Most people don't handle failure well. Your greatest failures -- the moments you built up to be life-changing, only to squander -- are the ones that sting the longest. For Sam Smith, losing to Showtime had cut into his very core; tapping out to Showtime was the ultimate disappointment. Showtime's words before the match -- the harsh criticisms of Smith -- had, perhaps, an even greater affect on the Elite X Champion. Whether he liked to admit it or not, Smith was prideful, he had honed his craft for years in order to become one of the best wrestlers in the world. All the while, his personal life floundered. Smith's decision making nearly destroyed his career and successfully took away any semblance of a stable personal life he had. Smith knew he was a failure as a man, but as a wrestler? That was a hard pill to swallow. It was all he had left.
It was a unseasonably cold evening in Los Angeles. The moon shone bright, illuminating the hopeless souls wandering the streets at 3 AM. Sam Smith blended right in with these people. Five years ago, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but time can change a man. Smith, unlike most of the people walking around at this hour wasn't looking for a fix, he'd had his fair share in recent weeks -- instead, he was walking to an inconspicuous bar deep in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. Neither he or his friend, his ally, Rush could sleep, and they both figured now was as good of a time as ever to talk. Dance music blared from clubs in the area, college frat boys drunkenly tried to compensate for their insecurities by starting brawls in the street, their equally drunk sorority girlfriends cheered them on. It was like a study on human behavior.
Smith blended in with the shadowy buildings across from the clubs. His sweatpants, hooded sweatshirt, running shoes, and baseball cap couldn't have made the fact that he wanted to remain anonymous any clearer. As he approached the bar, he could see Rush standing in front of the door, rubbing his bear paw-sized hands together. Sam and Rush made eye contact, before shaking hands.
Smith: "You look like you're freezing your ass off, Mac."
Rush shook his head, smiling slightly.
Rush: "Yeah, no shit, Sam. Let's go in here and get a beer, eh?"
Smith waved off the idea with his hands.
Smith: "Not really in the mood to drink, man. How about we just walk and talk?"
Rush reluctantly obliged, following Smith into a side street.
Rush: "Jesus Christ, Sam. You can never just take the easy route, can you?"
Smith knew the question was rhetorical, but answered anyway.
Smith: "I see no point in doing that."
A few moments of silence followed, as both men briskly walked further and further away from the main streets, and deeper into the murkier, shadier part of Los Angeles. The people and buildings around Sam and Rush seemed to get more decrepit with every step.
Smith: "I just don't know anymore. What the fuck is the point?"
Rush quizzically looked over at Smith, unsure of how to answer.
Rush: "What do you mean, Sam?"
Sam motioned around with his hands.
Smith: "This. Everything. WZCW."
Rush: "One loss is hitting you that hard? Shit, Sam, you kept up with Showtime better than most anybody on the roster could have."
Sam shrugged.
Smith: "That's the thing, Rush. I gave him everything I had, I blasted him over the head with a steel chair.. and he still didn't get quit. He still managed to beat me -- hell, not only beat me, but made me tap out."
Sam pointed at his chest.
Smith: "He made ME quit. That whole damn match, I was just treading water until the inevitable came. Did you really think I'd win? Do you think any of those people in that arena thought I'd win? Did I even think I'd win?
I faced the World Heavyweight Champion, with a chance to make a true statement, and I blew it. I'm a perennial midcarder. I'm going to be a guy like Matt Tastic -- never actually making any waves in this business. Every word I've said since I've returned -- everything we've both said we'd do -- just seems like a bunch of smoke blowing out of my ass right now."
They walked by an old industrial warehouse, before coming to a halt. A few homeless people convened by an empty trash can, huddled by the fire someone had gotten going inside of it. Prostitutes and drug addicts littered the alleyways in either side of the building, too out of it -- or perhaps just out of motivation -- to notice anything around them.
Rush: "I don't know why one loss has you so rung out -- I've lost two straight, but you don't see me breaking down. Whatever it is, though, you need to put it behind you. You've got Celeste Crimson this week. You need to destroy that bitch after what she did to me -- to us -- at the SuperShow."
Sam smirked, before inching closer to Rush. His eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists.
Smith: "It's not just the one loss, Rush. It's what Showtime said before the match. I'm starting to believe it. Am I only your errand-boy, Rush? Because its starting to look that way more and more every week."
Rush: "That's ridiculous, Sam!"
Smith: "Is it? I'm not so sure. That EurAsian belt you hold so tightly is about as much mine as it is yours! Ever since we came together, I've put my body on the line for you. I've done everything in my power to make sure you win, all the while you've pulled the wool over my eyes and made me think we're equals."
Rush: "We are, Sa--"
Sam interrupted Rush before he could finish.
Smith: "Bullshit! Every single word Showtime said stung, but it all made sense. The whole roster thinks I'm just around to do your dirty work. You know, it actually makes a ton of sense: you're, what, 51 years old and barely scratching the main event scene after 30-plus years of wrestling. You and I both know you don't have many years left in this business."
Every word seemed to make the scowl on Rush's face more pronounced, as he got angrier and angrier.
Smith: "So, who better than to help you slither to the top of the wrestling business than me, right? I'm 29 years old, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. You make me feel like you're my friend, knowing that I have nobody else, when in reality you're just trying to use me. You're a piece of shit!"
Rush finally had his fill of Smith's rant, slamming him into the brown brick wall of the run down warehouse.
Rush: "ENOUGH!"
His voice echoed though the night, attracting the attention of the people scattered all around the street.
Rush: "I'm a very patient man, Sam, but you're really pushing it. Some of this shit you're saying is getting on my last nerve and I suggest you stop."
Smith:"Or what, Rush? What the fu--"
Before Smith could finish his sentence, Rush shoved his forearm into his throat, pinning him up against the wall.
Rush: "Last warning, Sam. I know you're going through some stuff right now, but I'm not the person to take it out on. Save that for your match."
Rush backed off, looking at Smith who looked shocked by the relatively calm reaction of his friend. Smith slowly slid down the brick wall, sitting down on the pavement, before quietly responding.
Smith: "I-I-I know. I'm sorry, Mac. I really am."
Smith buried his head in his hands, as Rush sat down next to him.
Rush: "We all have a breaking point, Sam. I understand that. I won't hold this against you, but you'll need to channel this anger into your match against Celeste."
Smith: "I can't explain to you how I feel. Everything just came to a head. Chelsea, losing to Showtime, my insecurities -- I just couldn't handle it anymore."
Rush: "You're still not used to being in the spotlight, much less trying to handle that without drugs."
That last part made Smith's face redden. Rush didn't know he was using again, but he most certainly couldn't tell him. Not yet, at least.
Smith: "It's a lot to handle, especially when you blow a chance at beating the World Heavyweight Champion and end up facing someone you faced just a few weeks before. I lose momentum just like that, while management relentlessly pushes the same group of guys."
Rush: "I feel you, but beating Celeste is important. You're representing us both out there this week, not just yourself. You have to pull yourself together."
Smith: "I've beaten her once -- with you, against her and Tastic -- and I'll do it again. She has no place in the ring with me. She's a novelty. If she was any good, she would have amounted to something by now. She talks about the World Heavyweight Championship, but she's never done a thing to deserve it."
A thought rang through Smith's head -- doubt -- as he said all this. Was he really that much different than Celeste? Neither of them had made significant waves in WZCW -- sure, Smith was a two-time Elite X Champion -- but they both had aspirations of being the World Heavyweight Champion, but neither could quite take that next step. Regardless, Celeste was a respected competitor by management and the rest of the locker room, a win over her would do quite a bit to put Smith back on track toward his plans.
Rush: "Exactly. She's all talk. Prove that Showtime beating you last week was a fluke, dominate Celeste."
Smith: "I will. It's high time someone put Celeste Crimson into her place."
