The Darker the Weather the Better the Man
Octavio rubbed his hand down his face and whispered "Fuck" to himself as he stood up and made his way to adjoining hallway. This night was more than he wanted and he didn't even ask for it. He knew that he would be hearing about it from his manager at some point. He tore off his goggles and helmet and threw them on the floor in the hallway like a child before entering his bedroom.
The younger version of himself would have wanted to punch a hole into the wall, which then he would later have to pay for and then hear about from his manager. This version of himself just didn't care. Bring on the lawsuits, that's what all the money was for anyway. That blonde bitch was told the rules before they even got started. She even got paid for services not rendered. He sure in the fuck wasn't going to render his own services tonight.
The last of his clothes and boots came off in a pile on his bedroom floor. He made his way towards the television and flipped it on just in time to see his least favorite show of all time, The Apex Games. What a waste of time and money he thought to himself. He grabbed a bottle of tequila that always sat next to his television and took a long drink, hoping to catch a buzz that he knew he probably wouldn't get. He sighed and set the bottle down and made his way to the bathroom. He wanted to wash away all the cringe from that chica.
When he got into the bathroom he avoided the mirror and went directly to the shower and turned the hot water on. He stepped in, his prosthetic legs clanked gently against the tiled shower floor. Even his fucking legs reminded him of her. He didn't want to forget her but just for a moment he didn't want her floating around in his head. It was already loud enough in his head, fighting off the psychological demons of depression and guilt that weight heavily upon him.
He placed his hands against the shower wall and used it as leverage to support his body. The hot water poured over his head and neck then down his back. He watched the drain swallow rusty brown water. Some of it dirt. Some of it blood. Some of it stim. He just wanted to wash away everything from what just occurred. He wanted to wash away the race and that cringe feeling her got from that toothless blonde chica. He even wanted to wash himself away.
His body was covered in an assortment of bruises from head to toe. Different variations of colors, shapes, and sizes of bruising covered almost all of his body. Scars riddled his torso, back, and face. He was a mess from beginning to end but that's not why he couldn't look at himself in the mirror. His past was haunting and he just couldn't look at himself again until he owned up to what he had done. He didn't know if he would ever have a chance to make things right again.
He waited until the water was mostly clear and cold and then he turn it off and stood there for a moment. He was alone, finally alone in his own penthouse. Really he had been alone since he signed his life away but as of right now he was physically alone. He felt like a shell of his former self; an outsider looking in. He really didn't even know what to do in what little free time he had.
By the time he had finished his thoughts he was pretty much dry. He made his way back into his bedroom, using his fingers as a comb to get his jet black, green tipped hair of out of his face. When he returned, the Apex show had ended but they were announcing some new 'Legend' that would be making an appearance soon. The announcer only gave the hint of a name, "Lifeline."
Octavio rolled his eyes, "What kind of name is that?" He yawned and shook his head as he reached for his trusty bottle tequila; his vice. He took another drink and watched as the program ended entirely and his own program, from the just hours ago started. He set the bottle back by the television and debated turning the television off.
He hated watching himself on television or on any form of advertisement. He used to like it, years ago but something changed. He was starting to feel more and more like his old man and that dude was pure evil. In fact, his pops was the reason that he was even here at all. He had to get away. He had to get off of Psamathe. There was nothing left from there after she left.
He was numb to the whole situation at this point. Honestly he kept racing because he knew that it pissed his dad off and it cut ties with him, because in the eyes of his pops he was a disappointment. That was the only good to come out of this whole situation. If he hadn't been so reckless with himself then he wouldn't be here and maybe then he would still be with her. "Fuck" He whispered to himself as he plopped down on his bed.
A commercial for the Apex Games shot onto the television screen again. This one was about joining and also about meeting your favorite Legends in person. He couldn't roll his eyes further into the back of his head if tried. He didn't understand what the big hype was about hypothetically killing other people for money. It just seemed so stupid and boring. Then the stupid mystery Legends. Who the fuck even cared. He sure didn't care but then he it occurred to him he was wasting too much energy on thinking about this whole situation.
His face hit the bed as the commercial ended. He was too tired to give any more time to these stupid thoughts. He closed his eyes and heard the name Lifeline once more. The name nagged at him for some reason or another but his eyes were heavy and the alcohol was actual making him tired for once.
It felt like minutes of sleep before her heard a loud banging on his penthouse door. He blinked his heavy eyes open to a small sliver of light peeking out from behind the curtains. "Fuck. Okay. I'm up." He yelled. "I just fucking went to sleep." He didn't yell that part it was more or less just him talking to himself. The television was a soft glow with another commercial for the Apex Games, he just couldn't escaped it.
He inched his way off of his bed and onto the floor until he found some loose fitting shorts and put them on them before grabbing his bottle of tequila and finishing it off. With an audible sigh he headed towards the perpetual banging of his entryway door. He really didn't know what to do with the empty bottle of tequila so he set it some table in the entry way; a table that was meant for normal people stuff like wallets and keys.
As soon as he opened the door a short, stubby man with thinning brown hair pushed his way through. "Just come on in. You own me anyway." Octavio said to his manager with a sarcastic undertone. He could never remember his manager's name or he just didn't care to because it seemed like the feeling was mutual. Octavio closed his door and followed his manager into the entertainment area of his penthouse.
"Did you assault a woman last night?" He could hear the anger boiling in his manager's words. It took Octavio a moment to realize that it was the next day because it felt like he had only slept for a few minutes. The curtains were closed, hiding day and night from his penthouse. He didn't really care when or what time it was because he was always told where to go and what to do, so day, night, and time were all relative to him.
Octavio made his way into the kitchen and opened up a cabinet above one of the count tops, leaving his manager to follow him. "Is that what that chica said?" He pulled a square box down that looked like a humidor. He proceeded to open the box and rifle through its contents until he came across what he was looking for. He popped the lid open of a pill bottle and slid two pills out before replacing the lid and the bottle back into the box. He then retrieved a small knife from the box as well as a rolled up picture.
His manager rolled his eyes as Octavio used the side of the knife with a little force to crush the pills and then made a neat little line out of them. Octavio licked the residue off the knife and put knife back into the box. His manager then spoke again as if he had been waiting for Octavio to finish, "She said that your grabbed her and pushed her." He paused as he watched Octavio take the rolled up picture and use it to inhale the line on countertop. His manager continued "She's missing teeth."
Octavio tossed the picture back into the box and put the box away, "Yeah, that sounds right." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His manager continued like he didn't skip a beat, per usual, he wasn't even listening to Octavio, "She said that you tried to rape her." It was silent for a very long time.
If it hadn't been for the opioids that Octavio had just inhaled then he would have punched a hole somewhere in the kitchen but the drugs had kicked in quickly so they counteracted the whole situation. He knew his manager didn't know the entire story or even care to know the entire story. "Check with security." Octavio began to make his way from the kitchen, through the entertainment room, and then towards the hallway.
His manager, whatever his name was folded his arms over his chest, "It doesn't matter that you didn't do. It's all over the fucking news that Octane, the junkie tried to rape a young woman." Octavio didn't bother to turn around he simply just balled up his fists for and moment then released them. He would not let this ruin his high, "So what now?"
Of course not getting the reaction that he wanted only made his manager livid, especially when he had to have a conversation with Octavio's back. "Until you can get off the drugs you're benched." Octavio shrugged it off; the opioids made him care even less than he already did, "Great. I needed a vacation anyway."
His manager resisted the urge to yell at Octavio and punch him in the back of the head, "Oh, it won't be a vacation. You're on lockdown. You have to stay here until this media shit storm blows over. No more shows. No more parties. No more women. Get yourself straight. No more drugs. No social media." The last part was said with such satisfaction and control like he was Octavio's old man.
The fact that Octavio was being treated like a child never sat well with him, ever. "I'm not a child." He dug his dirty nails into the palms of his rough hands. He still refused to turn around and look at his manager. He wasn't mad. Everything felt distant and scattered. His mind felt shattered and torn apart. In every instance he was indifferent but he was always blamed from the start; it didn't matter anymore.
His manager almost laughed, "Then stop acting like one. Look around. Security babysits you. You have clothes laying around everywhere so someone can come clean up after you. You're snorting who knows what. You're always stimmed up. Get it together or I will find someone who can."
Octavio shook his head, which was loud with pounding and disillusioned thoughts. "Maybe next time find me a better meth head that will get me off faster, then we wouldn't be having this conversation." After the words came out of his mouth he felt the cringe consume him all over again. He already hated himself enough without adding more to it.
His manager was speechless for a brief moment and then snapped back to it, "Lockdown. Deal with it and grow up. Get off the drugs." His manager left with his signature move of slamming the behind him and that was it. Octavio was left alone in the hallway of his penthouse, balling his fists, riding a bitter sweet high.
Before the loud thoughts in his head could fully consume his attention the hum of the television from his bedroom drew him in. He fumbled his way to his bedroom and was caught by another ad on the screen for the new mystery player for Apex Legends. He sighed heavily, "I guess I will find out who this player is in a few days since this is my life now. I can't leave my own fucking place!"
The last few words were louder than they should have been but he didn't care. He fell face first into his bed and let the drugs do the work that his body could never do, make him numb to the world around him. The world had broke him down and stole his soul, leaving him vacant and all alone. He was always alone.
The title of this Chapter is inspired by a band that I like: Missio
There is also a lyrical quotes in the chapter:
'Everything felt distant and scattered. His mind felt shattered and torn apart. In every instance he was indifferent but he was always blamed from the start.'
'The world had broke him down and stole his soul, leaving him vacant and all alone.'
- Missio - The Darker the Weather/The Better the Man