*creeps back in* Hello again...
Apologies for the radio silence over the last month or so. I'm afraid to say that my usual muses decided to leave me for a while and if I'm honest, they're not 100% back - I'm still determined to keep going with my main three couples, but it might take some time to get back to it. However, the below is a start - it's the most I've written in weeks.
I'm having mixed feelings about the below as it does play on something very real - I'm in no way judging Roman for what he did/didn't do/took, I'm still a fan all the way. This is just my interpretation based on the muse that developed after a little prompt. It's not the same Roman from my other stories and the OC is not Lex either. But at the same time, I felt like I needed to put something, anything out there to be read - really just to prove to myself that I can still do this. So please forgive me for the self-indulgence.
Super massive thanks to LetItReign who nursed me through this and told me to stop being silly when I was being just that.
WARNING - Language
DISCLAIMER 1 - I only own the OC and my thoughts
DISCLAIMER 2 - Lyrics are from Jilted Lovers, The Naked and Famous
Italics = flashbacks
Time
I am weary
From all of the games
I'm not hearing
Any other way
Shut my eyes
Head rests on my hands
Quietly
Hiding once again
I listen as she gets dressed, doing my best to keep my breathing soft and quiet. My face is buried in the pillow, half shielded by my hair, but I still don't dare open my eyes. She's quiet too, almost stealth in her actions, only the sounds of the closet door opening and the rustle of hangers giving her away. Even with closed eyes, I can tell it's early; earlier than usual in fact. Usually I'd be rolling over and reaching out to grab her hand and pull her back into bed, murmuring that she can spare at least ten minutes for me, even though we both know that ten minutes is never enough. But today, I'm staying as still as can be. Same as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
I knew I'd fucked up the second I walked into that room. The stern faces, the plain envelope on the table. At the sound of a resigned sigh, my palms were already starting to sweat and that was before anyone had actually spoken. I remember the blood pounding in my ears, their faces blurring. They told me about regret, how they were sorry this had happened, that if only i'd come to them sooner and explained my actions. They asked me if I understood, if I had any questions. I nodded and shook my head. It was only when I was sat in the back of a cab to the airport, the envelope grasped in my fist that I realised I didn't understand and that I had a million and one questions with no answers.
Sitting in the airport bar, I read and re-read the letter explaining my suspension. It felt like a bad dream, but no matter how many beers I sunk whilst waiting for the gate to be called, I didn't wake up. Thirty days. That number seemed incomprehensible, impossible even. Thirty days. I knew others had got longer for even dumber shit than I'd done, but that didn't make it any easier a pill to swallow.
The problem was that even then, I knew it was my mistake. I knew I was playing with fire, knew it was risky. I just didn't want to admit it. It felt good, it felt dangerous, it felt edgy. It was goddamn stupid, but I didn't give a fuck. I felt like I deserved it, like I was owed a break, a helping a hand so to speak. But even though I knew all that, it didn't stop the anger. And after one too many beers, there was no stopping the rage that was starting to boil inside me. All I could think of was how after everything I had done, everything I had sacrificed, they dared to screw me over.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
The anger carried me home. The beer and lack of sleep should have made me groggy and looking back, perhaps I would have had a clearer head if I'd slept it off. But the rage kept me going, kept me drumming my fingers incessantly on the armrest, kept my heart racing, kept my blood boiling. By the time the cab pulled up outside the house, I was shaking. It took me two attempts to get my key in the door and before I could even turn the lock, the door was opening.
She blinks up at me. "Ro? What the..."
But she trails off as I push past her, my bags crashing behind me. She curses under her breath and the mere sound, makes me turn back to face her.
"What did you say?"
She stares back at me dumbly, her brow slowly creasing. "You're home early."
"Yup."
She takes a tentative step towards me, her hand reaching out for mine. "You wanna tell me why?"
Her voice is calm, her question innocent, but it does little to pacify me. But when I open my mouth to answer, no words come. They stick in my throat, make me choke, make me even angrier than before. So instead, I reach into my backpack and tug out the crumpled letter and throw it with force at her.
It hits her stomach and flutters to the floor. With one eye on me, she bends and picks it up, gently smoothing out the creases as she reads. I twist my hands, unable to stop them trembling as she reads in silence. I scuff my toe along the floor in an attempt to the fill the air with sound, any sound as she continues to read.
"Ro..."
"They fucked me over."
"C'mon–"
"Thirty days." I reach out and tears the letter from her grasp. "Thirty fucking days."
"I know. But–"
"It's bullshit."
She steps closer to me, her hand settling on my wrist for a split second before I wrench it away and start to pace.
"Bullshit," I mutter. "After everything I've done for them, the hours on the road, in the gym, in the damn ring, in front of fucking cameras, being spat at, having shit thrown at me, being called everything under the goddamn sun and they do this to me?" I scrunch up the letter and hurl it towards the trash can. It misses and I curse loudly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her flinch. A voice in the back of my head tells me to calm the fuck down, but I can't. I keep going, spiralling further into a sea of madness, where logic goes out the window and rambling nonsense takes over.
"Someone," I breathe heavily through my nose. "Someone has got it in for me. I know it. They wanted me to fail. They wanted to get rid of me."
"Don't be ridiculous."
I spin round, my eyes narrowed. She stares back at me, her face blank. "What?"
"You're angry, Ro. I get it. It's frustrating, but there's no point lashing out like this."
"You're saying that I don't have a right to be angry right now?"
Her jaw tightens. "I'm saying that perhaps you should direct your anger elsewhere."
I can feel my lips turning into a snarl before I can stop myself. "You're saying that I'm to blame?"
Something flashes behind her eyes. "I don't see anyone else's name on that letter."
"That letter means nothing."
"That letter means you're suspended." Her voice is low, dangerous.
"Trust me, I got that," I snap back.
"Do you? Do you really get it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're just angry you got caught. What were you even thinking when you put that shit in your body? Did you really think you were above it all, that they'd just roll over and let you off because your Roman fucking Reigns?"
Her words hit me hard. The voice in the back of my head screams at me that she's telling the truth. But I don't want the truth. I want to scream, shout, fucking tear this place apart.
"Did you ever think there was a reason I took that shit?"
She shakes her head, backing away from me. "No fucking way. Don't you dare say that you did it for me."
"I did it for us."
She scrapes both hands through her hair. "No."
"I did it to keep a roof over your head. I did it to keep you happy. I did it–"
"Happy? You think you coming home with a thirty day suspension would make me happy? Jesus Christ, Ro. Have you actually lost your fucking mind? If you think any of this is making me anywhere near happy, you're the epitome of deluded."
"You're calling me deluded? Do you have any idea how much I've sacrificed to be where I am today? Do you have any idea how many times I've had to pick myself off and carry on just to make it to the top? Do you have any fucking clue of how hard this is on me?"
"I was there!" Her voice is shrill, bouncing off the walls. "I've been there since the beginning! I've been there every time you've fallen down and I've helped you get back up, I've been the sacrifice, time and time again and not once have I complained. And you have the audacity to say that this was hard on you? A better man would have admitted defeat, asked for help. A better man wouldn't have risked everything he's ever achieved."
I'm too far gone to admit she's right. And I'm too late anyway. She's grabbing her bag, her keys. And then the door slams shut behind her and I'm alone, with only the ebbing rage and oncoming guilt for company.
I break down in the shower.
I fumble to shut off the water and lean heavily against the wall. My breath comes in hard, loud, gasps and I scrunch up my face to stop the tears from stinging. Loud sobs echo around me and I choke out a loud curse, thumping my fist against the tiles. The burn spreads through my hand and I blink as I see a small trickle of blood run over my knuckles.
I squeeze my eyes shut again but all I can see is her face, full of disappointment. Her words are on a constant loop in my head.
...Angry you got caught…
...Epitome of deluded…
…A better man wouldn't have risked everything…
I should have let it lie. I should have just handed her the letter, let her read, let her comfort me just as she set out to do. But instead, I let it all get to me. I let the anger blind me and I forgot how to be the better man. Shame creeps over me and I gasp for air once again as the sobs take over.
I can't remember the last time we shouted at each other like that. We've had our ups and downs, but I don't recall it ever escalating at such speed, with such ferociousness. For two people with fiery tempers, we do a good job to keep our emotions in check. But arguments, when they do occur are usually over the small and mundane parts of life. And never have they been over work-related issues like this.
Because she's right. She's always been there for me. She's been the one constant in a life full of changes. She was there at the beginning, my cheerleader from the get-go, the one person who can always bring me up from a slump and celebrate like there's no tomorrow when I'm on a high. She rides the wave with me, holding me steady, keeping me upright and focused. And the one time I've needed her the most? I threw it all back in her face, like it meant nothing to me.
I've been over my pitiful excuses a hundred times since that door slammed, but not one of them is going to make the grade. And deep down, I know there aren't any excuses really. Only the truth. And the truth is that I got too cocky. I let myself get caught up in the moment. I let myself get taken in by the appeal of making my life just that little bit easier, so much so that I didn't think. I didn't think what it would do to my career. I didn't think what it would do to my fans. I didn't think about what it would do to her.
Selfish and cocky. Two qualities that make you successful in this business, but only in moderation. A great deal of modesty and humility is required as well and you have to know when to play up or play down any one of them. I've always tried to keep the former two at bay, but I've always had those elements to my personality. They just bubble under the surface, growing and growing until I can't suppress them anymore. And it doesn't help with you're surrounded by those who constantly draw out the cockiness and the selfishness, those who encourage that kind of behaviour in order to get ahead. And the crowd, the baying mob, do their part as well.
The taunts, the chants, the shit that's constantly flung my way… I take a deep breath as I feel the anger start to rise again. But I can't help but wonder if that played a part. In fact, I know it played a part in my recent actions, my sudden downfall. I let all that lead me down a dead-end path and in the process, played right into their hating hands.
A better man would have risen above it. But I'm not a better man.
I'm a complete fuck up.
The car engine hums briefly outside before cutting out. I'm in the kitchen, applying the finishing touches to dinner when she enters the house. I listen tentatively as she kicks off her shoes, dumps her purse and pads into the kitchen. Glancing over my shoulder, I take in her curious look.
"Hungry?" I ask.
She nods, eyeing up the table, complete with wine and candles. "What's this for?"
"An apology," I tell her as I shut off the stove and start to load pasta onto plates.
She's already seated, pouring out the wine when I bring the plates to the table. "And what are you apologising for?"
"I was a dick. I'm sorry."
She nods. "You were. Not exactly how I envisaged starting my day."
"I know," I say quickly as she starts to eat. "Me neither."
She takes a long drink from her glass. "Why did you do it?"
I pause. "I was angry."
She shakes her head. "I'm not talking about this morning. I'm talking about the reason why you're sat here with me tonight instead of the ring in Tucson."
I sigh, scraping a hand over my face before reaching for my own glass. "I don't know."
She chews her lip for a second. "Try again."
I blink at her. "I… I fucked up."
"Why?"
"I..." I glance up, unnerved by the way this conversation is going. "I just did."
"I just…" she pauses, a nail tapping steadily against the stem of her glass. "I just want to know why you'd even let yourself get in that position."
"You would–"
Her eyes flash. "Don't even think about finishing that sentence. I understand more than you realise. I get that you're under pressure, I get that it's tough at the top and I get that you haven't had the easiest of rides getting there. But what I don't understand is how any of that leads to you taking a banned substance and not understanding what the risks were."
She swipes up the bottle of wine and re-fills her glass, but her hand is shaking so much that the wine slops over the edge of the glass. She curses loudly, but when I try to move to help her she bats me away.
"What I don't understand is why a man who loves his job, has worked so damn hard to be where he is, why that man would give all that up just for a little extra boost." She takes a long swig, letting the silence brew around us.
"Because maybe for once, I wanted to prove that I could do this on my own."
"And what does that mean?"
"Maybe I don't need you to pick me up all the time."
Hurt flickers across her face. I know I should back up, apologise, withdraw the anger from my voice, but before I can even piece together the right words, she fires back.
"Right. So you popped a few pills and hoped for the best huh? And how's that plan working out for you?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then explain it to me, Roman. Explain it to me in a way that helps me understand why risking your career was worth keeping your pride. Does it feel good? Does it make you feel like you're on top of the fucking world?" She pushes her chair back from the table with a violent scrape that grates my teeth. "Does it feel good to tell your girlfriend, your family, your fans, that you chose some shitty pills over all of us?"
"I took it because I could!"
She stares at me, her mouth half open.
"Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make you feel better?" I snarl.
"The honesty is refreshing," she snipes.
"Oh that's just for starters. You're right. It felt good. I felt fucking amazing. It gave me the edge I needed and I took it. I took it all."
The disgust on her face is mirrored in her voice. "Your arrogance is repellent."
"My arrogance pays the fucking bills!"
Pity mixes with disgust as she backs away. "Thank you."
"For what?" I growl after her.
"The truth."
Jilted lover
Sleeping in the unrest
How do we
Survive to make amends?
Fight the lies
Voices in my head
Multiply
I am such a mess
I stare dumbly at the TV, barely watching as the last few days play on an endless stream through my mind. She shut herself in the bathroom after the so-called apology dinner and by the time I had calmed down enough to go to bed, she was already asleep. When I woke the next day, she'd already left for work and I spent the day trying to keep myself busy, keep my mind occupied. She text to say she was going out for drinks after work and when she came back, I apologised to her through the closed door of the bathroom.
But my apology was met with silence, until she finally emerged, bare-faced and with wet hair. She frowned at me, asked what I was doing and I realised that my apology hadn't been heard. So I repeated it, to her face, like I should have done to begin with. She nodded, murmured her own apology in return but when I climbed into bed, she immediately rolled away and turned out the light. Her coolness was unnerving and I couldn't help but wonder if she accepted my apology just to shut me up. That thought stung repeatedly until I confronted her, fighting hard to keep my tempter in check.
"You hurt me. An apology only goes so far, Roman."
But when I asked what more I could do, she just shrugged and told me to give her time. Only I'm not sure how much time is acceptable or when I'll know when that time has passed. If I'll ever know in fact. I can only hope that it'll pass before my suspension is up.
Because she's right. I do need her, more than ever. And I realise that I should have known that all along. When I was down and out, I didn't look for a second option. I just took the easiest route, the one that made me feel in control, less of a failure. I was so far up my own ass, I couldn't see another way out. Swallowing my pride and asking for help felt like I'd be choking, admitting defeat. But now? If I could do over? I'd have done anything not to be sat here, wallowing in self-pity and regret.
If only I had resisted temptation.
If only I had called her when I felt down.
If only I had owned up to my mistake.
The latter is the hardest to admit. It's hard to admit you're wrong after you go so far down a path to prove you're right. It's hard to back-track, to take back the words that were said in anger and frustration. Words have a way of sticking, of rearing their ugly head when you're at the lowest point. And we both said things that will inevitably come back to bite us in the ass when we least expect it. In fact, they already did and look how that ended.
Over the last few days, words have been few and far between. We've tiptoed around each other, exchanging courteous greetings and pleasantries, but with nothing else in between. I've pretended to sleep in, just to give us both a break from trying to think of something to say. Eating is a tense affair, so much so that we've given up with the table and taken to sitting on opposite ends of the couch with plates balanced on our laps whilst the news plays out on the screen.
Last night, I went to bed early and woke a few hours later to find her side still empty and untouched. Creeping downstairs, I found her asleep on the couch instead. I stood for a moment, wondering whether to move her or not. I didn't want to risk waking her, but I knew from past experience that letting her sleep on the couch for a whole night left her grumpy and made her back ache like hell. So I gently gathered her in my arms and carried her slowly up the stairs. She grumbled against my chest, her hands sliding limply across my skin as I held my breath and waited for her to wake. But instead, she buried her head against my shoulder, a satisfied sigh escaping her. When I lowered her into bed, I couldn't help but brush my lips over her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose. All I've wanted for the last week is to wrap myself around her and feel her warmth, her love. All I've wanted is for her to take me in her arms too, to hold me, kiss me and whisper in my ear.
Only time will tell if we'll get to that stage. My biggest fear isn't about the suspension or my career. It's losing her. And without her? I fuck up. I make mistakes. I lose everything.
The front door clicks open and closed, but I don't dare turn to greet her. I listen as she kicks off her shoes, fumbles in her purse, makes her way upstairs. I chew my lip as I hear the shower go on and then off again 10 minutes later. The stairs creak comfortingly as she makes her way back down and as she passes the back of the couch, I catch the faint scent of her shampoo. A lump builds in my throat and I wish I could just get up and pull her into my arms and bury my face in her hair like I've done countless times before.
But I don't. I stay, my eyes unfocused on the TV.
The couch dips next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of sweatpants and one of my old shirts. She's close, her arm brushing against mine as she reaches out her hand and slides it over mine. I let her, holding my breath as she laces her fingers through mine.
I raise my gaze and meet her eye.
She squeezes my hand in reply.
And just like that, the time passes.
Fin x