Post by King on Oct 2, 2021 5:48:20 GMT
Open Fight Night has ended and half the crew has left for the night. As the clock approaches the 1am hour, Stephen Terrella is still standing outside the building, leaning against the front of his car, smoking a cigarette. He wears the scars of war- stitches and bandages from Barbed Wire Massacre. Most are covered by his clothing, but it's easy to see the wounded areas on his head and neck.
Portia is at his side, as always. Tonight isn't about celebration, however. Tonight was about defeat, and processing it. In her mind she felt solely responsible, questioning her decision somewhat inwardly. She wondered in silence if her boyfriend was upset with her. It's a heavy burden to carry knowing you've taken something valued from someone you love.
She moves for him, needing to know...
"Are you mad at me," Portia asks Stephen, touching her hand upon his.
"You," he says to her in the form of a question, turning his head to face her.
"No, I'm not mad at you. Couldn't be. I wouldn't stand there and watch you get fucking ripped up, either. That motherfucker would've had to kill me before I quit. Ain't much else you could've fucking done. I get it, babe."
She hesitates a moment, contemplating rather or not to leave the topic alone for the night before finally asking, "Then why does it seem like you're angry? You've hardly said a word."
He takes a drag off his cigarette, grimacing as he flicks the ash into the night. He explains to her, "Because I am, but I'm angry at myself for fucking underestimating that motherfucker. I didn't think he had that in him. I didn't listen to you. I thought I had it all figured out."
Terrella shakes his head ever-so-slightly, trying not to move too much with the stitches.
"Shit, I'm angry Verona was fucking right. I rushed into it, put the titles on the line figuring no one would want to team with Keeton in a match like that except maybe Ulf, and he was booked. Low-and-fucking-behold, in steps Verona."
Portia places her hand to his face gently, telling him, "I don't think anyone would've expected that, baby."
Terrella takes a drag off his cigarette, telling Portia, "Yeah, but that didn't cost them anything. My fuck up cost us a lot. I'm sitting here asking myself am I that fucking transparent? I don't know right now, ya know?"
Portia hops up on the hood of the car beside him, staring out into the night as she says, "It was a bad night, that's all, baby. The check will be a little lighter next week, but I don't care. What would bother me is you, crippled. I love you. All I need is you. We'll figure the rest out together."
Terrella flips his cigarette onto the asphalt below and looks over at Portia, telling her, "I love you, too, babe."
She looks at him and smiles.
"Can we go back to the hotel now? I've had enough of this place for one night."
Terrella pulls himself off the bumper of his car, answering her: "Yeah, we can. Ain't doing me no fucking good sitting here, anyway. And I don't want you to get cold. You ready?"
She hops down and nods. They share a kiss, and he helps her into the car. He walks a little slower than normal on this night as he circles around to the drivers side and climbs in.
The car speeds off for the night.
Portia is at his side, as always. Tonight isn't about celebration, however. Tonight was about defeat, and processing it. In her mind she felt solely responsible, questioning her decision somewhat inwardly. She wondered in silence if her boyfriend was upset with her. It's a heavy burden to carry knowing you've taken something valued from someone you love.
She moves for him, needing to know...
"Are you mad at me," Portia asks Stephen, touching her hand upon his.
"You," he says to her in the form of a question, turning his head to face her.
"No, I'm not mad at you. Couldn't be. I wouldn't stand there and watch you get fucking ripped up, either. That motherfucker would've had to kill me before I quit. Ain't much else you could've fucking done. I get it, babe."
She hesitates a moment, contemplating rather or not to leave the topic alone for the night before finally asking, "Then why does it seem like you're angry? You've hardly said a word."
He takes a drag off his cigarette, grimacing as he flicks the ash into the night. He explains to her, "Because I am, but I'm angry at myself for fucking underestimating that motherfucker. I didn't think he had that in him. I didn't listen to you. I thought I had it all figured out."
Terrella shakes his head ever-so-slightly, trying not to move too much with the stitches.
"Shit, I'm angry Verona was fucking right. I rushed into it, put the titles on the line figuring no one would want to team with Keeton in a match like that except maybe Ulf, and he was booked. Low-and-fucking-behold, in steps Verona."
Portia places her hand to his face gently, telling him, "I don't think anyone would've expected that, baby."
Terrella takes a drag off his cigarette, telling Portia, "Yeah, but that didn't cost them anything. My fuck up cost us a lot. I'm sitting here asking myself am I that fucking transparent? I don't know right now, ya know?"
Portia hops up on the hood of the car beside him, staring out into the night as she says, "It was a bad night, that's all, baby. The check will be a little lighter next week, but I don't care. What would bother me is you, crippled. I love you. All I need is you. We'll figure the rest out together."
Terrella flips his cigarette onto the asphalt below and looks over at Portia, telling her, "I love you, too, babe."
She looks at him and smiles.
"Can we go back to the hotel now? I've had enough of this place for one night."
Terrella pulls himself off the bumper of his car, answering her: "Yeah, we can. Ain't doing me no fucking good sitting here, anyway. And I don't want you to get cold. You ready?"
She hops down and nods. They share a kiss, and he helps her into the car. He walks a little slower than normal on this night as he circles around to the drivers side and climbs in.
The car speeds off for the night.