Post by theravenmattknox on Jun 13, 2021 7:11:32 GMT -5
I am stretched out on your grave
And i’ll lie here forever
If your hand were in mind
I’d be sure they would not sever
My apple tree
My brightness
It's time we were together
For I smell of the earth..
And i’m worn by the weather….
Matthew’s eyes bore into the mausoleum before him. He had left with the crew, opting to leave Ivy and Hope back at the hotel room. He felt the very breath he took quake with an unfamiliar terror. Steeling his resolve, he walked up the steps where one of the workers from the cemetery had set to getting the door open. Patiently, he stood and waited. His mind clinging to the sound of hammer and chisel..
TAP…..TAP…..TAP
He exhaled slowly, the warmth of the opiates he had chewed earlier to steel his nerves washing over him..
TAP...TAP….TAP…
His partner had tapped out…
He should have been pissed. Well, more pissed, as he wiped the makeup from his face while his partner was getting his ankle wrapped in the next room. Big debut match and not only did they lose, they got walked around the fucking ring in the process. And still, through the humiliation and the wounded pride? All he could focus on was that damnable woman. Charlie James.
At first, he was surprised to learn she was in fact of the fairer sex, having assumed it was a Charles James with a playful side he’d be facing. When in fact it was the most frustrating, brutal, violent and underhanded person he had ever fought he found waiting for him this night. She held chokes too long, removed turnbuckle pads. And, in her coup de tas, cost them the match by taking him out with a low blow while the ref wasn’t looking.
The worst part, though? The part that ate at him? Was the smoky, playful, almost lusty air about her. Especially in her gaze. Perhaps it was just him being young and admittedly in the middle of a dry spell, but there was a connection tonight..there was something about Charlie James. And as much as his mind told him not to? His heart...and it’s tag partner from the south...were both bound and determined to explore that connection to its fullest.
“Knox! Hey, Birdman!” his train of thought was derailed as his eyes lifted to the familiar drawl of his tag partner, Kentucky’s least favorite son, Jake Caine. They slapped hands as he entered, taking a seat next to Knox and handing him his envelope. Knox took it with a nod, thankful he didn’t have to deal with the pay window.
“Can’t believe that chick went right for the goods.” He quipped as he pushed fiery red locks from a face pitted with acne scars and...well, other scars. They had met in an indy mud promotion, Absolute Power Wrestling Organization where Caine was tagging with his cousin Wolfgang Caine at the time, He had, however, hung up his boots to get back into bounty hunting.
Interesting folks in the indies.
“Yeah. Should have seen her coming, honestly.”
“Hell, I think you oughta ask her out. She’s already felt the boys so you’re past lyin, right?”
A snort was all Knox paid him as he slid the envelope of pay into the old, familiar Adidas bag. The vibration on the bench had him snatching the RAZR flip phone and checking the text. A smirk.
“Well, shit.”
“What’s up?”
“Looks like we did well enough to get booked again. Singles this time. They got you goin against James and i’m squaring off with Ross Walker.”
A crooked, yellow grin split the pitted face. Green eyes alight with mischief as he paid Knox a punch in the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Birdman. I’ll wear a cup so she don’t find out mines bigger..”
“Mr. Knox?”
His reverie broke as reality took hold. The crypt door stood open before him now. The uprising staff member cleared his throat after Knox nodded, indicating he had arrived back to the now.
“So, from here onto this time tomorrow you’re to remain locked in here. We’ve been assured you’ll have enough air. You will not be given any water or food. We’ll be taking your cellphone as well. However, i’ll be here outside for eight hours, and another person will come and take a shift as well so if there is a medica emergency you can be released. However, I would warn you that this means the match would be call--”
“I understand.” Knox handed his phone off to the man, before shedding his jacket and handing it off as well. He stepped into the crypt, standing still as stone as they shuffled behind him. His eyes rested upon the coffin, resting upon the pedestal before him. Slowly, the light faded as the creak of the decade old doors filled his ears. And in an instant, he was no longer among the living.
He released a slow exhale, before walking to the coffin and running a hand over it. His palm left a trail through the dust which he then wiped off on his pants leg. He lifted his hand again, pressing his fingers to the lid and testing it. It opened with ease but he could not bring himself to push beyond that test. Beyond that boundary, that line. He had a reality now, that he was so comfortable within its suffering. .And as long as he didn’t cross that line it would stay that, wouldn't it? A reality?
No..he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. No, he wouldn’t exist in a reality built upon a maybe...or even an outright lie.
No, he had lived and ran on the reality of perhaps before..
Burt and Rob, or as they were known in the ring Ritalin and Prozac, laughed like the pair of young ne’erdowells they were at the hotel bar. On either side of them, some starstruck fans who were all too eager to share time and drink with “The Medz”. Tucked off to the side of the room, in a booth that had been dimmed via the removal of a couple light bulbs, sat Matt Knox nursing his third manhattan.
In front of him on the table, in all its shimmering glory was the FWF TV Championship. He had beaten Benny Star for it earlier that night and he still felt electric, even as the drink took hold. He had never won singles gold before, and it felt otherworldly. The pride in Hugh’s voice when he called him moments after he got to the back was easily in the top two or three moments of his young life.
“Impressive win tonight, Matthew.”
The blood in his veins ran cold. His eyes shot up to meet the pair he already knew would be boring into him. There, before him, was none other than Charlie James. He felt the ghost of a sting on his bottom lip as her presence enveloped him and filled the booth with the most wonderful mixture of terror and lust.
“Miss James. What brings you here?”
“I can’t congratulate a friend?”
“We’re friends?”
“More than, I’d like to think.” The rebuttal was flat and plainly stated, as if confirming a truth as obvious as the sky being blue and water wet. She slid her lithe form into the booth, not across from him, but directly next to him as if they had been going steady for eons. She even presumed to take his drink, and down what remained.
He scooted away from her slightly, paying her statement a snort.
“So, you attacking me and costing me matches...or trying to, anyway. Demanding I fight you when i’ve made it pretty clear I won’t...that all constitutes….more than friendship?” a smirk cracked his face as his eyebrow arched, gaze settling on her form. He did his best to hold onto his composure, even as the bourbon did its best to damn every last bit of it.
“All sporting, and all a memory if you agree.”
“Maybe I don’t want to harm you?”
“Maybe I want you to.”
As biting as her words were, she kept her gaze downcast into the glass in front of her. A waiter came by, dropping off a pair of the cocktails now as he continued to vie for a big night of tips.
“And why would you want me to?”
“When you do, maybe I'll let you find out.” At this, she darted her eyes back up to meet his, raising a hand and caressing his cheek. He felt his skin light on fire under that touch. A coy smirk played across those pale, inviting lips.
“Or you could quit the games and talk it out with me, like an adult?” He shifted himself then, leaning down to meet her gaze before leaning even further, bringing his lips right next to her ear before adding, “Perhaps, over breakfast?”. The hum she made sounded inviting at first, and as he felt her nestle her face into the crook of his neck he felt a fire begin to spread rapidly through him, as anticipation now months old cried out for relief.
“My Darling Matthew….I couldn’t risk you waking up to the wrong me.”
Her teeth bit into his neck briefly, before her presence vanished. He nearly fell into the spot she had previously occupied as he caught himself, frozen by her touch and her...bite? His eyes stared after her, a hand reaching up to his neck and tracing over her parting gift to him. A shaky exhale, and a chuckle.
“I guess I get that.” he mumbled the lie as he watched her fade into the crowded lobby, taking a drink back into his hands as he tried to concentrate on anything but her.
Drunk walking back to the room with a hard on was no kind of look he intended to model, if he could help it.
Seconds bled into minutes into hours. He had taken his shirt off, and was seated in the lotus position. The already dreary and distant English summer sun had begun to set outside the crypt, the light beneath the door fading into a rustic orange. The evening air that began to sweep in bit him to the bone but at this point? In this environment? It was a welcome distraction, a mercy even. As he put off the inevitable.
The memory of the hotel had bled into so many other identical encounters over time and in the sea of vices he had sailed in since then. But they all shared that common thread. Spikes of heat in an otherwise cold and desolate existence.
The one pang that stayed forever though, and the defining aspect of all of this? All he ever shared with this woman, this presence that haunted his days and nights a decade and a half later? Was that they were just moments. Ships passing in the night, brushing one another for a spark of a second. . .
They had sated the more carnal fires that had been lit. Of course they had, that was a given. But there was something...something unhealthy. He chalked it to the thrill of their unusual relationship but in his most private moments he knew it was something much more sinister. She demanded the fight still, and still he resisted. And still she would attack, constantly. Sometimes it would cost him a match, sometimes she would simply hit him with something backstage..
But each time, every time it would lead to some fierce, physical, carnal encounter that kept his head perpetually stuck in a fog of confusion...each encounter and each attack escalated in severity. Of lust, of violence. Bloodshed and unholy war and savage, animilistic sex. Bloodlust and a simple, angry lust…
And it built..and built ....and built, to that terrible crescendo that echoed to this day.
His body was wracked with pain and his heart heavy with frustration as he dragged himself up the stairs. Hope had been put to bed, and down in his den Hugh celebrated with the Medz, mostly Robert Prozac as he had earned himself a shot at the FWF World Title at Genesis in a couple of months. His own night had been decidedly less productive, though. Brad Jackson had been every bit the monster they warned him of.
And so, his hubris cost him the FWF Television title. He felt his lips curl into a sneer as the mental image of Brad Jackson sauntering off with the title flashed before his eyes again. The way he carried a title that Matthew had so treasured, as if it were little more than a bag of groceries burned and bit at him. No, it would not stand. One way, or another he’d get a crack at the Dark Horse again.
He had no sooner stepped into his room before he felt her presence, standing beside the door she just closed.
“Failure is like ash in the mouth, isn’t it Matthew?”
His sneer deepened, he kept his back to her for a moment.
“I’m really not in the mood for this tonight, Charlotte.”
“It’s adorable that you think you have a choice..”
She leapt at him then, driving a punch right into a spot Jackson had worked over while simultaneously driving her boot into the back of the knee he had no doubt reinjured in that cage. In an instant, the pugnacious corvid was on one knee in front of her. He made no move to fight back, his eyes staring up at her as she took her place in front of him.
“Now see, this suits you. Kneeling in front of me. Acknowledging who really holds the leash…” she clicked her tongue, running her fingers over his cheek. Her tone softened then although her gaze remained razor sharp, her entire demeanor still drippin with a deadly acid. “I’m so sorry you lost that title, Matthew. It might not feel like a victory now...but you being the only man who stood and volunteered to fight Jackson? That sent a message.”
She had taken to idly twirling a finger through his hair, wrapping a couple bangs around it before pulling her hand back as she took a step away from him. He rose, and stared at her. Her words filled him with an odd comfort...a feeling that was only so obviously one thing. One terrifying thing. Her hands had raised to the top button on her blouse when he stepped forward, a hand coming to snatch hers.
“No.” he said, his voice soft. The heat of her body cried out to him as his own cried out for hers, but something that had been swelling inside roared even louder. “No, Charlotte...we can’t keep doing this.” He pulled her into his chest, met only with a second of resistance. He felt her hands, strong and demure, slowly run up his shirt, coming to rest on his chest.
“I told you, Matthew...these games can end, if you give me what I want..”
“I can’t, Charlotte.” He pulled back then, raising a hand to cup the chiin of the older woman. He raised those piercing green eyes up to meet his and after a moment of fighting turning to a paddle before her, he found his voice “I can’t fight you...I won’t because I--”
“Don’t say that, Matthew.”
“And why not, Charlotte?” He removed his hand, sliding it to push some of her hair behind her ear. He felt her try to lean away but boldly, he raised his other hand to her waist and pulled her back toward him gently. “Why must we silence what we both feel, what we both know is dancing there at the end of our tongue and in the deepest, most secret part of our hearts?”
A snort, and now her hand reached up to caress his face, “Because Matthew you don’t love me..and I don’t love you. We’re damaged, broken and imperfect. We love the chase, and the understanding..”
“Broken, and our pieces fit.” He retorted, his eyes closing as he let himself lean into her touch, “My face, perfectly in your grasp. You, perfectly in my arms..my heart...perfectly in your hands.”
“I’ll kill you, Matthew. I will” The venom was sudden, but different. Panicked. Defensive and unsure..He pressed his luck then, even as she produced a knife and lifted it to his throat.
“Do it..” his eyes drifted to the blade, then to her free hand which had come to rest on his chest. He raised both hands to it, resting his fingers upon her cool flesh. He felt the bite of the steel and the unmistakable feeling of skin breaking but still, he pressed on. His voice now barely above a whisper. “Your touch is worth a hundred thousand deaths…”
“Stop it.” Pleading, angry. She shoved the blade threateningly but not enough to break the skin any further or to actually harm him. “Stop these foolish games, Matthew...I don’t Love you. I don’t love anything, outside of the game, and the suffering…” she leaned up, closer to his ear and hissed her words.
“Besides..I’m just the crazy, damaged girl. I’m not okay, and i’m going to hurt someone Matthew..”
“Then hurt me. Stay here, hurt me and let me help you. Let me repair that damage like you know I can Charlotte. Like you’ve repaired mine.”
The silence deafened the room as the sentiment weighed heavy as a boulder, pressing down upon their chests.
“Please...Stay.”
And with that, he pulled her into a deep kiss meeting little resistance. The knife slid from his throat and her hand raised back to caress his face. He felt her melt into him a moment and he was sure, he was so sure that under the stars and the moon, in that ancient home by the ocean that everything was going to be alright…
And then he felt her teeth lock down upon his lip, and the knife slide into his abdomen. He gasped and stumbled, a hand reaching up to his face while the other went to press on the wound left behind as she pulled the blade out. He stumbled back, staring at her as she stood there in the moonlight. Her shoulders slumped, eyes sullen.
“Matthew..I…” she stepped back then, toward the window. He felt the world go off kilter, the edges of his vision fraying as her words seemed to echo. The scene played itself out again as ith ad a million times. Always the same.
“I’m sorry..”
And she fell back, out the window toward the cobblestone driveway below…
The sickening, wet sound of a body impacting the ground…
He opened his eyes, finding the fingers of his left hand tracing over the scar she had left him. The only visible one of the million others that bore her name. He exhaled a shaky breath and reached up, wiping at the all too familiar tears.
Now, or never.
He stood then, emboldened by the daylight that had begun to bleed in under the mausoleum door. He stepped to the casket and hovered there a moment, hands raising to rest on the lid as the world within his mind quaked in an icy hot terror.
“Please...please, be wrong.” He whispered hoarsely, suddenly aware of how dry his throat had become during the self imposed isolation. He took in a breath, clenching his eyes shut before grasping and throwing open the lid of the casket.He dared not look for what seemed like an eternity. Clammy, trembling hands had lowered to rest at his side.
With a quaking breath, he slowly opened his eyes and stared…
At the faded, moth-eaten satin interior of the empty casket.
He felt his body tense up, a scream caught in his throat. He wanted to run, yell, accuse...investigate. He wanted to KNOW he had to...didn’t he?
He took a slow, quaking breath meant to steady him. Steady his world. He reached out and slowly closed the lid of the casket before backing up to the door, and sliding down to a seated position where he would stay, entranced and staring at the decades old lie, now as dead as he thought she was..
But why…
Why?
Crushed by the weight of it, Matthew drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in them. ..
And i’ll lie here forever
If your hand were in mind
I’d be sure they would not sever
My apple tree
My brightness
It's time we were together
For I smell of the earth..
And i’m worn by the weather….
Matthew’s eyes bore into the mausoleum before him. He had left with the crew, opting to leave Ivy and Hope back at the hotel room. He felt the very breath he took quake with an unfamiliar terror. Steeling his resolve, he walked up the steps where one of the workers from the cemetery had set to getting the door open. Patiently, he stood and waited. His mind clinging to the sound of hammer and chisel..
TAP…..TAP…..TAP
He exhaled slowly, the warmth of the opiates he had chewed earlier to steel his nerves washing over him..
TAP...TAP….TAP…
His partner had tapped out…
February 2006
Chicago, Illinois
FWF Thunder
He should have been pissed. Well, more pissed, as he wiped the makeup from his face while his partner was getting his ankle wrapped in the next room. Big debut match and not only did they lose, they got walked around the fucking ring in the process. And still, through the humiliation and the wounded pride? All he could focus on was that damnable woman. Charlie James.
At first, he was surprised to learn she was in fact of the fairer sex, having assumed it was a Charles James with a playful side he’d be facing. When in fact it was the most frustrating, brutal, violent and underhanded person he had ever fought he found waiting for him this night. She held chokes too long, removed turnbuckle pads. And, in her coup de tas, cost them the match by taking him out with a low blow while the ref wasn’t looking.
The worst part, though? The part that ate at him? Was the smoky, playful, almost lusty air about her. Especially in her gaze. Perhaps it was just him being young and admittedly in the middle of a dry spell, but there was a connection tonight..there was something about Charlie James. And as much as his mind told him not to? His heart...and it’s tag partner from the south...were both bound and determined to explore that connection to its fullest.
“Knox! Hey, Birdman!” his train of thought was derailed as his eyes lifted to the familiar drawl of his tag partner, Kentucky’s least favorite son, Jake Caine. They slapped hands as he entered, taking a seat next to Knox and handing him his envelope. Knox took it with a nod, thankful he didn’t have to deal with the pay window.
“Can’t believe that chick went right for the goods.” He quipped as he pushed fiery red locks from a face pitted with acne scars and...well, other scars. They had met in an indy mud promotion, Absolute Power Wrestling Organization where Caine was tagging with his cousin Wolfgang Caine at the time, He had, however, hung up his boots to get back into bounty hunting.
Interesting folks in the indies.
“Yeah. Should have seen her coming, honestly.”
“Hell, I think you oughta ask her out. She’s already felt the boys so you’re past lyin, right?”
A snort was all Knox paid him as he slid the envelope of pay into the old, familiar Adidas bag. The vibration on the bench had him snatching the RAZR flip phone and checking the text. A smirk.
“Well, shit.”
“What’s up?”
“Looks like we did well enough to get booked again. Singles this time. They got you goin against James and i’m squaring off with Ross Walker.”
A crooked, yellow grin split the pitted face. Green eyes alight with mischief as he paid Knox a punch in the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Birdman. I’ll wear a cup so she don’t find out mines bigger..”
“Mr. Knox?”
His reverie broke as reality took hold. The crypt door stood open before him now. The uprising staff member cleared his throat after Knox nodded, indicating he had arrived back to the now.
“So, from here onto this time tomorrow you’re to remain locked in here. We’ve been assured you’ll have enough air. You will not be given any water or food. We’ll be taking your cellphone as well. However, i’ll be here outside for eight hours, and another person will come and take a shift as well so if there is a medica emergency you can be released. However, I would warn you that this means the match would be call--”
“I understand.” Knox handed his phone off to the man, before shedding his jacket and handing it off as well. He stepped into the crypt, standing still as stone as they shuffled behind him. His eyes rested upon the coffin, resting upon the pedestal before him. Slowly, the light faded as the creak of the decade old doors filled his ears. And in an instant, he was no longer among the living.
He released a slow exhale, before walking to the coffin and running a hand over it. His palm left a trail through the dust which he then wiped off on his pants leg. He lifted his hand again, pressing his fingers to the lid and testing it. It opened with ease but he could not bring himself to push beyond that test. Beyond that boundary, that line. He had a reality now, that he was so comfortable within its suffering. .And as long as he didn’t cross that line it would stay that, wouldn't it? A reality?
No..he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. No, he wouldn’t exist in a reality built upon a maybe...or even an outright lie.
No, he had lived and ran on the reality of perhaps before..
May 2007
New Orleans, Louisiana
Burt and Rob, or as they were known in the ring Ritalin and Prozac, laughed like the pair of young ne’erdowells they were at the hotel bar. On either side of them, some starstruck fans who were all too eager to share time and drink with “The Medz”. Tucked off to the side of the room, in a booth that had been dimmed via the removal of a couple light bulbs, sat Matt Knox nursing his third manhattan.
In front of him on the table, in all its shimmering glory was the FWF TV Championship. He had beaten Benny Star for it earlier that night and he still felt electric, even as the drink took hold. He had never won singles gold before, and it felt otherworldly. The pride in Hugh’s voice when he called him moments after he got to the back was easily in the top two or three moments of his young life.
“Impressive win tonight, Matthew.”
The blood in his veins ran cold. His eyes shot up to meet the pair he already knew would be boring into him. There, before him, was none other than Charlie James. He felt the ghost of a sting on his bottom lip as her presence enveloped him and filled the booth with the most wonderful mixture of terror and lust.
“Miss James. What brings you here?”
“I can’t congratulate a friend?”
“We’re friends?”
“More than, I’d like to think.” The rebuttal was flat and plainly stated, as if confirming a truth as obvious as the sky being blue and water wet. She slid her lithe form into the booth, not across from him, but directly next to him as if they had been going steady for eons. She even presumed to take his drink, and down what remained.
He scooted away from her slightly, paying her statement a snort.
“So, you attacking me and costing me matches...or trying to, anyway. Demanding I fight you when i’ve made it pretty clear I won’t...that all constitutes….more than friendship?” a smirk cracked his face as his eyebrow arched, gaze settling on her form. He did his best to hold onto his composure, even as the bourbon did its best to damn every last bit of it.
“All sporting, and all a memory if you agree.”
“Maybe I don’t want to harm you?”
“Maybe I want you to.”
As biting as her words were, she kept her gaze downcast into the glass in front of her. A waiter came by, dropping off a pair of the cocktails now as he continued to vie for a big night of tips.
“And why would you want me to?”
“When you do, maybe I'll let you find out.” At this, she darted her eyes back up to meet his, raising a hand and caressing his cheek. He felt his skin light on fire under that touch. A coy smirk played across those pale, inviting lips.
“Or you could quit the games and talk it out with me, like an adult?” He shifted himself then, leaning down to meet her gaze before leaning even further, bringing his lips right next to her ear before adding, “Perhaps, over breakfast?”. The hum she made sounded inviting at first, and as he felt her nestle her face into the crook of his neck he felt a fire begin to spread rapidly through him, as anticipation now months old cried out for relief.
“My Darling Matthew….I couldn’t risk you waking up to the wrong me.”
Her teeth bit into his neck briefly, before her presence vanished. He nearly fell into the spot she had previously occupied as he caught himself, frozen by her touch and her...bite? His eyes stared after her, a hand reaching up to his neck and tracing over her parting gift to him. A shaky exhale, and a chuckle.
“I guess I get that.” he mumbled the lie as he watched her fade into the crowded lobby, taking a drink back into his hands as he tried to concentrate on anything but her.
Drunk walking back to the room with a hard on was no kind of look he intended to model, if he could help it.
Seconds bled into minutes into hours. He had taken his shirt off, and was seated in the lotus position. The already dreary and distant English summer sun had begun to set outside the crypt, the light beneath the door fading into a rustic orange. The evening air that began to sweep in bit him to the bone but at this point? In this environment? It was a welcome distraction, a mercy even. As he put off the inevitable.
The memory of the hotel had bled into so many other identical encounters over time and in the sea of vices he had sailed in since then. But they all shared that common thread. Spikes of heat in an otherwise cold and desolate existence.
The one pang that stayed forever though, and the defining aspect of all of this? All he ever shared with this woman, this presence that haunted his days and nights a decade and a half later? Was that they were just moments. Ships passing in the night, brushing one another for a spark of a second. . .
They had sated the more carnal fires that had been lit. Of course they had, that was a given. But there was something...something unhealthy. He chalked it to the thrill of their unusual relationship but in his most private moments he knew it was something much more sinister. She demanded the fight still, and still he resisted. And still she would attack, constantly. Sometimes it would cost him a match, sometimes she would simply hit him with something backstage..
But each time, every time it would lead to some fierce, physical, carnal encounter that kept his head perpetually stuck in a fog of confusion...each encounter and each attack escalated in severity. Of lust, of violence. Bloodshed and unholy war and savage, animilistic sex. Bloodlust and a simple, angry lust…
And it built..and built ....and built, to that terrible crescendo that echoed to this day.
October 2007
Monterey, California.
His body was wracked with pain and his heart heavy with frustration as he dragged himself up the stairs. Hope had been put to bed, and down in his den Hugh celebrated with the Medz, mostly Robert Prozac as he had earned himself a shot at the FWF World Title at Genesis in a couple of months. His own night had been decidedly less productive, though. Brad Jackson had been every bit the monster they warned him of.
And so, his hubris cost him the FWF Television title. He felt his lips curl into a sneer as the mental image of Brad Jackson sauntering off with the title flashed before his eyes again. The way he carried a title that Matthew had so treasured, as if it were little more than a bag of groceries burned and bit at him. No, it would not stand. One way, or another he’d get a crack at the Dark Horse again.
He had no sooner stepped into his room before he felt her presence, standing beside the door she just closed.
“Failure is like ash in the mouth, isn’t it Matthew?”
His sneer deepened, he kept his back to her for a moment.
“I’m really not in the mood for this tonight, Charlotte.”
“It’s adorable that you think you have a choice..”
She leapt at him then, driving a punch right into a spot Jackson had worked over while simultaneously driving her boot into the back of the knee he had no doubt reinjured in that cage. In an instant, the pugnacious corvid was on one knee in front of her. He made no move to fight back, his eyes staring up at her as she took her place in front of him.
“Now see, this suits you. Kneeling in front of me. Acknowledging who really holds the leash…” she clicked her tongue, running her fingers over his cheek. Her tone softened then although her gaze remained razor sharp, her entire demeanor still drippin with a deadly acid. “I’m so sorry you lost that title, Matthew. It might not feel like a victory now...but you being the only man who stood and volunteered to fight Jackson? That sent a message.”
She had taken to idly twirling a finger through his hair, wrapping a couple bangs around it before pulling her hand back as she took a step away from him. He rose, and stared at her. Her words filled him with an odd comfort...a feeling that was only so obviously one thing. One terrifying thing. Her hands had raised to the top button on her blouse when he stepped forward, a hand coming to snatch hers.
“No.” he said, his voice soft. The heat of her body cried out to him as his own cried out for hers, but something that had been swelling inside roared even louder. “No, Charlotte...we can’t keep doing this.” He pulled her into his chest, met only with a second of resistance. He felt her hands, strong and demure, slowly run up his shirt, coming to rest on his chest.
“I told you, Matthew...these games can end, if you give me what I want..”
“I can’t, Charlotte.” He pulled back then, raising a hand to cup the chiin of the older woman. He raised those piercing green eyes up to meet his and after a moment of fighting turning to a paddle before her, he found his voice “I can’t fight you...I won’t because I--”
“Don’t say that, Matthew.”
“And why not, Charlotte?” He removed his hand, sliding it to push some of her hair behind her ear. He felt her try to lean away but boldly, he raised his other hand to her waist and pulled her back toward him gently. “Why must we silence what we both feel, what we both know is dancing there at the end of our tongue and in the deepest, most secret part of our hearts?”
A snort, and now her hand reached up to caress his face, “Because Matthew you don’t love me..and I don’t love you. We’re damaged, broken and imperfect. We love the chase, and the understanding..”
“Broken, and our pieces fit.” He retorted, his eyes closing as he let himself lean into her touch, “My face, perfectly in your grasp. You, perfectly in my arms..my heart...perfectly in your hands.”
“I’ll kill you, Matthew. I will” The venom was sudden, but different. Panicked. Defensive and unsure..He pressed his luck then, even as she produced a knife and lifted it to his throat.
“Do it..” his eyes drifted to the blade, then to her free hand which had come to rest on his chest. He raised both hands to it, resting his fingers upon her cool flesh. He felt the bite of the steel and the unmistakable feeling of skin breaking but still, he pressed on. His voice now barely above a whisper. “Your touch is worth a hundred thousand deaths…”
“Stop it.” Pleading, angry. She shoved the blade threateningly but not enough to break the skin any further or to actually harm him. “Stop these foolish games, Matthew...I don’t Love you. I don’t love anything, outside of the game, and the suffering…” she leaned up, closer to his ear and hissed her words.
“Besides..I’m just the crazy, damaged girl. I’m not okay, and i’m going to hurt someone Matthew..”
“Then hurt me. Stay here, hurt me and let me help you. Let me repair that damage like you know I can Charlotte. Like you’ve repaired mine.”
The silence deafened the room as the sentiment weighed heavy as a boulder, pressing down upon their chests.
“Please...Stay.”
And with that, he pulled her into a deep kiss meeting little resistance. The knife slid from his throat and her hand raised back to caress his face. He felt her melt into him a moment and he was sure, he was so sure that under the stars and the moon, in that ancient home by the ocean that everything was going to be alright…
And then he felt her teeth lock down upon his lip, and the knife slide into his abdomen. He gasped and stumbled, a hand reaching up to his face while the other went to press on the wound left behind as she pulled the blade out. He stumbled back, staring at her as she stood there in the moonlight. Her shoulders slumped, eyes sullen.
“Matthew..I…” she stepped back then, toward the window. He felt the world go off kilter, the edges of his vision fraying as her words seemed to echo. The scene played itself out again as ith ad a million times. Always the same.
“I’m sorry..”
And she fell back, out the window toward the cobblestone driveway below…
The sickening, wet sound of a body impacting the ground…
He opened his eyes, finding the fingers of his left hand tracing over the scar she had left him. The only visible one of the million others that bore her name. He exhaled a shaky breath and reached up, wiping at the all too familiar tears.
Now, or never.
He stood then, emboldened by the daylight that had begun to bleed in under the mausoleum door. He stepped to the casket and hovered there a moment, hands raising to rest on the lid as the world within his mind quaked in an icy hot terror.
“Please...please, be wrong.” He whispered hoarsely, suddenly aware of how dry his throat had become during the self imposed isolation. He took in a breath, clenching his eyes shut before grasping and throwing open the lid of the casket.He dared not look for what seemed like an eternity. Clammy, trembling hands had lowered to rest at his side.
With a quaking breath, he slowly opened his eyes and stared…
At the faded, moth-eaten satin interior of the empty casket.
He felt his body tense up, a scream caught in his throat. He wanted to run, yell, accuse...investigate. He wanted to KNOW he had to...didn’t he?
He took a slow, quaking breath meant to steady him. Steady his world. He reached out and slowly closed the lid of the casket before backing up to the door, and sliding down to a seated position where he would stay, entranced and staring at the decades old lie, now as dead as he thought she was..
But why…
Why?
Crushed by the weight of it, Matthew drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in them. ..