The World Can Wait

It’s one in the morning, local time. Somewhere over Germany. It’s been a long day. And yet, as Chuck sits back in his seat, he can’t help to smile. Even though he was screwed out of the Universal Title. Even though he spent most of the day arguing with people, sitting in a courtroom, sitting and thinking of recent events…Chuck smiles.

Ashley Matthews: “How long?”

Chuck slowly opens one eye, and looks at the girl sitting next to him on the plane.

Chuck Matthews: “Couple hours, I’d imagine.”

Ashley sighs, and rests her head on her airline pillow. Chuck shakes his head and chuckles to himself. She’s never traveled this far before. She’s never even been out of Miami. Now, suddenly, she’s joining her idol as he travels the world for NLWF.

‘Must be the thrill of a lifetime,’

Chuck thinks to himself. He closes his eyes, trying to grab a couple hours of sleep before the plane lands. Today, they are headed to Iraq. Tomorrow, Venezuela.
It sure has been a long day.

Chuck drags his luggage behind him as he walks quickly towards the terminal. Around him, people walk around, eating, laughing, getting ready to travel. Occasionally, a fan recognizes Chuck and screams at him, asking for an autograph or a picture. Not today. Chuck is running late.

He reaches the sign. Terminal 6. People are already beginning to board.

Chuck Matthews: “Shit.”

He races to the desk.

Desk Attendant: “Hello, can I help you?”

Chuck thanks his lucky stars. The man speaks English. Chuck hands him a ticket.

Chuck Matthews: “Not too late, right?”

The man looks at the ticket, then back to Chuck.

Desk Attendant: “Not problem at all, Mr. Matthews. We’re boarding now. No first-class?”

Chuck Matthews: “Not this time.”

The man shrugs, and hands Chuck the ticket stub. Chuck grabs his suitcase, and heads for the walkway.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Chuck spins on his heel. He knows that voice. He sees Brenton Cyrus standing at the terminal entrance.

Chuck Matthews: “Miami.”

Brenton Cyrus: “Miami? Did you forget? We’re supposed to be in India today.”

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah, and I’m headed to Miami. Enjoy your day.”

Chuck turns to board.

Brenton Cyrus: “You can’t just leave! This is World War Tour. You‘re under contract. One that states you are to be wherever the schedule tells you to be. August 4^th, you are to report to Delhi, India.”

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah? It also states that I can take leave should a family emergency come up. So fuck your contract.”

Brenton Cyrus: “Family emergency? Chuck, you have no family. Don’t try and bullshit me, you know-”

Chuck Matthews: “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

Brenton Cyrus: “Yeah. So do you. So I suggest you get on the fucking plane to Delhi or I’ll get you fined for breach of contract.”

Chuck ignores him. Instead, he turns and heads into the tunnel, towards the plane.

Brenton Cyrus: “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Chuck shakes his head as he climbs aboard.

Later…

Chuck sits in a chair, looking up at the judge. He is in the courtroom, attending his hearing. Behind him, at the back of the room, Ashley Borden sits between two large security guards. She seems nervous or ashamed, judging by the solemn look on her face as she stares at her feet. At the defendant’s table sit’s a lawyer, who’s sole duty today is to ensure Ashley’s well-being.

The hearing has been going on for a while. Mostly verification of a trial that had happened a few weeks prior. The Jameson Family vs. Ashley Borden. Bill and Elise Jameson were charged with child abuse, and Ashley was released to the state. Due to Chuck’s actions at the Jameson home, he became a possibility for Ashley’s new home. So here Chuck was, to attend a hearing that would determine whether he was a suitable father.

Judge: “According to these records, Mr. Matthews, you own four homes-”

Chuck Matthews: “Three. One of them was burned down.”

Judge: “I see that. Arson. Now, you tell me the man responsible has not bothered you recently. Aside from him, is there anyone else that would have reason to harm you or your family?”

Chuck thinks for a moment.

Chuck Matthews: “No.”

This is a blatantly obvious lie.

Judge: “Exactly how did you come to possess these properties?”

Chuck Matthews: “I bought the Toronto house as a summer home a few years back to celebrate my first major title victory. That’s the one that burned down. I bought one in Chicago when I got the money. That’s my usual house. Then I got a place in New York. NLWF paid for the place, since my contract required me to stay on the east coast for Direct Hit.”

Judge: “And the Knoxville home?”

A shadow passes over Chuck’s place.

Chuck Matthews: “Inherited. It was…my uncle’s old place.”

Technically, Chuck was the legal owner of Valeo Manor. Uncle Frank’s will stated that the house would go to his sons in the case of his death. If not, the house would pass to the Matthews family. Since Don and Nick Valeo were dead at the time of Frank’s death, the house passed to John Matthews. According to John’s will, the house would pass to the oldest son, and so on through the male members of the family. Being the only male Matthews left, the house came into Chuck’s possession. He kept it, but never visited. For all he knew, the house could be in ruins right now.

Judge: "You were raised in your uncle's house, right?"

Chuck Matthews: "Unfortunately..."

Judge: "Beg your pardon?"

Chuck Matthews: "Yes, I was."

Judge: “So you grew up in Tennessee?”

Chuck frowns.

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah.”

Judge: “But you were born in Chicago?”

Chuck nods.

Judge: “How did this happen?”

Chuck Matthews: “I was born in Chicago. Call it bad timing on my parents’ part. We went home to Knoxville. I lived there until I was seventeen. Got a huge offer to wrestle. I ended up doing a show in Chicago, fell in love with the city, and moved there.”

Judge: “You don’t have an accent.”

Chuck looks at the judge.

Chuck Matthews: "What does this have to do with the hearing?"

Judge: "It was simply a side comment. An observation."

The judge shrugs, and looks back at the papers.

Judge: “So you are a professional wrestler, correct?”

Chuck Matthews: "Yeah."

Judge: “Would you say you make a good amount of money?”

Chuck Matthews: “I make enough.”

Judge: “How much per year, on average?”

Chuck Matthews: “Few million. Doesn’t include bonuses and extra stuff.”

Judge: “Very well. You seem to be very financially secure, Mr. Matthews. What concerns me, however, is your record.”

Chuck Matthews: “They told me I had no record!”

Judge: “No criminal record, no. But it says here you have publicly crucified people?”

Chuck Matthews: “It was in the ring!”

Judge: “Hm. Also, it says you have a history of mental illness. ‘Psychotic episodes, hallucinations, and occasional violent rages.’”

Chuck Matthews: “I’m over it.”

The lawyer jumps to his feet, pounding his fists on the table.

Lawyer: “Bullshit!”

The judge looks at the lawyer.

Lawyer: “Sorry. ‘I object.’"

The judge nods.

Lawyer: “I demand that this man be medically tested. We can’t simply go by his word.”

Chuck Matthews: “Hey. I haven’t had any of these issues in a while. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Judge: “Drop it, you two. Let’s move on. I only have one more complaint against you, Mr. Matthews, and that is your sex habits.”

Chuck Matthews: “That’s a complaint?”

Judge: “Matthews, your lifestyle choices are of no concern to me. However, I will warn you. If the girl becomes your daughter, you will treat her as if she were your blood. You will not-"

Chuck Matthews: “I get it. No worries.”

The judge nods.

Judge: “I’m only giving you one chance, Mr. Matthews.”

Chuck looks at Ashley, who slowly looks up away from the floor.

Chuck Matthews: “That’s all I need.”

Judge: “Very well. On behalf of the state of Florida, I grant full custody of Ashley C. Borden to Mr. Charles B. Matthews. Hearing adjourned.”

The judge pounds the gavel. Chuck exhales deeply. He turns around. Ashley is staring at him, tears in her eyes. Chuck walks down the aisle, towards the double doors in the back of the courtroom. He stops and looks at Ashley. She throws her arms around his neck. Chuck smiles.

Chuck Matthews: “Let’s go.”

"I'm not in a position I'd like to be in. A seven day champion. The one thing I swore I wouldn't be. It doesn't matter the reason I lost. It doesn't matter whether the fans still think I'm the real champ or not. Fact is, I said I would do something...and I failed.

And with that, I find myself, once again, fighting my way into contention for the Universal Title. I guess I was a bit stupid, really. Who was I to think that I, of all people, would catch a break? I mean, sure, I've only been here since Tournament to the Title. I only won the toughest match fought in NLWF. Sure, guys like Shadow Demon can take their title shots, over and over. But why let Chuck Matthews have that respect, right? Whatever. They want me to fight back to the spot? Fine.
It's very obvious this match was made with my demise in mind. In one corner, Demetrius Randall. A man I've never faced one-on-one. A man that took a hell of a beating before losing at Resurrection of Respect. He's talented. He's calculating. He's kind of like me. The difference? I don't run off to Hollywood and leave behind the company that made me. Demetrius Randall's loyalty to NLWF is questionable at best. Fuck Randall. At one point, he would have been a great champion. Now, he doesn't even deserve to be in this match.

In the other corner, Frank Hart. Frank Hart, who was Universal Champ for a week. Frank Hart, who's only accomplishment to date is being the man Chuck Matthews hasn't been able to beat. Even in the Triple Cage, I wasn't the man to eliminate Hart. He goes out of his way to humiliate me. To try and bring me down. But...somehow, I'm still here. Not only that, but I'm still more successful than Hart. If anything, Frank art is my ego check. I'll be the first to admit: I love showing off. If Hart wasn't here to bring me back down to size, who knows how big my head would get! But...When it comes to something as important as the Universal Title...Not even the mighty Frank Hart will get in my way. Like I told Aaron last week. I'm not fucking around. With the company splitting, it's my sole mission to take the belt and bring it to Direct Hit.

Finally, there's the referee factor. Aaron O'Shea is the special referee for the match. I'm sure nobody saw that coming. Like I said, this seems to be a big plot to keep me away from the title. Do I think Aaron will call the match down the middle? No, not really. Will it matter? No. In essence, that's going to be my biggest laugh of the night. Watching the expression on O'Shea's face when he's forced to hit the mat the third time to make me the winner. How will it feel, Aaron? Watching, and playing a role in your own loss. You will make me the winner this week. And then, at the Hall of Fame show, you will lose to me. No cheap bullshit. No special referees. You, me, and the Universal Title."