Title: The Backbone of Me
Featuring: Jacob McKail
Date: 8/2/2011
Location: Paris, France

“Violence is the backbone of the business and the business is the backbone of me.”

Paris, France
Tuesday 8th February 2011


McKail shuddered in the freezing Paris night air and dragged his jacket down and closer toward him, wincing in agony as the movement sent a venomous stab of pain to the bone of his freshly injured shoulder.

“Goddamn Seymour Almasy...” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“You okay?” Elle asked, concern already entrenched deep within her face.

She'd been nursing him and treating him like a sickly child ever since last week's Revolution and Whilst her kind intent was appreciated, the sheer ferocity of it was not. She wouldn't let him to do a damn thing by himself; wouldn't even let him out of bed for the first two days �" and not in a good way. He felt helpless and he didn't like it one little bit.

But it wasn't her fault. It was his. Something was troubling her about what happened at Revolution and she was overcompensating; throwing herself into the needless task of looking after him to avoid what was truly troubling her. He should never allowed her to accompany him to Revolution, but then she didn't much give him a choice in the matter.

“Yeah,” McKail lied, “I'm fine.”

Like always, she saw right through him. “Of course you are. You told me you just had a slight twinge in your shoulder and it'd be okay in a few days. It's been a few days already.” She paused for a time, hoping her words would burst through the seemingly impenetrable wall of pride and testosterone. Hope quickly departed with every second that passed, so she decided to hammer home her point. “You need to go to the hospital.”

McKail shook his head, repulsed by the very notion. “Ain't nothin' wrong with me, girl.”

Anger inflamed Elle's face, but she bit her lip to hold back her rage. “Don't you lie to me, mister. I was there when that goddamn snake attacked you last week. I saw what he did, I saw how he hurt you.”

“Sorry,” McKail told her, lowering his head in shame. He knew the apology was nowhere near enough, but it was all that he had. Elle should never have been forced to watch Almasy attack him from behind like the damn coward that he is. But the fact of the matter is, she did go through it and there was nothing he could ever do to take that back. Just like there was nothing he could do to stop that bastard from actually putting his hands upon her and...GODDAMN IT! He felt so damned helpless...

“Jake, you haven't got anything to apologise for,” Elle told him, gently rubbing his uninjured shoulder comfortingly. “You didn't give the bastard cause to do what he did. It wasn't your fault.”

McKail wanted to feel comforted by her words, but he wasn't. She meant every word of it, but deep down he knew it just wasn't true. “Of course it's my fault.”

Elle scrunched her face up, confused. “How so?”

McKail shrugged. “There ain't no other reason for it. I ain't got a reputable name or a title for him to take. Somewhere along the line, I gotta have pissed him off somehow.”

“Pissed him off somehow?” Elle repeated, the concept still not breaking through to understanding. “What the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Jake? What did you do?”

He shook his head. “Fuck knows,” he conceded. “But I've just about pissed off everyone in this business at one time or another. Seems only logical he's got some kinda grudge to bear.”

She conceded the point with a nod. “Anyways, stop changin' the subject,” she warned. “You oughta have a doctor check that should of yours. You can barely move it, Jake.”

McKail shook his head. “It'll be fine and I'll be fine.”

“Fine?” Elle asked. “You could barely get your t-shirt on this morning! Jesus! Why do you gotta be so stubborn 'bout this? Just go get your damn shoulder looked--”

They both stopped dead on the spot in sheer awe as if their feet had melted into the sidewalk and set as hard as if engulfed within the firmest of concrete.

The Eiffel Tower.

Lit up against the delicate black canvas of the night, the finely crafted metal construct looked like a monument to sheer beauty itself, it's capability of stopping Elle in her tracks mid-sentence coming as little surprise to McKail. She groped for her digital camera in her handbag and immediately began to take a variety of shots at a variety of angles. McKail grinned. It was the happiest he'd seen her all damned week.

After a time she came running back to him like an over-excited school girl after just witnessing some god-awful boy band mime their way through a tuneless song that was as terrible as it was catchy. “My friends ain't gonna believe this...hell, I don't believe this!”

“Told ya,” McKail said, enveloping her tiny frame within his arms. This time he was careful not to make any discernible agonising cries due to his injured shoulder; instead, he screamed only on the inside.

“It's just about the prettiest thing I've ever seen,” Elle told him, burying her head into his chest. She wiped tears away from her eyes. “Jesus, I'm actually crying it's so pretty.”

“We oughta go soon,” McKail told her, necessity fighting his better judgement. “We gotta catch our flight to Turin.”

Elle removed her head from his chest and glared at him, somewhat perplexed. “Turin?”

“Next leg of the tour, girl,” he told her. “Turin next, then Casablanca, then Istanbul...remember?”

“I know the schedule, Jake,” she replied, “but surely you ain't goin'?”

McKail stared back at her blankly. “Why wouldn't I?”

Elle grabbed a hold of his injured shoulder and squeezed, causing his face to contort sharply in pain. She released her grip and he clung onto the injured appendage immediately like the wounded animal that he was.

“That's why,” she told him, as if her actions hadn't already clearly illustrated her point.

“Ain't nothin',” McKail lied. It was beginning to become more of a habit and worryingly, lying to Elle had begun to concern him less and less.

“For god's sake, Jake!” She yelled. “Will you quit lying to my damned face and just accept it already? You're injured. You can't wrestle this week. And what if that asshole Almasy shows up to finish what he started, huh? You even thought 'bout that?”

McKail's thoughts of vengeance betrayed him and a satisfied smirk crawled across his face, barely noticeable for anybody who wasn't looking for it. “That ain't gonna happen and besides, this ain't nothin' but a scratch. I've wrestled with worse and won.”

Elle folded her arms and shot him a fierce glance that could've stopped an army dead in it's tracks. “What did I just say about lyin' to my damned face?”

McKail shook his head. “I have and Almasy ain't gonna do a damn thing,” he told her, rubbing her back comfortingly. “The man's a coward. He attacked me from behind. Now that I'm ready for him, you really think he's gonna try that again?”

“Sorry,” she apologised, tears welled up in her eyes, “but I was so scared, Jake. I thought he was going to kill you. I just felt so helpless, I--”

She couldn't finish, her sobbing became too much and words could not find form in her mouth any more. He drew her closer and enveloped her once more. He felt her warm tears stain his cheek and she convulsed within his tender grasp.

“Truth is,” McKail began, choosing his words carefully, “that's wrestlin', girl. It ain't a nine to five officer job. Violence is the backbone of the business and the business is the backbone of me.”

“I--I-I know, but I--”

“You didn't think you'd have to see it first hand,” McKail finished. “I get it and you shouldn't. Getting upset like you did, that's a good thing, girl. That's you. That's who you are and that's who you'll always be. But me? I see violence, I feel it, hell, I do it every damn day and that ain't gonna change.”

“I know, Jake,” she told him, pulling away from his embrace and wiping the tears from her eyes. “And it's okay.” She saw the cute look of concern of his ripple across his face and smiled. “Really it is.”

“Maybe you oughta stay at the hotel for this week's Revolution and look after you,” McKail said, taking her hand in his and slowly set off towards their hotel. “I'll even endure a chick flick afterwards too, if you choose to inflict it.”

She laughed and nodded. “Yeah, maybe that's for the best.”

But he could see in her eyes that she didn't really mean it.
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