Your wife is alongside you, caught up in her words. You’d been joining in, but right now, you find yourself slumping back into the fold out chair. Hardly the most comfortable of things, but you’re not noticing that at this time.
(Vanessa): And then she sucks your fingers like a f*cking lollipop… urgh…
The flash of anger from Vanessa as she throws her hands in the air is felt by yourself in equal measure.
(Hans): Nein, das ist nicht eingeschaltet.
You look up at your wife, nodding. You spoke in German, defaulting to your native tongue out of habit when you’re frustrated and annoyed. She understands though, she’s been married to you long enough to know you do this. Besides, she can converse with you easily enough though she is always conscious of her Southern accent when it comes to certain harsh sounding words. To this day you still think it’s endearing.
(Hans): None of it is mein schatz. The finger, the spitting… nein…
You trail off, inhaling sharply through your nose. Earlier in the night when catching a moment with Butch between matches, you’d seen the live watch along’s and trending data. And to go with that, the videos already appearing on YouTube analyzing the timings of his counts as referee. Some were on Erica’s side, some were on Michelle’s, either which way, he had his detractors.
Still, you’d spare them the same amount of consideration that you would an amateur investigator on one of the cookie cutter Netflix documentaries that Vanessa loved to put on in the background from time to time. You could never get his head around the concept of having a hunch and working backwards versus the facts being the basis and going from there.
Anyway, enough about that. She’d not watched one in a few weeks, perhaps it’d carry on provided you don’t say anything.
(Vanessa): I’ll be needing to get one of those plexi screens out and in front of Jason and I for Havoc…
(Hans): Hmm… there’s plenty going spare since Covid restrictions are going… jah, there’s an idea…
You smile up at her, she smiles back, the tension diffusing in the air briefly.
(Vanessa): What about you though honey? I know you sit there and think on things, but… I know what Maniac said touched a nerve. D’you wanna talk?
She goes down to one knee in front of you, holding your hands in hers, concern etched on her face.
She’s right, you do dwell and ruminate on things.
She’s well aware that you have a penchant for being flippant to deflect from it at times.
That look on her face says as clear as day that she knows what’s coming. Some things never change. Maybe now’s the time?
No. Not today.
(Hans): I’ll be fine meine göttin…
Ah, here it comes.
(Hans): I’m just grateful I wasn’t conscious so I didn’t get subjected to their singing, jah?
You force a laugh.
(Vanessa): Hmm, it was… it was f*cking awful, yeah… they won’t win awards…
She nods at this, cracking a smile though it doesn’t reach her eyes. They’re still filled with concern and looking right into yours.
Plan A didn’t work then.
Sheiße.
It was wishful thinking that she’d be fobbed off so easily.
Plan B?
It would help if I knew what Plan B was…
You exhale loudly and slowly, buying yourself some time. It’s like you’re coming to terms with things, processing… and you are, just not the way you probably should be doing it.
You gesture behind yourself with one hand towards the general vicinity of the other locker rooms.
(Hans): It’s Jeremy… we…
She’s nodding as you say this.
(Hans): We never got to finish it in the manner we deserved. It was wunderbar up until…
You trail off.
Sheiße. This was a terrible plan.
Still nodding, Vanessa takes your hands back into hers. She finishes your sentence.
(Vanessa): Up until Maniac and that b*tch decided to have their fun, yeah, I get you honey.
She leans in closer.
(Vanessa): But that’s not the full story.
No.
Of course it’s not.
Your internal voice is as sulky as your little niece when she’s been told off.
The corner of your mouth tugs upward a fraction at that thought.
(Hans): Nein… ich…
(Vanessa): I’m sure Jeremy’s just as p*ssed as you are that the match didn’t get the chance to wrap up the way you both wanted it to. You’ll get your chance to face each other again before too long I’m sure.
She smiles sweetly at you.
(Vanessa): I know you won’t have heard it, you zone out a little when you’re in the ring, but the fans were so loud for you both. Jason and I could barely hear ourselves think at times.
You just shrug, accepting this.
It’s true though, you get tunnel vision of sorts in the ring. Outside distractions aren’t wanted, by all means, amp yourself up behind the curtain before coming up and hear the crowd roar as you walk to the ring, but after that the proverbial visor comes down.
What comes out your mouth next isn’t a distraction or attempt at any rate.
(Hans): It was a good match, Herr Branson is sehr gut… he had me a few times there…
You blow another low breath out.
(Hans): When we have the new place done up, I’d like to invite him round for dinner. Or we go out. Something, jah?
(Vanessa): Of course, that sounds lovely. Probably be easier if we went out. Unless you want to do a BBQ, get a few of them over?
That was an appealing thought.
(Hans): Jah… jah…
Pursing your lips, you mull over the choices.
First things first though.
(Hans): Get the keys first though, then we can arrange something.
Vanessa agrees to this.
Perhaps Plan B wasn’t too bad afterall…
(Vanessa): Of course honey.
She gets to her feet, crossing over to the side table a few short steps away. She pours herself a glass of chilled water from the jug, repeating the act a few seconds later with a second glass.
Turning back towards you, she offers one of the glasses which you accept gratefully, almost draining it in one gulp.
(Vanessa): Now are you sure you don’t want to talk about things? He said some horrific things Hans. Anyone with their head screwed on was standing there appalled.
Sheiße, spoke too soon.
(Vanessa): Don’t go bottling this up honey…
That was my plan. For now at least.
(Vanessa): … it’ll eat at you.
Yes… I know it will…
You slump forward in your chair, glass still held in your hand, the dregs of the water dripping onto the floor.
A low rumble forms in your chest before forcing it’s way out as you slam your free hand into the meat of your thigh.
(Hans): This piece of… this verdammt depp!
Slumping back in your chair, you let Vanessa take the empty glass from your hand.
(Hans): He has nothing on me. Nothing. He has more personalities than wins… Maniac, Dream Master, Antonio whatever… what next? ‘I love chaos’, nein, leck mich am arsch! Du liebst es, ein arschloch zu sein.
Running one hand through your hair, you end up pointing to the shower across from you.
(Hans): I’m going to go shower. Then we’re going to get food, jah?
(Vanessa): Ok…
On a roll, you barely let the words escape your wives mouth.
(Hans): Then we go somewhere, somewhere for a few nights…
(Vanessa): Somewhere? Somewhere warm? Somewhere cold?
(Hans): Nein, not kalt, warm. Jah, warm. Few days, take some time for ourselves. Let Herr Chaos come up with some new material and I can calm down enough so that I don’t grind him under the heel of my boot like the little piece of sh*t that he is the first chance I get.
You get to your feet, still talking, still mimicking.
(Hans): ‘I’m just unlocking your true potential’. F*ck off, not even a snake oil salesman would try and pull that one, Scheißkerl.
You let another strangled noise escape the cavity of your chest as you walk past your wife and towards the shower.
(Vanessa): Keep the curtain back babe, you know the drill.
(Hans): Jah, jah…
You feel better for the venting, even if you’d rather not have done so. But you’re grateful that your wife didn’t just let you say anything and nothing.
Those two would need to be sorted before long though.
Herr Chaos had gone swimming in the deep again.
The fool.
The scene fades to black.
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