me at all this living stuff I suppose. Makes everything seem a little less sharp at the corners for the most part- unless he's battering you in the ring, in which case it's all fucking corners."
She tried to distract herself from her own demons, Matt's addiction issues reminded her of her own- all the time spent trying to kill something inside she couldn't explain and refused to accept.
Years being stitched together with good intentions and sewing thread had left her insides exposed and raw, rubbed with salt and drawn for display by all those who'd been presented the opportunity.
"... Yeah, drugs never really crossed my periphery. Seen too many carnies hopped up on shit one minute and slumped in a porta-potty the next trying not to choke on their own vomit. Or trying to, depending on the stuff…
Booze was my thing, I liked being numb cause it meant I didn't have to be anything for a little while, I didn't exist for awhile.
Jack saw a lot of it, was on the end of just as much… the number of times he dragged my ass out of situations, saved my life more than once…"
Jack Michaels, Amber's adopted father, had seen the first hand self-destruction a thousand times- the spiral snaking ever further down as she still somehow held it together in the ring.
"... I went off the radar in 2017 though, tried coming back from injury far too soon and realised I just couldn't be what was expected.
Don't remember much between probably July 2017 and January 2019 admittedly. Got on a first name basis with the Atlantic City hospitals and their stomach pumps…"
That period of time was more of a blur than anything, days lost as time became less of a structure and more of an optional extra.
"Wake up call came and went, Jack called me almost every week- sometimes twice a week trying to see if I was alive.
I was and I wasn't. I never picked up the phone, watched the fucking thing ring out every time. We don't talk about that period though, but even now he gives me a side eye if I have more than a couple drinks in a sitting… like I'm about to regress."
Amber forced a smile, trying to make light in the darkness.
"... It was always that and violence. God I did some stupid shit, but it was the only way I made sense of the world. I could numb the feelings or I could mask them- heaven forbid facing up to anything."
“Started with an injury for me, too.” he offers, turning the mug in a circle on top of the table as he pieces the painful memories together. “Got hurt at the start of a tournament for a World Title in a company that wouldn’t even up lasting it’s first year. Should have bowed out but I just started chewing up pills. Had a tag partner who was hooked on them, so they were easy to come by. Then when they stopped working I went to the other shit.”
“I’d like to wax pathetic and say I wish I had a Jack Michaels to pull me out, but the fact is I did. Sure they were a cult but I like to think they cared in some part of their fucked up mind. Wasn’t until Bert came around and started rebuilding my ego that I started seeing a way out of the hole, you know?” a pause, a snort “I sat there trying to die while my kids grew up without me and even now, I relapse chewing pills up to deal with the pain and the bullshit. Not to overshare.”
“Always Violence. Violence and...patching yourself up for more violence. My fuck up, my biggest fuck up? Was forgetting to patch up the interior and the exterior, I guess.”
A long pause followed, weighty and expectant. Amber, still cradling the mug between her hands clenched her fingers slightly- maybe it might have been missed by anyone who wasn't intently studying the redhead.
Head low and pensive, it was as though she deliberately tried to take up less space.
"... Dying is... overrated."
Her tone was quiet, something soft radiating through each syllable as though stained with hurt and memories of something that refused to stay buried beneath the growing rubble. She didn't dare make eye contact for fear that her soul might be on full display in all it's wretched glory.
“You try to leave us before, Red?” his tone has an edge of levity to it, trying to prevent the conversation from plunging into total darkness but it still dripped with concern, and curiosity.
At first Amber didn't say much of anything, feigned ignorance perhaps or pretending as though she never heard any of it. Seconds passed though as Amber finally cleared her throat, still quiet and still trying to navigate through the mazes she'd thrown up.
"Car crash DOA. I was 24. Clinically I died for half an hour- for some godforsaken reason though they didn't give up on me.
It's a long, depressing story. I was a mess."
Disjointed, her words bled into her thoughts and back- she'd never exactly been shy about her background, she'd made it a focal point of her career for awhile that she was be unkillable to everyone except herself. If anything the truth was far sadder… that even death seemed like an empty promise.
“You don’t have to recount the gory details.” he nodded to her, himself, the situation.. “Important thing is you’re here. Not sure where you’re at with God, but my Catholic ass takes that as a sign you are meant to do something, be someone. Just sucks that there’s no clear instructions that go with those plans eh?”
Less of a shrug and more just going through the motions, Amber continued staring through her mug.
"You'd think that… you'd think I'd have spent more time living, instead I spent my time chasing after death- in the ring, out of the ring- thinking there had been a mistake.
I've had a few close calls since- but nothing quite like… well… it's complicated, isn't it?"
There were peeks of the blue green behind the disheveled curtain of red. Shattered sea glass glinting through a wall that fell around her face- memories and regrets hit far harder than many opponents.
"I've done some god awful things in that ring and out of it. Been through some of the worst things imaginable- and some beyond imagination- and all I keep hearing is that the world wants something more… All the rumours, the stories, the myths and lore that I've left in my wake- that's what people want, they wanna see if it's true. Regardless of the cost.
You think I'd tell them to fuck off with the amount of times I've been told my career was over, that my life as I knew it was null and void…"
Mirth forged through her voice, unreasonable in laughter as her voice trailed off as though even she couldn't believe the words trailing off her lips.
"We're sick Matt. I'm sick- I can't even begin to describe it… I blew my ankle out months ago and I came back pretending like it's fine. I won the world title in our last company by basically refusing to die- I spent my first couple nights as a two time works champion in a fucking ICU.
I nearly became a paraplegic in that ring.
I've got more of other people's blood in my than I have my own, and spilled so much it's a wonder I can even STAND UP STRAIGHT…"
Amber could feel her voice rising as she trailed off, the laughter giving way to something sicker, dredged up from the depths where it had laid in wait. She could feel the burning in her eyes as they welled cause the venom and self-loathing had no where else to go.
"... Yet here we are. Acting like we're just fine."
Amber brought her mug up to her face, drinking slowly in hopes that maybe by obscuring her features- Matt might somehow forget the sheer swell of emotion that had washed over her in those moments.
Something real and tangible that she hated, almost as much as she might have hated who she was.
"Between you and me, I'm beyond sick of being told who I am and how I goddamn feel."
Matthew stares down into his drink before lifting it to take a swallow, making a face once more at the bitterness. Whether it be the coffee’s, his own or hers. He drummed his fingers on the mug contemplatively for another moment before he spoke up.
“Sometimes, it’s hard to discern who’s The Raven, who’s The Hurricane, Who’s Matt, and Who’s Amber. God...this whole business. You create another YOU. And you don’t know it, until you become the other you yourself, and that...that moniker is all anyone gives a shit about,” he chuckles “It’s almost like being along for the ride, and having to share in the consequences. No options otherwise.”
“We are sick. And I don’t think there’s any cure, Red...if there was, Jack would have probably left a long, long time ago.”
Amber fidgets slightly, there's a twitch in her face that she can't quite hide.
"Only cure is a hole in the ground. Jack got it figured out for the most part- he never really succumbed to the sickness.
Mac too… they see a light at the end of the tunnel, there's a way out whenever they so choose. A real life I suppose."
Slipping out of her chair, Amber paced a little agitatedly.
"We want a cure as much as we want a fucking hole in the head.
Sometimes more depending on the night."
Agitated Amber wasn't fun to be around, twitchy as her hands wring together. A ticking time bomb watching her own fuse burn away without the faculties to stop it… Maybe that was the problem, that this persona as such was the only thing left holding her together, that tugging on the threads left her unravelling faster than she could stop it.
A distorted angel. A painted hurricane. Anything but a redheaded girl drowning under the weight of what she'd created.
“I don’t see it, either.” he admitted, eyes watching her pace now, but staring through her at the same time, “I don’t see a way out of the loop. I go, i fight, i win, sometimes i win a title, then i lose, then i lose a title. And I just...go. If I stop? The only time I stopped..well, I already told you.”
He clicks his tongue.
“I don’t think Matt Knox made it back to the business. I think it was only the Raven that flew in...but you?” he swallowed once, considering the dangerous waters he was about to enter before diving in “I don’t think the Hurricane has outlived Amber. The way you touch Mac, the way I saw you after your match at Coronation..you’re still...a person? You KNOW you’re sick. And you want to believe in a cure, believe that you and Mac can travel the world without it being to another fight..”
“I hope you’re right, too. You deserve it Red, I mean that.”
Pausing in contemplation, Amber watched Matt for a moment as though unsure what to make of his words. With the sweetest, perhaps saddest smile she might have been able to muster, the words fell like rain and finally a tear, just one, slowly rolled down her cheek.
"Maybe so… but Amber… not the hurricane, not the angel, not anything else I'm supposed to be...
She might just be the worst one of them all."
“She’s alright, from what i’ve seen.” a pause, and a boyish grin “When she’s not trying to choke me out or beat my face in. Makes a mean cup of coffee, too.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, head bowed slightly with a lingering shame in her outburst of weakness, Amber sighed loudly with a soft laugh to follow.
"You haven't seen a damn thing yet then. Maybe that's a good thing, so let's keep it that way- I don't think I could deal with another body on my conscience quite yet.
Give me a few days and we can revisit."
Matt took her in then, staring at the defeated stance, the distant eyes. He was up before his self preservation could stop him and he rounded the table, reaching one hand out to turn her slightly, and before the redhead could protest or bloody him, Knox took her into a firm hug, patting her on the back once.
“I’ve seen enough not to hate you, Amber. Whatever that’s worth.”
Amber flinched hard instinctively, the idea of being touched had coincided with violence for so long that everything else seemed foreign.
When Mac hugged her, when Jack hugged her- it was as though they risked getting cut to shreds to force those broken pieces back together. That she might tear them apart for the effort- however the flinch was but momentary as she buried her face half into Matt's shoulder, likely murmuring a threat of violence should word ever have escaped about the lapses in her otherwise impenetrable armour.
Partially muffled by her own positioning, Amber in her most softly spoken tone whispered knowingly.
"... Don't let me hurt anyone else."
Even with her back to Matt Knox, she could feel his gaze trace down her spine and found herself more grateful than ever for her oversized hoodie and loose jeans.
Something about it made her feel as though she'd turned to glass and was now desperately trying to disguise the fine cracks and chips that marred it's surface in hopes of avoiding an awkward conversation.
Hell, it wasn't as though there were lust or attraction between them, their relationship had thankfully never self-sabotaged in that direction- no, it was a look of a man who perhaps couldn't understand why the two plus two in front of him kept equalling the square root of 17 down to three decimal places.
"I mean I know things have been said about my temper- but I can assure you… I only breathe and throw fire. I don't generally catch on it."
Trying to create levity where guilt and tension reigned was never Amber's strong point- her dry and vaguely macabre sense of humour only serving to exacerbate open wounds instead of soothing them.
Her high ponytail swayed as she flitted about the kitchen, the lack of sentimental touches and new appliance smell were somewhat negated by her familiarity in the space, the heady aroma of coffee and her surprisingly deft touch as mismatched mugs chinked softly onto the wooden table top.
"... Before you ask, by the way, Mac is in town. Though, while he might be likely to take my side in a fight, I'm sure he'd be equally content to let us brawl and punch our aggressions out before he steps in.
Milk?"
More flitting. More distraction. More silence between syllables and soft, padding footsteps across floorboards that betrayed the changes in her usually light-footed gait.
“Nah. Trying to keep dairy at a minimum.” He picks up the cup, nodding a thanks before taking a drink of the bitter liquid, brow furrowing “Believe it or not, and not to dig sometimes i’m not sure what you believe about me, I really have no desire to brawl with you today. You or anyone else, really.”
He set the cup down, sliding down in the seat slightly and resting a forearm on the table. He drums his fingers, glasz eyes watching them a moment before he speaks up, “It’s...I don’t know how we got here, you know? Aside from me misreading your situation, I could have sworn we were somewhere better. Hate to think we let that prick in Baltimore really make us hate each other after the fight with Jack.”
Amber wrinkled her nose before lackadaisically dropping into a nearby chair. Which part she had reacted to though was relatively unclear as she drank from her own mug- the rich, dark liquid still swirling as it reached her lips and obscured any further sign of emotion.
"Mere difference in perspective. You can only know what you see and experience- then make judgements accordingly. It's the basis of what we do… as for Baltimore. Yeah, there's no blame left to lay with that… rather just pretend it never happened. Makes me feel a little less... bitter... about everything."
Bitter. She was always bitter these days it seemed, just the variance in levels and reasons seemed to change.
Even now she couldn't pin point when it had become such an integral part of her life, but part of her was ready to let it go… the rest knew she couldn't live without it.
"Fact is you're more than a big mouth morbid corvid with a death wish and I'm…"
Trailing off thoughtfully, the words got lost somewhere between the back of her tongue and good intentions. She was alot of things to alot of people- shuffling identities and pulling off masks trying to be what everyone had come to expect, only to lose the real thing somewhere in the shuffle.
"... Well, I guess I'm everything that everyone says I am."
Her tone rang of resignation and acceptance, of a fight long fought and lost against mass societal perception. It rang of someone who'd long since lost their way and had never been brought home.
“That include Mac?” he asked, his eyes shifting to her face finally “I’ know he’s crazy, cut from the same cloth. But I don’t think he’d try to be domesticated with someone who was always...what you’ve presented in the ring. If that makes sense?” He lifts the mug, taking another sip before setting it down and turning to face her in his seat.
“It’s hard to forget you know? That place I...guess I was in some place similar to where you are after it. I resolved to stay alone when I came back. Got sucked in, and when I left it all...crashed down and I was put in the a box and labeled…” he feels a thump of realization as a rusty gear in his head finally turns, clicking.
“Like I did to you..” ‘fuck’
Amber scoffed quietly, sensing an epiphany of sorts had taken place without the benefit of anything to show for the effort. Watching a man attempt to dismantle himself in her kitchen wasn't exactly how she'd anticipated things going- but it made a nice change from having to do the heavy lifting herself.
"You make the world sound very straight forward- very black and white, forward and reverse. Definable I suppose, everything needs a label or it exists beyond comprehension…
No wonder you get yourself into so much trouble, darl."
Twirling her hair reflexively as it traced over her shoulder, Amber tried to pick through her thoughts for the right words to… fuck, she wasn't even sure if words were even right anymore. Mostly wrong with a touch of southpaw.
"Alone is easy, it's comfortable. I spent too many years pushing people away cause I couldn't bear the idea that they might actually be sincere- even now, a compliment sounds like it's dripping in venom cause it's sandwiched between vitriolic observations.
Trust me, every day I keep thinking it's going to be the day that Mac clicks and realizes that he deserves better… that alone and miserable is far easier than pretending like I understand why anyone cares about anyone."
Another scoff, though this one verged on the point of amusement- if only in her head.
"Mac's a special kinda crazy. He's a fixer, sees the best in people till given reason otherwise…
He was my first match back in 2019, beat me clean. I beat him a month or two later and he dislocated my shoulder twice in that match… That kind of war with someone, you can't deny it tethers you… I just never expected it would be in this way."[./color]
Thoughtfully Amber sipped, cradling the cup between crooked fingers.
"You don't get rid of the loneliness and the past doesn't just dissipate into the wind Matt. You just start learning to look past it, through it sometimes… like rose tinted glasses except it's stuck in your eyes."
“The rose fell off my glasses awhile ago,” He mused with a quiet chuckle “I..I guess i’ve been the way I have been between before, and when I came at you because I haven’t been as alone as I was since..” a pause, a sharp inhale.
“Since I was slamming heroin to try and forget I ever existed. Melodramatic as that sounds. Like..I know I’m not alone. Me and my kids, we’re better now. Even if I dont see her as much as I’d like to i’m still with Pea--The Dragon Lady. Bert is in Indy kicking ass, and I trained the kid but...I dunno. The physical isolation? It’s deafening, you know.” his mind latches onto what she said about Mac and chuckles,
“And I guess i’m dreading going to London because I get to be the Mac in that situation. Don’t know If I got it in me like he does, though..Swear the guy is all hard hat and lunch pail in the ring. Could be his mom waiting for him and he’d clothesline her out of her bunny slippers..”
Amber shrugged, restraining the chuckle that bubbled in the back of her throat. Laugh at the man's jokes and you'll never hear the end of them, she mused silently, and she doubted she could emotionally handle the amount of drinking it would take to cleanse the jokes from her system.
"Mac is, well… he's something else. Better than me at all this living stuff I suppose. Makes everything seem a little less sharp at the corners for the most part- unless he's battering you in the ring, in which case it's all fucking corners."
She tried to distract herself from her own demons, Matt's addiction issues reminded her of her own- all the time spent trying to kill something inside she couldn't explain and refused to accept.
Years being stitched together with good intentions and sewing thread had left her insides exposed and raw, rubbed with salt and drawn for display by all those who'd been presented the opportunity.
"... Yeah, drugs never really crossed my periphery. Seen too many carnies hopped up on shit one minute and slumped in a porta-potty the next trying not to choke on their own vomit. Or trying to, depending on the stuff…
Booze was my thing, I liked being numb cause it meant I didn't have to be anything for a little while, I didn't exist for awhile.
Jack saw a lot of it, was on the end of just as much… the number of times he dragged my ass out of situations, saved my life more than once…"
Jack Michaels, Amber's adopted father, had seen the first hand self-destruction a thousand times- the spiral snaking ever further down as she still somehow held it together in the ring.
"... I went off the radar in 2017 though, tried coming back from injury far too soon and realised I just couldn't be what was expected.
Don't remember much between probably July 2017 and January 2019 admittedly. Got on a first name basis with the Atlantic City hospitals and their stomach pumps…"
That period of time was more of a blur than anything, days lost as time became less of a structure and more of an optional extra.
"Wake up call came and went, Jack called me almost every week- sometimes twice a week trying to see if I was alive.
I was and I wasn't. I never picked up the phone, watched the fucking thing ring out every time. We don't talk about that period though, but even now he gives me a side eye if I have more than a couple drinks in a sitting… like I'm about to regress."
Amber forced a smile, trying to make light in the darkness.
"... It was always that and violence. God I did some stupid shit, but it was the only way I made sense of the world. I could numb the feelings or I could mask them- heaven forbid facing up to anything."
“Started with an injury for me, too.” he offers, turning the mug in a circle on top of the table as he pieces the painful memories together. “Got hurt at the start of a tournament for a World Title in a company that wouldn’t even up lasting it’s first year. Should have bowed out but I just started chewing up pills. Had a tag partner who was hooked on them, so they were easy to come by. Then when they stopped working I went to the other shit.”
“I’d like to wax pathetic and say I wish I had a Jack Michaels to pull me out, but the fact is I did. Sure they were a cult but I like to think they cared in some part of their fucked up mind. Wasn’t until Bert came around and started rebuilding my ego that I started seeing a way out of the hole, you know?” a pause, a snort “I sat there trying to die while my kids grew up without me and even now, I relapse chewing pills up to deal with the pain and the bullshit. Not to overshare.”
“Always Violence. Violence and...patching yourself up for more violence. My fuck up, my biggest fuck up? Was forgetting to patch up the interior and the exterior, I guess.”
A long pause followed, weighty and expectant. Amber, still cradling the mug between her hands clenched her fingers slightly- maybe it might have been missed by anyone who wasn't intently studying the redhead.
Head low and pensive, it was as though she deliberately tried to take up less space.
"... Dying is... overrated."
Her tone was quiet, something soft radiating through each syllable as though stained with hurt and memories of something that refused to stay buried beneath the growing rubble. She didn't dare make eye contact for fear that her soul might be on full display in all it's wretched glory.
“You try to leave us before, Red?” his tone has an edge of levity to it, trying to prevent the conversation from plunging into total darkness but it still dripped with concern, and curiosity.
At first Amber didn't say much of anything, feigned ignorance perhaps or pretending as though she never heard any of it. Seconds passed though as Amber finally cleared her throat, still quiet and still trying to navigate through the mazes she'd thrown up.
"Car crash DOA. I was 24. Clinically I died for half an hour- for some godforsaken reason though they didn't give up on me.
It's a long, depressing story. I was a mess."
Disjointed, her words bled into her thoughts and back- she'd never exactly been shy about her background, she'd made it a focal point of her career for awhile that she was be unkillable to everyone except herself. If anything the truth was far sadder… that even death seemed like an empty promise.
“You don’t have to recount the gory details.” he nodded to her, himself, the situation.. “Important thing is you’re here. Not sure where you’re at with God, but my Catholic ass takes that as a sign you are meant to do something, be someone. Just sucks that there’s no clear instructions that go with those plans eh?”
Less of a shrug and more just going through the motions, Amber continued staring through her mug.
"You'd think that… you'd think I'd have spent more time living, instead I spent my time chasing after death- in the ring, out of the ring- thinking there had been a mistake.
I've had a few close calls since- but nothing quite like… well… it's complicated, isn't it?"
There were peeks of the blue green behind the disheveled curtain of red. Shattered sea glass glinting through a wall that fell around her face- memories and regrets hit far harder than many opponents.
"I've done some god awful things in that ring and out of it. Been through some of the worst things imaginable- and some beyond imagination- and all I keep hearing is that the world wants something more… All the rumours, the stories, the myths and lore that I've left in my wake- that's what people want, they wanna see if it's true. Regardless of the cost.
You think I'd tell them to fuck off with the amount of times I've been told my career was over, that my life as I knew it was null and void…"
Mirth forged through her voice, unreasonable in laughter as her voice trailed off as though even she couldn't believe the words trailing off her lips.
"We're sick Matt. I'm sick- I can't even begin to describe it… I blew my ankle out months ago and I came back pretending like it's fine. I won the world title in our last company by basically refusing to die- I spent my first couple nights as a two time works champion in a fucking ICU.
I nearly became a paraplegic in that ring.
I've got more of other people's blood in my than I have my own, and spilled so much it's a wonder I can even STAND UP STRAIGHT…"
Amber could feel her voice rising as she trailed off, the laughter giving way to something sicker, dredged up from the depths where it had laid in wait. She could feel the burning in her eyes as they welled cause the venom and self-loathing had no where else to go.
"... Yet here we are. Acting like we're just fine."
Amber brought her mug up to her face, drinking slowly in hopes that maybe by obscuring her features- Matt might somehow forget the sheer swell of emotion that had washed over her in those moments.
Something real and tangible that she hated, almost as much as she might have hated who she was.
"Between you and me, I'm beyond sick of being told who I am and how I goddamn feel."
Matthew stares down into his drink before lifting it to take a swallow, making a face once more at the bitterness. Whether it be the coffee’s, his own or hers. He drummed his fingers on the mug contemplatively for another moment before he spoke up.
“Sometimes, it’s hard to discern who’s The Raven, who’s The Hurricane, Who’s Matt, and Who’s Amber. God...this whole business. You create another YOU. And you don’t know it, until you become the other you yourself, and that...that moniker is all anyone gives a shit about,” he chuckles “It’s almost like being along for the ride, and having to share in the consequences. No options otherwise.”
“We are sick. And I don’t think there’s any cure, Red...if there was, Jack would have probably left a long, long time ago.”
Amber fidgets slightly, there's a twitch in her face that she can't quite hide.
"Only cure is a hole in the ground. Jack got it figured out for the most part- he never really succumbed to the sickness.
Mac too… they see a light at the end of the tunnel, there's a way out whenever they so choose. A real life I suppose."
Slipping out of her chair, Amber paced a little agitatedly.
"We want a cure as much as we want a fucking hole in the head.
Sometimes more depending on the night."
Agitated Amber wasn't fun to be around, twitchy as her hands wring together. A ticking time bomb watching her own fuse burn away without the faculties to stop it… Maybe that was the problem, that this persona as such was the only thing left holding her together, that tugging on the threads left her unravelling faster than she could stop it.
A distorted angel. A painted hurricane. Anything but a redheaded girl drowning under the weight of what she'd created.
“I don’t see it, either.” he admitted, eyes watching her pace now, but staring through her at the same time, “I don’t see a way out of the loop. I go, i fight, i win, sometimes i win a title, then i lose, then i lose a title. And I just...go. If I stop? The only time I stopped..well, I already told you.”
He clicks his tongue.
“I don’t think Matt Knox made it back to the business. I think it was only the Raven that flew in...but you?” he swallowed once, considering the dangerous waters he was about to enter before diving in “I don’t think the Hurricane has outlived Amber. The way you touch Mac, the way I saw you after your match at Coronation..you’re still...a person? You KNOW you’re sick. And you want to believe in a cure, believe that you and Mac can travel the world without it being to another fight..”
“I hope you’re right, too. You deserve it Red, I mean that.”
Pausing in contemplation, Amber watched Matt for a moment as though unsure what to make of his words. With the sweetest, perhaps saddest smile she might have been able to muster, the words fell like rain and finally a tear, just one, slowly rolled down her cheek.
"Maybe so… but Amber… not the hurricane, not the angel, not anything else I'm supposed to be...
She might just be the worst one of them all."
“She’s alright, from what i’ve seen.” a pause, and a boyish grin “When she’s not trying to choke me out or beat my face in. Makes a mean cup of coffee, too.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, head bowed slightly with a lingering shame in her outburst of weakness, Amber sighed loudly with a soft laugh to follow.
"You haven't seen a damn thing yet then. Maybe that's a good thing, so let's keep it that way- I don't think I could deal with another body on my conscience quite yet.
Give me a few days and we can revisit."
Matt took her in then, staring at the defeated stance, the distant eyes. He was up before his self preservation could stop him and he rounded the table, reaching one hand out to turn her slightly, and before the redhead could protest or bloody him, Knox took her into a firm hug, patting her on the back once.
“I’ve seen enough not to hate you, Amber. Whatever that’s worth.”
Amber flinched hard instinctively, the idea of being touched had coincided with violence for so long that everything else seemed foreign.
When Mac hugged her, when Jack hugged her- it was as though they risked getting cut to shreds to force those broken pieces back together. That she might tear them apart for the effort- however the flinch was but momentary as she buried her face half into Matt's shoulder, likely murmuring a threat of violence should word ever have escaped about the lapses in her otherwise impenetrable armour.
Partially muffled by her own positioning, Amber in her most softly spoken tone whispered knowingly.
"... Don't let me hurt anyone else."