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Jay sits alone in his hotel room. On the edge of the bed, staring straight into nothing. He hasn’t even showered yet, his sweaty hair drying crusty against his scalp. It’s making his skin crawl but he doesn’t know if he can get up. He did put a shirt on before he left the venue but that’s all he could manage.
He can feel himself smile, the sick, manic smile that crosses his face in the ring, so he doesn’t break. Why can’t he break? He’s completely alone, there’s no one to play his emotions. He slips off the bed involuntarily, his hands pushing into his drying hair. Jay’s shoulders are shaking but he can’t tell why yet. His arms are covered in goosebumps, the consequence of letting his sweat dry. He pulls at his hair trying to get a grasp on the new world he’s created for himself.
“How-“ his voice doesn’t work though so it comes out as a whisper.
He tries again “how-“ working but pathetic and squeaky.
“How did the world stop. For the Catalyst. No no-“ He’s starting to feel frantic again. “No no no i keep things moving this is not the way it’s supposed to be.”
A sudden gasping sob.
“Everything-“ He’s jabbing at his own chest, talking to no one. “Everything in professional wrestling happens because of me.”
Another sob comes out and images of all the people he’s outgrown waver in his mind. David, Okada, Kenny, Alex, Chris. He’s surpassed them all, everyone who ever tried to make him better, everyone who was supposed to be better than him. He climbed over and through them.
Suddenly his skin is burning and itchy and he needs to solve this now. Through the tears, through the sore muscles and stiff joints. He knows sitting still for too long right after a match is a bad idea but he hadn’t thought about it earlier. He strips everything off, and rips the elastic out of his hair, stepping under a near boiling hot shower stream. The temperature makes him cringe at first but he doesn’t move.
He deserves this he thinks, all the pain he’s caused doesn’t even come close to a shower that’s too hot. So he can endure this at the very least. But the thing that happens when you allow yourself to get used to an extreme temperature is that the receptors stop reacting, causing your skin to go numb.
He stands there until he stops feeling physically dirty, until his skin is red and desensitized. He still feels dirty, but at least the literal grime is off of him so it’s one less thing to think about. He’s dizzy as he puts on clean clothes and ends up back in the bedroom.
Jay realizes, in a daze, that the sweatshirt he’s wearing is one that Alex gave him. He takes it off and puts on one of his merch shirts instead. That doesn’t feel right either. Jay hasn’t dared to look in a mirror yet, not since Eddie pinned him one, two, three. Not since Finlay destroyed the last few moments Jay would ever have in his home. But just wearing the shirt makes him feel like an imposter. He’s not those words anymore.
Wearily he sinks down onto the bed and turns his phone over from its position, facedown on the bedspread. He doesn’t even need to turn it on, it’s lit up with text messages- most of them from Phantasmo- and it makes him feel like his heart is sinking right out of his body.
He let these people down.