QUESTIONS & ANSWERS (CHAPTER 2: TWO TRUTHS & A LIE)

ROCK HILL, NY ||| August 22, 2022

There was a crushed plastic water bottle on the table, label torn and dangling – he couldn't remember finishing it off, let alone mangling it. Every inch of his body hurt, that dull ache in his groin the most bothersome. His soiled gear bag was still beside the door, damp garments festering but it found it easier to just sit here and brood. It felt like the days were numbered, as if the universe had realized its error in letting a championship fall into his unworthy hands and was ready to snatch it back. A part of him knew that it was irrational but he couldn't stop that voice whispering in his ears, the one that sounded so much like Pyro's.

The 5BW Liberty Championship rested on the table, just a few inches from that crushed bottle, its faceplate glossy and gleaming. The thing that bothered him the most was the disrespect, the fact that he would have happily agreed to a match with Diana Tremblay if she had asked – the cheap shots and humiliation had been wholly unnecessary. That was a part of the business he had never truly understood, why some sought to make things personal, to tear down rather than face someone on honorable terms? Pyro had told him time and again that he was naïve, foolish to believe that any of the people in the wrestling business had any goodness in them.

He is not here, he thought, closing his eyes against the memories and all the heartache they brought rushing to the surface. He should be sleeping, should be recharging his body after a long day of travel and wrestling but he couldn't get his mind to shut down.

You're a fraud. A disgrace.

"No. I will never be this."

The words came out louder than he'd intended and he glanced towards the spiral staircase that led down to their bedroom on the ground level, hoping he hadn't woken his wife – it still felt so strange to think of her in those terms, even though they'd been married for more than two months now. On July 4th, their union was made official, the date specifically chosen because of what it said on the calendar: INDEPENDENCE DAY. He knew that people outside wouldn't understand it but the moment he had seen those words on a calendar, he'd felt it resonate deep down.

Everything kept circling back, kept wrapping itself around his neck, choking and cloying until he felt as though he might lose his mind. Sev sank to the floor, heels of his hands pressed against his burning eyes.

He had stepped out of his comfort zone at the last Victory show, making a foolish declaration of war only for Mia Castillo to be released a few days later – all the eggs in a basket for nothing and he wanted to curse his own stupidity. He should have known better, to take what was given and not overstep, despite what LJ told him to the contrary. He was not meant to chase the spotlight, to dream of bigger things. Disappointment was the only thing that awaited him at the end of that road.

His head lifted, his eyes seeing the red handle of the axe leaning against the wall inside the empty kindling box. Pushing up to his feet, he waited to see if his knees buckled. When they didn't, he shuffled towards the door, grabbing the axe as he passed. He stepped out onto the porch desk into the cool air, glancing at the sky. Still a couple hours to dawn.

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"Chelsea Skye, we are no so different, you and I. Both tossed to the floor, left as afterthoughts while someone else went on to claim glory. And I wonder how this makes you feel? Do you lament losing or do you see it as opportunity? Sometimes, I feel relief. I know this is strange, but I sometimes feel like I have survived some catastrophe, that I am rising from wreckage to dust myself off. Is this a victory? Is this a cheat? I do not know; I do not hold any answers, despite the vast experience I have inside that ring."

Enigma leans on a weathered wooden balcony, his face scrubbed clean. His eyes are, surprisingly, warm brown without those colourless contacts he wears in the ring. They seem sad.

"Survival, though, this is not a thing that you should hide under a bushel. It must be shared. It must be screamed into the wind from a rooftop because if you do not acknowledge – if you are not grateful – the universe may claw it back. Believe me, I know this is true. The old me, the younger, less world-weary me was always careful to do just that and some days I felt more like a salesman knocking on doors than any sort of professional athlete. I have worn so many hats over the years, it is no wonder that my hair is gone."

There's a flash of a bitter smile, making it clear that he is trying for levity.

"It is strange to know that I have been so many places, yet I have never truly experienced them. It was always about the work, first and foremost. About the duty to my partner – and once this ended, I could have done anything. I could have gone to see the world. I had all these places on my list. All these pinned points on the globe that I wanted to get to again, to truly experience them the way I should have before. Rome. Paris. Disneyland.

I wanted to kiss her on that bridge in France. Do you know the one I mean? The one where thousands of couples have secured a lock to the mesh with their initials carved into it. All these years wasted; no mark left whatsoever. I could disappear today, and none would miss me – I do not wish this fate for you and I am glad to see that you are not solely committed to this business. You have other interests, other art that you are creating. Do not give up on that. I urge you. This is important and I envy you for that smart decision I should have made long ago."

He blinks, lips thinning as he purses them, pausing.

"I want to see the world without a clock ticking in my ears, without that worry in the back of my mind, without a third of my brain disengaged to run through the gamut of offense and defense in preparation of a fight to come. I want to see the future in a sunrise and know that it actually belongs to me, unwritten and unscripted. Maybe someday I will not hear the ticking, will not look at the date and feel that cold breath on my neck, the kind that brings with it the blind panic to make something of myself before it is too late.

There is a voice that tells me I should give up. I should go because if I have not made it by now, I never will – do not misunderstand. I do not covet the spotlight. I am not here to take things from you. My hands are in my pockets, pulling out unimportant stuff. Lint. Dust. In the end, that is what we become – some inconsequential fluff. Those accomplishments, those ones that are so important to the greener bananas in the bunch? Allow me to ruin that completely for you now that I have come this far: they do not matter. They might as well be words written in water. May as well be sigils drawn in the wet sand at low tide, easily erased. Forgotten in the blink of an eye."

Enigma shakes his head.

"This creates the inevitable question, does it not? What is the point, then? Why even bother? Why am I committed to this pursuit when I was already released from my obligation? It is not organized crime. There was no gun to my head, no arm-twisting, absolutely no coercion of any kind.

The bottom line is simple enough: you cannot choose what you want and do not want – at least not really. You can lie to yourself. You can fool yourself into believing that you are done but after so much time invested, it starts to become a part of you. A phantom limb you need to flex before it atrophies and starts to cause you pain. Sometimes we want the things we know will end up destroying us. At the end of the day, we cannot run from who we are. This is the truth. You know how the saying goes: it will set you free."

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THUNK!

The sound was almost a reverberation, a rhythmic echo that pulled Lauren-Jane from sleep just as the sun was breaking over the horizon.

THUNK!

He heard the door open in the peace between swings. Heard but it didn't register.

"Sev," LJ stifled a yawn, still feeling rough from the long drive. She knew he hadn't been to bed. "You must be exhausted."

"I am fine," he lied. The last chunk of wood was lined up on the stump and he put his whole body into the swing, splitting it cleanly. The pieces fell away and he stood there for a few seconds in silence. "We are ready for the colder weather now," he turned his head, looking over at his wife, squinting as though he just realized dawn was breaking.

She moved out from under the porch overhang, taking a step towards him. Her mind was telling her something was off, though she wasn't quite sure what it was yet. "I made coffee. In case you want some."

Sev let the axe fall from his hand, watching it clatter against the busted-up wood before actually turning towards her. That simple gesture was so sweet that when he tried to speak, his voice was strained and he stammered the way he had when they had first met, shame making his cheeks hot. "Th-thank you."

She went right to him without hesitation, her arms sliding around his waist and hugging him as tight as she could. A sigh escaped her lips as those massive arms wrapped around her – he smelled good, woodsy and masculine. "I'm here, Sev. Whatever it is, we'll get through it together. If you lose again, nothing changes. You'll still be my hero. You know this, right?" She tilted her head back to look up at him. "You're better than any of these weekend warriors. You give it everything, always. You work so hard. It matters. Despite what you think."

"I do not want to be a hero." He murmured, his voice sounding hollow. Sev took a step back, creating space so he could look at her without strain. "I just want to be… complete."