Will Success Spoil Sebastian Gold: Finale (III/III)

Trust.

The hardest thing to earn

The easiest thing to lose

Unless you’re an idiot like me.

The Sebastiáns were a trusting family.

My mother taught me to hold on to trust.

Believe people.

If they lie, give them another chance

If they cheat, give them one more.

If, after all that, they still hurt you, then blame yourself. It was definitely your fault all along.

My mother blamed herself for my dad’s girlfriends.

My sister blamed herself for not being able to control my addictions.

I blamed myself for not speaking to either in years.

'Til now. --- The Funeral, Before Revival 69.

Dad's funeral is a nightmare. My brother is oscillating between sobbing and zoned-out numbness.

My relatives meanwhile suck at pretending to be sad. Nobody misses Dad. I hear jokes about his only legacy being his gambling debts. And those better be jokes because I'm nearing my bullshit limit for the day.

Through a window, I spy Dio in a small garden in front of the funeral home. When I get to him, he's crying.

He breaks down in my arms. Tells me he's been sobbing all day, not for Dad, but for me. 'Cause if I keep going the way I'm going, I'm gonna wind up in the same overpriced box sooner rather than later.

I can't disagree. So I give my brother a hug cause that's all I've got on me now. It'll need to be enough because when we break apart, I see them.

For the first time in years, I see my mother and my sister. They've changed so much, yet still look just the same.

My sister, Marie-Rosa, is a nurse, a caregiver, and a wonderful mom who has always struggled, which has brought Marie-Rosa plenty of trouble on its own. She took care of me and Dio; I guess she had to. Somebody needed to be the man of the house. She left home when I was eight and never looked back. I hated her going at the time. But Dad doted on her to the point she couldn't live without his approval. Broke his heart when she graduated early and hightailed it to the opposite coast for school.

I understand it now.

The last time I saw Marie-Rosa, she was heartbroken. It was four years ago, and her alcoholic brother needed a place to "get back on his feet." In Goldspeak, that translates to "get addicted to painkillers" and "steal whatever you need; you'll be dead soon anyway."

So that's what I did.

One day, Sis asked if I had taken money from her wallet.

I told her no.

She asked again, this time with a tremor in her voice. "Please just tell me if you did, we can get you help-"

I shook my head. Deflected back. "No, of course not. Why are you being paranoid?"

That's when her heart broke.

See, she'd installed a camera. Saw me take the money. She knew what I'd done; she just prayed I wouldn't look her in the eye and lie. But that's what I did, and it broke her heart. Parents lied, not siblings. Not us.

I left the next day. She didn't explicitly kick me out, but I knew I was no longer welcome. I understood.

Last I heard, she was taking care of Mom. No wonder she looks exhausted.

"I thought you weren't coming," Dio says. He wipes his tears and composes himself like a good son. He kisses Mom on the cheek and hugs Marie-Rosa. My tongue strains for words that don't come, which is strange because there's so much I want to know.

Are you still angry with me?

Did you miss me all these years?

And for Mom: Did you really ask Dad to kick me out? After I was outed? And if you did, how have you slept? --- I wonder how you've been sleeping these days, Dawkins.

To think you once shared a warm bed with a giggling baby in the next room. I bet you miss that sleep. I bet you toss and turn, begging for the rest of an unburned soul, but that's not an option for you anymore.

I'll tell you who definitely hasn't been sleeping, Violent Purple.

She's been by Crash's side the whole time. Like she's standing guard.

Same with his Parents. I challenge you to spend one minute looking into his father's eyes because I couldn't. They'll never be the same after this. None of us will be.

And me?

I'm silently apologizing for dragging him into this mess...

for not being there...

for being able to stop it...

...like a Hero should.

He hasn't woken up, Dawkins.

The doctors don't know if he ever will.

His blood is on your hands.

As for me, you’ll be happy to know your fists did the most damage. I’m trained to walk away from a crash, but you knew that. You didn’t put me in that seat to hurt me. You put me in there so I could watch what were maybe the last moments of my friend’s life...

This is who you are now.

And as far as I'm concerned, this is who you'll be forever.

I wish I could say it wasn’t too late, but it is.

There is no apology acceptable for what you did.

I will enact your penance at Ultraviolence.

Your sentence is to look up at the lights at our tie-breaking match. And to listen as they cheer upon me, Sebastian fucking Gold, clinching his third title defense when you couldn't even manage one.

I'd feel sorry for you if you didn't deserve it. --- “He goes by Sebastian now, Mom,” Dio tells her while I search for words, any words, to say.

“Why?” Mom retorts and turns to me. “The name your father and I gave you isn't good enough, aaah? Come, kiss your mother. What's the matter with you?”

I kiss her cheek like a dutiful son and robotically embrace her. The hug isn’t warm at all, just as always. We break apart, and she stumbles a little.

“Mom, you should sit.” Marie-Rosa tells her. She does seem to be struggling a bit in the hot sun. “You took your pills, right?”

"Stop pestering me. Diomante, lead your mother to the bench, my knees-"

"Yes, momma-" Dio practically falls over himself to help her over to the bench. Typical. Always the favorite.

With Mom out of earshot, Marie-Rosa starts digging through her monstrously large handbag, finds the pill bottle, opens and examines the contents with scanner-like eyes.

“Well fuck me, she really did take her meds.” She says. “She’s been fighting me on these meds like crazy, Bani. You have no idea.”

Always looking out for others. Whether they like it or not. 

“Is she sick?”

"Not according to her. Do you have a cigarette?

“No.”

“Are you serious???”

“Yeah, I’m sober-sober! Really! You can trust me this time.”

“Jesus Christ, the one time-”

“Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t, I’m quitting.” Her hands shaking, “Tomorrow. You want anything from the Seven/Eleven?” She asks.

“Smoking kills, ya know,” I say.

“That’s the idea.” Marie Rosa says. And it’s only now I see how exhausted she looks.

"Is everything alright?"

"No, Bani. Things are not going well. But I'm not getting into it at my father's funeral in shoes this uncomfortable."

"Can you at least tell me if mom's dying-"

"She's..." Marie-Rosa stops and considers her words carefully. "...getting help. The meds are for anxiety. Not life-threatening. Though it might be, depending on what you jump off next."

"Oh, so you watch me?" I say, a grin on my face."

"Someone's gotta tell Mom you're not dead."

"Speaking of which, you gonna go inside? The flowers are nice. I paid for a swanky coffin, too."

"Shoulda saved your money." She takes a long, pensive look at the funeral home, forcing a decision I'm sure she's been putting off.

"No," she finally says. "I'm not going in. I said goodbye to that man a long time ago. I don't see the use in doing it again when he's not listening."

“Then," I say, making sure I'm looking her right in the eye. "While you can still hear me, I’m sorry. I'm sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah….it’s not.”

“It’s alright to say. Look, be honest. Anything you’ve ever wanted to say to me, please just get it out. It’ll save both of us years of therapy.” I say.

Marie-Rosa lets her rigid shoulders slouch in the almost-summer air.

“No,” she says. “You took the money ‘cause you were sick, and I get that now. I forgive you, Bani, I do. But I can’t…trust you. Maybe not ever again. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to let you back in. Not with how things are right now."

"What are you not telling me?" I ass.

"You know, you're the only one mom prays for, yeah?" She says, deflecting.

"She say why?"

Marie Rosa shrugs. "Apparently, you need them the most," she says.

With that, she leaves me alone to go buy her cigarettes.

I stare at the garden and wonder if I just suffered another loss. --- I stayed by Crash’s side as long as they’d let me.

It’s not fair.

Crash has saved me so many times

And when he needed me, I was useless.

I still feel useless.

And angry.

Angry at myself, sure, but mostly at you, Dawkins. I offered you a way out, and you still do this? I don’t care what your reasons are.

I'm sure it’s maddening to see Max hold Kai hostage, forcing her to play dress-up, but the Red Army’s not gonna do shit about that! You know who would’ve? You know who woulda stormed those gates with everything he had to save Kai. US, the fucking HEROES, you idiot. Crash, TAL, and I would have fought by your side to the end, happily. We wouldn’t have made you lie down at Manhunt or attack your former friends. If you’d just chosen right over might, your soul mighta have survived this ordeal.

But it hasn’t. And it's obvious.

What will you do, I wonder, when Kai sees what you’ve become? I’m guessing that was their plan from the beginning.

Find a desperate man.

Use his fear to turn him into a monster.

Then, when the woman he loves, the person who makes him human, returns, she won't recognize him at all. You're not the Dawkins she knew. That man is dead, and she will mourn him: the man who died trying to save her.

But the brittle thorned husk that remains? The thing that calls itself Bryan Dawkins nowadays? She'll reject him. For her safety. For the safety of your child. No court will let you keep your son if she wants to protect him from you. Not after what you've done.

You will end up alone, Dawkins.

With nothing to love but the Army.

It's the ending you deserve. --- I take a seat next to Mom in the garden. Dio's been called back inside, so it's just the two of us, on a bench, estranged and silent. I almost get up and leave until she says:

"Are you eating? You look thin."

Hey! I've put on some muscle! Not a ton but...whatever, sue me, some of us like to stay lean.

"I'm on a regimented diet designed by a board of nutritionists who want to kill me with chicken breast. Yes, Mom, I'm a pro wrestler. I'm eating. How are you doing?"

"My husband is dead. And I dare not go inside to mourn him." She looks through a window at the gathered family. "They're talk, Bani. I can't listen to all the talk about him."

Dear god, Mom, you've been divorced for a decade. Are you really calling him your 'husband' still?

"I know. The least they could do is gossip quietly."

She laughs. This is nice. This may actually-

“So, Bayani, is there a woman in your life?”

And it was going so well. I sigh. It's best not to push the issue.

“Nope. It’s so difficult these days to find someone, especially with my schedule-

“Because cousin Amy has a friend who is a lovely girl, gorgeous girl - let me show you her picture-”

“That’s-that’s okay, Mom. Pray all you want. It’s not gonna happen.”

She tilts her head and looks at me, taken aback.

"Do you think that's what I pray for?" She asks.

"Isn't it?"

“No." She goes back to examining a flower. "I pray that one day you’ll want to live, Bani.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know it’s why you do the things you do, Bani, why you ran off to Hollywood, why you chose this way of life. You want to die. Your father was the same. And by the time he got what he wanted, he-he-”

Upset, she loses her train of thought in a fog. Sebastian takes her hand.

“Mom, please trust me when I say I don’t have a death wish. I do what I do because I want to live. Have you seen me on ACE, Mom? I've got a belt, I've got fans chanting my for christssake-”

“Now, don’t get worked up. There’s no reason to be upset.”

“I’m not upset, I’m frustrated. Just…just trust me, okay? I want to live, Mom. Your prayers were answered! But I'm never getting a girlfriend."

I throw up some jazz hands to add some pizazz to the point, which she does not find amusing. After a moment of silence:

“Okay.”

"Do you believe me?"

"No. But I will try."

She gave my hand a pat that was somehow warmer than any hug she’d given me before. It’s a lovely moment, so naturally, I must destroy it.

“Did you really ask Dad to kick me out of the house? Or did he lie about that?”

She is silent.

“Because I never asked. And it’s been haunting me since I was seventeen, and I-I-"

I falter. The silence is so loud, I can't talk over it.

In my mind, Mom turns to me and says:

“Bani, I’m proud of you for what you do. When I told you to leave, it wasn’t because I was rejecting you. It was because I knew your father would make your life hell. I couldn't protect you from him, and you were always so independent...Making you leave when you were still a child was the hardest thing I ever did, and I regret it to this day. But it was out of love. Everything I ever did was out of love.”

But instead, she tells me the humidity is getting to her.

I get it.

Sometimes, you have to tap out to avoid further injury.

Or because it hurts too damn much.

There’s no shame in that, I think.

But tapping out to run away?

I don’t do that anymore. Shame she still does.

Mom goes back to my sister; that’s all I get for the day.

She returns from the garden just as Marie-Rosa is lighting a cigarette.

“I knew I smelled it on you earlier,” Mom says.

“I’m quitting tomorrow. Stay here. I’ll get the car.”

I hug Dio, and we go back to the memorial, but I don’t remember it.

I was thinking about my upcoming defense against Sage. My inevitable confrontation with Dawkins. And how neither of them could hurt me more than family. --- Still kicking myself for not tapping to that armbar at Manhunt.

Messed up my shoulder, my arm, and every bastard with a title shot had it enemy #1.

‘Cause of this thing, I barely beat Lynch. Sage had me on the ropes till I caught a lucky cradle.

And I thought for sure Dawkins was gonna rip out my arm during that tag match.

All because I couldn’t let Bruh get five points.

Woulda made no difference.

Stupid.

I let pride get in the way.

Forgot sometimes, it’s smart to tap out and fight another day.

Now, I can barely train before the biggest match of my life. My arm and shoulder are barely rehabbed enough to fight.

But to be honest.

I don’t care if I never fight again.

Rip off my arm? I’ll beat you to death with it and die bleeding as I pin your corpse.

Neither of us is leaving that ring intact, Dawkins.

In fact, if there were any real justice, they’d let me kill you. --- Ontario, Before Ultraviolence

I'm in a bit of a dark place at the moment. It's a week before my final title defense, and my arm is on fire.

I don’t know if I can handle the pain.

I feel like a failure.

Haven't been going to meetings. Why am I such a fuck up!

I lie awake in my hotel room.

The craving creeps over me like a shadow. And from those shadows, an old friend emerges. He's thin, grinning, and clad in gold. I lie still as my own Gold Herald leans down and whispers in my ear.

Gold Herald: It hurts. You'll never beat Dawkins in all that pain.

Sebastian: Shut up.

Gold Herald: The liquor store closes in twenty minutes.

The Herald beckons me. I feel myself getting up, putting on my clothes, and walking downstairs. He follows close behind, whispering.

Gold Herald: Just a little something to ease the pain. It’ll help. Remember how easy things felt when you were drunk? This is the smart choice. --- The clerk behind the register rings up my whiskey. I don’t make eye contact. I take the bottle while he reaches for the receipt. I don’t need a bag.

I blink, and I’m outside the doors of the hotel. I’m shaking. Sweating.

The doorman gestures me inside with a smile.

I stare at him and back down at the bottle in my hand.

So here’s the moment of truth...

When we find out if success will spoil Sebastian Gold.

That’s a stupid question. Of course, it will.

Gold Herald: What are you waiting for? In you go.

Sebastian: HEAR YE! YEAR YE!

Gold Herald: Hey, that's my line!

I run up to the taxi stand and use it as a podium. It's about time the Herald got his own dose of proclaiming.

Sebastian: I do hereby declare that I, a goddman fool, know exactly what will happen if I walk into that door with this bottle. It will be gone by morning, and I will hate myself more than I ever thought possible. I will start lying. The cycle will repeat. All the steps I've made towards redemption will wash away like footprints on the sand. I proclaim that if I don't end the cycle now, I will end as hollow and bitter as Brian Dawkins.

I walk inside, past the imaginary screaming Herald, back into reality, into the lobby, up to the front desk, and, finally, I slam the whiskey on the counter.

“Happy Pride," I say. "Give this to a gay person.”

I head back to my room and sail off into an easy sleep. --- By now, you must know there's no redemption left for you, Dawkins.

No path back to the light.

I was a trusting man.

And you took that kindness for weakness.

Slammed my head in with my trophy.

And made to watch my best friend suffer.

Now, rage has taken the place of trust.

Blood in place of love.

All I can do now is hope,

that when I'm done with you,

I can still call myself a Hero.