Post by adm on Aug 2, 2011 9:29:42 GMT -6
There's been some speculation, after my victory over Mr. Pooler, who I will be facing next, but that's the least of my worries. I don't see what point there is to any of it. I truly wish this albatross was flying away from me, instead of wrapped around my waist like a displaced noose. There are so many other things that have been going on, my mind is in a whirl. I can't imagine what I will do next, who I will face, I'm just glad this week is a respite from matches, a respite from the never ending pursuit of stardom. I need this "vacation". I need to go home...
****
The plane lands in San Francisco and Kristoff Liam Bates walks into the flight terminal. He is minimally sore after the victory over Bob Pooler on Sunday night. It is now Monday afternoon and he flew coach, grabbing the last seat on a nearly full flight. The movie sucked, as usual, and so did the food. He's just glad to be able to go home, or, at least, to his apartment.
Five flights of stairs and he unlocks the door, it is almost seven P.M. and he has just unwound by grabbing a bite to eat at his favorite restaurant down the street, nothing major, but something that would probably be looked upon as a "failure to diet for wrestling". He really doesn't care. It's been months since he was "home", but this isn't really home for him.
"Honey, I'm home!"
The odd words to the empty apartment makes one question how crazy Bates is, or if he's just showing off for the camera. There's a certain slowness in his movements, a slouch in his posture. His eyes water as he drops his things, including the Honor Championship and turns on the light.
"I'm home..."
****
The logo for the counseling center is blurred out, but Bates walks inside, and is out again after about five minutes, looking no less depressed and conflicted than when he entered. He is not wearing his usual suit and tie, instead he has chosen to wear a ripped pair of jeans and "All That Remains" tee. There's something about him that has changed, and he is trying to figure it out just as much as anyone watching.
"Time to pick that somewhere you wanna go. Make it quick or drown in the undertow. Come on baby, time is wasting. Pick your wheel and get to racing."
The lyrics from "Faster the Treadmill" by I Fight Dragons escapes his lips, and one questions why he'd even know of such an obscure pop band. Obviously he's spent too much time listening to Nerdy Show podcasts and 8 Bit FM, while it's online.
"I can't figure this out, no one will help me. They all tell me it's my choice, my thoughts that will be the cause of this. I can't figure it out at all. I'm so tired..."
Bates walks down the block, and stumbles into a bar looking for a drink. He doesn't even care about the rainbow flashing Miller Lite bottle in the window signifying it's a fag joint, he just wants a drink. The bartender looks him over, and winks at him. There are a few other people in the bar at this early hour of a Tuesday. It's obvious the personal battle has begun to make Bates look like an Alcoholic, when he truly wishes it didn't. It's five o' clock somewhere, right?
"So, what'll it be, champ?"
"Champ?" Bates looks perturbed. Nobody here should know him, let alone know he's the Honor Champion of nCw.
The bartender points to the television, which has the recap of Picture Perfect on ESPN. "You're that Bates guy, I figured it out when you came in. You look troubled. What's the deal?"
"You wouldn't want to know. It's too personal, and I have these..." He points at the camera, "following me."
"Ah, private business. Stuff you want to keep secret."
"Don't we all have something best left hidden? I mean, wouldn't Spike be better off without going through his addiction and rehab on live TV? Wouldn't it have made more sense for my wife to have divorced me off camera instead of dragging herself into my limelight for a moment of time? All of it...all the personal bull****, it just leaves you open. It's why I'm doing my best to keep this to myself."
"Family trouble?"
"You could say that. I mean, my mother isn't exactly alive anymore."
"Ah...grief, I understand."
"Sort of...just...nevermind. Jack and coke, please."
He grabs the drink and hands it to Bates, winking at him. The bartender is not dressed like a typical gay bartender, he's actually dressed rather casually for any heterosexual male. He has a Baseball Jersey on, San Francisco Giants, and wears a pair of dark blue Wrangler jeans.
"So, you have troubles. Why come to this place?"
"It was closest to where I came from."
He looks at Bates, moving his eyes up and down the chiseled frame of the nCw superstar. Bates is uncomfortable, he's beginning to feel all eyes on him. These men watched the Pay Per View, they've watched his promos. They know what he looks like under most of these clothes. And what they are thinking about is beginning to make him feel uneasy.
"So...uh...you think this Four Year Anniversary will be good?"
"Kristoff, it'll be amazing. But why aren't you on it? Last year we all watched you lose to Gib, it was a great match, nonetheless."
"I would rather be here this week. I have some things to take care of with my living arrangements. Business, things to get rid of. People to see, all that jazz."
"Well, after you're done with that drink, and your problems, just know this bar will still be here for you. I'd love to have you back."
He almost chokes as he finishes his drink. Being hit on by a gay man? It's happened before, but...not like this. He quickly pays and rushes out the door.
"What the **** was that about? Is everyone trying to make me seem like I'm something I'm not these days?"
Every time I say what I wanna be,
Someone says that's not how it's gonna be.
Come on baby, quit your dreaming.
Grab your things the train is Leaving.
****
The plane lands in San Francisco and Kristoff Liam Bates walks into the flight terminal. He is minimally sore after the victory over Bob Pooler on Sunday night. It is now Monday afternoon and he flew coach, grabbing the last seat on a nearly full flight. The movie sucked, as usual, and so did the food. He's just glad to be able to go home, or, at least, to his apartment.
Five flights of stairs and he unlocks the door, it is almost seven P.M. and he has just unwound by grabbing a bite to eat at his favorite restaurant down the street, nothing major, but something that would probably be looked upon as a "failure to diet for wrestling". He really doesn't care. It's been months since he was "home", but this isn't really home for him.
"Honey, I'm home!"
The odd words to the empty apartment makes one question how crazy Bates is, or if he's just showing off for the camera. There's a certain slowness in his movements, a slouch in his posture. His eyes water as he drops his things, including the Honor Championship and turns on the light.
"I'm home..."
****
The logo for the counseling center is blurred out, but Bates walks inside, and is out again after about five minutes, looking no less depressed and conflicted than when he entered. He is not wearing his usual suit and tie, instead he has chosen to wear a ripped pair of jeans and "All That Remains" tee. There's something about him that has changed, and he is trying to figure it out just as much as anyone watching.
"Time to pick that somewhere you wanna go. Make it quick or drown in the undertow. Come on baby, time is wasting. Pick your wheel and get to racing."
The lyrics from "Faster the Treadmill" by I Fight Dragons escapes his lips, and one questions why he'd even know of such an obscure pop band. Obviously he's spent too much time listening to Nerdy Show podcasts and 8 Bit FM, while it's online.
"I can't figure this out, no one will help me. They all tell me it's my choice, my thoughts that will be the cause of this. I can't figure it out at all. I'm so tired..."
Bates walks down the block, and stumbles into a bar looking for a drink. He doesn't even care about the rainbow flashing Miller Lite bottle in the window signifying it's a fag joint, he just wants a drink. The bartender looks him over, and winks at him. There are a few other people in the bar at this early hour of a Tuesday. It's obvious the personal battle has begun to make Bates look like an Alcoholic, when he truly wishes it didn't. It's five o' clock somewhere, right?
"So, what'll it be, champ?"
"Champ?" Bates looks perturbed. Nobody here should know him, let alone know he's the Honor Champion of nCw.
The bartender points to the television, which has the recap of Picture Perfect on ESPN. "You're that Bates guy, I figured it out when you came in. You look troubled. What's the deal?"
"You wouldn't want to know. It's too personal, and I have these..." He points at the camera, "following me."
"Ah, private business. Stuff you want to keep secret."
"Don't we all have something best left hidden? I mean, wouldn't Spike be better off without going through his addiction and rehab on live TV? Wouldn't it have made more sense for my wife to have divorced me off camera instead of dragging herself into my limelight for a moment of time? All of it...all the personal bull****, it just leaves you open. It's why I'm doing my best to keep this to myself."
"Family trouble?"
"You could say that. I mean, my mother isn't exactly alive anymore."
"Ah...grief, I understand."
"Sort of...just...nevermind. Jack and coke, please."
He grabs the drink and hands it to Bates, winking at him. The bartender is not dressed like a typical gay bartender, he's actually dressed rather casually for any heterosexual male. He has a Baseball Jersey on, San Francisco Giants, and wears a pair of dark blue Wrangler jeans.
"So, you have troubles. Why come to this place?"
"It was closest to where I came from."
He looks at Bates, moving his eyes up and down the chiseled frame of the nCw superstar. Bates is uncomfortable, he's beginning to feel all eyes on him. These men watched the Pay Per View, they've watched his promos. They know what he looks like under most of these clothes. And what they are thinking about is beginning to make him feel uneasy.
"So...uh...you think this Four Year Anniversary will be good?"
"Kristoff, it'll be amazing. But why aren't you on it? Last year we all watched you lose to Gib, it was a great match, nonetheless."
"I would rather be here this week. I have some things to take care of with my living arrangements. Business, things to get rid of. People to see, all that jazz."
"Well, after you're done with that drink, and your problems, just know this bar will still be here for you. I'd love to have you back."
He almost chokes as he finishes his drink. Being hit on by a gay man? It's happened before, but...not like this. He quickly pays and rushes out the door.
"What the **** was that about? Is everyone trying to make me seem like I'm something I'm not these days?"
Every time I say what I wanna be,
Someone says that's not how it's gonna be.
Come on baby, quit your dreaming.
Grab your things the train is Leaving.