Family (Roulette 3)

[Warren Harper]

The feeling that you’re the one letting everyone down, it’s a pretty heavy weight. A weight that can pull you down, weigh hard on your chest, and impact every part of your life. I’m not ashamed to admit that I haven’t always lived up to my potential. From day one the mantra has been there, and it remains the same.

This is my time to prove everyone wrong.

Problem with time though… Time has a way of putting things into perspective for you, whether you’re ready to accept things or not, time doesn’t give a shit.

Time will slap you down during the absolute worst moments of your life. It doesn’t matter when or where. There is never enough time for everything.

Most of my siblings died young.

And as much as the Kane name will forever be associated with glory?

It will forever-more be associated with tragedy.

Every year I get older the more I’m worried about how much time I will have left.

I work out more than anyone else. I mean, we all see what happened when my dad got fat. I don’t think I could carry the weight as well.

I have a limited time to get my dreams. I have a limited time to get where I want to be. Life is too short for me to just try again next year. To just try next time.

I’m not suicidal, I’m not terminal or anything.

I just know. I know things are on a time limit.

Time is a bitch.

I wasted a lot of time.

For so long now, I feel like I’ve just been…..existing, coasting through this life, just sort of wasting time.

I’ve been lacking vision.

You see, I feel a pull inside me, almost like a tug of war, between the ring…..and just living my life. Between going out there, hearing that crowd, feeding off the energy, and beneath the skin feeling that urge to draw blood…..to wreak havoc, to cause absolute chaos.

But I hate that about myself. I hate the fact I want to draw blood in the ring.

I’m trying to live my life the way I pick. I am trying to make the most of the time I have left. And yeah, I might never be Hall of Fame material. I might never have the year where my defenses shock the system. The best of my time in the ring might be behind me…

Which I know sounds stupid coming from someone who is as young as I am compared to some of the men in the ring.

But with all the bullshit and eugenics talk about legacy and promise and wrestling “being in my blood” I have to face the fact so does everything else.

Heart disease. Bones as brittle as an iphone screen. Depression.

And an Addiction to the sound of that crowd. The roar when they are on your side. It’s better than anything.

That’s the real legacy… A legacy I’ve inherited.

And as much as the thought of retirement…of trying to accept where I am, as young as I am, taking the career I’ve had to retire to ensure I have a life longer than anyone else in my bloodline.

I could settle down and be with my family. The one thing I’ve been trying to find my whole life.

They are my center, they are my focus. They keep me grounded, because they care for me, they care about me. Like nobody in my life ever has.I love them. Unconditionally.

I love them.

And part of loving them means I know that I have to put my all into this ring all the time. Because as much as I’m sure Dawn would want me to step back like she did. As much as Astrid and Pandora would want me to take care of myself and find a life like they did.

I want that roar. I want that cheer. I want the feel of that gold in my hand again.

And I want it all.

---

They were laying in bed, Dean tracing a pattern absent mindlessly on his shoulder as Warren listened to his heart beat. This should be perfect. A peaceful moment. A moment he could just fade into sleep.

But the voice hadn’t disappeared. It was still there, had been there since watching the match with Sabin and Dean. But who could he talk to about that? If he admitted to having a voice in his head that sounded like how he used to sound, the obsessive violent zealot, that was his whole career. He didn’t have the legacy other people had.

If anyone knew he was mentally unwell then there were the limited fans he’d gained from his slow build to redemption. There was everything, down the drain.

All the trust. All the work. Gone. Because clearly it was only a matter of time before he became the psycho again. He worried about losing grip on himself. But it hadn’t happened yet. He was still himself. Just with …

“You okay, babe?” Dean asked softly, “You seem distracted.”

Dean was safe. Maybe all he had to do was beat Wraith. That match had started the voice back up. Maybe that would end this.