Walk Away

Give sorrow words: The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er –fraught heart and bids it break.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act IV Scene III

***

Smoke curls lazily in the long beams of a spotlight, filling the upper seats of the stadium with equal parts stench of nicotine and cannabis. An electric guitar belts out a mournful wail that echoes through the rafters, and the crowd erupts.

“I'm sorry for the demon I've become
You should be sorry for the angel you are not
I apologize for the cruel things that I did
But I don't regret one single word I said”

AWOL stands in the open window of a luxury box, staring passively down to the stage. Five Finger Death Punch is performing their single “Walk Away” to the delight of the mass of people below. The bald behemoth watches idly as the masses of humanity swirl in the mosh pit, a controlled cauldron of chaos boiling violently and trying to simultaneously destroy itself and flow out over the sides of the general admission floor. Security undoubtedly has more than their hands full with the madhouse that is developing below.

***

“Tell me about the Empire,” Dr. Ferraro asks, her pencil poised expectantly behind the yellow legal pad. AWOL shifts in his seat in response, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

“I don’t know that I should really answer that,” he responds, “You’re not going to understand, and I’ll just end up having to rationalize another decision that makes no sense to you.”

“I understand that it’s a business decision,” she countered. “You have a need to push a product. It’s your job. Your group has a lot of history that the fans will respond to. I understand that completely, Anthony, What I don’t understand is your reluctance to discuss it. These are former associates, aren’t they? Why are you so concerned about working with them again?”

“Associates?” AWOL responds. Coming from his lips, the word sounds like a curse. “Given the choice, I sincerely doubt that I would have ever ‘associated’ with them again. These are men I had removed from my life, doctor, people I was glad to have gone. And now…” he shakes his head in irritation, “Now I’m right back where I was years ago. I’m walking into the fires for them. I’m going out every week and pretending that I care about their agenda. I’m…I’m basically acting like the people I used to enjoy breaking down in front of all the fans. I’m acting like a stooge.”

She arches an eyebrow. An eager gleam starts to show up in her dark eyes in response to this admission, the first time AWOL has opened up about anything since coming to her. “Why don’t you walk away?” she asks, “You were doing alright on your own. Why did you decide to go back with them anyways?”

“I needed their help,” he admits, releasing another sigh that seems to come from somewhere in the bottom of his boots. “Maybe I’m getting as old as some of them say I am, but I just don’t care to get mobbed by people like the Brat Pack anymore. I’m sure I’d win in the end, but it’s just easier if there’s someone watching my back.”

“It must be nice to finally have someone you can trust.”

A bitter smile appears on AWOL’s face as he shakes his head in denial. “Doc, Hurse ran me over with a car once. Johnny Kingdom broke our stable apart the first time because I had the audacity to win the Rumble Bash and challenge him for the World Title, and for kicks gave me such a complete mind-fucking that…well, I did some things that even I am not proud of. They’re possibly the least trustworthy people on the whole roster.” He drums his fingers idly on the armrest of the couch and looks up, finally looking Dr. Ferraro in the eye.

“I must really be a miserable bastard, if those are the closest things to friends I can find in the IWC.”

***

Just walk away make it easy on yourself
Just walk away please release me from this hell
Just walk away there’s just nothing left to feel
Just walk away pretend that none of this is real

***

AWOL is walking through the crowd milling aimlessly in the luxury box, heading towards a bar set up near the back. He pauses, however, his head turning towards a raven-haired beauty standing near another of the windows. She, too, seems to have lost interest in the riot breaking out in front of the stage. She pulls her cigarette back to her black-painted lips, taking a long, thoughtful drag as she looks the former champion up and down appraisingly, a slight glimmer of approval appearing in her green eyes.

They hold each others’ gaze across the crowded room for moments that seem to stretch on forever. Between the screams of the band, the roar of the crowd, and the conversations surrounding them no words can be passed. None are needed. Both feel the need equally, and a communication that is deeper, more complete than words passes through the smoke-filled air.

AWOL turns and walks towards the exit. A moment later, she drops her cigarette into a neighbor’s beer glass and follows close behind.

***

Could you forgive me if I told you that I cared?
Would you be sorry if I swore that I'd be there?
Plese forgive me for laughing when you'd fall
I'm so sorry but I never cared at all

***

“You are certainly a victim of your circumstances, Anthony, but I’m afraid that the only person defining your circumstances is you.” Dr. Ferraro shakes her head regretfully. “You elected to take the paycheck by returning to the IWC. You accepted the bonus for rejoining the Empire, and you’re the one who is choosing to continue serving as their hatchet man. From what you’ve told me, your teammates are facing weak opposition together this week while you’re left, alone, to face five of the company’s better competitors. That doesn’t seem terribly fair.”

“It isn’t, but it’s not like I expect anything different. I understand who Kingdom and Hurse are looking out for, the men in the mirror. I’m useful to them for now, and I’ll stay that way by winning this week. There’s a certain logic to it, I suppose. I’ve won an over the top rope rumble before against the entire roster. I’ll be the most physically dominant competitor in the ring. But, seriously, the bottom line is this match is going to be hellacious, and pretty much anything can happen in this sort of cluster-fuck. It’s safer for them, and safer for their win-loss records, to have me do this for them. And hey, if I win, we get to walk into the pay-per-view as the last team in the gauntlet.”

He laughs bitterly. “So it’s a win-win for everybody, or at least everybody whose opinion counts.”

***

Just walk away make it easy on yourself
Just walk away please release me from this hell
Just walk away there’s just nothing left to feel
Just walk away pretend that none of this is real

***

The woman walks up to the hotel room door, sliding the key card into the lock. Her breath puffs out in surprised arousal, a white ghostly wisp twisting into the cold autumn air, as his hand closes around her arm, engulfing the death’s head tattoo adorning her upper bicep.

He spins her around to face him, a predatory gleam in his eyes. She matches it, leaping forward and devouring his lips hungrily with her own. AWOL engulfs her small frame in his arms, lifting her into the air and carrying her through into the hotel room.

The door slams shut behind them as the guitar solo from “Walk Away” bellows into the night sky.

***

Dr. Ferraro looks on, sadly, as AWOL stares out the window of her office. His face is lined by the shadows of her venetian blinds and his empty, broken expression.

“Why, AWOL?” she finally says, causing him to turn back towards her. “Why put yourself through this? Why work with the Empire again?”

He waits a moment, the dull look to his eyes clearly showing his internal search for answers. “You have to understand,” he finally responds, “We’re still the best team that professional wrestling has probably ever seen. I mean, I’m prone to hyperbole at times, but I’m not exaggerating here. We are that damned good. Even one hundred percent dysfunctional, with half of us falling apart mentally and nobody trusting anyone, there is literally no one on the roster who can stand up to us. The Empire is the greatest assembly of talent I’ve ever had the chance to work with, and even with our ridiculous history I can’t turn up an opportunity to be a part of this. I just can’t.”

The words echo hollowly, belying them to both of their ears. He sighs, “Or maybe I really did need the help. The Brat Pack are better, or at least more numerous, than I had imagined. Even with Jackson Adams tearing them apart from the inside they haven’t gone away. And there’s whatever game Psycho and Riggs are playing to think about. Hell, even Too Magnificent seems to have it out for me, for whatever reason. The protection is worth the risk.”

He shakes his head, still not satisfied. Finally he rests a hand over his eyes, leaning forward on the couch.

“Or maybe I was just tired of being alone.”

***

“Just walk away make it easy on us both”

The sun rises over the horizon, illuminating the hotel room door. The knob turns a moment before sliding open to reveal AWOL.

“Just walk away there was never any hope”

He steps out front, turning around for just a moment to look back. From the shadows of the bed, a pale arm limply hangs down the side, black painted fingernails nearly reaching the cheap hotel room carpet. The sunlight rests momentarily on the death’s head tattoo, the still form not responding to the sudden warmth and illumination, before the door slides shut.

“Just walk away you already know the deal”

AWOL hangs the “Do Not Disturb” sign over the handle before reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a black pair of sunglasses. He places them on his face, his expression unreadable, and slowly walks towards the parking lot.

“Just walk away pretend that none of this was, none of this was, real”

***