Johnny Maverick- (hopefully)Forward

Shoulda made the noose a little tighter
'cause it ain't nobody dead...
-'Air Em Out' by clipping.

He sits. Looking out the window of the taxi.

But that’s not where he is.

“Get up, f****t.” His father says just after he is slammed to the mat harder than he ever has been. He starts to sit up but he’s booted in the face so hard all he sees is blackness for a moment. His nose is broken instantly. Water. Water on his face now that pulls him back into consciousness. He puts his hand in his mouth and pulls it away, a mixture of blood and saliva on his hands.

He was in ‘Danny's Dungeon’. His father’s short-lived wrestling school. 16 years old and getting the ever-loving shit beaten out of him by his dad.

He gets to his feet but is scooped up and slammed back down instantly, landing awkwardly on his side.

There would be blood in his urine the next day.

“If your mother were still alive to see this she’d die of shame.” Danny says.

“Kind of a moot point since you weren’t this much of an asshole before Mom died.” He says as he stands up once more. He’s answered by a clothesline that results in his first concussion.

Back in the taxi.

“Is the music okay?” The driver asks.

“Hm? Yeah. It’s fine.” Johnny says. He looks down at his hands. Bare for a moment.

The suddenly he’s wearing those gloves.

And they’re covered in the blood that had pouring out of the pummeled face of his brother James.

Jimmy and Johnny Chaos. The Brothers in Chaos.

And at the urging of his father Johnny threw it all away.

Because that’s what his dad did.

He got into your head.

Made you think you needed him.

And he made you do such horrible things...

Just because he could.

His brother asks him ‘Why?’

He’ll spend a decade wishing he had a good answer.

As he lifts him up for the ‘Twist of Cain’.

The car brakes suddenly.

Hands are clean again.

But then those hands are on the body of Xaria Ford.

And his hands are dirty in an entirely different way.

One night of passion and giving in to desires that were wrong in every way. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Just another night of hot breath and sweaty sheets. Two people searching for a brief connection in a crazy world they sometimes thought didn’t want them.

Just his luck that would be the one time.

He sees the face of the twins. His biological sons.

And he briefly gets lost in the thought that he deserved to be crucified.

“You fucking coward.” He mumbles to himself.

“What’s up?” The driver asks.

“Nothing. Thanks for the ride.” Johnny says. He takes some cash out of his wallet and extends it to the cab driver.
Only now it’s not a cab driver. It’s his doctor.

And it’s a much bigger wad of cash.

There’s an MRI of his neck on the wall and anyone with a basic understanding of how a body works could look at this and see it isn’t good.

“And what is this for, Mr. Fitzsimmons?” The Doctor asks.

“This is for you not to tell the BWF anything that you just told me.” Johnny says.

“Mr. Fitzsimm-“

“Stop fucking calling me that.”

“…In the condition you are in you should never step into a wrestling ring ever again. I have been assigned to you by the BWF to make sure you are able to compete.” The Doctor says.

“Is there an ATM around here? Because I can make a hell of a withdrawal to get you to not say a goddamn word to management.” Johnny says. The Doctor sighs and reaches out for the money.

“Thank you, sir.” The taxi driver says.

“No problem. Keep the change.” Johnny says. He steps out of the cab. He remembers the ‘miracle surgery’ that allowed him to wrestle in IPW and move on to Redemption Wrestling and NGW.

He sees a billboard for a divorce lawyer.

Fuck.

There he was, Emily had packed all of her things and left.

And his old dealer reached out to him in a time of weakness.

And the next thing he remembered was waking up in an ambulance.

He died.

The ambulance hit a big bump.

And he was back on the sidewalk at the curb.

He just starts walking and a car hits him.

His internal organs liquefy.

Every bone breaks.

And he’s gone.

And Mari and Danni are standing over him and they’re crying as they lower what’s left of him in the ground.

And he won’t fuck up their lives like he did everyone else’s.

Like he did his own.

“Hey buddy, you okay?” Someone asks.

He’s still on the curb.

He looks up.

At where his body would have been in the street.

He’s not entirely sure it would be a bad thing if it was actually there.

But he still waits for the light to switch from ‘DON’T WALK’ to ‘WALK’ this time.

And he walks.

Forward.

At least he hopes it’s forward.