Collapsing his back onto the mattress, Nick held his eyes closed a few moments - attempting to catch up on his heavy and laboured breaths. The sensations coursing through his body were already starting to disappear. It was frustrating, really. The foundation of ecstasy he had built only seconds before now was beginning to crack, tendrils of black smoke seeping through to grab and tug at the corners of the Show-Off's psyche. With a sharp inhale, the champion rolled onto his side, opening his baby blue eyes to take in the vision next to him. Amber, if he remembered correctly. Which he probably didn't. She was a pretty girl, there was no doubting that. They always were. It wasn't exactly difficult for him to walk in to a bar and leave with the most attractive woman present there. Or most attractive man, as it sometimes was. Not that Nick would be quick to admit to it. Women like the one he was gazing at now, as pretty as they were, wouldn't be remembered in a day or two. Images of them fading from his mind as quickly as the marks they would leave up and down his torso would fade from his skin. They were fucks; that was all. Another body to add to the endless string of ultimately nameless and faceless fucks that would occupy a few hours of his nights; allowing him to fill the void of feelings inside him with some kind of substance, no matter how fleeting.
Eyes fixating on the line of symbols tattooed on the young woman's side, Nick let his fingertips reach out to trace along one. Some sort of foreign alphabet; Japanese, he assumed. Whatever language, it did look beautiful. Nick had always found himself fascinated with tattoos; never getting one himself for an inherent lack of decisiveness. He always held the notion that he would be too quick to grow bored of anything he inked in his skin; a permanent mark of another fleeting thought that likely wouldn't make sense to him anymore in a year or twos time. But that never stopped him from being ultimately intrigued by the things others would permanently mark on themselves. Did they have the same thoughts Nick figured he himself would? Did they have markings of memories they no longer wished to recall? Were the tattoos drunken mistakes or had they been planned for years? Did they serve a purpose, or were they simply for show? Were the tattoos an armour etched in skin; fronting to the world the person they were? Or maybe the person they wished to be? Did they tell a story? Did this tattoo beneath his fingertips now tell a story? Surely, this woman had a story to tell.. But was it a happy one? A sad one? One that would fill Nick to the brim with hope and positivity? Or one that would shatter his bubble and leave him fearful of the world around him? Was this unknown word inked in this unknown woman's side meaningless? Or was it a key? A key to unlocking some sort of depth to her mind so strong that it could make a person fall in love. Nick held words on the tip of his tongue to question what the symbols spelt out, opening his mouth to speak before he bit them back with a sigh. Shaking the thought from him mind, the Show-Off shifted himself out of the bed, not bothering to cover his bare frame. Of course he couldn't ask; it wasn't his place to. He wasn't going to remember this woman's name the next day, let alone what word was laced in her skin and why. Or maybe he would. And that would be far worse. Maybe the answer to his question would have left him enthralled; curious to know more and more of her mind, her life and her story. Maybe her answer would trigger his own thoughts; forcing him to construct some elaborate connection. No, he couldn't let that happen. There was nothing of substance here. She was a fuck, and nothing more. A warm body to bring him pleasure for a short time that might help him sleep better through the night. He didn't want to be told her story or know what word she would be so determined to remember that she would ink it in her skin. He didn't want to hear any more of her voice than the moans, sighs and calls of his name that had filled the still hotel room air only moments before. He didn't want to know if she had ever known the emptiness he was always feeling inside. And even if he did want it? He wasn't going to allow himself to have it.
Turning himself slightly to face the woman a moment, a weak and defeated tone speaking out words of "feel free to call yourself a cab or something" falling from his lips before he continued on his path to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him as he entered, Nick wasted no time in stepping into the confines of the shower - flicking on the water as he did so, not caring for what temperature it would be. Hot water beating down on his toned and muscly frame immediately, the Show-Off let out a slight hiss at the feel of the heat licking at the welts formed on his back. His body adjusting to the temperatures, the Cleveland born Superstar stood motionless and thoughtless for a few minutes - allowing the steam forming around him to leave him slightly choked up and breathless. He stood that way for a few minutes, until he heard the faint sound of the hotel room door clicking closed. The tattooed woman was gone. And it was a knowledge that brought a small feeling of disappointment into the pit of his stomach. It lingered only a second before the black tendrils seeping from his now decayed foundation swallowed it whole; bringing back the never-ending state of no emotion.
Nick knew he should be happy with all he had going for him right now. So why did it seem so impossible to be? Maybe he had grown too accustomed to the pessimistic tendencies of life; constantly preparing his mind for the inevitable downfall coming around the corner so much so that he never allowed himself to take a breath and enjoy the view from the occasional high. Maybe there was no highs. Life could be that way sometimes; providing a false front of greatness that would take only a few curiosity-driven pokes before falling away completely. In all honesty, that had likely been Nick's problem. He had likely just grown to curious. Because he hadn't always been this way; so careless and void. He actually used to be stereotypically bright-eyed and bushy-tailed - excited and thankful for every moment life had allowed him. He'd been someone that would work hard for everything he ever wanted. And there was nothing that could stop him being rightfully proud of himself when he achieved those things he wanted. Sure, he still worked tremendously hard. It was a common opinion among the locker-room that Nick was essentially the most hard working man in the company today. It just didn't bring him the same sense of pride anymore. In fact, his accomplishments brought him nothing. Facades and fast thinking making others likely believe differently; but it was the truth. It was depressingly typical for Nick to simply feel nothing. It was a realization that had hit him hard one morning. He'd woken up with the new-found knowledge that the feelings he fronted to have were simply that; fronted. His entire life and being had become superficial. He didn't know how or why, or if he would ever gain some thing or some feeling of substance again. He just knew that this nothingness was the way things worked now.
Flicking the flow of water off, the Show-Off then emerged from the shower lazily; steam from the waters heat keeping the room warm around him. Grasping a hold of a towel from the rack on the wall, he used the soft material to dry the water from his face and hair before reaching an unoccupied hand to wipe condensation from the mirror in front of him. Studying the reflection of his toned and muscly torso a few moments; an unimpressed expression pulled over his features before he spoke internal monologue into the quiet and lonely air around him; "Come on, Nick. Crack a smile. Be proud of your body… It's all you're good for."