Post by Nick Knight on Aug 6, 2023 2:28:24 GMT
It’s a chamber of commerce day in Malibu, CA and Nick Knight is laying in a chase lounge next to the pool dead asleep until a bikini clad Cin walks up and kicks the leg of the chair, startling him awake. “What the fuck?”
“Get up, we're going to go take a shower,” she answers.
“I’m perfectly fine where I am.”
“Nicky, either get up and go to the shower, or I turn the hose on you. It’s been close to a week since you’ve showered, and frankly you’re starting to stink.”
“If you think I stink, just stay away from me.”
“I know you’re still depressed after losing to Pax, but you’ve got to get over it, damn it. Especially since you’ve got Angel this week.”
“I don’t give a shit about losing to Pax. I’ve lost before, and I’m sure that I’ll lose many more times before my career is over.”
“Then what in the fuck is wrong with you? All you’ve done for the last week is lie around eating junk food and sleeping. I haven’t seen you in the gym one single time since you’ve been home.”
“What’s wrong with me? I don’t know, maybe the giant fucking dose changes Dr. Goode made to my meds last week,” Nick snaps.
“You don’t have to be an asshole. Have you talked to Dr. Goode about this?”
“Yeah, he said that it’s going to take two to four weeks for shit to level out, and I’m just going to have to deal with this shit until then. Trust me, this isn’t my idea of a good fucking time, Cin.”
“I’m sorry, Nicky.” She leans down and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “You’ve been like this since you got back from Pittsburgh, and I just thought it was because you were bummed out over your loss. I should have guessed that it was from the med changes, because I’ve had to deal with it myself.”
“I’m sorry that I haven’t been more open about it with you. Penny has always just kind of always known what was going on, sometimes even when I didn’t. It was selfish of me to expect the same of you, especially after only a couple of years.”
“Well, I forgive you, but only if you come take a shower with me.” She extends her hands to help him up. “Besides, I have a feeling that it’s going to make you feel much better.”
Three Hours Later
The bedroom light is slipped on, waking Nicky from his nap. Wiping sleep from his eyes, he looks over to see Cin wearing an apron with a big smile on her face. “Time to wake up, sleepy head. I almost have dinner ready if you’re hungry.”
“I could eat. What are we having?”
“I made a pot of vegan gumbo and that kale salad with the fruit that you like so much.”
“How’d I know that there wouldn’t be any meat,” he complains.
“Judging by the number of In-N-Out wrappers I cleaned out of your man cave, I don’t think going meatless or a couple of meals will kill you. Now hurry up and get dressed, Penny and JC are supposed to call us in a few minutes.”
Nick quickly uses the bathroom and throws on a shirt before walking out into the living room and being assaulted by one of the best things he had ever smelled in his entire life. It instantly took him back to his time living in New Orleans and running Big East Wrestling for Christian Rainey, which was one of the happiest times in his life. The only regret he had from those couple of years is how much he was away from home, especially since Penny was rarely able to get away from LA.
“What’s wrong,” Cin asks.
“The food smells amazing sweetie, and nothing is wrong.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Nicky. I might not be able to figure out why you’re depressed like Penny, but I can tell when something is bothering you.”
“Smelling the gumbo just got me thinking about New Orleans, which sort of made me sad.”
“Why does thinking about New Orleans make you sad,” she asks.
“It makes me think of all the time I’ve spent away from home. I've missed so much of JC's childhood, and I can't get that back, and I know how much not having my dad around growing up hurt."
"So you make up for that time now, but to do that you need to get feeling better. You have to be the best possible you for all of us, Nicky.”
Knight nods. “I know, but I’m not sure how to do that because what Dr. Goode is worried about just isn’t the case; I’m not paranoid about what’s going on in IWF. I look at the business, and I’m seeing so many similarities between now and when business has gone to shit in the past.”
“Do you think the meds are helping with other stuff,” she asks.
“I’m sleeping well,” he says, with a grin. “Beyond that, I think it’s really too early to tell.”
“Let me go and grab the salads.” Cin returns a moment later with two bowls of salad greens and fruit is a tangy vinaigrette. “I hope I man it as good as Penny does.”
Nick takes a big bite and a real smile comes to his face for the first time in days. “It might be even better, and if your gumbo is as good as it smells, than I’m a very lucky man.”
“What if it tastes like shit?”
“I’m still a lucky man, just a hungry one.”
She giggles and playfully smacks him on the arm. “This is my Nicky. Who is that other guy?”
“That other guy is also a part of me, but I try to keep him locked away. When you change meds, it makes it really hard to do for a while.”
“I guess I understand. I know when I first started taking my antidepressant, I was a raging bitch for a while. I didn’t know if my mom was going to kick me out of the house, or just put me out of her misery.”
“I promise I’m going to do my best to get better.”
“I know you will, now eat up.”
____________________________________________________________________________
{Nick Knight is sitting alone in his eclectic chair, dressed in a stained xXx Wrestling t-shirt and athletic shorts. There are dark circles under his eyes, and it is obvious that he’s not shaved in several days. It is easy to see that something is off with ‘The Hollywood Butcher.}
The last three years of my life have easily been the most successful of my entire life. I’ve found love, won championships, and made more money than I could ever have dreamed possible. The only thing that I haven’t been about to do was beat Angel Blake when it really mattered. I’ve come close so many fucking times just to fall short in the end, and I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t eat at me sometimes because there is just one son of a bitch standing between me and something I’ve wanted my entire fucking career.
Now here we are again, Heir To The Throne, and Angel Blake is the one man standing between me and an opportunity to cement my place in wrestling lore by winning the tournament and going on to beat Dean Harper at Legacy. This is something that I want so fucking bad, but if I’m going to be really honest with myself, it’s something that I just don’t want Angel to have. Yes, he is hands down one of the best professional wrestlers I’ve ever been inside the ring with in my twenty-four years in this business, but how many fucking times will opportunities just be handed to him when there’s an entire company full of guys that have been waiting in line for way too damn long.
I’ll be the first to admit that I probably shouldn’t be standing at the head of that line, because there are guys that have been waiting a Hell of a lot longer for their moment to reach up and snatch the brass ring. Sadly most of those guys are capable of getting the job done, and if you don’t believe me just look at the standings; the indy darling Ace Sky zero points, the so-called “Rising Ace” Nick Danger zero points, “The Future” Caleb Cannin zero points. Hell, even the great James Gilmore has proven that he’s turned into too big of a pussy to do what it takes to climb back to the top of the mountain.
{He runs his hands through his thinning hair.}
That means that it is the same group of guys fighting for the spot at the head of the table: Matt Knox, Wraith, Pax Stormcrow, Angel Blake, and of course “The Hollywood Butcher” Nick Knight. When people think that I’m just being paranoid at the state of this business, I tell them to just look at this list for one second. More than half of those men are already a champion, and yet they’re right in the mix to win even more gold. Please explain to me using little bitty words and a purple crayon how that is good for business. I’ll give you a moment to think of a good answer.
Give up?
I’ll give you a little longer.
Times up!
You can’t, can you? That’s because only having a handful of assholes holding all the gold is terrible for business. It means that IWF is only a couple of injuries away from total fucking disaster, which is why things need to change. Since every single week I see new and different faces in the locker room, maybe we’re heading the right direction, but they all need to step up and prove that they have what it takes to be the new face of IWF. I mean, we have the Ultimos who are about to find out that they aren’t in Mexico anymore, Juste Richelieu who is facing an uphill climb simply because there’s only been one decent professional wrestler from France in the entire history of the sport, and TJ Alexander who is about to find out that he’s been swimming in a tiny pond over in the UK.
You see why I have so little hope for the future of professional wrestling? Where is the young talent that is capable of running things for the next twenty years? I mean JC Keeton ran away with his tail between his legs, Gregor Winter has come back as a fucking cult leader like why brother, and nobody know where RAM has been hiding here lately. It seems that the only really talented young guy is Wraith, and let's not even get into all the problems that I have with him.
I don’t know, maybe I should just let it die a slow and painful death. I can just keep my mouth shut and just keep collecting my fat fucking paychecks until I’ve milked IWF dry. Then when the only thing that is left of the greatest wrestling company of all time is a dried up husk, I can just retire to my great big beach house and live out the rest of my days surrounded by memories and love. I mean, that seems to be the Angel Blake method of doing things because that painted faced fuck hasn’t done a goddamn thing to improve the business in five fucking years.
Take and take, that is the only thing that you and your family is really good for, Angel. You pass championship gold around like they’re mashed potatoes at fucking Thanksgiving dinner, without seeing that you're running off quality young talent every single time that you do it. You like to say that it’s because your family is just better than everyone else in IWF, but just look at the number of times you’ve faced each other in title matches, and you’ll see that talent is not necessarily the reason why you currently have four championship belts in the trophy room at 1313 Mockingbird Lane.
Angel, I am willing to give the devil his due for one thing, you’ve had my number whenever we’ve faced each other when it really matters. Last year in HTTT you pinned me in the center of the ring to punch your ticket to the finals, at Metamorphosis you once again pinned me to keep the World Championship, and then at High Stakes after I had beaten you twice in our best of five series I just couldn’t finish the job. Every fucking time I get inside the ring with you, I am just this fucking close…
{Nick holds up his thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart.
…to getting the win, but that all changes Tuesday night.
I’ve sat and studied every single match that I have ever had against Angel Blake, looking for the common themes. What can I do differently that will make a difference in this match, and the funny thing is I really only found two important things; I need to protect my knee by avoiding that dragon screw that he loves so much, and I have to watch out for that fucking Superkick. Yes, Angel is a crafty veteran that can end a match dozens of ways, but it always seems to come down to that Genocide kick. I do those two little things, and there’s a pretty fucking good chance that I’m walking out of Columbus with some points.
{Knight lets out a long sigh, and the look on his face turns to one of deep sadness.}
The thing is, I don’t think I have what it takes to do any of that right now. If I am being completely honest, I’m not sure that I should be cleared to wrestle because I’m not in a very good place. The drugs that I take that are supposed to make me feel better are just making me feel like shit. My doctor says that they will help with the paranoia about the coming end of professional wrestling, but I’m not paranoid. The signs are all there, but still I take the pills to make everyone in my life happy.
When you are fighting every single fucking day just to survive, it’s hard to find the energy to get inside a ring and fight for the enjoyment of others. Yeah, that big paycheck that I collect at the end of the week is nice, but I’ve honestly reached a point in my life where money can’t buy me any more happiness. The only things that really matter to me anymore are my family and professional wrestling, and I feel like I have to sacrifice one just to save the other.
Angel, just like always, you are going to get every thing that I have to give Tuesday night. I will hold absolutely nothing back because I still feel deep down in my soul you are eroding this business more every single fucking day, but I’m not foolish enough to think that my best is going to be foolish enough to think that my best is going to be enough because it’s probably not going to be this time around. Hell, even at one hundred percent it’s never been good enough to beat you, so what chance do I have now?
The truth is that I don’t have a fucking clue, but as long as I have a breath in my body, I’m going to give it everything that I have. I will not quit until every single ounce of blood, sweat, and tears in my body is painting the canvas like some fucked up Jackson Pollock painting. I’ve done everything in my power to make sure that my family can live comfortably for life, so I am not afraid of dying inside that ring if it means saving professional wrestling. Hell, I’m not afraid of killing inside that ring if it keeps this great sport from dying.
They say that everyone is the hero of their own story, but I’ve accepted the fact that I might not be the good guy. Hell, I’m perfectly fine with the whole world seeing me as the villain if it means that they all still have shows to watch on Tuesday nights. I’m okay with being known as the most despicable son of a bitch to ever step between those ropes if it means that IWF is still a dominate force in combat sports.
Just how far are you willing to go to prove that you’re right, Angel?
I guess we’ll find out Tuesday night.
{The scene fades to black.}
Well howdy there pardner.