"dear agony"

My mom, when I was a kid, used to tell me I was gonna change the world.

She said I was going to do all these great things and I was going to make a difference.

Then I got my first motorcycle, discovered Killswitch Engage, and the rest of it is history. I'm probably what most people would call a delinquent. Maybe they call me something else involving the downfall of society, but there's a real solid chance it's not a nice term for me.

Pro wrestling wasn't supposed to consume my life. I was supposed to have one opponent and that was it. Then I met Cassidy Carter and thought she was okay. Next thing I know, I'm dragged into a world with cults and doctors and monsters and my head is fucking spinning.

I wasn't supposed to be here. I'm still not.

I'm never gonna admit this to anyone, but that gauntlet was kind of fun. There were people cheering for me when I was taking on Kylar Stark and it blew my mind. Never mind the fact I delayed the show by stealing the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile and took half the roster to Las Vegas, because that's besides the point (or maybe that's the whole point). People were cheering for me and something inside of me was surprised. Why did people want me to win? What did I do for them nobody else was doing? People cheered when I eliminated him and they booed when I lost to Jeremiah. They chose me without knowing anything about me.

I'll never get over that.

There's nothing but me and road tonight on this motorcycle, I already finished my bottle of Jack. I left Cailey to watch over Tommy with Shinji Uchikawa, and I needed this time to myself. I let all these people into my life. I mean, I was up on the roof of that fucking hot dog with Cailey, talking about my life and my future. I was selling Tom weed six months ago for fuck's sake! Everything about my life has turned upside down and I can't fucking cope with this. It's like they just gave me Payton's life and expected me to live it for the both of us. Just thinking that, just feeling all this stuff catching up to me is making me need to drive faster. At this point, I just want miles and speed between me and all my problems, though it's probably not going to do any good. All of that is good for little more than just a temporary reprieve of it all. Even with all that velocity of my bike, I still feel her ghost riding with me, arms around my waist. Even with all of that, I feel like I'm in a position where I need to help these guys. Tommy. Cailey. Cassidy. We're a bunch of broken people and I'm trying to figure out if I'm the guy who can patch us up.

Lovely, pick the most messed up one of us all. You know that's a good idea.

Would you like a confession? I'm homeless. I've been couch surfing for the better part of the past year. I guess I have a home, but when you have that place as a home, you don't really want it. I get mail either at a PO Box I saved up for, my old man's crib, or at the Galecki's. Todd and Steve Galecki are two of my closest friends, if you can call them that. Mainly, they buy weed from me and I get high with them while we play 8-bit Nintendo. If you don't think that's the best life, you're wrong and I will punch you on sheer principle. I'm not here at the Galecki's though, I'm someplace vastly different.

The home of Sgt. Paul Caldwell. My alcoholic old man. It's a little after midnight, but he's still awake on his recliner, catching something on ESPN that's probably already been shown like twenty times.

"Who's there?" he calls out in slurred words, and I just stay as quiet as I can. "I said who's there?!"

"Pop, it's just me...sir," I say, that sir almost weakly, knowing that if I don't, it's all gonna come back. I can't remember a time I didn't have to know how to fight when it came to my old man. We've been boxing for years, except I didn't wanna learn the art. He got drunk and started swinging, and I had to learn to defend myself. By the age of 10, I was good at dodging. By 13, I even landed a few punches. When I hit the big 1-6, I knocked him the fuck out with a left hook that's been my calling card ever since. I hit that left, nobody gets up. At least not in their immediate future. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"For what? You've been an asshole since you were a kid! You haven't been a good son since you were in diapers. You get arrested and all you do is bring me suffering! You're a failure, Carey. You're not worth the trouble," he says as he gets up, and I can already tell how bad it's been since I left a few weeks ago for Japan. I can smell the stale beer and the alcohol is obvious. Cans of cheap malt liquor and beer are all around and he gets up to look at me. "Tuck in your fuckin' shirt, you slob."

I, instinctively, tuck in my shirt.

"Dad, I got a job and I'm goin' legit," I tell him like he's going to be proud of me. "I'm kind of a pro wrestler right now. I'm working for this place here in San Diego," I tell him and he spits on the ground.

"What? My son's a fucking fairy in tights now? I always knew you were a nancy," he tells me and I grimace. It's all coming back and I look down. I love my dad, he's all I got in this world, but he knows how to defeat me.

"I just want you to know I'm tryin' to do good, pop," I tell him and I'm looking down at the ground, and he lifts my face up and slaps me.

"DON'T MUMBLE! Stand up straight and talk to me like a man!" he shouts at me and tears are welling in my eyes. I'm trying not to ball up my fist, but it's coming. Tonight's been fucking hell for me with what happened to Tommy and seeing Cassidy again under the control of Rachel Foxx. Watching her fight with Collins and being so close to the Deacon but not finishing it off...and poor Evie, Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm a professional wrestler, sir!" I say as I straighten my posture and stand up like a soldier, but it's so half-hearted, and he slaps me again. "I just want you to be proud."

"I'll be proud when you're a man, Carey Linus Caldwell!" he shouts at me and slaps me upside the head again. "How can you be a wrestler when you can't take a hit?" he asks, hitting me again. And again. And again. "How can you expect people to think you're a man when I'm pushing you around like you're a fucking queer?" he says and I stand up and look at him, knowing that if I swing, I'm gonna connect.

"I AM NOT! And nothing's wrong with gay people, pops. They're human beings!" I scream at him.

"Gonna defend them like you're one of them?" he says, slapping me across the face, and I've had it. I try to walk away and I can already hear his footsteps and feel him right behind me.

"Fucking fa--" he starts and I turn around and punch him in the mouth.

"I ain't a bad person, daddy," I say and my eyes are watering. "I ain't a bad person! I AIN'T A BAD PERSON!" I scream. "I CAN BE FIXED! I CAN BE A GOOD MAN!" I shout and I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince myself or him, but he's reeling and he looks at me. I duck his punch and get him one in the gut as I'm hoping he stays down. "I ain't perfect, pop, but I'm trying. I'm sorry I was never good enough for you, but I know someone who thinks I'm just right. And my teacher thinks I'm just right. And my friends think I'm worth somethin' even if you don't think it."

I stay there in silence as he's on the ground, coughing a bit and I feel horrible. This wasn't how I wanted to let loose all the pain. This was never the way I wanted to do it. When I'm looking at my dad, I realize what a mess I made here, and I'm trying to just shake my head to deny this is all my fault. "Clean yourself up, pop. It's gonna be pay day on Friday, don't buy alcohol, please," I say quietly. "I'm gonna go stay somewhere," I add before leaving again. Part of me really thinks that this is the last time I'm leaving. I need that for me. At some point in your life, no matter how much you love something or someone, you have to cut the cord. It will always ache, and if you loved that person as much as you think, there will always be a void. The problem is when the things you love start killing you. The reality is that's what's happening here with me now. Caring for my old man has been eating me alive. Maybe it's been trying to be alone forever that's eating me alive. This is a situation I can't fully answer here. No matter what I think, this will not be easy, and I know it won't. I'm asking to start a whole new chapter without the only blood I have.

On the drive back to the hospital, I'm already thinking and wondering. When I get there, Tom's still being looked at, but I see the two people waiting on him.

There's Shinji, a damn good guy.

And there's Cailey. All she wanted was for me to come back. Rushing to me, she gives me a huge hug and I have no idea what to make of it at this point. There's no reason for me to give one back, but I do and I just grip tighter. I'm trying to lock myself up because she doesn't need the burden of this dude crying on her shoulder, but I think she knows that I'm carrying a lot of grief in me right now. There's a lot of pain and sorrow and none of it is her fault. Even so, she's here.

"You can tell me anything, Carey," she said. "But first and foremost, thank you for coming back to me."

"You don't deserve my anger. You ain't a bad person," I say to her, giving her a small squeeze.

"And neither are you," she whispers in my ear before she pulls away and moves her hands to cup my cheeks to look me over to see if I'm hurt. There's a few bruises from my dad, and it's already something she's caught onto. "Who did this? You weren't like this after the match with Kylar."

"It's fine, I promise. I just went home for a bit," I mumble and she looks at me.

"You've been bleeding. Carey, did your dad do thi--" she asks and I look at her.

"Please. Now ain't the time. Tell me how Tommy is," I ask.

"Doctor's haven't said yet," she replies. "Just get some rest like Shinji's trying. We'll talk about it in the morning." It's that idea that sounds nice, but I don't know if I'll be able to sleep.

It's hard to find words right now. Nothing I can say is going to make any of this sound right, especially right now. It's far too important to just keep my mouth shut for once. A wise man once said that all that really mattered is how little suffering we inflict and how much we relieved. Maybe that's my goal right now. Hurt as few as possible while fixing some of this pain others have caused.

If we could work on fixing me first, that'd be awesome.