Feeling...Forgotten for a promise

The Omnis of the colony were obedient, but they certainly weren’t reserved. Grayson wasn’t exactly fighting her off, though. Their bodies were pressed full against each other.

“Does he do this often?” I interrupted Seth with a nod at the couple. It was not usual for someone especially anyone so new to behave in such an overtly sexual manner with an Omni. Set turned to look.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” he said, casually enough, but he did not turn back to me, and he did not say anything else about email or Amanda. Instead, we both watched as the girl slid her hands to the back of Grayson’s head and pulled his face to her neck. It disappeared under the curtain of her hair.

“How long has he been Heme?” I asked

“Two Weeks.” Seth sounded a little worried. They both waited for Grayson to let go. After all, he had used his teeth, not a tool, and the flow of blood would be both heavy and swift. But the girl remained absolutely still, and Grayson’s face remained unseen under her long hair.

...

Bobby Ocean, I know very little about you, besides that you like to push the deadline sort of speaking. Nothing wrong with that. But I ask myself why is it that I know so little about you Ocean? Maybe its because you’re a fresh face like I, but your not. I mean you had a stint in Joe Wrestling Federation, a tainted stint was it not? Accused of plagiarism. A cardinal sin for a religious man no? I mean Tow shall not steal. A commandment. But no worries Bobby, this isn’t a political race, I’m not going to digg up your scandals and shove it down the publics throats. But I am going to walk right through you, maybe make you take a step back, think about what your doing here. Think about streaks. Think about losing ones. Because after Legacy you’ll fall to a ugly 0-3. Tapdio defeated you, Twice. I’m sure you feel other wise, but come on mate. Tapdio straight murdered your ass at War Games. But then again not everyone can have a War Games moment. I wasn’t even booked.

...

“Maybe he’s just playing with her,” Seth said, uneasy breaking my train of thought

“I’m not so sure.”

And sure enough, the next momentum the girl slowly crumpled and fell to the side, unconscious .

“Shit,” said Seth, stunned.

I was already halfway around the couch. “Get Johnny,” I called to Seth.

Seth pulled the door open and stuck his head outside. I heard him calling to Johnny as I bent over the girl and gently rolled her onto her back. I pressed my fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse. There was no blood anywhere, just a redness deep in the twin marks, like parentheses, that Grayson’s teeth had made. Her pulse was faint but steady, and not too fast. I brushed her hair out of her face. She was quite pale.

Then Seth was back, and Johnny was with him.

“Hello, lad.” That was all, Just two words and a nod from Johnny, but it was more than enough. When Johnny looked at you, it was a welcome as well as an appraisal. It didn’t really need words.

...

Now that my introduction to you Mr. Ocean is over with, this would be the parts where I belittle you, where I make you feel as small as the Cock’s package.

People can think what they will about that philosophy but we all make our own choices and we have to live with the consequences. If you choose to step into that ring with me, I'm going to do everything in my power to stop you. I won't hold back, and it's that very reason why my legacy is as strong as ever despite not being active for nearly the past two years. However, the game changes when you bring loved ones into those battles. The battles have never been about them which is why I detest anybody that wish to take it that far. They may be the loved ones of the competitors and there's nothing better than getting a psychological edge over your enemies, but there's greater and far more effective ways of doing it because only cowards take advantage of defenceless people. I hate almost everyone in this place, but even I have respect for some of them, and I have the respect to stay away from their family because those are the people that didn't make that choice. Bobby Ocean may put up quite the convincing front, but even he knows his days are numbered. He wants to delay the inevitable and that's fine with me. But please not that your not a challenge to me Bobby, you’re a lamb and I fully intend on the sacrifice. The journey for you quest to be called King ends here. At Legacy, there will be no quick getaway, there will be no second chances. You will be thrown around that ring like a ragdoll. I'm going to stretch and tear the ligaments in your body. I'll even grind the bones in your arms and legs and when I get bored of that, I'll snap them. What's a glorified lackey going to do to me? Do you honestly think you stand a chance? You see me as a stepping stone but all I see is a throat to step on. You're going to gargle blood before you know what hit you. Ocean you are nothing but a distraction, a little toy for me to play with at Legacy to buy him those few precious moments he has left.

I'd say it's just business, but we both know it isn't. You’ve done terrible things in the past and I will make you pay for it. Sunday our paths will cross. I wish you luck because your death will need it.

...

I stood and moved aside to let him kneel next to the girl.

“Crystal,” Johnny said firmly, and her eyelids fluttered.

“She’s been breathing the whole time,” I said to him

“Good.”

Troy, still in his armchair, had sat up to watch. Grayson the accident sprawled at the end of the couch. He was even paler than the girl. His forehead had a sheen of sweat on it. This place could seduce anyone into sloppiness, I felt. It was no place for a new heme to be allowed to indulge himself without supervision.

“Eric should be here,” I told Johnny. “This is his responsibility.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Johnny said. “She is all right. She’s not in shock; she’s just fainted. Seth, if you carry her, we’ll put her in the back bedroom. Then if you bring some juice from the kitchen, we’ll see if we can perk her up a bit. Twilight I mean Jasper, can you take care of Grayson?”

I eyed Grayson the accident, whose eyes were shut, head lolling on the back of the couch, hands limp beside him. Can I yes. Do I want to? No. that sudden flash of memory had made me uncomfortable; it had felt like a warning signal, even though it had disappeared in a instant.

But all I said was “Yes” feelings were on basis for judgment. I myself hadn’t overindulged in a very long time. But I remembered how it felt, and I knew what to do.

“Grayson,” I said, firm and clear, “I’m Jasper. Can you stand up?”

Grayson didn’t answer, but his eyes opened. In them I read surprise, confusion, and more than a little alarm.

“Come on,” I told him. “Time to go to the bathroom.”

The boy didn’t move.

I took him by the arm and tried to pull him to sit up. It was like tugging at a sack of wet sand. “Get Up!” I said sharply, My discomfort sliding into annoyance.

“Don’t be a baby”

At that Grayson feebly let me hoist him to his feet. He listed so heavily that I had to tug one of Grayson’s arms over his own shoulder to keep the boy up.

Together, we trudged to the bathroom

...

Now, I did a little bit of research -- like I always do -- into Ocean. What I found isn't that encouraging. He's apparently quite intelligent, or so he claims, but he chooses to spend his life getting drunk, wasting his life by bouncing from job to job. From federation to federation. He even threw a fit when people mutter the name Boobs. His nothing more then a deadbeat, one would compare him to Rossi, Worthless parasites. And that seems to be a title that he embraces, given how he never stops smiling. And from what I've read, despite his winning one of the old JWF titles, he's not really that great shakes a wrestler. He relies on throwing an opponent off their game by playing silly games to wait for a mistake, playing like he has a set of balls, when he has none. This, I'm sorry to say, makes him rather easy pickings for me. See, as I've mentioned before, I generally don't get angry. It takes a lot of work to piss me off, and merely playing games and pandering to the crowd won't be enough to do it. And if you're waiting for me to leave an opening, Ocean, I'm afraid you're wrestling the wrong guy. I don't leave openings, I exploit them. I don't claim to have a 149 IQ or anything like that, but I am pretty fucking clever. I've also got shitload more wrestling experience than you. I'm not just a rookie sensation, you know and that must suck seeing as you‘ve been wrestling for years. While I might only have been in this game for a year, I'm still leaps and bonds better then you‘ll ever be. I'm not just some overtrained blowhard. I can back up what I say in the ring. So go ahead, drink yourself blind, sing your pub songs and soccer chants, punch the next guy who calls you Boobs, grin that stupid little smile of yours, and try to piss me off. I'll just smack that smile off your face, drink your beer, piss it on you, and let the world start a BOOBS chant. Know your fucking place.

...

I maneuvered Grayson close to the toilet, then unloaded him onto the floor. I opened the lid and stood back.

“Stick your finger down your throat.”

Grayson shook his head, miserable.

“It’ll make you feel better,” I explained, leaning against the sink. “You can lie around and be bloated, sick, vulnerable, and useless for the rest of the night, or you can take charge of yourself this moment.”

Grayson’s eyes had been closed, but now they opened just a slit. He didn’t look at me, so whether he was feeling exhaustion, nausea, or hatred, I couldn’t say. It really didn’t matter anyway.

“Just do it,” I said impatiently

Grayson leaned over the toilet and obeyed. I kept my head turned away. I thought about the cabdriver years back whose upholstery I had ruined. I was starting to feel a little sick myself. Grayson, once started, didn’t seem able to stop.

“Shut your eyes,” I ordered without looking. “Don’t look down.”

Soon after that everything grew quiet. Grayson flushed the toilet, and I handed him a dampened towel to wipe his face with.

“God,” Grayson said, draped exhaustedly over the toilet, “I just want to go home.”

“Don’t worry , I’ll get you there. Where are you staying? Here with Johnny, or in one of the apartments?”

“I want to go to my real home.”

His real home? Hadn’t Eric told this boy how things were? That he could never go home again? That he was cut off from his former life just as surely as if he were a newborn whose umbilical cord had been severed? If not, I ought to tell him.

“You’ve got to feed now,” I said instead. Better to stick to practical matters, let Eric handle the messy emotional nuances of the kid’s upheaval. Number one problem: the kid was now empty, and soon thirst would begin to threat its way through his body. He needed to feed quickly, not much, just enough to prevent need.

But Grayson sat there unmoving, evidently still nauseated. So I slipped out quietly, shutting the bathroom door behind me. Within a minute I was back with one of the omnis from the living room in tow.

“Sit up,” I told Grayson

Grayson groaned.

“You don’t have to take much,” I said “Just a bit. Everything will be all right once you get back in balance.”

“I can’t”

“Yes, you can. You have to.”

Grayson opened his eyes and saw the Omni boy. I noted the way his gaze went eagerly to the boy’s neck, darting over the exposed bits of skin. Yes. Now instinct would take over. But Grayson shook his head.

“That’s a dude,” he said from the floor.

“What?”

“No way I’m putting my lips on a guy.”

I stared at him blankly. Incredible this kid was incredible. Where was Eric? Eric was the one who should be dealing with this. I kept a grip on my temper.

“Look at it this way.” I told him, letting my voice flow, calm and sensible. “Until recently you ate meat, correct? Hamburgers, steak? But you never cared whether it came from a cow or a steer.”

...

You wanted to have your name become something big, something rather then the strange connection between Hot dog eaters…Job completed because soon he shall be bounce around the lower rungs of No Limit with the likes of NC-17, Tommy Simmons, Nic Leone, and the other names who couldn’t cut it in the mid to main card level. If you try to fight this fact Ocean, you’ll only end up like the Ocean of old. Fresh out of ideas, tired showing, and next week laid to rest. Please Ocean you’re a good little lad, just know your place and I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Sure it might not lead you to glory of championships, but it shall lead you to a different kind of stardom. I’m talking Brooklyn Brawler status.

...

“I never had to put my mouth on a steer’s neck.”

“Grayson.” I kept my voice firm. “Look at me.”

Grayson focused on him

“Take some now, or you may kill someone later. Is that what you want?”

That got through, a little Grayson blinked, and doubt began to creep over his face. I gave the Omni boy a look, and the boy knelt beside Grayson. He held his hand out, palm up, with a little smirk that did no go unnoticed by me.

“Grayson,” I repeated

Slowly, Grayson pushed himself to sit up

“Here, let me.” I took the boy’s hand and leaning over it, fished inside my shirt for my cross. I pulled it out and pricked the wrist. Then I offered the wrist to Grayson. He did not look at me, or the boy. But he took the hand between his thumb and forefinger and gingerly lifted It to his mouth with an expression of distaste, which disappeared as he begun sucking cautiously.

I looked away, down at the title floor. “The veins flow more steadily than arteries,” I said into the silence. “They contain less oxygen but are easier to control. That makes it easier to control yourself. And self-control, Grayson” I added, pausing to get my point across, “is the key to everything.”

...

Bobby Ocean. While I'm not particularly impressed with you, I get that it's a big chance, and management did the best they could, so let's see what I can do here. Bobby. Do you understand anything about the human heart? It bleeds for you, man. I put myself in your position, being average. Average will get you surprisingly far in a company full of Fucking Pathetic, but average is what they are, and on the biggest stage possible, with the current world champion at your back, you lost to Absolutely Average. Which makes you way Below Average. And I'm sure that was just a flukey one time incident, but when you pair that back to back with the OTHER flukey one time incident the week before, you know, with Tapido pinning you? Remember that? All the trash you talked? All the Fail you felt afterwards? And now you're getting a match with a complete unknown, which is the worst kind of match to get. If you win, who cares. If you lose, you lost to a nobody. And now you're pacing the halls like a convicted criminal awaiting the verdict - am I some jobber that happened to lose to Iceman? Did I rip through them like tissue paper because of it, or was it because... I'm the real fucking deal. Look into my eyes, Bobby. Read my lips. Look up like a man and keep your face still for the verdict, you semi literate chimp. Guilty as charged. And I know that's not This Pay-Per-View, but since the only gold on the line is the celebratory champagne I'll be taking back to the locker room with me, I'm not going to be an obnoxious little dweeb and work the whole King of the throne theme into it. Oh, wait, you beat me to the punch there too, didn't you? You're the Official Uncrowned King of NLWF? At least that’s what you want to be known but everyone is stuck on the image of the jobbing Ocean of way back when. I could have swore you had an Actual, Real Life Crown of sorts before Tapido dropped you on your face. Plus, how the fuck can you be the official uncrowned anything of anywhere? The whole point of the "uncrowned king" gimmick is... Jesus, never mind, it would be like explaining the benefits of the comma to Havoc. So, what do you call a Golden Boy when Mommy Tapido hits you with the crop, takes away your toys and puts you in a corner? Well, it makes you a Boy. A Boy who is fascinated with calling everyone on the planet with a vagina and an overwheming instinct to Wreck Your Face a dyke between bouts of handing out golden showers to other men. And while I'm not going to spend my time regurgitating your routine - the unofficial title of NLWF's Most Worthless Untalented Dickrider is one I'm going to leave in your corner if you don't mind - I gotta say. Gooosebumps don’t mock because they are inanimate. Do you know what inanimate means? Wait till you and me are done, Boy. You will know first hand. And as far as the wickedness goes? You're not getting a taste of that at Legacy. You're getting a few treads to the face, the next guy who fights you is gonna have a lot of fun with that whole "Uncrowned King" hilarity after you lose to me in like my third match, NLWF West is going to have one less fuckwit to care about for a night, and you? You'll... I dunno... hold bricks together? In the background? And be completely fucking ignored? Yes sounds like the perfect job for you Ocean.

...

I waited a few more moments, gauging the time, then said, “That’s enough.” and reached over to pull the wrist away. But he held it just a second longer, to make the Omni boy look up at me, so I could see my cold stare warning him that he’d better not smirk again.

The boy saw. He seemed to wilt a little. Then I released the wrist.

“Thank you,” I said as a cold dismissal.

The boy left without a word. Grayson did not thank me. He did not say anything, just sat there, slumped and objected. I watched him, thinking what to say next.

“Its done,” I told Grayson abruptly. “You’ve learned something. And now you must get up.”

Grayson shook his head but obeyed, getting to his feet. He was slightly taller that me, but his eyes were big and sad. Yes like a damn puppy.

...

The odds are truly stacked against you, Ocean I‘ve found your weaknesses and I have exposed it. This is becoming my tribute to a masterpiece performance that all will see at Legacy. You see Ocean, I've come to relieve you of your duties. No need for a fight, or argument; just realize that you were beat by a better man. The times of the past is over; this place is headed for a new direction. A road much less traveled. We're no longer walking the path of mediocrity, we're turning on to the avenue of perfection.

All organisms need to adapt. You failed to recognize this fact, until it was too late. I guess it’s time for my closing argument. And it’s a simple one. I’m in this to win, I could stand here and bitch and cry about not being given the championship shot that I signed a contract for, but really who would listen? Even with the proof in ink, they‘ll never take a look at it, to busy pushing talent that bores the American people. Nonetheless I shall take out my aggression on you for this injustice that has taken place, I will leave you in a wake of your shattered dreams. Leave you laying there, breathless…As I drain the blood from your body and spit it on a Contract that is very much null and void…

...

“How old are you?” I asked him

“Eighteen”

I put one hand on the boy’s shoulder, not out of companionship but to guide him back into the heart of the colony.

“I really want to wake up now,” Grayson said, his lip trembling, and I saw, to my horror, that the downcast eyes appeared to be brimming with tears. But there was nothing I could say to make it better.

“I know you do,” I said, my voice flat, and I did not look again. Pity would help no one, and getting sucked into an emotional response would be one step toward the brink of a long slippery slope. I knew that form experience.