“Ngghhh…” I mumbled. My face was planted on the floor where I assumed I tumbled onto in the middle of the night. The blankets were wrapped around my legs and torso, cushioning parts of my body and forcing other parts to press into the hard floor. Uncomfortable would be an understatement in this situation. My head throbbed slightly in my temples and the top of my head. My eyes fluttered open slowly, wincing at the sun that was shining through the cracks between the heavy curtains.
Frustrated, I wiggled from the blankets, kicking them away. I grunted softly before shakily pushing myself to my feet. I gagged slightly, being forced to sit down on the edge of the bed from the bile that rose in my throat. My ears perked up slightly when I heard the faint noise of a polyphonic ring tone playing “Prince Charming” by Metallica. Pushing back my sickness, I reached down and threw the blankets back, tossing them away from my clothes. I scrambled for my phone, grabbing my coat and practically tearing it apart. I found my cell phone, flipped it open and put it to my ear.
“Hello?” I asked, my voice sounding a little frazzled.
“Gwenivere Jordan?”
“Yeah…?”
“It’s about your father…”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! This was no good at all. I walked into a room that vividly reminded me of Seraph’s room in the hospital. I stood just in the doorway, arms hugging my torso. A nurse walked out of the room, passing me. She said I’d have about ten minutes before he’d pass out again. A light sigh passed my lips as I sat down beside the bed. Listlessly, I slumped back into the chair, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, and hands curled around the arms of the chair.
His face was covered in bruises; his head covered in white bandages. He was hooked-up to oxygen and a heart monitor. He lolled his head to the side, smiling painfully at me. I sighed quietly, lifting a hand to rub my eyes behind black, tinted sunglasses. He coughed once, something gurgling within his lungs. I winced a little bit for him.
“You hung-over, too?” My father asked, still smiling. I laughed, though it hurt, and nodded, which brought forth a wave of nausea. I winced again, my forehead crinkling into a frown. I looked at him now, drawing my sunglasses backwards and putting them on the top of my head.
“Why’d ya do it, Da? I woulda paid for your cab… opr driven ya home myself,” I whispered, unconsciously tugging at my earlobe. He made a pfft noise and shook his head. I looked up at him, brow raised curiously. “Whaddya mean, ‘pfft’?”
“Please… you were just as shit-faced as I was,” he said, as-a-matter-of-factly. I sighed a bit, shrinking into my shoulders. I hated it when he did this. As I lifted my gaze to look at him, his eyes were closing slowly. I rubbed my temple softly. I got to my feet quietly, fingers curling around the cool metal bar that kept him in the bed instead of on the floor.
“I still would have paid your cab-fare, Da…” I whispered quietly as he began to fall asleep. Once he was out, I squeezed his hand gently before turning on my heel and walking out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“He’s so fuckin’ unreasonable! And… and so inadmissible! And so--”
“Like you?” I spun around and stared at Seraph in disbelief. Before I could spout-off at him, it clicked. Yeah, my father and I were very much alike: disagreeable, short-fused and prideful. I sighed a bit, slumping down on the windowsill. I stared thoughtfully across the room at the dark and brooding man. My head bowed down slightly, staring at the tiled floor.
“Oui… like me…” I agreed quietly, idly wringing my hands together in my lap. Seraph sighed a little bit, shaking his head before running his hand through his short, brown hair. He looked me straight in the eye, frowning.
“C’mon now, I didn’t mean it like that. All’s I’m sayin’ is that the reason you two don’t get along, is probably because you’re too much alike. You argue because your point of views often conflict and you’re both really headstrong,” Seraph explained. I sighed again, pulling the sunglasses off my face to reveal bloodshot eyes with heavy bags beneath them.
“Yeah. Makes sense enough. Thanks,” I said, smiling faintly. He nodded his head as I stood up. As I moved to the door, he grabbed my wrist, looking up at me.
“Kill him for me,” he said simply. I laughed a bit, sliding on my sunglasses after winking once at him.
“You know I will,” I replied before moving out of the hospital room. God, I hate hospitals.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Closer and closer to zero-hour. My mind was not on my match with Joey Jackson at the moment. In fact, it wasn’t really focused on anything. Instead, it would drift from topic to topic, switching gears rapidly.
Switch.
My father’s reappearance, car accident and up-coming surgery worried me. His accident reminded me of my own mortality and how luck I’d been to get home without incident.
Switch.
Seraph’s perceptive. He has a really good perspective on my life. I can’t tell whether he actually knows that much about me or whether he’s bull-shitting. Either way, he was more right than he could have possibly ever known. He didn’t sugar-coat things, which was a nice change. I’d have to tell him what I’d done sooner or later: preferably sooner while he’s still injured and won’t be able to catch me and kill me. Ugh… I dread that day.
Switch.
Joey Jackson… yeah. The usual shit. It was a big match, obviously. One of the biggest in my career as a wrestler, no less. I would take my father’s advice. It was definitely the best advice he’d ever given me as a fellow wrestler and father.
Switch.
Angelic Dawson: bah. Pissed off still but over it. Mostly.
Switch.
Nikita and Cinder: never, ever again.
Switch.
Even after I’d washed myself of these thoughts, I found no solace. My pride was injured; self-esteem broken in two. Perhaps I was trying to hard. No, that didn’t make sense. I guarantee I’m not trying hard enough. But how can one try harder when one’s resources tap-out?
Switch.
Resolution: my trademark; fuck it. Fuck what other people think; whether it be my co-workers, fans, heel-haters, friends, enemies or otherwise. I’m going in for me. At Ground Zero, it’s all me. International stardom is within the grasp of my fingers.
Switch.
That Chris Phillips kid… he’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’ll go far in N.E.W., no doubt. Sure as Hell, I’ll be there to back him up if he needs it. Morgy, too.
Switch.
Am I friends with all these people? Hard to tell. I’ve never had many friends. But, I did feel a slight connection with my Frost Incorporated siblings. Perhaps it was just out of respect. I couldn’t tell. Morgy was a pretty good friend… I think. I think Phillips is afraid of me. Don’t really blame him. I did scare him pretty bad the first time we spoke. Poor bastard jumped nearly right out of his skin.
Switch.
So, what’s my game plan? Don’t have one. Go out and get my ass kicked. Or, kick some ass and get some gold. I hope for the latter. No expectations… right?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
