QUESTIONS & ANSWERS (CHAPTER 10: Monsters)

"Would you ever go back?"

The question caught him off-guard, the thump against the table making him tense involuntarily as he looked up to see Sam Mitchell dropping an enormous pile of papers between the remnants of his post-workout snack.

"Back where?" Sev asked, immediately distracted by the words he saw on the top page – it looked like instructions on how to kidnap someone and he immediately blanched, pressing both palms down as if he was trying to hide the words from view. "What is this? What – why would you print these things out?" His voice was a rough whisper, panic flickering through his gaze as his eyes fixed on hers.

Sam laughed. "Relax. I used 'incognito mode' – I'm not a total idiot." When he continued to stare at her as though she'd completely lost her mind, she elaborated. "I've decided to help you with this Archer situation, and we've got a lot of really good options here. Besides, I know what not to do. I've been listening to true crime podcasts for years."

He didn't reply. The trouble was he couldn't really bring himself to utter the intention aloud, even though he'd been obsessing over it. Dark anger flashed in his eyes, like bottled lightning in their depths. "I said I was not going to—"

"I know, Sev. But we have to do something, especially after…." She trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud because it was so much worse to say it. They were both thinking about it, about how fragile life truly was.

"I could take him, could kill him three times in my mind before he sees me coming." He looked down at his hands, at the old scar tissue that discolored his knuckles – they'd seen many faces over the years. They'd done so much damage. The words came out in a low voice; he wasn't aware he was even speaking aloud. "I do not wish to be a MONSTER, to have her look at me with fear and revulsion." Sev let his head loll forward, fingers digging into the knotted muscles of his sore neck. "I see his face every time I close my eyes, flashing around that smug smile as though he owns the world. He does not—"

Breaking off, he bit his bottom lip, trying to pull back the dark anger that was welling up inside him.

Sam listened to his breathing, recognized the technique and a part of her wondered how long he'd been in therapy and whether or not his wife knew. Her heart went out to him, her own anger making her skin feel hot. She'd known Sev for years, had always looked up to him. When they'd ended up in the same faction in UPRISING, they'd grown closer; he'd become the older sibling she'd always wished she had to lean on in times of trouble. "Sometimes," she finally broke the silence, "I think about trying out the whole wrestling thing again."

He rolled his shoulders, filling the silence with the loud pop as he cracked his neck – now he understood what she'd been asking him, and he felt like an asshole for being so wrapped up in his own ridiculous drama. She'd been talking about going back to the company that Brad Jackson owned, the place that had brought them together. "You should."

"If I did, would you come with me? Back to Reno?"

"I do not wish to go back." His hand was gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled and he couldn't help but remember the lie he'd told nearly a year ago. "Only forward."



They'd been driving for over an hour in silence, lost in their own thoughts. It had started raining and the rhythmic sound of the wipers combined with the hiss of the tires on the wet pavement should have been calming. People paid money for those sleep machines that produced sounds like this, and he couldn't relax. His knuckles were white, aching as they gripped the wheel. He could still feel the weight of that disdainful gaze, could hear that awful woman's critiques of his life. The scowl on his face deepened, harsh lines carved between his dark brows and around his mouth. 

So many things to be thankful for. Like a full tank of gas. Sanity. Money in the bank. A career that was just starting to truly take off now that he had broken free from the shackles of that toxic tag team. None of those things gave him any joy in that moment and he hated that it had been so easy for those rich assholes to make him feel so small. 

LJ had been doom scrolling on her phone for the first half-dozen miles. Now her phone was dark, sitting in the cupholder. She was huddled against the door, the cool glass against the side of her head almost a relief to the heat in her cheeks – she knew her blood pressure was up. No real surprise there. A confrontation with her father and the threat of being disowned brought a strange sense of relief with it. Hopefully, this would be the last time she'd have to see them. She wanted to talk to Sev about it, to make absurd apologies and excuses for the garbage people they were but every time she tried to open her mouth, the words got stuck. "They're still going to charge us for the room," she finally said, needing to break the silence before she went stark-raving mad.

They'd planned to stay in a hotel near her parent's house – just a little extravagant splurge of a treat because she was expecting to need that serotonin and dopamine boost. Sleeping in some strange bed held no appeal now. She wanted to go home and get in her comfiest pair of pajamas. She wanted to pull the covers up over her head and hide. 

"I guess I can try calling in the morning and see if they can possibly waive it. I just hate to waste—"

"It is fine. It is on my card. I can cover it." Sev's voice came out strained and hoarse. He didn't care about the expense, not really. The money was there. It wasn't being used for anything else. Time seemed to stretch out, into infinity. The silence was deafening, the hiss of the tires growing more grating and far less soothing than it should have been. Like waves crashing on an unseen shore, the thump-thump of the wipers pulsed and ebbed on the edges of his hearing.

"Okay." Her voice came out small, defeated as she wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them up to her chest as she put her back against the door. Watching Sev, she couldn't help but feel the warmth in her chest, so proud of all the things he'd accomplished. His life hadn't been an easy one, she knew. He hadn't been born with a silver spoon – the hatred burned as she thought about the way her step-mother had mocked him for not attending university. She knew that Sev had put in a lot of effort to get his GED, that he'd been as proud of that accomplishment as he was about becoming a US citizen over a decade ago.

"I'm sorry—"

"I am not—"

They both spoke at the same time, stopping immediately. That awkward silence resumed.

Sev glanced over at her, saw how huddled and hunched she was and muttered something under his breath. His right hand lifted from the wheel, fingers flexing to get feeling back. He'd supported her desire to just head back to Manhattan, assuming that she'd changed her mind on the hotel room because of the thought of spending time with him alone. They hadn't been intimate yet and a part of him had hoped that would change tonight. Now he felt a strange sort of unease, as though he was suddenly terrified to spend the night in a strange place with her. Now that she had been reminded of how different they truly were, he was almost certain that Pyro's warning was going to come true. She was going to leave. She was going to realize that it had never been love she felt. The words kept rattling around in his head, each repetition driving the certainty deeper and deeper until it found that crack and winnowed its way inside.

What does she see in you? You are nothing more than a curiosity, a rebellious phase. She does not love you. She feels sorry for you.

He pressed his hand against his mouth, fingers digging hard into his cheeks. A ragged sigh followed as he let it drop to his lap, dead weight like a landed fish. Stiff fingers curled up, as though he would always be grasping for something he couldn't – something he shouldn't have. He felt like a monster, now. He felt like this stitched together mass of broken parts, animated by a jolt of tenderness that was going to wear off any moment.

LJ waited to see if he spoke again, resting her forehead against her knees. She wasn't even aware she was holding her breath until her chest started to ache. Necessity made her exhale and even then, she tried to be as quiet as possible, breathing as slowly as she could. When he still said nothing, she reached for his hand, nails grazing over the inside of his wrist before sliding across his palm. Those thick fingers of his twitched as hers slipped between them, the comfort almost immediate for them both.

"I am not upset," he finally broke the silence, as if her touch had finally pulled the words from him. "There were no lies. I am second class; I know this. Uneducated dummy, cast aside from the moment that first breath was taken. This will never change…" he felt his throat constricting a little, his eyes burning even as he pulled in a slow breath.

"Don't." She shook her head, "God, Sev… don't even say things like that. They're assholes. They don't know the first thing about you. About us—"

They'd been dating since February. They'd been engaged for a little over a month. He spent most nights at her apartment in the city. They'd gone on vacation together. They had slept in the same bed. Nothing had ever happened beyond kissing and the most minimal touching – now he felt like he knew why. He knew he wasn't the most attractive, that his body wasn't ideal. His chest was too big. Shoulders too broad. His hairline was receding. Of course, she wasn't attracted to him that way. Why would she be?

"You do not have to—"

"My father used to whore me out to his clients," she said, cutting him off. Head bent, shame made her shoulders slump, and she was looking at the floor. "Dinner dates and drinks after even though it started when I was eighteen – not even old enough for all those martinis and daquiris if I was ordering them myself. If I was good, if I did what they wanted, it would sweeten the deal. Business was the most important thing to him, always. How I felt… it… it never mattered. I was being groomed. He told me that my education was so that I could take over, but it wasn't ever goin—"

A low growl came from between his clenched teeth, the sound unchecked, and it made her stop talking. Her head snapped up and she looked at him. She saw the tension in his jaw as he stared forward at the road. The wipers thumped and squeaked across the glass. The tires hissed. She could hear him breathing, heavier than before. The silence felt malevolent now, as if it wanted to tear them both apart and the doubts were clawing at her insides, eviscerating. She was tainted. She was nothing more than a whore in expensive clothing.

He's disgusted by me, she thought, starting to pull her hand from his grasp.

He held tight, not letting her go. The bond between them had always made sense, the kinship there from the first moment of contact – it all made sense now. They had both been used. They had both been twisted up, broken and violated for someone else's gain. They both deserved better. They both wanted nothing more than to love and be loved, to be part of something bigger than themselves.

"Don't." That single word held several emotions. Love. Longing. Barely restrained anger. "Please do not p-pull away… from me." Desperation made his voice break, the plea fractured. "You are safe now. Here. With me. He will never hurt you again, I promise you this."


I have seen too much failure in this career. I know this is my own fault; I've accepted this. I allowed myself to be used. I was weak. I was foolish and now, despite the experience that I have racked up, I am still considered unworthy.

Worthless.

I have been made to feel lesser-than since I was a child, abandoned on some doorstep like a sad little origin story. There is no point in hiding the truth. I never knew my parents. There are no photographs of me as a child. There are no boxes of toys in the attic, no momentoes to pass down to children of my own. All I have is my name, given to me by the sisters who took me in. My earliest memories are those of sadness, of isolation and longing. Of covetousness and wickedness. As much as you want to run from it, and reinvent yourself, you can't. The past is right there with you. It molded you into the person you are today. It warped you into what you've become. MONSTER.

Man-made. Self-proclaimed.

I find this ironic that I was given my name in jest, as a joke. ENIGMA because they believed me to be simple, because I was an open book then. I earned the other.

MONSTER MACHINE.

Systematic destruction of all who crossed my path and yet you would laugh at my journey. You know nothing of what I have given to this business. You recite names and places as though you have some intimate knowledge of what it was like to be there. UPRISING was not the first time I worked for (or with) Jackson. Not that it matters, really. Things that happened two years ago, eight years ago, twenty years ago have no bearing on the here and now. We both know this. 

You have crafted this image, an illusion carefully curated. Shane Donovan. So dangerous, this man who believes he is a monster. 

You have carved yourself up like a turkey, a willing sacrifice. Vinny Blades. A butcher. A fool. 

I am nothing like either of you.

I am the winter of discontent. I am a bitter wind scouring the barren field, devoid of emotion and empathy. I am a destructive force.

It is funny that I came here chasing a phantom, wanting to best Matthew Knox because of the way he put Brad Jackson on a pedestal – if I could break a raven's wings, perhaps I could finally set my feet on the true path to greatness. Ah, but the universe had other plans. So here we are. I am committed to this course of action. I have been gifted another of that bastard's old friends. I could throw stones into a pond and never get so lucky. The universe smiles upon me, truly. 

I dive in. I try to keep my head above the water. I have no desire to drown and the longer I am in here, the more inclined I am to just do the dead man's float and let all the sharks pass me by. You take a piece of flesh, though. I am bleeding. Wounded. 

I am raw. Exposed.

I realize there is no sinking that I can avoid. I am already here. I have been struggling. I want out of this cold water. I want to stop swimming. Try to find my endless drive, the motivation, and I cannot.

Try to care and I cannot muster the energy.

This is bad for you.

The beast is hunted now. Marked.

Angry.

Glory hangs above us, suspended just out of reach. I could take it. I know this. I have all the skills necessary for the task. Vinny does not know what a champion should be. Shane Donovan has held his share of gold in his storied career.

I could clamour that it is my time, but is it? How much should be given before the scale tips? How many roads must a MONSTER MACHINE walk down before he is allowed to be a man? I know you wish you break me. I know you believe you are better – the world agrees with you. I am not charismatic enough. I am too ugly to be seen as a franchise player. I am too much this. Not enough that.

Every one is a critic.

So please, tear me down. Break me out there. I do not care. I welcome it. Blaze of glory time. You wish to leave me broken beyond any scope of human comprehension. Isolated and alone, licking wounds while the victor spoons the spoils. I do not need this blood-soaked championship to know the truth. Language is an insult to the way I am feeling now. And nothing she says or does right now can pull me back from the brink. The Monster Machine is here now. Cold and mechanical, unforgiving.

Nothing pulls me back from this – nothing can bring me all the way back. Have to let it ride.

You do not know how it feels to be me, so go fuck yourself.

I don't care how it feels to be you. I don't need to know you that way to best you.

I love violence. I crave carnage. I like obituaries. I like anything that gives the game a little twist. Maybe it is time for us to toss the whole deck up in the air, and let the cards fall wherever they fall. I am not you, Donovan. I never will be. Take your legacy, take your stories about that piece of shit Jackson and stuff both where the sun refuses to shine. I do not care who you knew once upon a time.

I do not care what belts and accolades, tournaments and matches you've won or what brought you here into the playground that I claimed first. You haven't beaten me.

That's what matters.

This business of constantly having to explain my every word really needs to stop. My journey is my own and no business of yours.

You want to bitch about weaknesses and inadequacies? List off your own.

I am not just a survivor now. I got smart along the way and learned how to kill. Evolution working before your eyes. Listen to your words in the echo of the void, the rhythm of decline. Is this foreshadowing? Is it foreboding?

I do not know.

All I know is that I refuse to go gently into that good night.

I refuse to allow myself to be used.

I will not be broken. I will not be humiliated. You will be defeated. I will continue my path of dominance. You will see.

YOU WILL SEE.