Just wanted to say thank you very much to everyone who reviewed. I wasn't sure how many people would be interested in my angst rambles on the wrestling fandom lol so thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter. I just write as things come to me so if it seems random at points that's why. Also I'm not a very consistant updater due to writer's block and university work. I hope that doesnt make me lose readers lol I try my best to write what I can. Anyway I hope you like chapter 2.
The plane grumbled to a halt, the engine roared and spluttered into a sickly silence.
The terminal was a bustle of activity as Shawn battled his way through the crowd his patience stretched far thinner than it should have been. He yanked the duffel bag further onto his shoulder and continued the futile fight against the tidal wave of people.
Impatiently he stood, waiting to be let through customs.
The crowd surged forward and he stumbled. He gritted his teeth and hitched the duffel bag back against his shoulder trying his best to keep his temper in check.
The three hour flight had done nothing to improve his spirit; instead it had enraged him further. A plane full of chattering people and screaming children were not his idea of fun.
You know you should really think about that the next time Cameron starts to cry in a public place.
Once again he chose to ignore the small thread of reason and instead decided to focus all his anger and hatred in the direction of other people and their faults instead of his own.
Besides, Cameron isn't an eleven year old kid who refuses to stop kicking the chair when people are trying to sleep.
Arguing with yourself really wasn't the most stable of discussions.
Finally he managed to leave the airport, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat. He pulled the cap further down his face to block the glare of the sun and headed for home.
He faltered outside the front door, one hand resting lightly on the doorknob. He glanced down at his hand, was surprised to see it tremble so.
He flung the duffel bag to the ground and tore the zip open. He fumbled for the painkillers, felt the craving now more than ever. He couldn't go in there and tell Rebecca that he'd been sent home, that Vince and Hunter now despised him even more than he despised himself. That he wasn't capable of being a man and admitting to his actions.
He glanced down at the small pale tablets, debated his behaviour for all of one second, before throwing them back and swallowing them in one gulp.
He closed his eyes and heart to the guilt that momentarily swamped him.
He was past caring what people thought. He'd left that small shred of empathy and concern in a one room apartment in Birmingham.
He picked the bag up and shoved open the door.
He leaned his fragile form against the wall and shut his eyes allowing the bliss of ignorance to sweep through his veins as he felt the drugs kick in.
" Shawn?"
It never ceased to amaze him how she had the power to reach deep inside him with that one syllable. Whenever anyone else spoke his name he could block them if he chose to. Anyone but Rebecca.
He opened his eyes and peered at her through his eyelashes.
" Hey" he slurred. He cleared his throat in an effort to conceal his weakness.
Way to take responsibility Shawn.
"Hi" she said softly, "I thought you weren't home 'til Tuesday"
Shawn glanced at her, replaying the many scenes in his mind. In the movie of his past this was the scene that he had repeated more than any other. The coming home wasted part. The excess overdose of drugs and drink. The screaming and shouting. The vicious argument between husband and wife before he stormed out to repeat the cycle.
So why wasn't Rebecca playing the allocated part? Why was she deviating from the scheduled script?
"Mix up of dates" he mumbled drowsily. He could feel the wall shifting. Could feel the floor hurtling up to meet him but he made no attempt to break his fall, he didn't even startle at Rebecca's scream of concern.
He lay in a heap, felt pain tingle and crash through his contorted body. He giggled helplessly in a heap
"Oh Shawn"
The whisper floated down on his broken form, the weight of disappointment far more condemning than any blow he had received in a wrestling ring. Far more sobering than any harsh word hurled across the room from Theresa.
"Shout at me"
"I won't shout at you Shawn"
"Shout at me" he barked
She didn't flinch from his screaming in fact she seemed unfazed by it. Gently Rebecca pulled him into sitting position. She stared into misty sapphire orbs, the usually vibrant blue dredged in a haze of drug abuse.
"You're bleeding" she whispered, gently smearing the scarlet droplets into tender oblivion.
Shawn glanced at her as she rubbed the flecks of blood between her slender fingers.
"I'm not bleeding" he muttered
"Baby, you've cut your forehead"
"I'm not bleeding" he said again, the vehemence dripping from his tone
"Shawn-"
"I don't bleed! "snapped Shawn harshly, "I poison"
His words fell into the gulf between them, the gorge of misunderstanding.
"Baby-"
"Just leave me"
"Shawn!"
"You wanna stay here and watch your life go down the commode? Fine stay and watch me destroy everything"
"Why do you hate yourself?" she whispered, her voice torn.
Shawn looked up at her, felt a flicker of regret at the sight of the tears he could see welling in her eyes.
"'Cause you won't" he said softly. He lifted a heavy hand to his brow and smeared the blood across his forehead. It stung.
"You won't hate me" he repeated thinly, "I come home wasted and you don't bat an eye, I fall down on the floor because I'm so drugged up to the Heavens I don't even know where the hell I am and you worry about me, I go out and leave you and Cameron alone here for hours and you don't say a thing. You don't shout at me, you don't question me, you just, you just let me, let me carry on hurting you, hurting Cameron, hurting us. Why? Why would you do that? Why would you willingly walk this path of destruction when you can just leave? Why don't you just leave? I hate myself because you won't and damn it Rebecca you know you should!"
"Why should I hate you?"
"Do you not listen to me?!" cried Shawn heatedly, "I hurt you! Everything I touch, I destroy. I ruin everything!"
" Baby the only person you're hurting is yourself"
" No, No I hurt you" he whispered breathlessly his throat tightening. He could feel his chest contracting with the want, the need to cry. He could feel the moisture on the brink of escaping, of falling into tears of weakness. He hadn't allowed himself to cry in years. Not over something personal anyway. Sure when he'd broken his back he'd shed tears of regret and agony. But he hadn't cried tears of sorrow and repentance since he was a young man. Theresa had left him and he'd carried on, hadn't cried, and hadn't felt a pang of longing. He'd just gone into work, downed the pills and made a mockery of the business. Now he could feel the turmoil bubble and bleed beneath the surface, a murmur of grief escaped his trembling lips as the cold tear slipped down the bridge of his nose. He pulled himself away from Rebecca, pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head in his arms.
The gentle tugging on his sleeve did nothing to comfort him, the way she wrapped her arms so readily around his shaking shoulders provided little solace. Instead they intensified the tears, increased his sobs until his whole body racked with them.
"I don't want you to leave" he wept, his voice muffled,
" I know" said Rebecca softly, she reached out and gently shifted a strand of her husband's hair from his view. He lifted his head, his features blushed red. Rebecca glanced into the azure spheres of sorrow, saw the dregs of tears that still remained there.
" I'm sorry" he whispered
" I know" repeated Rebecca
" I'm so sorry" he hiccoughed, his eyes glistening.
You don't deserve her. Do you know that? Do you know how much shit she gets from you? How much heartache you cause?
The voice berated him. The flip side of his personality eating away at his already fragile soul, he had nothing left to be confident about. The sense of pride was gone, when the smoke screen of Shawn Michaels was laid to rest who was he? His low self esteem flamed up aided by the drugs, assisted by the deep sense of worthlessness rooted in his failure to support his wife and child the way he thought he should.
If he could go back to Birmingham he'd find that gun. Hell he'd find it, load it and blast his insignificant brains all over the vile carpet. He'd stop the addiction before it started. He'd say no to Theresa, he'd never have taken that bump off the casket,.
He'd never have met Rebecca.
The sinister thoughts faltered, the brightest chink of light on the otherwise darkest trail shimmered through.
He raised a shaking hand, wrapped it in his sleeve and smeared the salty tears of self pity into nothingness.
He was lucky to even know this woman.
That thought alone kept him steeped in San Antonio and prevented his tortured mind from revisiting Birmingham;the place where he had teetered on the edge of suicide so many years ago.
He returned his gaze to his wife who sat, one leg crossed beneath her staring at him. No judgement crossed her lips, no anger sparked her beautiful brown eyes, instead she was gazing at him with unwavering concern and empathy.
Tomorrow he stopped the drugs.
You keep telling yourself that.