HWA Message Board: Flashbacks

End of Havoc – 8:57 p.m. ET – Nashville, TN

Jeremy turns his head, looking right at you. To one side, that She-Bitch is tugging on your arm.

Everything is tunnel vision. There is no sound.

It’s profoundly… unsettling... and yet you feel right at home.

You’re aware that the Bridgestone Arena surrounds you, embraces you… the fans are making enough noise to register on the Richter scale… you rock slightly, not from the aural battering of the silent screams, but from Erica’s efforts to pull you away.

(Jeremy): Just go!

‘What?’

You had heard something.

Your ears pricked up at the sound.

(Jeremy): Just go!

‘What was that?’

You go to move your head, but find yourself locked, eyes unable to focus.

You blink in an effort to clear the scene in front of you.

Darkness.

(Jeremy): Just go!

Another blink, trying to clear it more forcefully but it doesn’t work.

It feels like now would be a good time to panic, but Jeremy’s now fading out, his mouth still opening and closing, not making words that you’d understand… just noise…

Monday morning – 7:01 a.m. PT – Los Angeles, CA

Your body spasms, jerking you awake.

Besides your head, placed on top of the small dresser is your phone, currently both vibrating and also emitting the piercing sound of your alarm.
You blink, the view doesn’t change much, those blackout blinds you had installed see to that, albeit the aftermath of the screensaver, a picture of you and your wife from your trip to Saint Martin some months before are almost burned onto the back of your eyes.

Groaning, you force your eyes open, this time staring up at the ceiling.

A tangled mane of red hair stirs beside you, Vanessa rolling over, her eyes similarly bleary to your own appear as she brushes her flowing locks aside.

(Vanessa): I thought you’d changed your alarm babe?

(Hans): So did I…

One hand covering your eyes albeit not tightly, allowing you to see the screen more easily without blinding yourself fully, you turn round and click the snooze button to at least stop it.

Slumping back to where you had been, your head drifts to the side so as to face your wife.

You both smile at one another sleepily.

(Hans): Sleep ok mein schatz?

A ‘hmm’ noise comes from her, as she squints with one eye, head bobbing from side to side fractionally.

(Vanessa): Yes and no…

She elaborates by looking down towards her belly, hidden as it is by the covers.

(Vanessa): This little one was restless in the night, so…

You chime in.

(Hans): So you were restless as well.

You shuffle across the mattress, planting a kiss on her forehead, before drawing her into your arms.

(Vanessa): Yeah…

You both get comfortable in the silence, your right hand idly stroking her hair as you both slowly take stock and flush the sleep from your systems.

(Vanessa): You didn’t seem to be getting a good rest either babe.

It’s not a question, it’s fact.

(Vanessa): Was it me rolling about to get comfy?

You pause, that’s not right… but…

…

…

It is an easy answer to give, right?

Two parts of you go to war right now. One half wanting to just admit what you’d been imagining, the other half not wanting to deal with it… either this morning, the rest of the day…

’Ever.’

That droll voice in your head gets washed out, the other side winning for now.

(Hans): Nein my love, I’ve got a lot on my mind. I think I just had a nightmare.

Your eyes close as Vanessa fusses over you in spite of your protestations until the sound of the alarm once again blares from the side of the bed.

End of Havoc – 8:59 p.m. ET – Nashville, TN

You’re turning to follow, close behind Erica as she jumps the barricade…

Then Erica is leading you towards the backstage area. Your vision is zoned in on the back of her neck, your lips curled back unconsciously as you considered the benefits of wringing it.

The interior of the arena is a blur as she blows through doors and past staffers, before reaching the reserved parking garage for the HWA staff. She reaches the rent-a-car and opens the driver’s door, moving to get in.

‘And flee? No.’

You find yourself reaching not for her neck but her right arm, your grip around her wrist at almost the same pressure you’d applied that night late last year as you wrenched her into the ‘Walls of Berlin’...

You smile inside at the yelp she emits as you spin her around, your other hand homing in on her throat like a missile to a target.

Do you hear a rib crack, as you slam her back into the car?

’God I hope so…’

Some loose glass from the window she’s been slammed into tinkle onto the ground, flecks of it being ground further into dust beneath your boot as you adjust your footing.

’Perhaps not… shame…’

You lift her up above you like an gladiator might hold aloft the helmet of a defeated foe for the applause of the crowd. Her legs dangling beneath her, flailing weakly.

She’s trying to speak… you don’t release your hold, not wanting to make it easy for her to choke out a few words…

(Erica): Didn’t know… you were into… erotic… asphyxiation!

Your grip tightens more, crushing the words from her throat.

With your other hand free, you consider the benefits of plunging a fist into her sternum over and over again.

’Tempting, but not what I need to do first.’

You slowly pulls the phone she had handed you a short while ago from where you’d tucked them in your wrestling tights and dial the last number she called.

You hear it ring, the only other sound to be heard is the air flooding in and out of your nostrils and the occasional fleck of glass breaking free as Erica flails in your grip.

You heft the phone and shove it in her face, a fraction later, loosening your grip just enough for her to speak.

She grins at you, taunting you even through the gagging as the phone is answered on the other end.

(Erica): Está todo bien, y…

Before she can finish, before she can say anything else, you pull the phone from her, your thumb stabbing down on the screen to end the call. As you do so, your hand wrapped around her throat resumes its vice-like grip leaving her to claw feebly at your arm, even as she stares right at you.

You dial another number, a number you know off by heart.

You don’t look at Erica. You don’t want her to see the fear, concern, pain and anger you have vying for dominance right now.

Your wife picks up.

Relief hits you like a dam breaking its banks.

You don’t speak, what you hear is comfort enough. For the moment at least.

As you hit the end call button on the phone, you’re aware of where you are, what you’re doing. You raise your head back up, eyes locking on hers.

A moment passes as you stare at her, triggering her to pull at your hand ineffectively again, the sweat around your wrist making it impossible to grip.

You release her unceremoniously, letting her drop to the ground as so much dead weight. As she lies before you, choking and gagging, you gently lob her phone to the ground, before crushing it beneath your heel, grinding it into the concrete.

You step round her and the rental car, heading right back into the arena.

You’re on autopilot.

Left foot in front.

Now the right.

Now the left.

Right foot again.

Your steps pick up pace.

You want out of here.

Thursday morning – 10:32 a.m. PT – Los Angeles, CA

You practically stumble to a half on the track outside of the HWA Academy.

Arms going wide, you search for balance, looking for all the world like you’d take a tumble, only to save yourself at the last second.

You take a moment, placing your hands on your hips and stopping, ensuring no-one else might be about to pass and find themselves hitting you through your own clumsiness had you kept going.

A low exasperated sound tunnels it’s way through your chest and erupts, as you bite back a shout of frustration at yourself.

’And her. And him. And the other ones…’

Your hand goes to mop sweat from your brow, only to careen into the cap you’re wearing.

(Hans): Scheiße!

You’re saying it not out of pain or shock, but as a vent, a safety release of sorts.

It’s not really making much of a difference though, the last few days… you’d hoped a training run would help and like much of the other attempts you’d made since Havoc, you’d discovered that you were left in the same position from where you’d begun…

You aim a kick at nothing, imagining it was the head of someone. Anyone. Mainly her, before releasing another muted grunt of annoyance.

(Hans): F*ck!

No, this won’t do.

Another work out?

Drive yourself into the ground with exhaustion?

It appealed right now.

Perhaps this time it wouldn’t be just your muscles that were left exhausted, but your thoughts could join them in seeking rest.

You make a start back towards the Academy building proper, unsure if that would really come to pass, but needing to find out.

End scene.