It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a spot like this. A shot at a championship that I once held. A shot at taking that championship to Alcatraz and defending it against a handful of misfits in a match dubbed Seven Deadly Sins. It’s not something that I expected, because frankly…it’s probably not something I deserve. What I deserve is to be locked away in Alcatraz. Just ask Logan Tyler. He thinks we’re far too dangerous to be loose right now. But it’s not us that I’m worried about. I’m worried about him. I’m worried about Logan. If Logan takes over, everyone should be worried. From the guys in the match, to the guys in the back. No one would be safe. He’s a sick puppy, and the worst part of it is….he knows it, and he likes it that way.
“Ya’ thinkin’ about me?”
I jump back in terror. I was hunched forward on my couch, just thinking….and he’s right, I was thinking about him. His soft voice sends chills down my spine as he leans against the railing at the bottom of the stairs. He slowly marches in my direction, his pale skin is nearly blinding, as he walks into the dimly lit living room. He slowly and softly sits down next to me on the couch, and places his right hand on my shoulder. He brushes his neatly parted hair away from his face with his fingers. His black fingernail polish gives off a nineties-gothic vibe…exactly what he was intending, I’m sure. I put my face in my hands and lean forward. I don’t want to talk to him right now, he’s an unwanted distraction…I need to focus.
“I know you think you’re going to hatch some master plan,” he whispers into my ear.
“But face facts, Steve….this isn’t your match to win. This is a set up. This is how Lee Best embarasses you in front of the entire world. This is how he breaks your spirit before he sends you off to Alcatraz. He wants you to lose. He wants you to be defeated,” he continues as he leans in closer.
“He wants you gone, Steve.”
He’s probably right. Things haven’t been the same as they were. The Best Alliance is done and I’m essentially the last pawn standing up, ready to be taken out next.
“But we don’t want you gone, Steve. We want you here. We want you to be with us. Forever…and ever….and ever…”
He’s just fuckin’ with me now, but he’s planted the seed of doubt right into the middle of my fuckin’ brain.
“Oh, quit bein’ a bitch!” The hoarse voice of an alcoholic booms from atop the staircase. The sound of heavy Army style boots stomping down the stairs fills the room. Logan springs up to his feet. He places his hand across his chest, like an actress that’s about to faint.
“Sit your punk ass down!” Shawn demands, pointing a finger right at Logan, who promptly obliges and sits down.
“It’s not about wins or losses, you pansy bitch. It’s about executing the motherfuckin’ mission, man. And that’s what we’re going to do!” Shawn shouts as he steps down into the living room. He takes the final swig from the Modelo in his hand and chucks the bottle out of the broken window straight across from me.
I tell Shawn that he should be concerned. I tell him that we know nothing about Jeffrey James Roberts, except that he has three fuckin’ names.
“Yeah, like it’s fuckin’ 2001 all over again,” Shawn exclaims from behind his yellow toothed smile.
“The only thing you – or we – need to worry about, is gettin’ our asses to the arena and getting between the ropes. Once that’s happened, I’ll take us to the promised land.”
But I don’t want Shawn to take us there, I don’t want Shawn around at all. I don’t want him, or that sick fuck Logan anywhere near me! But there’s nothing I can do anymore.
They are a part of me.
We are one.
“You know. We can fuckin’ hear you, right? We’re inside your head!” Shawn tears my head off. I can’t even fucking think in peace anymore. I have no privacy, I have no career.
I have nothing.
I have nothing but these too fuckin’ guys. A sissy, pale-faced, psychopath and a beer-swilling, foul mouthed, fake-alpha.
“You’re gonna make him mad, Steve,” He whispers, a hand cupped around the right side of his face. You know, like you do when you’re trying to conceal what you’re saying. I know he’s talking about Shawn and I know that Shawn knows what I’m thinking.
I don’t give a fuck anymore.
This shitshow is getting near its season finale, and I for one…can’t fuckin’ wait.
“Oh, you can’t, can ya?” Shawn asks just before slapping that of a mit hand right into the center of my back. He plops down on the couch next to me.
Here I sit. Between two psychopaths…just perfect.
“You just don’t get it do ya, Steve?” He asks as he grips my shoulder, you know…that fake massage move an adult bully might do to a beta co-worker.
“We’re here to stay, pal. You’re never going to get rid of us. Not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t. One day, all of this will make sense to you and one day….you will understand, or else,” he says as he pulls his pack of Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket.
He pulls cigarette from the pack and bites down on it with his teeth.
“Or else,” he says before slapping me on the back once more. He fires up his smoke with his handy Zippo and rocks his way back and up to his feet.
Or else? What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means whatever the fuck you want!” He shouts over his shoulder as he walks out of the room.
“Whatever the fuck you want it to mean,” Logan whispers, right into my ear. The moisture from his breath gives me goosebumps. He leans in, and fuckin’ kisses me on the cheek before he gets up and he too walks out of the room.
I reach into my pocket, and pull out the hand grenade that I bought earlier this week.
I hold it up in the light to examine it.