It's nice to be home for once.

Yeah, that's a bland way to put it, but it's not like my heart jumped in my chest when the plane landed in Tennessee. I grew up here, but it's not really paradise, unless paradise is boring as all hell. Home, just another farmhouse so old and battered that it's amazing that the damned thing's still standing, is abandoned. Everybody else in the family are out on the road. Better yet, I'm stuck sleeping on the couch. But it's quiet, and I really need that right now.

The stairs creak when I lean back on them to look up at the stars. They've been doing that since I was a little kid, running inside to hide behind Dad when Brad was threatening to kill me again. One of these days the stairs are just going to give out. Hopefully that night is not tonight. I don't want to think about what that would do to my back, since it already hurts like a bitch to move. Considering that I'm supposed to be back in the ring by Thursday, that's not good.

I’d like to think that the liquor I'm drinking straight from the bottle is helping the ache. Dad would kill me if he knew, which is exactly why I'm doing it while he's not here. It's quality stuff, too, smooth, dark, and burns like hell on the way down. It's almost strong enough to make me forget the disaster that my career's become since around March. Christ, I might as well not pretend anymore since the kid's not here to hear me. Everything's fallen apart.

DX used to be tight. We used to really be an army instead of two guys trying to hold together the pieces of something precious. Now that symbol might as well be a target. We should let it go before it gets both of us killed. Too bad I don't have the balls to say that to Sean's face. It would kill him, or at least that spark that keeps him going. Sean's the type that would try to freeze water in hell. He's stubborn, and loyal, and too breakable. The last month or so proved that. How many more times can Kane peel him off the floor and carry him to the back before Sean realizes that this is only gonna get him killed? How many more times do I have to see the kid brother I never got to have lying broken and bleeding on the mat before we finally call it quits?

Oh, and here's the best part: I still don't want to.

This is the last thing I have left. Sean at least has Kane. If I let this go, I'm on my own. No more Jarrett to slave for. No more Sean to take care of.

No more Billy.

I can't help a bitter laugh. Oh, let's talk about Billy. God knows I haven't angsted over him enough. Maybe if I think about it one more time, I'll finally find out exactly who he is to me. Just another frustrated jobber who used whatever he had to get over and then ran while he still could? Just someone else who knew what pain was like, maybe better than I did; a guy who looked at everything like he expected it to lash out at him and was nearly killed by his own brother in a fight over a woman who left the company anyway? The same guy that drank with me and laughed, then turned on me and did everything he could to hurt me? Liar. Victim. Traitor. A close friend, a closer enemy.

I ought to just forget him. Sad thing is that I still can't get him out of my head. I can't forget the way he looked the night we first became partners, wild and tired with a knife in his hand- a knife, I might add, that was pressed to my throat. I still remember the way he twisted towards me for comfort when the trainer was setting his broken ankle. I still feel like a memory in my skin the way he felt in my arms every time I hugged him.

Fuck it. I'm not thinking about this.

The handrail of back steps feels solid when I lean on it, even if it does creak like it's about to collapse. It's warm out here, as lukewarm as bathwater. That brings back memories of sitting back here on summer nights, legs swinging over the edge of the porch with bruises forming from being thrown around by Brad. I half expect to feel his arm loop around my neck in a playful headlock. Having an arm around my neck isn't half as innocent as it used to be. Nothing is, really.

I hate being alone out here. I'm not big on the whole solitude thing. Weird, though, that I don't want my brothers to suddenly show up. I get along with them fine, but I don't want to deal with the usual concerned family member questions. I've gotten out of the habit of being taken care of, and I can't afford to get back into it now.  So, no family. I don't even want the kid here, no matter how entertaining that would be. No, of course, my mind has to make this difficult. I have to want what I can't have, his bright grin and haunted eyes, him in my arms. Story of my life.

Naturally, I'm making this more difficult than it has to be. I could try for the impossible one last time. I could throw my dignity out the window and get on the next plane to Dallas so I can walk straight into his apartment and beg him to come back. Hell, it's not like I've been keeping my pride intact lately, unless it's normal to stare at the television like I'm frozen every time he wanders out. Yeah, I was taking a stand when I grinned like a maniac after he said 'we've got two words for ya'. This is getting pathetic. I should know better than this, damn it.

/A phone call/, comments that irritating voice in the back of my head. /What harm can one phone call do?/

"Other than giving him ammo?" My voice sounds loud in the silence. Fine, so I'm talking to myself, so what? "Besides, he's probably not home."

/You can try. You want him back, you'll have to go to him. You know that by now./

Ah, hell, that was not affection I felt. How fucking naive am I? One stray comment, and I'm ready to take him back with open arms just so he can stab me in the back again. I've got to be some kind of a masochist. I can't trust him. He's dangerous. I don't care how tired he looks every time he walks into the ring, or that it's only getting worse. I really don't care that he's taking on Hunter and Chyna, the most psychotic couple in the fed, without any backup. I don't want him.

But I still take a final, deep drink, set the liquor bottle down and cap it. Then I climb to my feet, wincing as the pain shoots up my spine- fuck, that seriously hurts. I walk inside, clicking the lights on in the kitchen so I can grab the phone. My heart is still pounding like a teenager's on a first date while I dial the too-familiar number and lean against the fridge as I listen to it ring, calling myself every kind of idiot.

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. All I know is that whatever it is, I don't want to do it alone. I can't.

I have to take my last chances when I can get them.
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End.