October 18, 2019, 03:52:34 AM

Author Topic: Apology.  (Read 119 times)

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Michael Kelly

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« on: August 28, 2018, 01:26:59 PM »
Earl's. Downtown Seattle. I've been here all night, drinking. Back in the day, I'd be drinking with my best friend but... Not anymore. Nik doesn't want anything to do with me and hell, I can't blame him. I've cost him more matches than I can count. Not as his partner, because well, we're the greatest tag team on planet fucking earth, but as a friend. I wasn't there for him on his biggest of nights. My plans failed miserably, costing him his King's Road Pro Tag titles with Fred. It's a good thing he's got Fred with him though. The guy is the nicest person that I've ever met. Such a mind for the business. Easy to work with too. Alfie and Arlo, the kids of The Conglomerate. They're going to be two of the very best in the world one day... and I'm just happy to have had the opportunity to share what I've learned in these many years in the business. Gregg, well he's Gregg. Letting my friends down, the only people I've considered family, it hit me. Hard. So here I am, drinking the sadness away like a fucking divorcee who's just found out that their ex-wife now has full custody of his five kids.

"Maybe it's all my fault. Maybe I am just a shitty friend. Maybe I should've told Nikolas that he's more than a friend. He's my brother. My family."

It's what I've been telling myself non-stop. Julie... My wife is probably tired of hearing that shit already, but she understands. You see, I was born into a wrestling family. Mom and dad. Both of em. Wrasslers and proud of it. Being born and raised into that lifestyle means a lot of things. Well, you've gotta learn how to make friends quick fast and in a hurry because you never know when the hell you've gotta move. School to school. District to district. Town to town. I could probably name about, let's say 50 or 60 cities in the US that I've laid in before the age of uh, I dunno, about 13? Wrestlers move a lot and when both of your parents, your only family moves to work a few contracted years for a territory, your untrustworthy delinquent ass has to move too. So move I did. Everywhere. You name the city and I can guarantee you that I've been there. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The worst of times came when mom and dad have to make a city, so they leave you stuck at home. In a city you've barely shat in let alone know with people you couldn't give one fuck about.


I skipped the happy drunk stage, went right past sad drunk and straight into angry drunk. Later on, I'd eventually learn that the piss drunk voicemail that I thought had made it's way over to Nikolas' phone actually was sent to young Arlo who didn't even know what was going on. Wait, so where the fuck was I again??? Oh, shit. Right. The 'Wrestling Lifestyle'. So not only was I alone for most of the time, I had to hear all about the fucking event or the show the entire goddamn time that they were home. Who the fuck wrestles and then talks about wrestling in their free time? The Miri's did. Jane and Richard Miri. My parents. They were all wrestling, all the time. Sometimes stuck in their gimmick, other times egging me on about when I'd join the biz. The thing is, I never in a million years thought I'd be a wrestler when I was younger. I loved watching it on T.V, but fuck no. After seeing my parents wrestle through injuries, come home with injuries and have surgery after surgery, I had it in my mind that in no fucking way possible did I want to wrestle. That's where Nikolas Thoreau comes in. I've known Nik for what feels like forever. Dad did a stint in shitty Provo Utah. Jesus fucking Christ there wasn't anything TO do but attend wrestling shows. So there I am in the front row, a young boy and next to me is this fucking kid. Short haircut, fucked up teeth. He had to be three or four years younger than me and the dude was one of the biggest marks that I'd ever seen in my life. Holy shit. He booed the heels and cheered the faces. That is, until my dad's match was up. See, my dad ran as a renown babyface throughout MOST of his career. However, in Provo, he ran as a cheap cocky shit heel. It's one of the legendary hidden gems in pop's career. So me, like a good son, still cheered him on regardless if he was poking eyes and pulling tights. Do you know who else cheered for my dad? That little fucking mark sitting a row behind me. Nik might never admit to this, but my dad was one of his favorite wrestlers growing up and heel or face, he was gonna cheer for him. After a show or two, I asked him to sit up front with me and he did. It was nice to finally have a friend in that garbage ass city, even if he was just using me to get signed shit from my dad. School was easy with him around. The fights after school were even easier with someone having my back. The days alone didn't happen cus little Nik always came over and if he didn't, he'd ask for me to come over and hang at his place. We'd watch wrestling together, hang together, did pretty much everything with the other person involved. I figured that if one day I decided to wrestle, I'd want Nik by my side. He wanted to wrestle regardless, so he figured that wrestling with his best friend was a win-win scenario. So when the time came, I really hoped that my dad would extend his contract and stay in Utah. After all, I had friends there... A friend there. But... he didn't. We moved back to Seattle, for good this time. Nik and I promised that we'd stay in touch and like unlike many promises in the wrestling business, we kept them. So we both did our things. Nikolas took the independent route first while I did that whole amateur wrestling schtick. My parents became hometown heroes or legends or whatever the fuck you want to call it. I became the golden boy. The one to carry on the name. Was I doing a good job? Was being one of the best even really worth it if you don't have your friends to back you up? All I knew was that I had fucked up, for real this time.

"Juz fild the glassup"
(Just fill the glass up)

Even though I'd been coming here for forever, the bartender had cut me off, leaving me to sit on my stool with my forehead against the counter. So I sat there for a while, managing to fall asleep against the scratched up wood counter before almost immediately being woken up by a light shove.

"Who the f... Oh. Shit. Sorr."

It was Julie. Julie Miri, formerly known as Julie Carter. My wife. Probably the only one who'd still care about me if I'd get kicked out of The Conglomerate. Til this day, I've never seen someone this hot before in my entire existence. You throw together her being badass in the ring and having the sense of humor to keep up with this piece of shit and.. well folks you've got a winner. Down to earth and down for me, this chick is my favorite person ever, but I'll save Jules and my story for another time

“Dame...what are you doing to yourself?”

She sounds almost disappointed but still, she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“I’ve been worried sick about you since you stopped answering my text messages.”

“J… How’d you find me?”

“I tracked your location using your iPhone. You know I wasn’t just a pretty face when you first met me, remember?”

Julie grabs onto my shoulders a little bit more roughly as she does her best to pull me out of my seat in my drunken stupor while sliding her other arm around my back to keep me standing upright. It takes all of her strength to be able to guide me along because I’m nowhere near steady enough to be able to stand on my own two feet.

“No matter where you go Dame, I’m always going to find you, and bring you home…”

Fuck. And she wasn’t lying.


I mumbled in her ear as she took my drunk ass home to sober up, dragging me into our living room and gently laying me onto the long couch that stood at the end of said room. Falling on top of me, Jules laid over me for a few seconds, brushing my hair to the side before planting a kiss onto my forehead. That was my gimmick. She’d stole my gimmick. God, I fucking love this woman. Even though I had fucked up, she still took care of me, got me home safe and made sure I slept through the rest of this shitty state I’d put myself in.

Hours later, I’d pay for it with a headache that made me feel like my brain was about to explode. Moaning and groaning throughout the day, I finally picked my phone up and called Nikolas one last time.

“Please leave your message for… beep”

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me and that’s fine, but I just want to be able to tell you that I’m sorry. I know I’ve texted and tweeted it to you, but I am. I haven’t been the best friend as of late, as of fucking forever. Jesus, I’m a shitty friend. I’ve been selfish for way too long and this is supposed to be a two way street. You don’t deserve that. After all we’ve been through, you don’t deserve it dude. I’m sorry for not being there for you. I’m sorry for letting you down when you needed me. Fuck that, you never really ever needed me in the first place. The truth is, I needed you. All you guys, but you the most. You’re my best fr… You’re my brother. Love you, Nik. Just give me a call when you get this.”

Now I wait, in hopes that I can un-fuck this situation up.