I got in my car and drove. I had no real direction, I just drove. As luck would have it I came upon a liquor store after driving for about forty five minutes. I entered and grabbed as much alcohol as I could carry. I placed it on the cashier's counter and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. Realizing it was still likely with my ring gear I told the cashier I would be right back. I went out to car and found my wallet in my bag.
I grabbed my wallet and went back inside. As I was paying I asked the clerk if he knew of any local motels. As he scribbled the address of the closest one he asked if I was Mikey Stormrage. I nodded that I indeed was, though I was in no mood to deal with fans right now. He asked for an autograph and as he handed me a pen I stopped to think for a moment.
"
You don't want my autograph, the way I'm going it won't be worth much. Besides, the way I feel, I don't want there to be any proof left that I was ever in this business."
I put the alcohol into the backseat and entered the address of the motel into my GPS. As I sat in silence the lines of the highway were hypnotizing. I seemed lost in space until my GPS alerted me that I had arrived at my destination. I surveyed the scene and decided that even though the run down rest stop had seen better days, it would suffice to help kill the pain. I rented a room under a false name, paying in cash. I was given my key and the man behind the counter mentioned that I looked familiar.
"
I guess I just have one of those faces."
I walked up the stairs and unlocked my room and surveyed the scene. The bed had new sheets, but I doubted they were clean. The bathroom had stains on the floor and walls, and the television still had rabbit ears, one of them bent at an odd angle. The dresser was missing drawers and one of the end tables was propped up with a large chunk of folded over cardboard. I used the three legged end table to prop the door open and went to my car to get my bag and my alcohol. I removed my mask from my bag and placed it on the bed. I immediately began drinking.
"
We let it happen again!"
"
You should have followed my orders Michael."
I flipped over an end table, sending the lamp that was on top crashing into a wall.
"
Who cares whose orders I follow if I keep getting blindsided by The Elite?"
"
This week will be different, this week we will make an example out of Vikram."
"
I don't give two shits about Vikram. All I care about is that I keep losing, and now Matt is upset with me. I did nothing, and he lashes out at me."
"
Then you must make an example out of Matt."
I glared back at my mask.
"
The last time we went down this road, we alienated James Howard and ended up beating the shit out of him."
By this point I had been drinking heavily, nearly finishing a bottle of vodka, making my already frail mental state even more fragile.
"
It also ended up with you as a champion. You threw your friendships aside and it lead you to the promised land. Don't forget Michael, you are still the last man to successfully defend the EurAsian title. Then you started to let weakness creep back into, you found a new friend in Matt Tastic and you see where it has gotten you. Constant beatings at the hands of The Elite, loss after loss after loss, and your so called friend lashes out at you for no reason. Remember it was you who helped him win his coveted World Title, the title you so deeply covet."
I was just finishing off a bottle when I had heard enough. I put the mask back inside my bag. I went to turn on the TV. After flipping through each channel, getting nothing but white noise, I gave up. When I went to turn off the TV the button broke off, leaving me stuck with the white noise in the background. I had finished off an entire bottle of hard liquor and was starting to open a second.
"
You know I'm right! You have to sever your ties from Tastic. Start this week by making an example of Vikram! Show him why you were a monster! Show him you are a force to be reckoned with!"
I took my phone and hurdled it at the wall. The Otter Box case did its job and kept the phone safe, so I threw it again. I picked up the lamp by the bed and smashed it into the mirror on the bathroom wall.The end table that still had all four legs was thrown out the window. I kept it up and after about fifteen minutes of playing rock star in in my hotel room my eyes felt heavy. The television, which had survived my wrath was still stuck between channels and the white noise drowned out the strangeness around me while I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke a few hours later, my head buzzing. The television was stilling humming, so my foot served as a permanent off switch. I found my phone, still protected. I made a mental note to buy stock into the company that made Otter Boxes, and checked the location of the next show, Columbus, Ohio.
I took in the condition of the room and went to my bag. I took out five one hundred dollar bills and placed them on the dresser. I started to scribble out a note.
Sorry about the damage. I have left $500 to pay what it will cover, I will include an address at which I can be reached to bill me for any remaining damages. At this point in my life money means nothing to me, and pain isn't cheap. This room just happened to be where I was when my anger got the best of me. My sincerest apologies.
-Michael Brown
"Mikey Stormrage"
I gathered my personal effects and threw my bag and remaining vodka and tequila in my car. I punched Columbus into my GPS, shut off my phone, and set off, still hungover.
I had failed in my latest attempt at a shot at the World Title I valued so highly, but the anger inside me was about to reach a boiling point. I knew I would have to deal with it soon, but for the time being I would be more than happy to let my anger stew. Be it Constantine, Dorian Slaughter, Ty Burna, Vikram, or even Matt Tastic, I would unleash my anger on one of them soon, and I was afraid of what may happen to myself when it did.
