Every Hero Needs An Origin Story: Part One

OOC: This is a complete redo of my last RP, Awakening. Consider it a remastered version. Frankly, I hated what I wrote the first time and wasn't given enough time. This is me recreating the whole thing from scratch. Because it is written from the perspective of Kimberly, a much more reliable author than Zack, these events hold more significant weight than anything else I've written on the character. It's been a while, so her memory should be taken into account though.

This'll be multiple parts and it'll be fully realized, using real facts to make it as realistic as possible. This is the real Nick Kramer. Feedback is welcome, so say something to my Twitter @iamlifer if you have something to say. Anyway, enjoy.


So the other night, I had the most peculiar daydream, thoughts I hadn't let myself think about in years penetrating my skull. High school halls flow through my mind, quick flashes of the days when I lived with Dad and my cousin Nick. That was 2004. It seems like an eternity ago, a whole different world than the one that hangs overhead today. Chaos reigned, and there was never a dull moment, everything different in one way or another. I couldn't not write about it.

The rest of the world might know him as 'Zack Lifer,' and that was exactly what he was reaching for all along, wasn't it? I'm proud of him, accomplishing that dream to make a name for himself. He took it more literal than most, but he certainly achieved it, that's for sure. Did it do it for the right reasons though? That's the question that looms over me lately, glimpses of thought ticking away inside my head.

I didn't see it coming; nobody who knew him back in high school had the slightest clue that he'd turn into the embodiment of a name you see today. It just goes to show you how much he wanted it that way all along, and that's exactly what he got. He's known by his own name now while he left the past at the old doorstep back at our place like a discarded carcass, rotting to the bone. I'm sure some people still seek to drag the husk to the public just to make a point, but that's a story for another day.

I've stayed away from the wrestling business for a reason, let me get that part out of the way. I've forbidden myself from even watching the product on TV, from following anyone on Twitter related to the game, I hadn't even let people remember my brief run back in WuW in 2008. Once you've stepped away from the business, it's the only thing you can do to make sure you don't fall right back where you were again.

That dangerous world with all those contrasting ideals was unceremoniously called professional wrestling, and from where I stood, it never lead anywhere good. Wars, personal conflicts, injuries. Put it all together in a pot, mix it together, and it's the most toxic career path anyone could possibly choose. That is unless, of course, you love the business with every fiber of your being.

I've fallen out of love with all of it, but Nick? Nick's stance on the subject was always different, even from the beginning when he was just a fan watching the small TV in his bedroom, eyes fixated on that screen. I'll never understand it, but I think his fabricated last name speaks volumes to how much he loves this business maybe even more than he loves his family. He's a lifer and nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever tear him away from that world.

What I meant to talk about was the man I knew, the guy you haven't even met yet — the real Nick Kramer. See, I know you're his psychologist, but who he is now is far from who he was before the onset of his psychosis. And no, it didn't come out of the blue like he might've told you. It doesn't work like that. He just doesn't remember right.

Nick was once the sweetest kid you've ever met, I swear; a smart guy who even gave me advice from time to time. He was like a big brother to me, actually. We met once in a while at family gatherings back when we were little, so we weren't complete strangers once his deadbeat parents decided to just leave him at our place. He hated them for that, resented them for just giving him away. Can you even blame him?

No matter how hard he fought to stay where he grew up, no matter how much he told them that he loved them and that he didn't want to leave, they wouldn't have it. He was throwing a tantrum, cursing aloud and shouting at the top of his lungs the whole drive here. You know what they did? They just ignored him like a pair of self-righteous assholes - that is if what he told me was true - and kept on driving. He wasn't even allowed to bring anything from home beside the clothes packed away in a suitcase but once he started spending more and more time with us, his opinion began to soften. Least, it seemed like it.

My dad, his uncle on his dad's side, became his 'legal guardian' back when we were in high school. He quickly became a part of the family, a major part I might add. We rode the same bus to school, we even ate lunch together. He wasn't great at making friends back then, didn't like when things changed, so we made it part of our daily routine and it was a blast! Same table, same spot every time, of course. We used to tell these inside jokes where—

I'm sorry, I just get so lost in the memories, you know? Anyway, you want to know about his psychosis, right? Well, funny story. We thought he just had ADHD at first. Tried to give him Adderall, and when that didn't work, they tried out Ritalin. It helped him a little, but he still complained that he couldn't focus, couldn't pay attention in class. He explained it like he was 'overloaded with information' and he couldn't think straight unless he was alone; unless he was ignoring everything around him.

That meant he was good at tests, good at homework when he finally sat down and did it. Unfortunately, the other side of the coin was his terrible social ineptitude where he couldn't focus on what someone was saying enough to keep topic for very long. It was even hard for him to accept a solid idea that wasn't his own unless it was from a textbook, to be honest. That's the nice way to say 'he sucked with people,' isn't it?

This one time, the guy even went so far to say that he didn't believe in irrational numbers, saying 'pi had to end somewhere down the line.' That stubborn jerk! I tried to tell him otherwise, and he wouldn't have any of it! He was more like his parents than he'd care to admit. I guess I should just be grateful he did the homework in the first place and, believe it or not, got a good grade on a theory he couldn't realistically comprehend. See, his critical thinking was through the roof, to the point of it being terribly obnoxious, so he had that going for him, right? Still, the older he got, the more his small quirks began to escalate into a real problem.

He started spending more time alone in his room during his sophomore year, devoted more time to his studies and less time trying to keep the few friends he did have. The whole thing got even worse by the time he became a full-fledged junior. Kids started thinking he was weird, and yet his answer was to disconnect from everything even further. It didn't make any sense!

"Kimberly," Nick started with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep the night before. "Is it me, or are people going out of their way to avoid me? I swear to God, I saw someone look my way during lunch and then just sit somewhere else. It's like they're trying to torture me, right? Trying to get under my skin?" His mumbled words sounded desperate as ever; a powerful craving drenched right into his DNA to be assured that everything was going to be okay. He was like a puppy just looking for someone to love him, someone to give him attention.

"Why are you acting like this, Nick? You didn't always give a crap what those dicks thought about you. Honestly? You've been avoiding them just as much, if not more than they've ignored you and you're sitting here complaining?" I quipped, my words pretty damn harsh looking back. He shot back an expression like I just kicked him as hard as I could. Oh boy, here we go!

"I didn't mean to push 'em away," he admitted in almost a whine, his eyes slumping down to his knees, his butt surgically attached to that bed of his. The more I think about it though, the more it made sense. His parents, they weren't exactly The Brady Bunch, were they? They demeaned him for not doing his homework, insulted him for not doing chores around the house and other shit he should've been doing. They were ruthless about it too, not even holding back with their only son. It wasn't a happy home. At least, that's what he told me.

I couldn't tell you if it was entirely true or not. I mean, his parents seemed friendly enough around me. They say only family knows family, right? The whole thing just always got my nerves though, the effect they had on him. Maybe they couldn't see it back then, but the older he got, the more we saw it, the more we saw how damaged he'd grow up to be. And to think this was only the beginning. We should've realized the worst was looming overhead, but Dad and I were too oblivious dealing with our own superficial problems and our own shallow lives! I always felt sad about that.

"He couldn't have gone too far, could he?" I asked my dad over a year later, my words shaky and nervous, fingers gripped to the fork. Jesus, what was he doing that very second? That son of a bitch was out there somewhere, I just knew it! His graduation was nice, it went off without a hitch, but now days later, we had no clue where he went. The sun slowly rose through the kitchen window, my father's face watching me diligently, anguish coating the room.

"He wasn't in his bed, Kim. His car wasn't in the driveway, and he won't even answer his phone," my dad started, his voice eerily calm from what I remember, strong blue eyes disappointedly glaring the whole time. "The police won't go looking for him unless it's been twenty-four hours." I sighed, stabbing at my breakfast and reluctantly taking a bite.

"That graduation," Dad started again. "Did you notice anything different about him?" I shrugged, trying to think. A fist rested under my chin, the elbow on the table once I dropped that fork. I couldn't think straight. Everything was coming at me at once. That must've been a little taste of what Nick experiences on a daily basis, huh?

"More different than usual?" I insensitively joked with a small opaque smirk adorn my face for only a brief second. "No, nothing. He seemed like he was acting like—" My voice reeled, my breathing getting faster. Eyes glanced at my eggs, the fork tossed asunder on the plate. The breakfast was mostly uneaten.

"What?" my dad asked. "What is it? What's wrong?" Urgency spread across his features, eyes solid and still. I hesitated, worried that my idea wouldn't be able to help. I didn't wanna give my father false hope, did I? I could've easily been grasping at straws. I held my breath, relenting and finally letting it out in the open.

"I think I know why he left," I mumbled quietly, looking back at him. "Can you check the answering machine, see the last few calls?" He nodded, sliding back in his chair as it squeaked out of place against the tiled floor. Grabbing the phone as quick as he could, he checked Caller ID, glancing down at all the most recent calls. His eyes opened wide, mine looking back at him inquisitively.

"What is it? Whaddya see?" I asked him quickly, not waiting a moment to give him time to think on his own.

"Nick called his parents this morning at 4 o'clock," he finally stated, my jaw dropping. "He... Actually called them a buncha times. Three, four, five, six, seven... Seven times," he announced, stunned. I immediately stood up, letting the chair swing backward almost fall to the kitchen floor. Luckily, my dad caught it, giving me time to swipe the phone away from him, wanting to see for myself.

The evidence was right in front of my eyes, the time 4 AM right underneath the words 'Kramer.' The other calls before that? The times varied from as far back as 11 PM the night before, me and my dad already in our bedrooms by then. The calls were spread out through the night until the end, where 3 were about a minute from each other each. The strange part? None of his calls were answered. All his calls fell on deft ears and he never bothered to tell anyone about the way he was feeling. Why didn't he just say something? I would've listened, we both would've, but who knows where he was now?!

I'm sorry, I just... I blame myself for his disappearance. I was awake when he made his first couple calls, and I didn't even hear the sounds of his feet in the hallway. The last I saw, he was in the bedroom like he usually was, and I never asked him what was wrong, never thought to wonder if he was even alright in his own volunteered solitary confinement. God damn it! I'm a horrible person, aren't I?!

My heart started to pound at full speed, my eyes looking at my father. Should I do it? I asked the question with my eyes, a question he easily understood and nodded for an answer. I hesitated, my thumb looming over the picture of a green phone, my stomach churning. I gritted my teeth, looking away as I pressed the button, my eyes shut hard.

Dial tone... Dial tone...

"I'm sorry, the number you have reached is not in service." That's it. No pomp and circumstance, no confrontation with Nick's parents, nothing.

"They changed their number?" I asked my dad, the anticlimactic discovery making my stomach start to churn. He shrugged his shoulders, concern covering his face again.

"I talked to your uncle two months ago, and he didn't say a word about it," he began, starting to pace the kitchen floor, grumbling under his breath. "Gah! They must have changed their phone number without even telling us. What the hell happened?!" Anger coated his words, and his calm demeanor faded quickly out of sight. This was the dad I knew.

"Let me keep checking the Caller ID," I told him, trying to ease his intolerable anger, making sure I didn't become the target next by 'luxury' of being the only person around. Nothing was too different, several available numbers that we hadn't answered, telemarketers, and such.

"Wait, you said they called two months ago, right?' I asked him suddenly, catching his attention. He nodded, sitting back down in his seat at the kitchen table. "Then who answered when they called three days ago?"

"They didn't— Did they?" he asked me, suddenly understanding what I understood, the gears finally turning. We were on the right track, and the police weren't going to help us. We didn't have much time, he couldn't last very long on his own.

"He—" Gulping, I opened my mouth, shutting it again. "Nick answered it. The day before his graduation."