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James Storm has a lot of experience with alcohol. Some would say it's his permanent accessory and he can't argue with that. After all, he's rarely without a beer bottle when he's out of the ring.
He's a beer-drinking redneck cowboy. It's his thing.
And if there's one thing Storm knows, it's that there's a point when you're on a bender where you've drunk too much – or is it too little? – whatever, just the wrong amount – where you stop drinking and you start thinking.
A dangerous past-time, thinking. Especially when you're drinking all alone in a shitty motel room because your tag-team partner and friend decided that he wanted a Feast-or-Fired briefcase more than he wanted to be your friend and stepped over you to get it.
Would he have done the same thing to Gunner? To be honest, Storm's not entirely sure. He said that he would in the interview, but he's torn on the issue. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. What would he really have done at the time?
Part of him wants to say no – to say he's better than that, he would never betray his partner – but to be honest, he really isn't. He wanted that briefcase just as much as
anyone in that ring.
But... he wouldn't have kicked Gunner's legs out from underneath him. Crotched him on the ring ropes. Walked over his limp body to get it. Would he? He would've faced Gunner and fought like a man. Right?
Yes. No. Maybe. God damn, he doesn't even know any more.
He takes another swig from the bottle and sighs. There's not nearly enough alcohol in this beer to get him to stop brooding.
It's dark in the motel room. Nothing to see but the flickering light of the TV showing a re-run of a football game he doesn't care about because neither of the teams are his. And he's the picture of pathetic: sitting on the bed drinking alone at well past midnight.
It's a crappy room, too. The walls are damp, the mattress is lumpy, and he had to pay the whole bill by himself for this 'luxury' because he and Gunner aren't talking to each other, let alone rooming.
Screwed over by Gunner again.
Storm examines the beer bottle. Looks like any other beer bottle. Identical to the one he smashed over Chris Harris's head way back when, even. Why do all his tag-teams end like that? He needs to stop bringing bottles to the ring. It doesn't end well.
Maybe it was karma. A what goes around, comes around kinda thing. Storm was an asshole to Chris Harris and wrecked their friendship, so now all his partnerships end with him getting screwed over and stabbed in the back. Punishment. Karma.
Maybe he deserves everything he gets.
Storm necks the rest of the bottle and starts on another one straight away. Tosses the empty on the carpet with the others. Time to get shit-faced.
Because if there's one other thing Storm knows about alcohol aside from the "If you start thinking too much, drink more" thing, it's that alcohol is a wonderful alternative to feeling like yourself. And right now, he wants to feel like anybody else except James Storm, asshole human being with asshole back-stabbing friends.
Hey. At least beer's still his friend. Right?