It was there, sitting in the back of his skull. The anger, the hate, the pain, the lies, the false happiness. Snarling quietly he pulled himself from the bed, he couldn't even look at Taryn right now he hated himself that much. 'Using her, that's all you're doing you fucking fake to her, telling her you love her when all you want is not to be and as quietly has he could he dressed and left; making sure that all he had on him were two items, his phone, and the small bottle of muscle relaxers that the trainers had given him Monday night. He reached the lobby, chewing his lip to bleeding as he weighed the options of going to the hotel gym and the gym down the street with the gym down the street winning in the end.
The air had grown colder since the last time he'd ventured forth and the thin material of his t-shirt did nothing to sheild him from the harsh winds. Still the bone chilling winds didn't even register with him as he walked; his bright red hair flying out behind him as he moved. People around him didn't exist as he kept his head down, he was too busy arguing with Wade via text and on the dash to care about the insignificant pissants around him; after all they didn't care about him why should he even bother to pretend anymore that he did. Finally he stopped infront of the gym; looking at himself in the mirror like windows and snarling at the reflection before he entered; nodding the woman behind the desk and then heading to the furthest part in the building from prying eyes.
The room was little more than a hole in the wall; a speedbag in one corner and standard punching bag in the other and one wall nothing mirrors. Cracking his knuckles he moved over to the speedbag; he'd not had any practice with one in a good long while and he started slowly; working out the rythym of the bag before working more speed into it. The steady 'thud' 'thud' 'thud' of his fist connecting with the inflated leather bag lulled him into a sort of trance and before he could stop it his mind took over dumping him back into the middle of a memory that had been eating at him for weeks.
"You fucking bitch; did you think I wouldn't find about you two? This is a small fucking town, word spreads."
The angry words could only belong to his father and he crept from his bed; tiptoeing down the cold wood hallway to peek around the corner. The tall man had his mother pinned up against the wall by her throat; her face a bright red as she struggled to breathe; her nails scrabbling at the strong wrist that held her in place. Fear roiled in his body; he was hurting her again and he couldn't stop it. A sob escaped him as he watched his father draw his fist and send it slamming into the side of his mother's head; her neck snapping to the right before she went limp. A snort was heard as he let her drop to the floor and aimed a few hard kicks to her ribs; the loud sound of cracking heard easily in the small area.
He wasn't stupid he knew it wasn't over and he hid his face as his father ravaged his mother's unconcious body; leaving the moment he was done, blood and his semen marking her body. He waited until he heard the screech of the tires in the gravel driveway before he moved; rushing to his mother and pressing his fingers to the pulse in her neck like he'd watched the paramedics do before. Beneath his tiny fingers he could feel a faint thump and he let out a choked cry as he pushed himself back to his feet and moved into the kitchen for a bowl of water and a rag. Gently he cleaned her as best he could; his tears coating his cheek and falling into the deepening pink water. Finally he grabbed a blanket from the couch and he covered her. As the warm flannel material settled around her, her eyelids fluttered and she looked up at him with dull brown orbs; tears gathering in the corner as she rasped softly.
"I'm sorry Heath..he didn't hurt you did he?"
"Go to bed Sweetness, I'll make you pancakes in the morning."
Her eyes were already drifting back shut as he nodded and he waited until her breathing was soft and regular before he grabbed his own blanket and a pillow and curled up next her; waking every so often to make sure that she was still breathing and finally finding some sembalance of sleep as the pale morning sun broke through the windows.
Tears streaked his face as he snarled and slammed his fist into the speedbag as hard he could; glaring when he heard a dull hiss where he'd managed to pop it. Trembling he moved away; stalking around the room to try and get some sort of hold on himself. It wasn't healthy what he was doing and he knew it. But the anger, pain, betrayal of everything had eaten away at him and he bottled it up; putting on his smile and acting like nothing was the matter, like it didn't effect him. The escaped growl rang back at him as he turned his attention to the punching bag.
'Not good enough.' 'Bafoon.' 'Talentless.' 'Waste of roster space.'
The words whirled in his head as he let out a cry of rage and attacked the bag. He hated it, hated that he'd been pegged into a fucking joke gimmick, that all everyone seen was the clown that Creative wanted him to play. No one paid attention to his abilities; it was all about the leather; the guy liner, the hat or whatever they shoved him into that week. Everyone seen Slater, the ginger that should be on the Wendy's sign...the Southern hick that all he had to do was open his mouth to set off a shit storm.
A crack was heard the last time he hit the bag but he ignored the pain that shot up his arm; what did he care if he broke a finger or a few knuckles, he'd wrestled in FCW with a broken hand, it would be a cake walk. All he'd do is tape it up and move on to the next match. A snapping sound was heard next and he dropped as the pain shot up his arm from his wrist. Growling and digging around in his pockets he popped two of his pain pills and starting to hit using his other hand; his injured one cradled close to his chest.
'Not good enough, never good enough, never will be good enough, never was good enough.'
The words became a mantra as he focused; his hits becoming erratic as the pills took over. The combination of the pills and the rhythmic chanting the words had become sent him back into his mind; drowning him in another memory.
He'd just come home from school, picked up his baby sister from the daycare and was sitting at the table studying his math problems for the night while she watched tv; a pencil behind his ear as he tugged on one loose curl of bright red hair that he'd let grow out for the winter to keep his ears and neck warm. He felt a tug on his shirt and he looked over into her bright blue eyes, smiling as he picked her up and put her in his lap.
"Heaf, I'm hungry, when Mommy coming home." She pouted as she rubbed her belly.
Looking over he seen that the hours had ticked away and it was nearing 7pm, and neither one had had anything to eat yet. With a grin he tugged on her curls.
"Tell you want Macey girl , I'll cook tonight. Hot dogs and mac-n-cheese?"
Her eyes lit up and she squealed as she wrapped her arms around his throat and hugged him tight. He returned the embrace before sending her to her room to watch tv while he put his homework up and started to gather pots and pans for their meager dinner. He'd started taking up the role of mother since theirs worked late hours to be able to keep a roof over their head and food in their stomaches.
As the water boiled he started humming and moving around the small kitchen. His movements and light humming completely blocked out the sound of the tires in the driveway and the sound of the slamming door scared him; making him jerk and send hot water back over his hand and wrist. Hissing he ran to the sink and ran cold water; sticking the burning area under the ice cold spray in a bid to stop the pain that was slowly leaching up his arm. Just as the pain was fading his head was yanked back by his hair and he swallowed as best he could as he stared up into the eyes of his father.
"Where's your whore of a mother you little bastard."
The smell of stale alcohol assaulted his nose and he had to work his jaw twice before he could speak.
"S-she's at work sir."
His head was shoved back upright; his forehead slamming against the sink and making stars dance in front of his eyes for a moment. When he turned around he seen the older man inspecting the melting cheese on the stove before turning to glare at him. Afraid he cowered back against the counters as the man started to advance on him.
"You'll make some faggot a nice housewife some day you little fucker. That whore is making a sissy out of you; making you cook..I bet you clean too don't you you little bastard."
His father's hand twisted in the collar of his shirt and yanked; ripping the fabric as he was hauled away from the cabinets; the man's height making it so that his feet were barely touching the cracked linolium. It was getting hard to breathe and he whimpered as he stared into the older man's hate twisted face.
"She's already got you growing your hair out like a little bitch, you got a cunt too? Did that lying whore tell me I had a son but instead gave me another fucking waste of space daughter?"
"N-n-n-no sir...it's cold out..it keeps my ears and neck warm." He stuttered as he tried to swallow.
"Did I tell you to talk you little pussy?"
He was dropped the next instant; landing on his feet wrong and crying out as he went to his knees, catching himself barely before smashing his face against the floor. Trembling he tried to crawl away but was yanked back by his hair. A flash of light caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes and he turned wide scared eyes when he seen the large knife held in his father's grip. The next instant it was coming towards him and he screamed; pissing himself and closings his eyes as he waited for the bite of the cold metal into his throat. Instead there was a sharp tug to the back of his head and then the sudden rush of cold air on his neck. Reaching up he felt the uneven ends of his hair and he took a deep breath.
The small flood of relief that had rushed through him was gone even before he could take another breath; the knife point nicked the back of his neck as the shirt was cut away; leaving his back exposed to his father. Confusion spread over his face and he turned to see what was happening as the first strike of the leather belt landed on his back. Fire raced over his skin and he screamed; the noise resulting in another strike and then another until he could see blood staining the tiles of the floor and spattered over the stove. The world was going black around the edges; his father's voice a steady thrum in his ears even if he couldn't understand what he was saying. A shove to his ass sent him sprawling out and he stayed down; the cool tile heaven against his feverish skin. as he lost consciousness for a few blessed minutes.
When he finally came too he shivered, his body screamed as he scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could to Mace's room; sighing when he found her asleep on the bed with the tv blaring. Slowly he made his way to the bathroom; crying as the water stung the open wounds.
Exhausted he dropped, resting his head against the bag and breathing deeply, the same words ghosting from his lips as he dry swallowed two more pills. It didn't matter anymore, nothing really did, he had no career direction, he had no direction in life and he was using the only person that gave a shit about him outside of his family.
'Not good enough, never good enough, never will be good enough, never was good enough.'
The room started spinning and he closed his eyes, his body sagging against the bag as he blacked out.