Tony clicked the pen on and off repeatedly. The noise was incessant in the cramped locker room WWE gave its midcarders. Technically he wasn't a midcarder but he was in disgrace, which amounted to about the same thing. He shrugged, so he'd sit here and deafen himself with his pen clicking, it was all the same to him. Tony'd long since stopped caring where he came in the pecking order. About the same time he'd started caring which veins were collapsed and which were still ripe for a needle.
The noise was beginning to irritate the other wrestler in the room though, he could tell. This guy really was a midcarder, Alberto Del Something Or Other He Should Have Been Listening But Was Too High. Alberto was facing away from him, dressed in just his ring trunks, his broad back showing a solid line of frustration as he kept up the clicking. Half of him dared Alberto to say something, to start a fight. He was dying to hurt something, someone, anything. It smashed against the front of his mind like a steel pipe against a wall.
Let me out.
He shivered, pausing briefly in the pen clicking. Alberto's spine relaxed visibly in the silence, only to snap back to rigid tension when he resumed his clicking. Tony couldnt help it. It was either click the pen with his fingers or it was smooth out the powder with his fingers, fold a hundred dollar bill with his fingers. And he was pretty sure sniffing cocaine in a WWE locker room was in violation of the goddamn wellness code. "Fuck the wellness code" he said aloud. Alberto choked on a half-laugh, half-cough in front of him, turning around. Tony was overcome with the urge to slam his head right back into the concrete wall, to watch the blood splatter up and fall back down. It was so strong the pen creaked in his hands, knuckles white.
Settle.
"That's what got you in this mess in the first place Tony" Alberto said. The man's accent made it come out like Ton-ee, irritating him. "You only just got back off suspension. Don't get your ass fired" Alberto warned. Tony shrugged. "You going to stop clicking that pen?" Alberto asked, "Nope" Tony replied, clicking it extra hard for good measure. "Keeps me focused" he added, watching it intently. Alberto turned back around, bent down to tie the laces in his boots. "Keeps you on the planet you mean, junkie" he muttered. He never did finish tying the laces in his boots. Tony kicked out at the bench Alberto was sat on. He wasn't in the best position to do so and he would have hit a lot harder if he hadn't been so coked up from earlier but it did enough. Alberto fell forwards off the bench, hard onto one knee. He rubbed the offending area as he stood up, swearing a blue streak of Spanish. "English" Tony reminded, "This is America."
"You are the most frustrating man I have ever met, you know this?" Alberto asked. Tony shrugged again. It was better than talking. All he wanted was to get through tonight, this damned taping they had and get back to the hotel room. He just wanted to drown everything out and see stars. Talking wasn't high on his agenda, hell, being here wasn't high on his agenda. He had no idea how he was going to wrestle. Tony had tried to stand up earlier and almost ended up on his ass. The vodka and the coke didn't gel well with his bones.
Aw, fuck it. He was gonna take the syringe in the gym bag and slide it in. No-one would notice. The place was deserted except for him and Alberto anyway. And his colleague was too busy warming up, stretching his muscles like a rookie to notice the junkie. "Alberto" Tony announced, placing both hands on the bench to help himself up. His head swam and he staggered, leaning on the wall with a slur in his words, "I'm gonna fly tonight my man."