Title: Coming and Going
Featuring: Tchu
Date: After ReV 235
Location: Places

~Heading Home~
A Half Hour after the Conclusion of ReV 235




Matt grimaced and placed his left hand on the wall in front of him, palm flat against its surface, almost pushing himself away from the urinal in front of him. Clenching his teeth and grinding his jaw, he tried again. Slowly, he let out a long breath, and in frustration, called it quits.

“God dammit.” Matt zipped up and slammed his fist down on the handle, triggering a waterfall along the porcelain surface, though there was little to rinse away. Over at the sink, he turned on the hot water, splashed a shot of soap into his right palm and began washing away. When he finished, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed himself in the face. Matt wasn’t sure exactly how long ago the show had ended, or how late it was, but it felt like someone had awakened him dead in the middle of the night.

As the water ran down his face, dripping off the tip of his nose, he looked in the mirror, surveying the exhausted mask he wore. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles forming underneath, and try as he might, he couldn’t force a smile from a heavy, tired frown.

He shut off the water and stepped away from the sink, grabbing a fistful of paper towels, dragging them across his face. His nearly comatose state didn’t even allow him to register the rough texture of the towels as they scraped across his skin.

“Hey, champ!”

Matt’s eyes darted to the doorway of the restroom as a member of the ring-crew stepped in.

“Hey.”

“Big win tonight.”

“Guess so.” Matt reached down and grabbed the handle to his suitcase, tilting it onto its wheels. “Have a good one.”

“You too, champ.”

From the restroom, he turned left, eyes focused on the glowing ‘EXIT’ sign above a set of double doors, and no sooner had he pushed them open, he found himself swallowed by a small mass of fans.

“Tchu!”

“Geez, you guys are crazy. Wait around this late just to catch a glimpse of a couple superstars.”

A few of the fans shouted obscenities, cursing a heel in traditional professional wrestling protocol. Most though, star struck, gathered around and patted him on the shoulder, screamed his name, and stuck out sheets of papers and pens. The Elite Champion grabbed one of the items in front of him and a Sharpie and scribbled his signature across the surface as he headed across the parking area toward his rental car.

“Thanks, champ!”

“No problem.” Matt tried to force a smile, and even without a mirror to confirm, he could feel that he was most likely failing. “You guys dig the show tonight?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Good to hear.” He signed the cover to an issue of PRIME Magazine as the moving mass closed in on his car. “Anything else, guys?”

One of the fans shoved forward a pen and photo. In a zombie like state, so used to the routine of grabbing, signing, and handing back, Matt almost didn’t notice what he was scribbling his name across. It wasn’t until he was finishing up the last letter that he realized he was holding a picture of Lindsay Troy. As he completed the signature, he laughed, the first bit of positive emotion since the bell had rung and proclaimed him victorious in the main event.

He turned the autograph back over to the fan and opened the door to his car.

“That’s classy, man.” Matt gave the fan a pat on the back, the high-fived a couple of others.

“Where ya partyin’ tonight, champ?”

“Partyin? I’m headin’ back to the hotel for a few hours of sleep before I catch an early flight in the morning.”

“Where ya flyin’?”

“Home to wife the kids.”




~Going Away~
The Next Morning in Ohio




With a giant, sustained yawn, Matt fumbled with his keys, locking and setting the alarm on his car before he headed up the driveway. When he opened the front door, he placed his steps gently, in case Mary and the kids might still be in bed. To his surprise, not only were they up, the kids were fully dressed and a suitcase sitting next to the landing at the front door. In a state of confusion, he sat his own bit of luggage down and headed for the hallway. Before he could get there, his wife stepped met him in the middle of the living room.

“You’re up and running early. Everything ok?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Thanksgiving night… I found your pills. The one’s you don’t have a prescription for. I wanted to say something to you, but you had fallen asleep reading to Georgie. So I just threw them in the trash.”

Matt took a deep breath. He’d been wondering for the past 48 hours what had happened to his medication. He’d assumed he’d just forgot to pack it, left the bottles in the pocket of his jacket. Now he had his answer, and he found himself wishing he still was in the dark.

“Mary, those pills…”

“Matthew, stop.” She pushed past him and headed for the closet, grabbing her and the kids’ coats. “There’s no reason to play dumb over this. I saw them. I’ve seen you walking around in a haze the past month or two. You’re abusing pain killers. You have to get help. Of all people, you oughta know the risks of addiction to that stuff.”

He watched as his wife moved with precision, throwing her coat on top of the suitcases, marching back across the living room with Georgie and Hunter’s jackets in hand.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking the kids and going to stay with your parents for a few days.”

“What for?”

Mary stopped dead in her tracks and turned back to her husband. She tossed the kids’ coats onto the couch and wrapped her arms around Matthew’s neck.

“Matthew, I love you. And I know that I haven’t always been as supportive as I should have been with your career choices. God, I’d give just about anything to go back in time and just accept that you love to wrestle. But not if wrestling is going to do this to you. If you’re so beat up, in so much pain that you have to pop pills non-stop every day… it’s got to stop. And until it does, I don’t want you around the kids. Not while you’re like this.”

She kissed him on the shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her waist, as if they were about to dance in the middle of the living room. But there was no music, no movement, no smiles.

“Ok. “ He pulled away just a bit, enough that he could look down into her eyes. “You’re right. I’ve been a mess. Ever since they diagnosed Dad.”

“I know you can beat this, Matthew. And I’ll stand by you every step of the way if that’s what you want. But the kids, I just don’t want them arou…”

“No. I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It sucks. But I get it.”

“You know I love you?”

“I love you too.” Matthew kissed his wife on the top of the head. “Let me help you get the coats on the kids.”




~Alone~
Later that afternoon




Matt looked around the house. The countertops in the kitchen were practically sparkling, the carpet was clean, looking brand new. He scrubbed and vacuumed and washed nearly every surface in each room, anything to keep his mind off things.

Something about his wife’s accusations had bothered him. Partially that she was right, but mostly, that he hadn’t noticed just how bad things had gotten. With a psychology degree to his name, he should have been able to see it, see through his own bullshit, deny the state of denial from taking over. But he’d overlooked so much. It wasn’t just the tolerance he’d been building to the medication, it was the fatigue, the confusion and memory lapses, the trouble pissing. All signs and symptoms of addiction.

The thought of being an abusive drug user made him feel physically ill. Even as the thought hit him for the umpteenth time, he felt vomit start to rise through his throat and he darted for the kitchen, and the nearest trashcan.

Stepping on the pedal, popping the lid, Matt reached out and planted his left hand flat against the wall and braced himself.

But nothing came.

For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, waiting to see with the nausea would fully manifest, but after a minute or so, he realized the coast was clear and he opened his eyes, steadying his breath. The first thing he saw as his vision focused was a handful of small pills lying amidst decaying turkey and bits of pumpkin pie.

“Shit.”

Matt didn’t give himself a chance to stare, a chance to think. Moving his left foot off the pedal, he let the lid of the trashcan slam shut, leaving everything to rot.
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