Obstacles

(Trigger warning: references to alcoholism, dysfunctional parental relationships)

TWO DAYS AFTER REVIVAL 76

Hospital Marie-Clarac, Montréal-Nord

2:32 PM

By Luc Labelle’s count, he hasn’t been inside a hospital since he broke his wrist playing recess basketball in the third grade. He had forgotten the sterile smell, the neutral colours, the informative pamphlets and posters offering lukewarm words of encouragement. He feels the carpet underneath his shoes, one that was probably already old-fashioned in the 80s. Dahlia rubs his arm.

He thinks about that third grade injury. Quebec has universal healthcare, so his mother didn’t lose money directly. But as a single mother working two jobs, her needing to be present by Luc’s side during treatment cost her multiple hours, and multiple sick days. Luc vividly remembers the lecture he received from his mother about not taking what she deemed “stupid, costly risks.” After that, he was barely allowed to attend gym class, let alone engage in any sort of physical activity at recess. It was a miracle that she ever let Luc and Michel play hockey later on, a miracle that she very quickly revoked.

The woman that once held so much power over every aspect of his daily life.

The woman that he’s seen for a total of five minutes over the course of the last six months.

The woman currently on the seventh floor.

Finally, after 23 minutes of waiting in the uncomfortable lobby chairs, Michel (Chantal’s emergency contact) shows up. Dahlia stands to greet him, whereas Luc remains seated, head in his hands. It occurs to him that he never expected Michel and Dahlia to finally meet in this kind of setting.

Luc’s girlfriend and his brother engage in the typical, quintessential Quebec greeting: a kiss on each cheek. “Hey, I’m Michel, it’s nice to meet you,” he says in a hushed tone.

“Hey, yeah, nice to meet you too. I’m Dahlia, and I hope it’s not an overstep on my part to be here, it’s just th-“

“No, no, it’s totally fine. If it’s important to him,” he nods towards Luc. “Then it’s cool with me.”

After a small, awkward moment of silence, Luc stands up and gestures that they should head up to the seventh floor. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

The three of them walk over to the elevator, and as Michel and Luc get in, so does a man pushing an empty wheelchair, taking up the last little bit of space. Luc notices the man wearing an “I was there!” shirt from ReVival 69, right here in Montreal. Luc remembers opening the show against Steve Lemieux. He’s very, very glad that Lemieux is just a memory for him right now.

“I’ll just take the stairs,” Dahlia talk-shouts through the elevator doors. “I’ll see you up there!”

Luc minds his own business during the trip up, whereas his social butterfly of a brother makes small talk, asking the man with the wheelchair what he’s in for. Luc tries not to eavesdrop as he hears the man say that he’s picking up his elderly mother. He blocks out the details that Michel gives out about their mother, and tries not to be angry about the fact that he’s giving her info to a total stranger. And finally, he fails to suppress his frustration when Michel notices the man’s shirt and quickly informs him that “hey, my brother over there is Luc Labelle! He was on that show!”

Labelle reluctantly turns his head, and he immediately sees the man beaming. “Of course! I remember your match! I took my son there! You know, I’m not usually this type of guy, but I know it’d mean a hell of a lot to my boy if I could get him an autograph from you.”

Luc turns his head back, staring straight ahead at the elevator doors. “What was your son’s reaction when I won?”

The man looks down and awkwardly taps the wheelchair. “Well, uh…he was cheering for Lemieux in that one. But still, you know, you’re the Alias Champion and everything, it’d be cool for him to h-“

“I only sign autographs for fans. Sorry.”

Luc knows that the man’s stunned silence would be replaced with profanity if he thought he could take the Alias Champion in the slightest. Instead, the doors open to the sixth floor, and the man waits until he steps outside and out of earshot, and even then, he can only muster up the courage to mutter “fuckin’ asshole” under his breath.

Inside the elevator, Michel is much less afraid to dress Luc down. “Jesus Christ, Luc, what the fuck was that? Tell me, what do you gain from pissing off a random fan?”

“The guy’s kid should have better taste,” Double L offers. “Besides, didn’t he say he’s picking up his mother? He should be focusing on her, not on PRIME.”

“That’s rich for you to say.”

Luc’s not sure he’s heard his brother correctly, so he stares him down to make sure. “What was that, Mic?”

The door opens to the seventh floor as the two of them look at each other. Dahlia is standing just outside, waiting for the two of them. Luc has two prevailing thoughts. The first is wondering how the fuck she got upstairs so fast. The second is that he hopes Michel has the good sense to drop this stand-off in front of her.

“Nothing,” says the older brother.

Luc nods, and they step out of the lift and make the trek towards their mother’s room. Dahlia offers to stay just outside the door, and the brothers agree that this maybe isn’t the best time for Meet The Parents Night.

Finally, they walk into the cold, unforgivingly beige hospital room. Luc flicks his gaze upwards for a split second and sees how pale his mother is. He stops in his tracks and lets Michel take the lead in greeting her.

His hearing suddenly has an underwater quality to it, but he can make out Michel and Chantal exchanging small talk about how she feels, and how she’s been eating here. Luc slinks into an empty seat on the other side of the room, and he’s immediately handed a small brochure by a non-plussed nurse. Looking down at it, he reads:

TREATMENT OF ALCOHOL WITHDRAWAL

As he flips through the diagrams and the phone numbers for local in-patient rehab centres, Luc tries to imagine what his mother would be like without alcohol. He tries to picture her responsibly taking Diazepam, and not requiring a wine cooler while making dinner or a glass of brandy before bed. He even tries to picture her during the few days of abstinence leading up to her hospitalization.

He has a lot of trouble envisioning any of it.

Finally, Michel looks up and forces a sort of half-smile. He beckons Luc towards their mother’s bedside. Chantal looks over at her youngest son, who can’t decipher the look on her face.

He takes one step towards her, and then almost involuntarily turns the other way. Quickly, he speedwalks out of the room and towards Dahlia, who rushes to follow Luc, who stays silent as she asks if everything’s okay.

They make it all the way outside and halfway to Michel’s car before manages to catch up to them.

“Hey!” yells Michel. “Couldn’t even talk to her? You couldn’t spend a couple minutes?”

“No! I couldn’t!” Luc screams from across the lot as Dahlia awkwardly watches on. “And what do I owe her anyways?”

Michel gets in his younger brother’s face and lowers his tone to a near whisper. “She tried to quit for you, and now she’s in here, and you won’t even give her a word. And then that little stunt with the guy who wanted an autograph? Why are you so committed to making people feel as badly as possible?”

Luc doesn’t have a response. He just sulks his way back to the car, mentally preparing for the most acrimonious ride home ever.

—

REVIVAL 77

Columbia, SC

10:49 PM

Luc Labelle just finished announcing his Alias Title stipulations. He’s barely slept in the past two weeks, and he’s barely seen his brother, neither. As a matter of fact, today was the first time since the hospital debacle that they’ve seen each other, and Luc hasn’t said a word to him today other than during his promo.

He decides to change that. “Hey, Mic.”

“Yeah?”

Hesitantly, the champ says something that he rarely ever says. “I’m sorry.”

He gets an unexpected response. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown up like that, I realize that it’s tough for you.”

Luc tilts his head in a conciliatory manner. “Well, it’s not easy on you, though. You’re kind of stuck in the middle in all this, and I should recognize that more.”

Michel nods. “Thank you. Have you gone to see her at all?”

“You know the answer to that. No, I haven’t. You?”

“Everyday.”

“Good.” Luc pauses. “Good. She doing okay?”

“A little bit better everyday. I told her that I could stay with her, but she said I should come see you instead.”

Luc disguises his surprise at that information by looking down into his PRIME FC Openweight Championship. He’s hoping to see a sense of pride in his reflection, a celebration of the blood and sweat that he’s put into his PRIME tenure so far.

Instead, all he sees is his mother’s eyes.

—

FOUR DAYS BEFORE REVIVAL 78

MONTREAL, QC

2:04 PM

Luc is back home, and he’s trying to stay awake as Dahlia talks about a movie she went to see. He’s not drifting off due to boredom or anything. Truth be told, this is perhaps the most interesting part of his day. However, this day has also been the result of his fourth consecutive sleepless night, and the prelude to what will likely be a fifth. A six-night streak, like the one that he broke with four hours of sleep last week, is dangerously within reach.

When his eyes are open, he feels an unspeakable urge to close his eyes. The moment he does, he loses any inclination towards rest he ever had. Terribly frustrating.

Dahlia notices. “Luc, can you try to take a nap? I hate to see this happen to you.”

He shakes out the cobwebs and looks up at his girlfriend. “That won’t work, but don’t worry. I’m fine, and if ever I don’t feel fine, I’ll tell you.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she smiles at him anyways. “Okay, I just don’t want you to be too exhausted during your match in a few days, you know? I’m covering the show, so I’m supposed to be impartial, but I do want you to keep that title.”

Luc rubs his temples. “I know this doesn’t help my case, but who am I facing again?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re defending against Blaze Claymore.”

“And which one is that?”

“Hasn’t Michel been quizzing you on the roster?”

“Yeah, but I’ve also been awake for five days. Please don’t expect too much brainpower from me.”

“Fair, fair. He’s the actor one, you know? He’s good, but it’s your ruleset. Do you need me to remind you of your ruleset, too?”

“Ha ha.” Luc stands up and throws his gym bag over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s see if a workout’ll put me to sleep.”

“Worth a shot. Text me if you need anything!”

As Luc heads out the door, he neglects to inform her that his vision is too blurry at the moment to text.

—

Despite his immense fatigue, Luc has already put in one hell of a workout. After a brutal training session and some shadow boxing and rope jumping, Luc proceeded to crank out five sets of bodyweight squats, with the last two sets being to failure. Volume, not weight, is what he believes to be optimal for MMA training.

Right now, he’s testing his lungs. He knows that he’ll be subjected to five-minute intervals of violence in his match against Claymore. Luc Labelle, not one to underestimate how fast the pace can be in PRIME, is attempting to sprint on the treadmill for five minutes straight.

Three minutes in, Luc’s legs are faltering. They were already cooked from the squatting, and now they’re feeling heavier by the second.

He fails to power through it. His left leg gives out and he violently face-plants directly on the treadmill, which zips him brutally onto the floor with an impossibly loud thud.

Luc checks his face, and he feels a faucet of blood spurting from his nose. He checks for structural damage and luckily nothing seems broken, but this still isn’t ideal.

Ragged as all hell, Le Bourreau stumbles to his feet and attempts to get back on the treadmill, his shirt stained crimson. While he resets his timer to five minutes, the apartment’s doorman barges in.

“Listen, man, you gotta get out! You can’t do shit like this!”

Luc decides to pick a fight as he slams the treadmill’s off button. “Yeah? Why not, huh?”

The doorman scoffs. “Because this is an apartment gym, man! It’s meant as a place for old ladies to do zumba or whatever, it’s not somewhere for you to live out your Ronnie Coleman fantasies!”

Luc, still leaking, probably a 6 on the Muta Scale, gets in the doorman’s face. “You’re lucky I like living here,” he utters before he makes his way upstairs.

Luc trudges through his apartment door and Dahlia immediately notices his busted nose. She hops into action, getting him an ice pack and laying him down on the bed, her anxieties calmed only slightly by his assurance that he’s fine.

Once he’s patched up, she lays down next to him. “What are you thinking about?”

He doesn’t know what to answer. He could talk about how he’s worried about how little he was able to actually study Blaze Claymore’s style. He could talk about how he feels like he’s not appreciative enough of Michel. He could, of course, talk about why he hasn’t been visiting his mother.

Instead, he veers towards the cautious, unemotional path. “Meh, nothing too important.”

Dahlia doesn’t believe him. In a tone that shows that she doesn’t quite know how to phrase her statement, she just goes for it. “You know, obviously it’s not great that she’s withdrawing, but it’s a sign that she’s ready to stop drinking. That’s something.”

Luc shrugs. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. I’m just…scared about the fact she did it so recklessly and so quickly and so, I don’t know, impulsively. It makes me wonder if I…if I had anything to do with it.”

Immediately, his shoulders are wrapped in Dahlia’s arm, and he feels her chin pressed against his back. “Don’t think about that, come on. Let’s just go to sleep together.”

It’s mid-day, but Luc does try. He closes his eyes, and he attempts to ignore the flow of anxious thoughts interrupting the nothingness. He notices that Dahlia has fallen asleep. He pries her arms off of his shoulders and, admitting defeat for a fifth day in a row, opens his eyes.

He’s going to go for a run.

—

Later that night, Luc posts a short promo addressing Blaze Claymore.

“Good ideas benefit from their leader’s strength. GREAT ideas can survive their leader’s weakness. I don’t know which of those two sentences apply to me right now. I am in a state that I’d call far from ideal, and I have a hell of a competitor in Blaze Claymore waiting in the wings for me.

“It’s been a long month. But it’s been a month of holding the PRIME FC Openweight Championship. It’s been a month of pride, and I plan on earning that pride. I picked the rules, and I picked them because I want to be the best, and I believe that the type of fighter that can win a match under my ruleset is the type of fighter worth being.

“I think the MMA ruleset is a great idea. And in a moment where I have Blaze Claymore coming to try and rip my championship away from me, in a moment where the world has decided to send obstacle after obstacle in my way, I need to prove that my idea can survive.

“I can change PRIME. I will change PRIME. And Blaze Claymore is the first obstacle. Hopefully, he isn’t the last.”