Post by Matt Knox on Jan 6, 2022 23:54:50 GMT -5
Things get harder with age.
But, getting so drunk you wake up in another part of the state you blacked out in was hard at 21.
Matthew Knox was seated outside an all too familiar venue, the Silver State Ballroom. Uprising’s headquarters. Chapter two of his comeback tour, and where he truly came back into his own. An Uber was on the way to deliver him to the airport and to salvation. Littler mercies like his wallet and phone being where they should be did a lot to balance out the head ache and missing pieces of the night previous.
As he waits, his mind inevitably falls back to thoughts of one person.
God, was he obsessed?
He shook the foolish notion, brow furrowing. He had motive in his madness. A reason he brought her into win these tag titles. And it had nothing to do with the admittedly juvenile name attached. She mattered, more than most.
And she was the most violent person he’d ever met.
He reached up, adjusting the sunglasses he’d bought from the gift shop to fight off the Mojave sun. The price tag dangled from the rim.
He’d paid too much.
Bringing up the all too familiar contact, he circled a pale thumb over the green button before clearing his throat once, and hitting ‘Dial’.
Now, would it ring through or be sent to Voicemail?
"... what do you want Knox." If the exasperated sigh didn't give it away, the dragging syllables made it perfectly obvious that this was among the last calls 'The Painted Hurricane' had wanted to recieve'... "If you're looking for a place to crash, I have a nice hole out in the back somewhere you can dig."
Yeah, somewhere in popularity between telemarketer and a terminal illness diagnosis.
Matt didn't need to see her face to vividly imagine the myriad of facial expressions crossing the pale, lightly freckled features of his begrudging redhead partner in crimes against tag. No, her benevolent sarcasm did a good enough job without further assistance. And all those faces brought one to him, in a brief and knowing smirk.
“Answers to questions i’d dare not ask, like any man..” he fired off the sarcasm if only to get it out of the way. Better to rip the band aid free than leave the poor woman anticipating it’s arrival, “No, i’m just…” he paused for a brief second, trailing off “Hungover, in the desert at our old job. Figured waiting for an Uber would be as good a time as any to make sure i’m not going to be out there by myself Friday.”
He had been brazen in dragging her along. The reasons for doing so up for debate and never to be confirmed to anyone but himself. Reasons as simple as they were foolish, to most but not him. A hand runs through jet black hair that had started to gray in spots.
"Oh honey…" Dripping with vitriol, the pause was decidedly less a reprieve as it was for the venom to seep further into his veins. Her chuckle rang almost musically through the receiver, as though aware that the high pitched inflection would only serve to irritate and worsen the desert sun hangover. "An Uber? Ha, yeah… good luck with that..."
Another pause, this one more pensive as though waiting for a bite back. Waiting for a plea for mercy that wasn't going to come… or simply waiting for the cry of carrion eaters as they sized up the morbid corvid as he wasted away. Her chuckle severed the bond formed by his phone and ear, a wince contorting his face. Followed by a sneer.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
She always did.
“Yeah, I know. Gonna be here awhile. Hence me calling you to get this out of the way, since I’ve literally nothing else to distract me..” a pause “Haven’t been looking forward to the death threats, i’m starting to believe them you know.”
A small scoff followed. "Only now? Well, if I'd have known that I'd have doubled my Fuding efforts…"
Pensive, the sigh that came next seemed to echo soundlessly between them- the sound of regret before the words ever being spoken. Moments to be forgotten attempting to be retracted before every being performed.
"Look… as much as I would LOVE to see you become buzzard scraps." An aggravated groan of frustration filled the receiver, the words like a cigarette being put out on the edge of her tongue. "My pride simply won't let us forfeit on the account of you being an actual fuckhead…"
Amber didn't need to finish the sentence for them both to understand the implication. An unspokeness to be carried through the rest of the ensuing conversation.A low sound rumbled from him, however brief. His lips pursed as he sat back, eyes casting upward for guidance he knew he would never heed.
No thanks, i’ve got it. That was the smart move.
“Don’t bring the bike. I’m not riding behind you for five feet let alone all the way to the airport.”
"You're a choosey beggar, aren't you? I wouldn't dare sully any of the bikes with your poor taste anyway.
Have some Fuding gratitude maybe… cause I still haven't decided if you're riding on or going under my tires yet."
“I imagine it would start one way, then end the other. Like so many other things, eh?” Because of course, you poke the bear. The bear that would be in your corner trying to win the same fight you were in a matter of days. These were the strategies of a man in possession of a sound mind, “I appreciate it though, Amber. I do. Not sure where i’d be without your willingness to put off murdering me, or leaving me to die.”
Somewhere between sincere and vomit inducingly pompous. Familiar for present company.
"Do yourself a favour Knox…" she started firmly, with a certain surprisingly tired undertone. "... And don't sit there lying to me."
Without waiting for a response or argument that would inevitably follow, not allowing the famously morose charm to do anything but glance of her glacial surface. Amber allowed the line to fall dead with little more than a moment's notice, the conversation over before the other party could quite register that there had been a reply. The sound of the call ending brought forth a scoff, then a chuckle as he dropped his phone down to rest in his lap.
“Which part?”
He questioned the air as if it’d reach her.
If there was a logical reason why Amber had agreed to this, she hadn't managed to find it yet, musing as the heavy rattle of the pickup truck kicked up a cloud of dust in her wake.
Stupid pride maybe, determined to see this tournament out despite the circumstances to which she'd been dragged into participation. Reluctant yet far too proud to simply leave Matt high and dry.
Just because she didn't want to team with Matt, didn't mean she didn't want to win.
Precisely the attitude that seemed to have gotten him onto her back recently. She'd been World Champion for a little over 300 days now, the weight only getting heavier with each successful defense and the ties of familiarity were straining to keep her head above water, when all she wanted to do was breathe deep beneath the waves.
He was stretched out over a bench when he heard the distinct sound of a V8 rolling toward him. For a brief moment he wondered if she’d keep her foot down and end it now but, no such luck. He sat up, regarding the truck before standing and dusting himself off. In no time he had slid into the passenger seat, the snark instant. As if he knew any other sort of greeting.
Well, any he could openly use.
“Red hair, custom truck, pugnacious attitude…there any part of you that’s even heard of subtle?” asked the man with the price tag still dangling from his sunglasses. A quirk in the eyebrow lingered for little more than a moment, the brief thought of pushing Matt back out of the truck almost overwhelming… except she was sure that's exactly what he wanted.
Justification of the way he felt.
Nah, Fudge that. He wouldn't get to see her react… not yet, leave it till they were getting paid for it.
"My apologies for not making myself more palatable for your incredibly basic and vanilla taste in everything not Fuding zirconia encrusted. I'd say I'll do better next time…" Amber trailed off venomously, the bile and bitterness of regret already settling in at the back of her tongue as she flicked the truck into gear.
In all honesty though, the truck was absolutely a statement of intent. Dancing on the edge of Oblivion would have it's consequences, no doubt, it was simply a matter of whether Matt would live long enough to see them.
However red hair and pugnacious attitude were par for the course and no doubt Matt would have gone digging into the remnant of her psyche if she'd presented anything less than utter disdain.
"... But I absolutely won't."
“You being palatable to my tastes is apparently whats gotten me set upon this latest deathmarch, if you ask the right people.” Dry, and flat like the land that surrounded them. He looked out the window briefly before deftly switching gears “Thanks again, by the way. Another twenty minutes and I would have picked a fight and signed another contract…” a pause.
“Maybe Jackson has another tag tournament going, eh?” he turned to face her then, giving a small smirk to go with the light-hearted jab.
"Great. Fantastic… now I do feel gross." Humourless and matter of factly, Amber didn't bother giving him a glance. That was called feeding the troll and simply could not be accepted. "Might have to just change everything about myself to wash off the itch now…"
It was presumed as a joke, but the idea itself had merit. Being someone else… anyone else… without fear of damaging those who didn't deserve to get caught in a blast radius promising nuclear levels of fall out. Without fear of dragging anyone else into the raging maelstrom that had already claimed far too many…
Yeah. Someone else would be nice… someone without social commitment. Someone who could disappear… who could be alone without reprisal… who could eventually detonate without collateral damage. Now that, that sounded like a dream worth pursuing.
Amber snapped back from the brief tangent, a small shake of the head played off as shrugging off Matt's attempt at humour.
"You're already a piece of Poop already, don't go making me hate you anymore. I haven't nearly enough hours in my day to devote to such a wasteful practice."
He replied only with a chuckle, deciding to lean into discretion for maybe the third time in his life. He let the minutes pass in silence until he felt the weight of the exchange lessen if only slightly before clearing his throat, his tone testing and decidedly mild. Contrary to evidence, he really wasn’t committed simply to irritating the woman driving.
“Facing a dime store version of ourselves to start off. Intergender, one oversized guy…girl doesn’t hold a candle to you though. He looks to be another dime store hoss. All they got on us is synergy and experience as a team, methinks…” a pause
“So, I think onslaught some violence on the big one and then pick apart and pin the little one would be a good strategy. Won’t need to lean on each other too much then either. Although we should get some reps in eventually, if you’re willing.”
Only now did she give him the semblance of a sideways glance before pulling off to the side of the road. Allowing the pickup to roll to a stop, the pause between them carried more weight then either of them cared to admit before it was shattered by the undertone of softness in Amber's tone.
"Are you actually Fuding kidding me… you wanna sit there and just talk strategy like the only reason we aren't in this is cause you won't leave well enough alone.
Honestly, Matt, get a Fuding grip. I'm not doing this to prove anything other than I live up to the reputation I've built- so stop trying to make this into something it isn't." With a frustrated sigh, Amber slumped back into her seat, hands loosely resting on the wheel as the silence enveloped them once more.
“Well, I figured that burying the truth in bullshit was what you were going for. I mean, it’s all you’ve been doing. Miss ‘I have a cut on my throat from a title defense’. Queen Mother of the Vague tweet that is SURELY just the broody angry bitch being a broody angry bitch. Absolute champion of not JUST the Bombshells, but of dousing herself in gasoline in the middle of a crowded room, staring longingly at the book of matches..”
He turned to face her once more, staring evenly and fighting his face to stay flat despite all that boiled beneath.
“If you want to burn yourself to ash, you’re going to need to kill me to do it. But you Fuding won’t. Because you’re just as much of a bullshitter as me, and i’m Fuding sick of you taking down to me for trying to keep your Gosh Dang foolish red head above water!” the snap was unbecoming, but her words pushed the right button. He snapped his body from facing hers then, staring ahead on the road they’d stopped traveling down.
Something resembling the flicker of a smile crossed the edge of her lips as the driver's door gently swung open, the dry desert wind immediately suffocating and desiccating as she stepped outside keeping her back to where Matt continued to stare a hole through.
Reflexively, she touched at the last remnants of the cut that had traced her throat- the hangover of a confrontation she'd otherwise told the world didn't exist. It wasn't as though he was completely right, but be damned if she was ever going to admit that he was at all…
Breathe.
He was just making it easier, and yet more difficult at the same time. One day he'd get it, that she knew, but it wasn't going to be today.
"You aren't nearly as right as you think Matt…" Staring out into the flatness of the landscape, her voice carried weakly back over her shoulder. "You don't understand nearly as much as you claim to- and you're wrong about one thing…" A small chuckle seemed to echo on the breeze although she wasn't sure if it was hers or not.
"... I'm not bullshitting. I'll always gladly set myself on fire- just not cause it's what you think you want."
“Then talk to me.” a grimace at the edge of pleading he allowed, “Christ, if you’d let me help you-let ANYONE help you…” he trailed off, before sliding out of the truck himself and standing a decent distance away. He takes a step forward, leaning over the bed and struggling with the words further until finally he managed to piece together a sentiment becoming of the situation.
“You asked me once, not to let you hurt anyone else. And right now? Something is going on. Something that I’m fully in the dark over and i’m-i’m drowning trying to find you in the same damn body of water. I don’t think you want to be alone. I think you think you need to be, because something is going to happen and you don’t want Mac hurt, or anyone else. So let me keep my Gosh Dang promise to you!” a frustrated slap on the bed, if only in an effort to get her eyes on him so he could see how he was looking at her.
Snapping around with an incredulousness fuelled by an ongoing frustration, Amber glared at him as though it would do anything to increase the distance between them.
"Listen to yourself… harping on still about a stupid Fuding promise. One I've already broken enough times that it has no validity left, let you're clinging onto it like it still means something… have you considered that maybe this is what I want for a Fuding second, Matt?
You're so busy standing on your soapbox that you seem to forget you aren't the only person who has anything worth fighting for." Her stance suggested fight, but her tone implied flight- that she simply might dissolve into the shifting hand if only so that she might fall through his hands one more time.
"Maybe… just trust that I know what I want and why. I'm out of my Gosh Dang mind, and that's exactly why I don't need you sifting around for reasons to stick around." A small gust rustled some errant scarlet to fall across her face, almost softening a moment intended to be powerful. Uncertainty masked with a bravado that couldn't be maintained. His eyes narrowed for a brief second at her words. More fire burning in his chest and demanding release but a deep breath brought calm.
Honesty and sincerity were always reliable weapons.
“Maybe I’m just selfish, and don’t want you to go anywhere.” he said simply, shifting to rest his elbows on the bed. He raised his hands up, pressing his forehead to the knuckles of balled fists before lowering them, gaze finding a Joshua tree. As old and stubborn as the dance they stayed lock into. He let out a scoff, shaking his head “You’re so willing to go, and be miserable because you’re afraid of how you’ll hurt people but have you considered each one of us would rather burn alive in the blast than watch it from a safe distance, and deal with this world sans you?”
A slow shake of the head.
“Of course you haven’t. Doesn’t fir the narrative you’ve fed yourself. Same one i’ve served up every night for twenty something years.. The one about poison and…” a pause, a shake of the head “This would be so much easier, you know? If you weren’t so easy to…” he shoved off the bed, a hand flinging the thought away as if it were the lit match meant for her petrol bath.
“Lets just…get to the airport and revisit this later, yeah?”
With a laugh that seemed to come from anyone else but her, drier than the air that swirled around them and without genuine emotion, Amber couldn't help but throw her head back as though allowing the excess of loathing between them to escape.
"Yeah, you're right. You really are selfish… not because you think you're doing the right thing for the right reasons, not because you feel obliged, not even cause you tell yourself you care about who else gets caught up when gravity fails… keep telling yourself you're doing this for any other reason than that….
Just stop being a Fuding hypocrite when you do…" Amber slid back into the driver's seat, trying to feign an impassive and emotionless stare however the bubbling of blood under her skin kept a flush in her freckles cheeks that she could quell.
"It's never been about anything else- but my World Title, Matt… that's what this is about… so stop going looking for rhyme and reason that suits your fairytale when there's already some in reality."
“Yeah.” he responded as he slid into shotgun, keeping his gaze back on that Joshua tree, his tone tired now. From far more than the hangover. He stewed for a moment, unusually unsure of where to go from her before adding “I’m still not going anywhere, you know.” he added pointedly.
"Yeah…" Amber murmured quietly as she shifted the truck back into gear distractedly. "We'll see…"
But, getting so drunk you wake up in another part of the state you blacked out in was hard at 21.
Matthew Knox was seated outside an all too familiar venue, the Silver State Ballroom. Uprising’s headquarters. Chapter two of his comeback tour, and where he truly came back into his own. An Uber was on the way to deliver him to the airport and to salvation. Littler mercies like his wallet and phone being where they should be did a lot to balance out the head ache and missing pieces of the night previous.
As he waits, his mind inevitably falls back to thoughts of one person.
God, was he obsessed?
He shook the foolish notion, brow furrowing. He had motive in his madness. A reason he brought her into win these tag titles. And it had nothing to do with the admittedly juvenile name attached. She mattered, more than most.
And she was the most violent person he’d ever met.
He reached up, adjusting the sunglasses he’d bought from the gift shop to fight off the Mojave sun. The price tag dangled from the rim.
He’d paid too much.
Bringing up the all too familiar contact, he circled a pale thumb over the green button before clearing his throat once, and hitting ‘Dial’.
Now, would it ring through or be sent to Voicemail?
"... what do you want Knox." If the exasperated sigh didn't give it away, the dragging syllables made it perfectly obvious that this was among the last calls 'The Painted Hurricane' had wanted to recieve'... "If you're looking for a place to crash, I have a nice hole out in the back somewhere you can dig."
Yeah, somewhere in popularity between telemarketer and a terminal illness diagnosis.
Matt didn't need to see her face to vividly imagine the myriad of facial expressions crossing the pale, lightly freckled features of his begrudging redhead partner in crimes against tag. No, her benevolent sarcasm did a good enough job without further assistance. And all those faces brought one to him, in a brief and knowing smirk.
“Answers to questions i’d dare not ask, like any man..” he fired off the sarcasm if only to get it out of the way. Better to rip the band aid free than leave the poor woman anticipating it’s arrival, “No, i’m just…” he paused for a brief second, trailing off “Hungover, in the desert at our old job. Figured waiting for an Uber would be as good a time as any to make sure i’m not going to be out there by myself Friday.”
He had been brazen in dragging her along. The reasons for doing so up for debate and never to be confirmed to anyone but himself. Reasons as simple as they were foolish, to most but not him. A hand runs through jet black hair that had started to gray in spots.
"Oh honey…" Dripping with vitriol, the pause was decidedly less a reprieve as it was for the venom to seep further into his veins. Her chuckle rang almost musically through the receiver, as though aware that the high pitched inflection would only serve to irritate and worsen the desert sun hangover. "An Uber? Ha, yeah… good luck with that..."
Another pause, this one more pensive as though waiting for a bite back. Waiting for a plea for mercy that wasn't going to come… or simply waiting for the cry of carrion eaters as they sized up the morbid corvid as he wasted away. Her chuckle severed the bond formed by his phone and ear, a wince contorting his face. Followed by a sneer.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
She always did.
“Yeah, I know. Gonna be here awhile. Hence me calling you to get this out of the way, since I’ve literally nothing else to distract me..” a pause “Haven’t been looking forward to the death threats, i’m starting to believe them you know.”
A small scoff followed. "Only now? Well, if I'd have known that I'd have doubled my Fuding efforts…"
Pensive, the sigh that came next seemed to echo soundlessly between them- the sound of regret before the words ever being spoken. Moments to be forgotten attempting to be retracted before every being performed.
"Look… as much as I would LOVE to see you become buzzard scraps." An aggravated groan of frustration filled the receiver, the words like a cigarette being put out on the edge of her tongue. "My pride simply won't let us forfeit on the account of you being an actual fuckhead…"
Amber didn't need to finish the sentence for them both to understand the implication. An unspokeness to be carried through the rest of the ensuing conversation.A low sound rumbled from him, however brief. His lips pursed as he sat back, eyes casting upward for guidance he knew he would never heed.
No thanks, i’ve got it. That was the smart move.
“Don’t bring the bike. I’m not riding behind you for five feet let alone all the way to the airport.”
"You're a choosey beggar, aren't you? I wouldn't dare sully any of the bikes with your poor taste anyway.
Have some Fuding gratitude maybe… cause I still haven't decided if you're riding on or going under my tires yet."
“I imagine it would start one way, then end the other. Like so many other things, eh?” Because of course, you poke the bear. The bear that would be in your corner trying to win the same fight you were in a matter of days. These were the strategies of a man in possession of a sound mind, “I appreciate it though, Amber. I do. Not sure where i’d be without your willingness to put off murdering me, or leaving me to die.”
Somewhere between sincere and vomit inducingly pompous. Familiar for present company.
"Do yourself a favour Knox…" she started firmly, with a certain surprisingly tired undertone. "... And don't sit there lying to me."
Without waiting for a response or argument that would inevitably follow, not allowing the famously morose charm to do anything but glance of her glacial surface. Amber allowed the line to fall dead with little more than a moment's notice, the conversation over before the other party could quite register that there had been a reply. The sound of the call ending brought forth a scoff, then a chuckle as he dropped his phone down to rest in his lap.
“Which part?”
He questioned the air as if it’d reach her.
If there was a logical reason why Amber had agreed to this, she hadn't managed to find it yet, musing as the heavy rattle of the pickup truck kicked up a cloud of dust in her wake.
Stupid pride maybe, determined to see this tournament out despite the circumstances to which she'd been dragged into participation. Reluctant yet far too proud to simply leave Matt high and dry.
Just because she didn't want to team with Matt, didn't mean she didn't want to win.
Precisely the attitude that seemed to have gotten him onto her back recently. She'd been World Champion for a little over 300 days now, the weight only getting heavier with each successful defense and the ties of familiarity were straining to keep her head above water, when all she wanted to do was breathe deep beneath the waves.
He was stretched out over a bench when he heard the distinct sound of a V8 rolling toward him. For a brief moment he wondered if she’d keep her foot down and end it now but, no such luck. He sat up, regarding the truck before standing and dusting himself off. In no time he had slid into the passenger seat, the snark instant. As if he knew any other sort of greeting.
Well, any he could openly use.
“Red hair, custom truck, pugnacious attitude…there any part of you that’s even heard of subtle?” asked the man with the price tag still dangling from his sunglasses. A quirk in the eyebrow lingered for little more than a moment, the brief thought of pushing Matt back out of the truck almost overwhelming… except she was sure that's exactly what he wanted.
Justification of the way he felt.
Nah, Fudge that. He wouldn't get to see her react… not yet, leave it till they were getting paid for it.
"My apologies for not making myself more palatable for your incredibly basic and vanilla taste in everything not Fuding zirconia encrusted. I'd say I'll do better next time…" Amber trailed off venomously, the bile and bitterness of regret already settling in at the back of her tongue as she flicked the truck into gear.
In all honesty though, the truck was absolutely a statement of intent. Dancing on the edge of Oblivion would have it's consequences, no doubt, it was simply a matter of whether Matt would live long enough to see them.
However red hair and pugnacious attitude were par for the course and no doubt Matt would have gone digging into the remnant of her psyche if she'd presented anything less than utter disdain.
"... But I absolutely won't."
“You being palatable to my tastes is apparently whats gotten me set upon this latest deathmarch, if you ask the right people.” Dry, and flat like the land that surrounded them. He looked out the window briefly before deftly switching gears “Thanks again, by the way. Another twenty minutes and I would have picked a fight and signed another contract…” a pause.
“Maybe Jackson has another tag tournament going, eh?” he turned to face her then, giving a small smirk to go with the light-hearted jab.
"Great. Fantastic… now I do feel gross." Humourless and matter of factly, Amber didn't bother giving him a glance. That was called feeding the troll and simply could not be accepted. "Might have to just change everything about myself to wash off the itch now…"
It was presumed as a joke, but the idea itself had merit. Being someone else… anyone else… without fear of damaging those who didn't deserve to get caught in a blast radius promising nuclear levels of fall out. Without fear of dragging anyone else into the raging maelstrom that had already claimed far too many…
Yeah. Someone else would be nice… someone without social commitment. Someone who could disappear… who could be alone without reprisal… who could eventually detonate without collateral damage. Now that, that sounded like a dream worth pursuing.
Amber snapped back from the brief tangent, a small shake of the head played off as shrugging off Matt's attempt at humour.
"You're already a piece of Poop already, don't go making me hate you anymore. I haven't nearly enough hours in my day to devote to such a wasteful practice."
He replied only with a chuckle, deciding to lean into discretion for maybe the third time in his life. He let the minutes pass in silence until he felt the weight of the exchange lessen if only slightly before clearing his throat, his tone testing and decidedly mild. Contrary to evidence, he really wasn’t committed simply to irritating the woman driving.
“Facing a dime store version of ourselves to start off. Intergender, one oversized guy…girl doesn’t hold a candle to you though. He looks to be another dime store hoss. All they got on us is synergy and experience as a team, methinks…” a pause
“So, I think onslaught some violence on the big one and then pick apart and pin the little one would be a good strategy. Won’t need to lean on each other too much then either. Although we should get some reps in eventually, if you’re willing.”
Only now did she give him the semblance of a sideways glance before pulling off to the side of the road. Allowing the pickup to roll to a stop, the pause between them carried more weight then either of them cared to admit before it was shattered by the undertone of softness in Amber's tone.
"Are you actually Fuding kidding me… you wanna sit there and just talk strategy like the only reason we aren't in this is cause you won't leave well enough alone.
Honestly, Matt, get a Fuding grip. I'm not doing this to prove anything other than I live up to the reputation I've built- so stop trying to make this into something it isn't." With a frustrated sigh, Amber slumped back into her seat, hands loosely resting on the wheel as the silence enveloped them once more.
“Well, I figured that burying the truth in bullshit was what you were going for. I mean, it’s all you’ve been doing. Miss ‘I have a cut on my throat from a title defense’. Queen Mother of the Vague tweet that is SURELY just the broody angry bitch being a broody angry bitch. Absolute champion of not JUST the Bombshells, but of dousing herself in gasoline in the middle of a crowded room, staring longingly at the book of matches..”
He turned to face her once more, staring evenly and fighting his face to stay flat despite all that boiled beneath.
“If you want to burn yourself to ash, you’re going to need to kill me to do it. But you Fuding won’t. Because you’re just as much of a bullshitter as me, and i’m Fuding sick of you taking down to me for trying to keep your Gosh Dang foolish red head above water!” the snap was unbecoming, but her words pushed the right button. He snapped his body from facing hers then, staring ahead on the road they’d stopped traveling down.
Something resembling the flicker of a smile crossed the edge of her lips as the driver's door gently swung open, the dry desert wind immediately suffocating and desiccating as she stepped outside keeping her back to where Matt continued to stare a hole through.
Reflexively, she touched at the last remnants of the cut that had traced her throat- the hangover of a confrontation she'd otherwise told the world didn't exist. It wasn't as though he was completely right, but be damned if she was ever going to admit that he was at all…
Breathe.
He was just making it easier, and yet more difficult at the same time. One day he'd get it, that she knew, but it wasn't going to be today.
"You aren't nearly as right as you think Matt…" Staring out into the flatness of the landscape, her voice carried weakly back over her shoulder. "You don't understand nearly as much as you claim to- and you're wrong about one thing…" A small chuckle seemed to echo on the breeze although she wasn't sure if it was hers or not.
"... I'm not bullshitting. I'll always gladly set myself on fire- just not cause it's what you think you want."
“Then talk to me.” a grimace at the edge of pleading he allowed, “Christ, if you’d let me help you-let ANYONE help you…” he trailed off, before sliding out of the truck himself and standing a decent distance away. He takes a step forward, leaning over the bed and struggling with the words further until finally he managed to piece together a sentiment becoming of the situation.
“You asked me once, not to let you hurt anyone else. And right now? Something is going on. Something that I’m fully in the dark over and i’m-i’m drowning trying to find you in the same damn body of water. I don’t think you want to be alone. I think you think you need to be, because something is going to happen and you don’t want Mac hurt, or anyone else. So let me keep my Gosh Dang promise to you!” a frustrated slap on the bed, if only in an effort to get her eyes on him so he could see how he was looking at her.
Snapping around with an incredulousness fuelled by an ongoing frustration, Amber glared at him as though it would do anything to increase the distance between them.
"Listen to yourself… harping on still about a stupid Fuding promise. One I've already broken enough times that it has no validity left, let you're clinging onto it like it still means something… have you considered that maybe this is what I want for a Fuding second, Matt?
You're so busy standing on your soapbox that you seem to forget you aren't the only person who has anything worth fighting for." Her stance suggested fight, but her tone implied flight- that she simply might dissolve into the shifting hand if only so that she might fall through his hands one more time.
"Maybe… just trust that I know what I want and why. I'm out of my Gosh Dang mind, and that's exactly why I don't need you sifting around for reasons to stick around." A small gust rustled some errant scarlet to fall across her face, almost softening a moment intended to be powerful. Uncertainty masked with a bravado that couldn't be maintained. His eyes narrowed for a brief second at her words. More fire burning in his chest and demanding release but a deep breath brought calm.
Honesty and sincerity were always reliable weapons.
“Maybe I’m just selfish, and don’t want you to go anywhere.” he said simply, shifting to rest his elbows on the bed. He raised his hands up, pressing his forehead to the knuckles of balled fists before lowering them, gaze finding a Joshua tree. As old and stubborn as the dance they stayed lock into. He let out a scoff, shaking his head “You’re so willing to go, and be miserable because you’re afraid of how you’ll hurt people but have you considered each one of us would rather burn alive in the blast than watch it from a safe distance, and deal with this world sans you?”
A slow shake of the head.
“Of course you haven’t. Doesn’t fir the narrative you’ve fed yourself. Same one i’ve served up every night for twenty something years.. The one about poison and…” a pause, a shake of the head “This would be so much easier, you know? If you weren’t so easy to…” he shoved off the bed, a hand flinging the thought away as if it were the lit match meant for her petrol bath.
“Lets just…get to the airport and revisit this later, yeah?”
With a laugh that seemed to come from anyone else but her, drier than the air that swirled around them and without genuine emotion, Amber couldn't help but throw her head back as though allowing the excess of loathing between them to escape.
"Yeah, you're right. You really are selfish… not because you think you're doing the right thing for the right reasons, not because you feel obliged, not even cause you tell yourself you care about who else gets caught up when gravity fails… keep telling yourself you're doing this for any other reason than that….
Just stop being a Fuding hypocrite when you do…" Amber slid back into the driver's seat, trying to feign an impassive and emotionless stare however the bubbling of blood under her skin kept a flush in her freckles cheeks that she could quell.
"It's never been about anything else- but my World Title, Matt… that's what this is about… so stop going looking for rhyme and reason that suits your fairytale when there's already some in reality."
“Yeah.” he responded as he slid into shotgun, keeping his gaze back on that Joshua tree, his tone tired now. From far more than the hangover. He stewed for a moment, unusually unsure of where to go from her before adding “I’m still not going anywhere, you know.” he added pointedly.
"Yeah…" Amber murmured quietly as she shifted the truck back into gear distractedly. "We'll see…"
