Wow. Yippy. Yee-fucking-haw. Another year, another dreadfully boring Halloween party here at the WWF. Oh, everyone else seems to be having a good time, and I really should be too, considering that this is my favorite fucking holiday.
You know, you'd think I would be the party lover, wouldn't you? I mean, I am the one who rides around on my bike, raising hell, and pillaging the neighborhood ... aren't I? Yeah, well, that's what you'd think, anyway. Truth is that I'm a tired old man still trying to compete in a young man's sport, and I would like nothin' better than to settle down in a nice modest house, with a nice white picket fence, maybe, with a nice young man...
And the one I want is sitting at the bar across the room trying to drown his sorrows in whatever bottle is in front of him. Judging from the shape, I'd say it's a bottle of Jack Daniels. Damn, he sure does drink a lot of that stuff, even for my standards. He always seems unhappy about his life, about the choices he's made, and I can't say I blame him. He's never done anything for himself, and surely by now it's taken it's toll on him.
'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
I know I shouldn't be getting up from my table and walkin' over to him, but here I am doing just that. I know I don't have a chance in Hell with him, we've been down that road before, and it all went up in flames about two years ago when he said I just wasn't what he was searching for. What he really meant was that he wasn't searchin' for what I had become, the drinking and addiction. I know that now, I knew that then.
Broke my heart to set him free, though, and I sometimes wish I wouldn't have. But you know what they say about when you love someone...
What, you think just because I am the tough as nails demonic biker from hell that I don't have fucking feelings too? You really believe all that bullshit you see on your TV screen and in the magazines, don't you? Jesus, I am fucking human, and my heart was broken by the only man I will ever love, and all you can do is stare at me like a moron.
Typical response.
"Hey, Shane, if ya wanted to drown, it'd be easier to tie boulders to yer ankles and dive in the hotel pool, ya know?" God, do I really sound that damn... *southern*? I thought for sure my accent was all but gone... Guess I should listen to myself more often, huh?
He doesn't even look up at me when I rest my hand on his shoulder and sit on the stool next to him. Not that I expected him to, because the bottle is nearly empty and I seriously doubt he could lift his head if he wanted to. I can almost remember when I was like that... Fuck that, I know I can't remember what I was like then, but I know I wasn't easy to live with. Like I said, I know I'm the one that fucked things up between us, even if I can't exactly remember what the hell I did to do it.
"Shoul'nt you be out som'nin demons or sumin'?" He slurs as he glances his eyes up at me. I can't help but laugh at that quirky grin he has on his face, and, god, he sounds like Daffy Duck on that one Bugs Bunny cartoon, you know, the one where Daffy fell into that vat of wine or whatever the hell it was.
Jesus, I miss him.
"Yeah, well, ya know I don't like the competition." There's a sparkle in my eye, I can feel it. I always get it when I look at him, when I am near him, and his face brightens just slightly when I lift his chin up and stare at him. I really hadn't planned on just starin' at him, but hell, I just get lost in his glazed-over brown eyes, and no matter how hard I try to speak, the words just stick in my throat.
And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
"I tink you should take me to mah room, Takey... Don tink I cun walk on ma own" His silly slurs break the hold his eyes have on me, and I throw some money on the bar as place an arm around his waist and lift him to his feet. Everyone just kinda stares at us as we walk across the bar, and I know they are rememberin' how many times they used to watch him drag me out of 'em in a drunken stupor.
They all felt sorry for him, I know, but I don't see the sympathy in their eyes for me. Hell, I don't blame 'em, I know it's my fault he's like this. I don't know *how* the fuck it's my fault, I just know it is and so do they. They just look at me with that "It's about damn time you take responsibility for your actions" look, and all I can do is hang my head in shame as we get into the elevator.
They are right, I know. About me takin' responsibility, I mean. I don't know why the hell I have blamed Shane all this time for something I caused. Sometimes I wish I had never fallen so far down the spiral to Hell, but I know if I start dwelling on it, then I will retrace the path that almost destroyed the only important thing in this world to me.
Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
He's doin' his best not to pass out, and I'll be damned if I know what the hell he's mumbling about to keep himself from doing it, but I am fully aware of his warm breath on my chest, his hands wrapped around my neck as the elevator doors open to let us out. I have to half carry him down the hall, and I really had no idea how much I miss feeling his body next to mine until now.
I don't know how he managed to get the keycard out of his pocket, but I am sliding it in the little slot on the door at this very moment, and... FUCK! he's tracing small circles across the tendons in my neck with his tongue.
I gotta be honest, here, and tell ya that I have no idea how the hell I am going to keep from taking advantage of him while he's in this state.
He slides out of my arms when the door opens, and I'm pretty surprised he can keep his balance. He takes his dinner jacket off and it falls to the floor in a heap. I can remember when he would bitch endlessly at me for doing shit like that.
~Don't throw my clothes on the floor, Mark. You will ruin them.~
~Mark, how many times do I have to tell you about my clothes?~
~Jesus, Mark, I just told you not to do that!~
~I love you, Mark, even if you ruin my clothes.~
~I love you, Mark~
Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
"Ya gonna stan' in the hallway all night, Mark?" His voice snaps me back to the present, even though he barely whispers the question into the silence. The only thing I really made out was my name, but I can hear him say that even when he isn't sayin' nothin' at all. The look in his eyes tells me what the words to the question were, and I cautiously walk into the room and shut the door.
Not that I am afraid of him, of course, even if he could hurt me-and he could- I know he wouldn't. I am afraid of all the feelings that have come rushing back to me in a dizzying frenzy. My eyes lose focus for a second, and when my vision reforms, he is standing about 5 feet from me, wearin' nothin' but his favorite pair of silver silk boxers and that beautiful smile that melts anyone who sees it.
He is so beautiful. His skin the perfect shade of pale white-pink, his hair and eyes so dark in contrast, his lips a beautiful pale crimson. How could I have let such a beautiful creature go? I mean, why wasn't he enough for me? Why wasn't he my crutch? He sacrificed everything I asked him to, and all I could do was throw it back at him. How could I have been so stupid?
And can I fix it now, after all this time?
Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
"Now that you are in the room, are you gonna stand in the doorway all night?" He doesn't sound all that drunk to me at this point, and he seems to be walking toward me just fine. As a matter of fact, he seems to be doing everything just fine right now. Nice to know he's still a sneaky bastard. Glad some things don't change.
"Ya aren't drunk, are ya, Shane?" He gives me that devilish grin of his as he stops and sits on the edge of the bed. Nah, he ain't drunk, but I can tell he's rethinkin' this whole damn plan of his because he's shakin'.
"Ya don't have to go through with this, Shane. I can just turn around and walk out the door and we can go back to the way it was." There's a glint in his eyes, and I can tell he's trying to hold back the tears that are threatenin' to fall. Fuck.
I walk over to him and crouch down on my knees in front of him. I reach up and gently wipe the moisture from his eyes with the pad of my thumb. He flinches slightly, which confuses the hell out of me. "What's wrong, Baby?" He looks down at his hands and a low sob starts from his throat.
"I want it to be the way it was before, Mark." God damn, his voice is barely a whisper, but I hear him loud and clear. I was hopin' he'd say he wants me to stay, that he wants to give me another chance, but that's not gonna happen, I can see that now. I have turned into such a hopeless romantic, and I have to get the hell outta here before I start cryin' in front of him. "Ok, if that's what you want, I'll leave" I tell him without even lookin' at him.
As I stand and turn to leave, I feel a slight pressure on my elbow. I turn around to ask what else he wants, but my words die as he pulls me down to him and crushes my lips with his. I lose track of all space in time as his tongue parts my lips, and the warm, familiar feeling of his exploration of it takes total control over my entire body.
It's almost as if we hadn't broke up, the way we still know each other's mouths, the way our tongues move in the same frantic pattern of harmony they did two years ago. I could let him kiss me like this for all eternity, but I guess I should let him breathe, so I reluctantly break the kiss.
His knees give out on him when I let go, and he falls breathlessly atop the bed. His eyes are still closed and his cheeks are flushed as he tries to adopt some sort of rhythmic breathin' pattern. I had forgotten how beautiful he is after a kiss such as the one we had. So beautiful and fragile, in fact, that I could stand here like the idiot I feel and watch him forever.
Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed Undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
Panic hits me like a ton of bricks, and I don't know why, but I have to get out of here. I *have* to get the hell away from him. I know this is what I said I wanted. I know that I have been tryin' to figure out how to fix what I did wrong and start over again.
But, fuck, I don't know if I can make it better with everything that's happened. I don't know if the man I have become is the man he wants me to be, or if I even want the man he's become. Two years is a long damn time to be apart in my book, and I don't want this to be just another fuck. I don't want to be the one he turned to simply because he was lonely and I was there. I don't want to be what I made him into two years ago.
So I do the only thing I know to do: I haul ass out of his room and don't look back....
I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
By the time I get to my own hotel room after the Smackdown taping, I'm bawlin' like a baby. Glad I didn't pass anyone I know on the way here, 'cause I know I woulda smashed their face in had they even gave me a second glance. Hell, I probably woulda smashed 'em if they looked at me at all. I hate for people to see me cry; no one's supposed to know I'm a big baby instead of a big badass.
No one besides Shane, that is.
I fumble with the cardkey and slam the door behind me once I'm in the shelter of my room. Shelter? HA! It's a fuckin' prison. Cold. Dark. Lonely. So goddamned lonely it makes me cry again.
I don't even bother turning on the light as I walk toward my bed, shedding my clothes along the way. I really don't see the point of it; all I will see is how fuckin' empty my room is. How fuckin' empty my life is.
I trip over something that is too damn large to be the boot I flung across the room, I begin to think that the light might've been a good idea. As I ponder what the hell it is I tripped over, I hear a groan that definately isn't from my throat.
"You could've turned on a light, you know?" A half asleep, half awake Duane grumbles at me from under his pillow. Well, fuck. I forgot he was crashin' on my floor tonight. So much for bein' able to cry alone in the dark.
"You coulda slept in the bathtub, ya know?" I sigh at him. I know I sound like I been cryin', and I don't even care if he notices either. If he asks, I'll just tell him to mind his own damn business and remind him that I didn't press the issue when he was cryin' over Jerky earlier tonight.
All the same, I take sanctuary in the bathroom, just in case. I really don't want to have to deal with him right now. I mean, he's a great friend and all, and one hell of a listener, but there's only so many "it'll all be okay"s I can take before I want to smash his head in, ya know?
For about three minutes maybe there is silence. Three whole minutes. Damn- he's bein' nicer tonight than usual.
"Something wrong, man?" he asks me through the bathroom door, and I mumble a "nah" and hope it's enough to make him go away, but I know it's not. "You should talk to him, you know. I know for a fact he's miserable. Just talk to him. It'll all be ok."
Jesus fuck, here we go again. "Thanks for the advice, Mom" I grumble sarcasticly through the door. "I already told you that I'm not puttin' him through this shit again, so just leave it alone, man." I can't help but wonder how many times I have said that in the last few days. Probly more than I've said it in my whole damn life.
"Look, he just took what you said to Vince the wrong way is all. You know how sensitive he is."
"I said drop it, man. I mean, it's not like it should matter anyway, right?" Oh fuck. I just opened up a whole new fuckin' conversation with that question, but I really don't think it *should* matter to Shane what the fuck I said, or what I meant by it. It's not like we've been together for, oh, two fuckin' years, now.
"It does matter, Mark, and you know it. You know what you were saying, I know what you were saying, and everyone else in the Fed knows what you were saying. But what I'm trying to make you see is that if it didn't matter to *Shane*, he wouldn't have taken it the wrong way."
I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
Well, shit, when I look at it that way... "So what the fuck do you propose I do? I already told him what the fuck I meant by the "us" comment to Vince, and he didn't believe me." I state as I open the door and look at him. He just smiles at me like he knows somethin' I don't.
"What the fuck is that look for?" As if on cue, there's a knock at the door and Duane strolls over to answer it like he already knew it was gonna happen. Fucker probly did. He stands in front of the door so I can't see who's there, but I already know who it is; I'd know that smell if my nose spontaniously fell off my face. Now I know why he gave me those three minutes of silence.
If ya'll don't see Duane ever again, know that it was me who killed the meddlin' bastard...
Duane excuses himself from the room, and Shane just stands awkwardly in the doorway. The rational part of my brain- yes, I *do* have a rational part, believe it or not- wants me to go over and tell him to leave. Wants to tell him that it's not worth the hurt I know I'm gonna put him through eventually.
When he closes the door behind him, I fully intend to tell him what I think, but there it is- that smile. The one that melts my heart and makes my knees weak. You know the one, right? You've seen him smile before. It's the dropdead-sexyashell-iloveyou-fuckme smile, and I remember now why I never listen to the rational side- if I do, then I don't get to see that smile...
Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country, but I'm bound to cross the line.
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
