Scene One
Rhythmic beating of bleeps from a surrounding display of electronics. A ridged pumped inflated and deflated, sending a forced stream of oxygen through the plastic channel which connected below. White sterility surrounded them, embracing their fleshy forms in its void of substance. "Void of substance," how fitting the choice of words seemed to be when mentioned in connection with what lay down on the bed below her.
Her husband, Xavier, had lain in this comatose state for the past two months. His still scarred and torn face an exact replica of what she herself had been feeling since the fire had consumed and near killed him. His breath passed through the plastic protruding from his mouth, moving to and fro. It forced fed him the oxygen he needed to survive, his lungs no where near strong enough to sustain the motions themselves. The only consolation she had that his eyes were closed, she had asked them to be so after the first time she saw him. His skin was still badly burned, the skin grafting surgeries to replace the charred flesh had not yet begun. The only sign of life was his eyes, empty orbs staring not at her but through her to something to an unknown.
She dared not touch his hand, the very idea seemed almost indecent considering the circumstance. She had no right now. Her arms stayed crossed across her chest, raising her right hand to wipe a tear from her eye. She could not live like this any longer, clinging to the empty shell she had married. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, knowing full well he could hear nothing she said.
The older man standing beside her shifting his weight to one foot. He was becoming uncomfortable from the wait but she had to do it more for herself then him. He was flipped aimlessly through the papers bound to the clipboard in his hands, merely to make noise and make his impatience brought to her attention. "I believe everything seems to be in order Mrs. Michaels," he mumbled half-heartedly.
"Please don't call me that, not anymore," she said. She had swore to love, honor and cherish him for the rest of her life, but it was one promise she could no longer keep. The clipboard held firm in her hand, already turned to the appropriate page. A small blob of black into dripped to the page with the press of the pen held above the line, flowing into the curves and swings of her signature. Her hand whipped the paper bundle, the front page of the document returning to its original position on top. The lawyer accepted the document with a nod and said, "Thank you, Miss Frost."
He stepped away from her, leaving the beside of her now ex-husband and allowing her to say a final farewell to the man she once loved so much. Her right hand lifted itself, covering her eyes, ashamed not of the tears she was shedding but the reason for them. There was no one else in the room with them, yet she felt she should not be hear like this as she had done so many times at this same spot so many times before. "Goodbye," she said in a half choke and turned away from the bed, leaving him there alone when she stepped through the door.
Alone and fully isolated now, what had moments ago been a limp right hand tensed. Fingers twitched and curled inward, the still visible scar lines shifted with movement. His fingernails turned inward into the palm of his hand, biting into the sensitive skin with a fist now in full form. The small shaking seemed to be in a control anger, a rage guided by an active mind.
Scene Two
Three Days Later
The attending nurse on duty and scheduled to monitor this room for the rest of her shift held the medical data chart that held itself clipped to the white, plastic board, taking note of the read out given by the beeping machinery before her. The pace of it seemed normal, beep followed by another beep in a rhythmic order. A loud sigh escaped her lungs and passed her nose, completely bored out of her mind with the monotony of the job.
A beep doubled itself before the usual sound, her senses aroused by the sign of something different, a break in the typical work. That was strange. She noticed that the blood pressure reading had risen slightly, the heart monitor quickened a couple extra beats a minute. She shrugged, merely taking note of the oddity on the chart and turned away from the bouncing lines on the screen to the body on the bed in front of her.
"Damn shame," she laughed. She used to have something on a crush on this guy a few months ago when he was on television all the time. Now he was just another doped up crispy critter. The beeping from the machine at her side increased rapid, the alarm from such a spike in activity alerted her to what was going on now. Her head turned to the monitor then back to the body, the face, realizing there were two glistening eyes staring back at her. They were twitching uncontrollably, he was awake which meant the medication, to sedate him and keep his body from feeling the full brunt of his injuries, had surely worn off. The pain must have been unimaginable.
The papers fell from the loose grip of her hand and she staggered to the hallway half aware of what was happening. His arms shook inwards to his chest, white suction cups ripping from their seal. The sound from the monitor ceased from the rhythm to a solid, never-ending noise. The intravenous feed into his arm pulled out, the needle still stuck in his arm.. His hands wrapped around the tube shoved into his throat and begun to pull it. A croaking roar from his throat, a gasp of air and he was free of the plastic invasion.
A man he had never before seen in his life rushed into the room, panic clearly stricken on his face. "Mr. Michaels," he gasped, "what are you doing? I'm amazed you've recovered so fast, but you shouldn't stress yourself. You're blood pressure's shot as it is."
"Mirror," Xavier moaned, his throat still soar. The man almost laughed, trying to hold back a show of disbelief, "I'm sorry?"
"Give me a fucking mirror!," he roared out, unable to hold back his impatience. The man looked around with a bit confusion, having no idea where to fulfill the demand. Another nurse produced a small hand mirror, the purple plastic frame wrapped around the pane and formed the handle. She passed it to the doctor, himself holding a breath before turning the reflecting surface towards Xavier.
What he saw before him was far worse then he had feared in the few minutes since his awakening. The scars from the skin grafting surgeries clear as day on the right side of his face, appearing as fault lines across the surface of the earth. He reached a finger to his face, tracing on of the lines as if trying to determine if it were real or illusion.
"What have they done?," he murmured. The doctor tried to console him that all hope was not lost, "Now Mr. Michaels, there are cosmetic surgical options you can pursue to heal the damage. This isn't the end of your life."
"The hell it isn't," he sneered "I have to go. I have to go now." The doctor held out his arms, in a motion as if trying to stop him. "Hold on there, sir," he cautioned "I seriously have to advise against you going anywhere right now. You're been a coma for two months."
"Fuck what you have to say," Xavier mocked. "I'm not going to sit her like a vegetable like I've been for what, two months now? Two fucking months of my life, gone." His legs swung out to the left side of the bed, bring his feet down to the tiled floor in front of the hospital staff. They tried to caution for him to stay where he was, but Xavier was not going to hear any of it.
He lifted himself from the bed, his weight falling down upon his legs with full force. His muscles stressed, knees buckled, sending him crashing down to the floor. His right knee bent strangely, crunching against the floor. The side of his head rammed into the edge of an aluminum tray table, sending it careening to the side and a stream of blood dripping from his scalp onto the whiteness below. He hit the floor with a groan, oxygen forced from his lungs.
"Damn it," someone yelled. "Someone get a hold of his family and tell them his awake." A voice shakily replied, unsure how to word it, "No need, she's already here." No, not now, not like this. "No," Xavier yelled. "Don't let her in here!" It was too late though, foot falls near his head telling him she was near.
He tried to cover his head, his face, wanting to keep his face hidden from her view. He shirked away from the soft touch on his bare back, long hair laying on his neck and her arms wrapping around him in an embrace. "Xavier, it's me," she whispered. "It's Mel."
A soft cry sounded from within him, "Thank god, it's you," he cried softly. "Whatever you do, don't let Riley in here. I can't let her see me like this, like a monster." Her lips pressed against his cheek, the strange feel of his damage skin had not bothered her in the least. "No, you're not a monster," she whispered to him soothingly. "And you don't have to worry about that cunt paying you any visits. Fuck her, she's done enough already."
Why was she talking like this? They were best friends, hell, she was a bridesmaid at their wedding. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know, had to find out what has happened in the last two months. "Mel," he half whimpered "what's going on?" She paused for a moment before finally telling him the truth, "While you were asleep, Riley filed for divorce."
No, that was impossible. She was the reason he had turned his back on Von Doom in the first place. It was all for her, and if he had never turned back to her, none of this would have ever happened. He would be a whole person instead of this thing. It was all for nothing, every last bit of it. Why was this happening? Why was he still alive? The reality of it came crashing down upon him, everything he had done up to this point was devoted to her, and now it was all for nothing. Death would have been preferable. Why had Von Doom not finished the job and killed him?
Scene Three
The mattress on which he was sitting gave slightly and welcomed his weight pressing down upon it. His hands clasped together in front of his face, a fore finger reaching away to a corner of his eye to wipe away the last bits of sleep. So this was it, no more fucking mind games, no more videos taunting those who had ruined his life. Now was the time to strike back for once. Holding an open flame to a kerosene drench Victor had been far too tempting to control himself, yet somehow, he maintain his self discipline. Von Doom was going to suffer as he had, and if it cost him his own life in the process, so be it.
He turned around to look back at the shapely form enwrapped in the soft, white cocoon. A tuff of brown hair hung from the open end of the top. His fingers slid back to grip the edge of the comforter, tugging on it slightly. "Fuck off," Melissa moaned sleepily from beneath. "It's too early for this shit." He laughed slightly, not able to keep himself from finding humor in her crankiness.
He wound his hand underneath the cover, the tips of his fingers catching the bottom of her foot. He tickled it softly laughing to himself. The foot lifted up and kicked backwards finding its spot perfectly on the right side of his chest. "I said, 'Fuck off!,'" she yelled getting more agitated by her slumber being interrupted before she was ready to wake up with the rest of the world.
Her legs returned to their original position, curling herself up into a fetal position. Fine, he would let her sleep for awhile longer. She deserved that much. He stood up from the bed, taking one last look of at the lump trying to return back to its sleeping state. Downstairs was as quiet as he had expected it to be, not a sound. Not a creak of the boards under his steps, nor thud from his footfalls. The hardwood floor he was walking on his way to the kitchen was smooth and perfectly sanded, the finished across it providing the right amount of friction to create any issues of slipping.
The door of the stainless steel refrigerator opened easily with his arm, grabbing a green aluminum can from inside. It popped open with a crack, the sound echoing along the walls after finding no obstructions to its sonar. He lifted the metal container to his mouth and titled it upwards, feeling the cold liquid poor down his throat, dropping the can back down and leaning back against the counter.
When pondered over, it really was strange how the events of the past ten months had changed his life. He woke up to find himself completely stripped of the life he once knew. Divorced by the woman he loved and jeopardized everything for, his career in shambles by the hands of a sociopath and through it all, he can only say there was one person to stick by him through it all. And she was still upstairs sleeping. After all the physical therapy, insecurity regarding the deformity I had to live with before a cosmetic surgeon out in California (big surprise there) took on the monumental task of repairing the scarring, she was always there and supporting me emotionally.
The marks on his chest, back, arm and leg were still clearly evident, but he could not stand to be seen as some sort of cripple. Melissa did not seem to mind the damage done to him, however. She loved him in spite of it really. To her, it was a badge of his strength, and just how much he would endure for love even though misplaced and blind.
What had happened between us, neither of them could really explain. It might be said to be a love made by circumstances of trust, each other the only being in the world the other would confide such a feeling in. She told him of the feelings she had been feeling, the thoughts in her mind. He could not deny that I felt something of the same. She had certainly blossomed into a beautiful young woman, but what had happened to her those years ago turned her off of men completely, except for him. They were too barbaric, she said. Too uncivil. But he was different and his vengeance for her sake had proven to her that he was the only man she would ever trust and eventually love.
The abrupt divorce had severely shaken him to the point where he would never open himself to being so vulnerable in his life ever again. Loving Riley had cost him everything, and she only betrayed him in the end. He had learned that love was for the gullible fools that could afford to delude themselves with false hope, the only person worthy of your complete trust was yourself.
Did he and Melissa not share something similar? They were the same, and he knew she would never turn his back on him. Damn morals and damn everyone the would condemn them for what they were doing. What right had they to criticize what they did not understand? They loved each other, and unlike him and Riley, the trust would never waver.
Nevertheless, he would not allow himself to make the mistake he had made before. He let Riley distract him from what had to be done. Melissa would prove to be no such obstacle, hell she insisted on helping him. Victor and the rest of his cronies had done this to him and she would be damned if she would just sit on the sidelines. He warned her of the dangers of going after these people, but she would hear none of it. She would be there to help him whether he liked it or not. He cared not whether or not he ended up dying, but she was a different story. She did not have to be involved in this, but her love for him drove her towards revenge as it had done for him before.
This match Tuesday night was going to be the start of it, all the little games before were just that, games. A prelude to what would later happen. Idiots like this Antwan Pluss seem to be under the impression that he gave a damn about what happens to him. Melissa would be well taken care of with money, so he really did not care what their sick little minds could come up with. The life he awoke to had made him wish for death, so in the end, they would be doing him a favor and put an end to the life he hated so much. But fools like assume that everyone clings to the illusion that is life when he did not. The only thing that drove him now was the future of avenging his pain against those who had wronged him. Anger, hate, rage. The love for Melissa merely made things bearable.
Until now, her footsteps approaching had gone unnoticed as she stepped beside him. She wrapped the her finger above his around the can and pulled it up from his grip, walking away with it. "Hey, that's my beer, bitch," he laughed. She did not bother paying him any mind, simply leaning against the counter father down, crossing her legs at her ankles clad only in a pair of panties and t-shirt. "Why don't you come and get it then?," Melissa said with a sly smirk after taking a sip.
Xavier laughed and wandered towards her. She tried to get away but he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around back against the counter. She held her arms behind her still holding the can and keeping him from getting at it. He hovered close over her, an hand flat against each side of her keeping her from trying to make a break for it. "Immature ass," he said jokingly. She just smiled while laughing up at him. "Yeah, but you love me anyway," she replied.
She kissed him on the lips and he wrapped his arms tightly around her in an embrace. Their lips parted and she still smiled at her brother still over her. "Hold it over my head why don't you," he said. "Holding a beer for ransom. You ready for this? This wrestling thing isn't going to be some cakewalk." "Always," she answered.
"Good," he said with a nod of his head. "And this is mine." He pulled the can up from her hand behind her and walked away with it laughing going back to finishing it. She had an exasperated look on her face and said with a gasp, "Bitch!"