CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
"Ten minutes, Brad!" It was Joey, shouting from outside the bathroom.
"Okay, I know, okay!"
"Don't you want to go over the match one last time? It's pay per view, man, I'm nervous as fuck!"
"It'll be fine, I'll walk you through it. Just give me a minute..."
"Aren't you nervous?"
"I've done it before."
"Three times!"
"It'll be fine...just give me a minute, Joey. Please. Just need to get my head straight."
"Shit...okay. Shit. This is real, this is really happening, I'm really going to wrestle on pay per view..." Brad heard Joey trail off as he walked away from the door. Brad made it was locked once again. He then rolled down his pants, ready to insert the steroids in his ass cheek as instructed. He looked at himself in the mirror and paused. He had to do it. If he was going to do the steroids, he had to commit. He'd asked Trevor Baites, his father's old tag team partner and close friend, for advice. He'd been reluctant at first, warning Brad of the dangers of steroids, giving him all the same lines Brad had heard a hundred times before...but in the end he helped him out. He could see how serious Brad was about it and he said it was better that Brad got advice from someone who knew what he was doing, rather than getting them and taking them without knowing what to do.
Brad had to take another dosage today to keep to the course Trevor had suggested. Actually he was supposed to have taken it three hours ago. But he'd delayed, spent far too long going over his match with Joey and the road agents. Because in truth Brad was having serious second thoughts.
He'd always been small, he'd thought. Too small to make it to the top of the wrestling world, even though it was all he'd ever wanted to do, just like his father before him. Oh, nobody in wrestling, certainly nobody working for the major international company Brad worked for, would actually TELL YOU to take steroids. But you just had to look at the who the main eventers, who the guys making the most money, who the CHAMPIONS were. They were all huge. And none of them, Brad was convinced, could be that big without steroids. So, if he wanted get to the top, he had no other choice but to roid up.
But there were all the scare stories in the media. All the wrestlers dying in their forties, seemingly a direct result of years of steroid abuse. Even Matt's father, who had just turned fifty, had suffered a heart attack a few years ago. But he'd recovered and was back to nearly perfect health, or so he said. Besides, Brad would be more sensible than them. He wouldn't take huge amounts, just enough to give him the boost his body needed. Taking steroids was pointless if you weren't willing to work on your body and Brad lifted weights any chance he got. Besides, Trevor had done steroids and he was still healthy. No, he had to do it...just inject them, now, and get out there for your match, he told himself...
In the mirror, he saw his father standing behind him. He dropped the needle in shock.
"Son..."
"Dad? What the fuck?! What are you doing here...you're not anywhere near here..."
"I had to come. Had to talk to you." His father looked strange. Distant.
"Wasn't the door locked? How did you get in..."
"Have to talk," said his father again. There was definitely something going on. "Don't do it Brad. Don't take them."
"How did you know..."
"Well, you are standing here with your pants down and a needle in your hand, it was pretty obvious."
"Trevor told you, didn't he? Dad, it's okay, I followed everthing he said."
"It was Trevor who got me into them too, you know. After the heart attack, I blamed him. Wouldn't talk to him."
"I know, but you got over that...besides, that was just a...a fluke thing."
"Was it?"
"Trevor did them longer than you and he's fine."
"So he says. And maybe that's the fluke thing? The one guy who does make it over fifty, just by chance."
"I'll be fine!"
"Brad, you don't know what's starting here. You're twenty one years old! You could be wrestling another twenty years...maybe twenty five if you hang around too long like I tried to. Think about it! All the yaers on the steroids, once you start, you'll need to keep taking them, to keep your body in that shape..."
"But I don't do any other drugs!" said Brad, a bit angry. "Not like you did. Don't do cocaine, speed...don't drink...it wasn't just steroids with you, dad, come on."
"It was at first. Then the schedule got to me...it'll get to you too. Wrestling two hundred days a year, injuries you don't want to tell anyone about in case you lose your spot on the card...you start taking pills to cope with them, you start taking downers to get to sleep, uppers to wake you up...pretty soon you end up like me."
"You're fine!"
"Had a heart attack, Brad."
"I know, but you recoverd." His father just looked at him, his eyes piercing through. Suddenly, Brad knew that he had lost this battle. He wasn't even sure how, but he knew he'd lost. "Okay," he said. "I won't take them anymore...not today..."
"Not ANY day. Promise."
"Dad..."
"Promise!"
"Okay, okay...Jesus! But you know I'll never make it to the top, with my natural build."
"You might. With all the guys dying, I've got a feeling they'll be pushing more natural guys pretty soon."
"Look, it's time for me to go out and wrestle..." Brad walked to the door and tried to open it. It was still locked. He unlocked it. "That's strange...aren't you coming out dad?"
"Can't...have to go...by careful Brad. Don't make the same mistakes I did."
"Dad, what's going on? You're acting weird."
"I love you son. Remember that."
"Umm, okay." Brad walked out of the bathroom, confused, leaving his father behind. Joey and the road agents were waiting. Lester and Larry both looked worrid about something, Joey still looked nervous.
"You okay, Brad?" asked Lester, strangely kindly.
"Ready to go!" said Brad. His entrance music was already playing. Lester looked at Larry...who shook his head.
"Work your ass off, kid!" said Larry. "Like your old man did."
"Yeah, he did you see..."
"You got to go out, now," said Lester. Brad nodded and headed through the curtain.
"Just doesn't feel right," said Lester when he was gone. "Letting him go out there."
"No point telling him now," said Larry. "Let him have the match of his life out there. We'll tell him after. And I'll do it. I was freinds with his old man. I should be the one to tell Brad he died."
"Still can't believe it. Just a few hours ago too. Now he's gone. Another heart attack, no warning, out of nowhere. Gone. Kid loses his father, sport loses a former world champion."
"That's just how it goes," said Larry, sadly.
"Okay, I know, okay!"
"Don't you want to go over the match one last time? It's pay per view, man, I'm nervous as fuck!"
"It'll be fine, I'll walk you through it. Just give me a minute..."
"Aren't you nervous?"
"I've done it before."
"Three times!"
"It'll be fine...just give me a minute, Joey. Please. Just need to get my head straight."
"Shit...okay. Shit. This is real, this is really happening, I'm really going to wrestle on pay per view..." Brad heard Joey trail off as he walked away from the door. Brad made it was locked once again. He then rolled down his pants, ready to insert the steroids in his ass cheek as instructed. He looked at himself in the mirror and paused. He had to do it. If he was going to do the steroids, he had to commit. He'd asked Trevor Baites, his father's old tag team partner and close friend, for advice. He'd been reluctant at first, warning Brad of the dangers of steroids, giving him all the same lines Brad had heard a hundred times before...but in the end he helped him out. He could see how serious Brad was about it and he said it was better that Brad got advice from someone who knew what he was doing, rather than getting them and taking them without knowing what to do.
Brad had to take another dosage today to keep to the course Trevor had suggested. Actually he was supposed to have taken it three hours ago. But he'd delayed, spent far too long going over his match with Joey and the road agents. Because in truth Brad was having serious second thoughts.
He'd always been small, he'd thought. Too small to make it to the top of the wrestling world, even though it was all he'd ever wanted to do, just like his father before him. Oh, nobody in wrestling, certainly nobody working for the major international company Brad worked for, would actually TELL YOU to take steroids. But you just had to look at the who the main eventers, who the guys making the most money, who the CHAMPIONS were. They were all huge. And none of them, Brad was convinced, could be that big without steroids. So, if he wanted get to the top, he had no other choice but to roid up.
But there were all the scare stories in the media. All the wrestlers dying in their forties, seemingly a direct result of years of steroid abuse. Even Matt's father, who had just turned fifty, had suffered a heart attack a few years ago. But he'd recovered and was back to nearly perfect health, or so he said. Besides, Brad would be more sensible than them. He wouldn't take huge amounts, just enough to give him the boost his body needed. Taking steroids was pointless if you weren't willing to work on your body and Brad lifted weights any chance he got. Besides, Trevor had done steroids and he was still healthy. No, he had to do it...just inject them, now, and get out there for your match, he told himself...
In the mirror, he saw his father standing behind him. He dropped the needle in shock.
"Son..."
"Dad? What the fuck?! What are you doing here...you're not anywhere near here..."
"I had to come. Had to talk to you." His father looked strange. Distant.
"Wasn't the door locked? How did you get in..."
"Have to talk," said his father again. There was definitely something going on. "Don't do it Brad. Don't take them."
"How did you know..."
"Well, you are standing here with your pants down and a needle in your hand, it was pretty obvious."
"Trevor told you, didn't he? Dad, it's okay, I followed everthing he said."
"It was Trevor who got me into them too, you know. After the heart attack, I blamed him. Wouldn't talk to him."
"I know, but you got over that...besides, that was just a...a fluke thing."
"Was it?"
"Trevor did them longer than you and he's fine."
"So he says. And maybe that's the fluke thing? The one guy who does make it over fifty, just by chance."
"I'll be fine!"
"Brad, you don't know what's starting here. You're twenty one years old! You could be wrestling another twenty years...maybe twenty five if you hang around too long like I tried to. Think about it! All the yaers on the steroids, once you start, you'll need to keep taking them, to keep your body in that shape..."
"But I don't do any other drugs!" said Brad, a bit angry. "Not like you did. Don't do cocaine, speed...don't drink...it wasn't just steroids with you, dad, come on."
"It was at first. Then the schedule got to me...it'll get to you too. Wrestling two hundred days a year, injuries you don't want to tell anyone about in case you lose your spot on the card...you start taking pills to cope with them, you start taking downers to get to sleep, uppers to wake you up...pretty soon you end up like me."
"You're fine!"
"Had a heart attack, Brad."
"I know, but you recoverd." His father just looked at him, his eyes piercing through. Suddenly, Brad knew that he had lost this battle. He wasn't even sure how, but he knew he'd lost. "Okay," he said. "I won't take them anymore...not today..."
"Not ANY day. Promise."
"Dad..."
"Promise!"
"Okay, okay...Jesus! But you know I'll never make it to the top, with my natural build."
"You might. With all the guys dying, I've got a feeling they'll be pushing more natural guys pretty soon."
"Look, it's time for me to go out and wrestle..." Brad walked to the door and tried to open it. It was still locked. He unlocked it. "That's strange...aren't you coming out dad?"
"Can't...have to go...by careful Brad. Don't make the same mistakes I did."
"Dad, what's going on? You're acting weird."
"I love you son. Remember that."
"Umm, okay." Brad walked out of the bathroom, confused, leaving his father behind. Joey and the road agents were waiting. Lester and Larry both looked worrid about something, Joey still looked nervous.
"You okay, Brad?" asked Lester, strangely kindly.
"Ready to go!" said Brad. His entrance music was already playing. Lester looked at Larry...who shook his head.
"Work your ass off, kid!" said Larry. "Like your old man did."
"Yeah, he did you see..."
"You got to go out, now," said Lester. Brad nodded and headed through the curtain.
"Just doesn't feel right," said Lester when he was gone. "Letting him go out there."
"No point telling him now," said Larry. "Let him have the match of his life out there. We'll tell him after. And I'll do it. I was freinds with his old man. I should be the one to tell Brad he died."
"Still can't believe it. Just a few hours ago too. Now he's gone. Another heart attack, no warning, out of nowhere. Gone. Kid loses his father, sport loses a former world champion."
"That's just how it goes," said Larry, sadly.
