But even more than the fact that my family was flooding my voicemail with those classic 'I'm very disappointed in you', motherly-guilting phone calls, I was worried about what I had to deal with in my real home.
He didn't even call me after the show.
For now, what had seemed like the worst was over, because she didn't have to face the public for another five or six days at least. But deep down, fans and enemies alike were the least of her worries, and the cat calls were a whole lot easier to face than the pre-battle silence she was walking into. While her overweight black cat came to greet her with a meow, Amy was listening carefully for any signs of her biggest obstacle, but the only noise that met her ears was the door she'd just kicked shut behind her. Any other week, Darcy would have been perched on the couch that Reaper had clawed to pieces, anxiously awaiting the first glimpse of his favorite redhead. But on that day, the only sign of him was the clinking noise a drinking glass made against their kitchen counter. His obsessive sipping of mineral water had given him up. Something kept Amy from running to him, though. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was a lingering feeling that she should stand her ground and stay by the door. The scene was soon growing to look like the silent moments during movie gun fights, where two opponents are quietly calculating, each squaring the other up from behind a corner or a wall. Amy used words to dip her toe into what would soon become a scalding pool of guilt, ''It's just me, don't get up.'' No response. The glass rang out against the counter top again. ''Come on,'' she pleaded, still cautiously avoiding entering the room she'd heard her husband in, ''I heard you, I know you're in here and I'm guessing you're mad, but j--'' ''Some secretary from Playboy left a couple of messages,'' came Darcy's familliar voice, ''But I think Penthouse would be more your speed, so I didn't bother writing down her number.'' Her eyes closed tightly. ''Darcy, you can't blame me for wha--'' ''For what? Letting a guy take pictures of you? Fine. I can't change your past, and I'm okay with that.'' Darcy conceded as he entered the front entryway from the kitchen to look her in the eye, ''But thousands of people now know that my wife prefers to keep a well-groomed landing strip, so I think I'm entitled to be pissed off at whoever the fuck I want to be pissed off at right about now. If I felt like strangling a kitten, I don't think most guys would blame me.'' Something strange was happening., because he cracked his knuckles and started to charge toward her... For now, what had seemed like the worst was over, because she didn't have to face the public for another five or six days at least. Deep down, fans and enemies alike were the least of her worries, and the cat calls were a whole lot easier to face than the pre-battle silence she was driving towards. Something strange was happening. Amy grew panicked as she neared her front lawn and noticed one of her favorite guitars hanging by its strap across the broken doorknob of her home. A wider view revealed her luggage strewn across the property. A Cadillac STS was a big car for a small girl, but it couldn't hold quite this much... A Cadillac STS was a big car for a small girl, but it was hardly big enough for the skeletons Amy Campbell had packed into her mental closet, or the string of bodies she'd leave behind. Due to decisions of old, Amy was walking through her front door with a duffle bag over one shoulder and an imaginary line of twenty luggage carts behind her, holding every secret she'd ever hoped to keep close to her person. For now, what had seemed like the worst was over, because she didn't have to face the public for another five or six days at least. But deep down, fans and enemies alike were the least of her worries, and the cat calls were a whole lot easier to face than the pre-battle silence she was walking into. The lock was stuck as always, so she'd jimmied the door open and held her breath while she stepped inside what she'd otherwise call home - hoping not to face Darcy directly. He was laying on the couch that their fat cat had generously clawed. But something strange was happening. His Rancid shirt had smears of blood on it - and it looked fresh. Had the revelations about his wife driven Darcy far enough off of the edge to actually harm himself? No. ''Don't worry about Stevens doing anything to hurt us ever again,'' he cackled, ''I doubt he'll be doing much show-and-tell next week.'' ''Darcy, what ha--'' Markson interrupted her, wiping off blood that she'd quickly noticed was covering most of his body... ''I love you, Amy... and I already have the shovel ready out back.'' He smiled still. ''Do you think your Cadillac's got a big enough trunk for a body?''
1.01. (In the blink...)
A Cadillac STS was a big car for a small girl, but it was hardly big enough for her baggage - mental and physical. She usually packed light, but this week had been especially difficult, calling for a spare set of bags to hold her dignity, her pride and her nerves. Due to decisions of old, Amy was walking through her front door with a duffle bag over one shoulder and an imaginary line of twenty luggage carts behind her, holding every secret she'd ever hoped to keep close to her person.
1.02. (Blink twice.)
Amy chuckled at her ridiculous imagination as she pulled onto the quiet cul de sac that she shared with her husband and a series of equally amusing suburban neighbors. She was finally coming back to her safe place - a place left untouched by Lane Stevens.
1.03. (Blink thrice...)
Jet lag can give you some wild day dreams, that much was for sure.
Thanks to the real world slapping me in the face as a teenager, I've always had a tendency to expect the absolute worst from every person and every situation. I've also got a bad habit of drifting away into my own head, and I had a bad case of that when I was coming home from the show. I hadn't slept at all, and I was terrified of the reaction I'd get from Darcy - especially having had no contact with him immediately after Uproar.
Amy blinked frantically for a moment. She'd gotten lost in her own thoughts, still sitting in her driveway with the car running and her driver's side door opened. Daydreaming had never been one of her strong suits, but it seemed to be running rampant that day. She quickly scurried out of the vehicle and closed the door, putting an end to the bell that had snapped her out of her imagination's nightmarish scenarios. A Cadillac STS was a big car for a small girl, but it was hardly big enough for her baggage - mental and physical. She usually packed light, but this week had been especially difficult, calling for a spare set of bags to hold her dignity, her pride and her nerves. Due to decisions of old, Amy was walking through her front door with a duffle bag over one shoulder and an imaginary line of twenty luggage carts behind her, holding every secret she'd ever hoped to keep close to her person. For now, what had seemed like the worst was over, because she didn't have to face the public for another five or six days at least. But deep down, fans and enemies alike were the least of her worries, and the cat calls were a whole lot easier to face than the pre-battle silence she was walking into. The front door's lock always stuck, so it took her a moment to jimmy it open before Reaper - her unusually overweight black feline friend - greeted her with a chatter of meows. But Darcy was nowhere to be found, at least until she heard a glass gently strike the kitchen counter top. ''Darce?'' she queried, raising an eyebrow and bracing herself for one of any of the situations that had already just played out in her head, ''It's me.'' The sound of paper ruffling from the next room did nothing to ease her worries. Darcy Markson had endured seemingly every one of Amy's publicity nightmares, but clearly this one had to have trumped them all. Right? ''Hey baby!'' Darcy's voice called out, flying around the corner to meet Amy's ears. ''How come you don't shave like this for me anymore?'' She blinked twice. This felt much more real than the dreams she'd had in the driveway... ''I'm... sorry?'' Removing himself from the kitchen to join her, the smile emblazoned on Darcy's face had quickly subsided once he saw the look his wife was modeling. While he himself might not have felt personally embarrassed by the recent turn of events, it didn't mean she wasn't. After all, there was nothing strange about that. ''Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I'm gonna try not to be a huge jerk about this. You want to tell me exactly how this happened, though?'' Amy was still trying to shake off the bad feeling that she'd been left with after her driveway blackout. She stuttered slightly, ''Uhmm... yeah, but first I've gotta know - you're not pissed at me, you're not kicking me out... and Lane Stevens is still alive, as far as you know?'' ''Check, check and... oh, I don't know, check I guess. That is, if you really consider oozing in the dark festering hole of pettiness being 'alive,' '' he responded, making it perfectly aware that he was on her side. ''Thank God,'' Amy grinned, heaving a heavy sigh of relief, ''I just had the worst images in my he--y'know, nevermind...'' She gently wrapped her arms around her husband. ''It's just good to be home.''
1.1 (From the look on your face, I may have forced the skeletons...)
Ding... ding... ding...
Even after I found out that Darcy really wasn't nearly as troubled as I was about the whole situation, I still had a lot to get off of my chest.When I really need to get something off of my chest, or just recover from everybody seeing my chest, I run until my legs don't move anymore. It's the only real exercise I get, so I try making it work by shoving myself to the very limit. If a song is 4:06, that's how long I'll run, but the beauty of the thing comes when it's over. When my four minutes and six seconds are up, the pressure's off... so I keep running. Maybe it's just my body growing used to the repetetive movement, but the sudden energy probably stems from the fact that I deal incredibly well under pressure. In the ring, I'm spot-on if I absolutely have to be, but outside... not so much. In my daily life, I have enough pressures - so when the compulsion from something as simple as a timed fitness goal is satisfied, I couldn't feel more free.
Unfortunately, I've recently been returning from my spurts of freedom to realize that at home, I'm confined with a growing concern. Because he has to be home, he wants ME to be home and, even though all logic would call it unfair, I think he might actually be trying to find any way he can possibly tie me down until his back heals and he can return to having an equal share in my life. Sadly, the very fact that he's trying to hold me back with him is based in a selfishness I haven't been used to seeing from the man I married.
1.2 (Post Traumatic Exercise.) She drank half the bottle in two mouthfulls and gasped for air once the water worked through her throat. ''Speaking of God,'' she said, glancing to the ceiling, ''If you had anything to do with that win... thanks. I'd buy you a beer, but... uhh... there's that whole omnipotent thing, and the fact that I might just be talking to my roof.'' A voice answered immediately. ''You're welcome.'' What?! Amy spun around, shaking her head to momentarily regain the sanity she'd just felt slipping from her. But when she saw her 'God' leaning against the doorjam chuckling at her, Amy laughed herself. ''Oh, you.'' ''Me, eh?'' Darcy grinned, ''Yeah, just me. But enough about me...'' he said, slipping behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder, ''How was your run?'' Amy answered ''Just fine.'' and turned around to face her husband with a question she already knew the answer to, ''You're trying to get something, aren't you?'' ''Mmhmm,'' he nodded in response, adding ''While you were running and having a conversation with that God asshole, I was being kept from my nap by a nagging case of blue balls.'' When Amy rolled her eyes, Darcy continued, ''It's been over a week, Ames, and I've gotta be honest -- I'm startin' to consider the oriental massage parlour a few blocks down.'' ''What part of bedrest didn't you understand?'' the redhead scolded. She stepped far away from Darcy, who'd started looking through the cupboards for food to separate his mind from areas lower than his stomach. ''For once, there's a medical reason - as opposed to the hundreds of times I've held out simply because I wanted to watch you squirm. That, and after what happened the other day... I'm pretty sure it'd take a small army to get my clothes off.'' ''But the porn star thing really works on you...'' Instead of slapping him for the incredibly poorly timed remark, Amy pulled herself up to sit on the kitchen countertop, wincing from the strain in her arms. The main event she'd just fought in had hardly been kind on her, but she could handle the pain easily with the knowledge that Lane Stevens came out twice as sore. But it was the conversation she was about to incite that would prove more painstaking... ''Darce,'' she began, ''What's up with this?'' ''Can't a man just ge--'' Amy interrupted, ''No, I'm talking bigger than just you not getting your dick wet. I might have a shitty memory, but you and I both know that I'd never forget a prescription, especially for something like birth control.'' Darcy bowed his head, which threw up the MASSIVE warning sign that he already knew what she was about to ask. ''Which is why I thought it was really weird the other day when I was about to get it filled and realized that my script had mysteriously disappeared.'' ''It wasn't supposed to be sneaky, Ames...'' And there it was: Admission. ''It was supposed to be a bit of a hint, I guess.'' Amy laughed. ''A hint to do what?'' she asked, believing in her heart that the obvious answer to that question was too extreme for Darcy to have considered, ''For me to stop taking my birth control so I could get knocked up by accident?'' What she believed in her heart, however, was put to the test when Darcy lowered his head again - eyes fixed on his shoes - and with his eyes went the ball that had nervously formed in Amy's gut. She swallowed her heart back down into her chest and stood, too stunned to move when she suggested, ''You're kidding.'' Darcy looked up with a slight shame in his eyes. He wasn't. ''Alright,'' said Amy, pulling her t-shirt off and tossing it into the kitchen sink, ''Let's do it. But you've gotta be on top, 'cause I want twins.'' He might not have been kidding, but her husband knew for a fact that she wasn't serious. ''But, uhh... what about my back?!'' Amy sneered. She'd won the game of chicken and learned a little something about his scheme. She yanked her t-shirt from under the faucet - barely even caring that she was pulling it back over her shoulders damp. ''What the hell's your problem, Darcy? Suddenly you're hoping I'm dumb enough to get pregnant accidentally aga--'' Amy stopped dead in her tracks. He didn't know about that yet, and was thankfully too nervous to have noticed her wording slip, so she continued a corrected version of her sentence, ''Are you that desperate to have me at home?'' ''It was just an idea.'' ''No,'' she corrected, '' 'Hey, why don't you take some time off?' is just an idea. 'We should have a kid' is a fucking decision -- one that I think I deserve a bit of say in!'' Darcy wouldn't look at her, and it only gave Amy more fuel to continue, ''What would you say in ten years, huh? 'Hey kiddo, thanks for running mommy's career off the tracks so she could stay home and keep me company'? Somehow, that doesn't sound anywhere near sane.'' Once she'd torn into him, Darcy was getting a lot more defensive - to the point that he was actually willing to argue the kinks out of the topic. He started by taking a few steps forward, ''It's only been a few weeks into this 'bedrest' bullshit, and you're already running around FUSE with four other guys. Oh, not to mention the fact that half the universe has seen your tits, to boot!'' he growled, ''You're on a crusade against a bunch of assholes who - make no mistake - will put you in a hospital, and I keep catching you talking to the fucking sky about your problems.'' ''All your faith is going into these Highwaymen and what you can only hope is actually God,'' said Darcy, ''So tell me, exactly when did you take it all away from me? Because I remember a time not very long ago where you'd wake up in the dark and squeeze me half to death just to get you through a bad dream.'' Darcy saw that his wife was starting to see part of his twisted reasoning. ''So ex-fucking-cuse me if I'm chewing nails just to get time with you. I tossed your prescription out to start a conversation about maybe taking a few months off to start a family, it wasn't like I thought you were stupid enough just to stop taking the pill and hope I was shooting blanks.'' ''I know that you think you're soaring in FUSE right now,'' he continued, ''But I'm trying to find any way I can to protect you while I'm sitting in my armchair. Your new buddies could easily betray you, and we both know that Lane Stevens isn't just gonna stop at showing people the body I love, but I'm the one you know won't go away. If you ducked out for a few months, Stevens would forget about you, you could have that baby you've wanted and then you could come back with guns blazing...'' ''You're the one who didn't want a kid when I did,'' Amy retorted, ''And now you're giving up your argument just to get me happily at home?'' She felt tears welling up behind her eyes, but instead let her guard down to step forward and hug her confused betrothed, ''It might not seem like it right now, but that's not fair to you in the end.'' ''Don't worry,'' she said, arms still wrapped around his waist, ''I love you, but I know you don't really want a permanent solution to a temporary loneliness. Otherwise, you would've already jumped me.'' Darcy nodded in agreement and rested his chin on the top of the red head clinging to him. And the redhead attached to that head looked up at her husband, suddenly smiling - seeing that he was relieved by her reasoning. ''I did get the prescription filled, you know,'' she grinned suggestively, ''And your back seems strong today. Maybe we can work out a temporary solution...'' Mr. Markson smiled down at her, ''Just this once.'' ''But no babies.'' Darcy laughed and swooped his wife off of her feet, literally - answering while he lifted her up. ''No babies.''
''God, I needed that,'' Amy said to herself, still panting from a run around the block to the new Throwdown album she'd loaded onto her iPod. Darcy had mentioned needing to take a nap, so she'd thought nothing of the fact that he wasn't in the living room to greet her when she returned from her physical release. That had been a solid run, and had emptied her of enough adrenaline to stop shaking like a leaf from the after-effects of public humility. She stirred her vitamin powder into the Naglene water bottle that she'd been gripping so tightly, then rolled her head around her shoulders to keep her muscles loose despite soreness and grinned, thinking again to her relieved words.
And that itsy bitsy 'thing' he doesn't know is that I'd drop FUSE in a split second to start a family with him, but I refuse to risk it when he isn't ready... and he clearly isn't. He'd brought up the subject simply to shock me into realizing how upset he actually was about me being on the road alone while he laid back here, in California. It wasn't fair play at all, but a small part of me can understand why he'd go to that extreme.
He needs me to need him. He needs to be my hero, and it can't feel like that when I'm travelling alone. I get it, but why can't he sit back and be happy for me?
I mean, it's no big deal. There's that whole Lane Stevens thing, the travelling with multiple other men... but I won a fucking match for once, didn't I?
The roar was almost deafening as the bell rang. But something was wrong. Something strange was happening... Amy Campbell had just pinned Sean Sterling after executing a flawless series of moves, the least of which included the aptly named suicide plancha. There had been no stable interference, and everything had gone the way it was supposed to go. But there was one, tiny problem... Sterling stood up before she did. More accurately, before she could. The referee was holding fingers up in front of her. Four. She understood that, saw it and tried to tell him so - but he didn't seem to be listening to her. That, or he hadn't heard her over the noise of her fans, or... no. That wouldn't be right. He was trained to listen to wrestlers despite the surroundings. But she was certain that she'd been clear in telling him. Four fingers. 'Four. God damnit, man... listen! You're holding up four fingers, I'm not an idiot. Sean, I know I just beat you down, but don't be a dick - tell this asshole I'm talking to him.' Then Sterling leaned over her, brushing her cheek. She felt that. She felt everything, actually - no pain. But that didn't explain why her legs weren't bending. It didn't tell her why she wasn't making sense to the people around her, or why the referee was mouthing 'Shock'. Shock. 'She'. 'She's in shock'?! No, she wasn't in shock. Everything felt fine, but why wasn't anything working? Maybe she was in a little shock. After all, that last slam had kinked her back a little bit - but that was little more than discomfort. Aimz NEVER injured her back. It was strong, unlike Darcy's. That's when she tried standing again, but failed. At the very least, she tried to sit up... but Amy quickly realized that all of her efforts were literally doing nothing to her body. Aside from that annoying, random twitching in her fingers, she wasn't moving in the least, almost as if she was pa... Para... Paral... Oh, my God. 1.2.02 (Waking Up With...) ''Hey,'' Darcy smiled, ''Feeling alright?'' While he lightly rubbed her hand, Amy groaned. She wasn't feeling alright, not after that. ''I just had THE worst dream...'' ''Well,'' he sighed, ''It's been a rough week.'' She nodded, then stroked his hand in response to the touch. But something strange was happening; This was a bed, she'd just had a dream and she was sore from a match. However, that wasn't the strange thing... Her doctor was quick to return, noting that the redhead was finally awake and smiling himself. ''That's progress,'' the white-coated man said, ''And you're very lucky, Amelia. Not many people in your position have a spouse who went through the exact same situation.'' Amy looked from side to side and began to remember it: During her match with Sterling, she'd bumped her back a little harder than usual. Then, a plancha had botched itself a little bit and finally, she'd twisted herself oddly when rolling her much larger opponent up for the winning pinfall. After the bell, she hadn't moved... and then she was here, somehow blessed with a knowledge of her injury. The same injury that she'd tried helping her husband through six years ago. The same injury that was keeping him home while she fought alongside The Highwaymen... The very same injury that forced him to sit in a chair while he watched the worst case scenario, more helpless than he'd even been when it had happened to him. Something strange had happened, indeed. The doctor was smiling at her. ''Rehabilitation should be a breeze with Mister Markson's help.''
1.2.01. (In His Boots...)
''AIMZ! AIMZ! AIMZ!''
The bed was soft and warm, but wet with the sweat of a nightmarish experience. When Amy jolted herself awake, she gripped her husband's hand tightly and rolled over - still sore from last week's match.
He doesn't deserve what I'm putting him through in any way, shape or form, because I can only imagine that - from my side - it would be nothing short of hell. The problem is the same as it was when it came to that 'baby' argument I mentioned -- me giving in to his will would be unfair to the both of us in the end. He wants what will satisfy him, and part of him thinks that means getting me to stay home, or let him come on the road with me against doctor's orders. If I let him come, I'll be suffering with worry and paranoia over him getting hurt - and he doesn't want to bring me pain, so he'd end up hurting with guilt at the very least. But if I get off of the road for a little while to keep him company during recovery, my career will lose steam and I'll inevitably be hurting about it, both mentally and financially. And, once again, he'll suffer if I'm suffering... so there honestly isn't any version of a 'win-win answer' here. It's black and white and gray, but it's also astonishing in the complexity of what would sound like a simple problem, and why the solution isn't a viable one.
I'm trying to meet him halfway, I really am... but neither of us wants the other to be sacrificing for them. So, I guess this is how we go on living. Maybe I'll talk to his doctor in a few days, and see if it'd be even remotely possible to risk him travelling to a show with me without my anxiety going through the roof. But we'll keep thinking of a way to solve it while we wait out the storm, and hopefully I'll stop having to deal with my imagination's take on matters.
Either way, I need to quit typing on this thing and get ready to pack for Uproar.
-Amy
1.3. (Forced Understanding) But then she felt him beside her, and her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It didn't take long before Amy started to slip away from the grip of her nightmares, and reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. She checked the time and date -- sure enough, she hadn't faced Sean Sterling yet. The match hadn't happened, and her back was fine. That didn't stop her from clinging instinctively to Darcy, though. He was groggy himself, and felt her body pressing hard against his back. ''Ungh...'' he groaned, running his fingers up and down her forearms as they wrapped around him, ''...Amy... not now...'' ''Not that,'' She smiled softly to herself, then sighed and squeezed tighter, ''Bad dream.'' Darcy's only response was to roll over to face his wife. He kissed her on the forehead and shut his eyes again, hugging her tightly. It was a scene he was faced with at least one night a week, knowing that she was prone to nightmares that could affect his little redhead deeply. While he couldn't imagine what most of them were about, she was shaking hard enough in his arms to let him know that he'd hear about this one in the morning. He squeezed her tightly, and reveled in her relieved sigh. ...And despite the fact that her toenails felt like tiny, pink neon razorblades, Darcy knew in his heart that no amount of nude photos, single stablemates or lonely nights at home could ever convince him to let her go.
She blinked once, then twice... and worried that she was blind, on top of being crippled.