How to Feel

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How to Feel

Post by Quincy Reagan on Mon Apr 10, 2017 5:42 pm

He had never heard of a gut throbbing in pain, but somehow, that was exactly what was going on. His back ached as well, but his gut was throbbing. He wasn’t too surprised, though; twenty minutes of total non-stop action can only be expected to make someone’s stomach turn.

His gut throbbed, his back ached, but those are the things he knew. The facts, what could be established without doubt. The struggles resided within his mind, his emotions. How did he really feel?

He and Kevin Owens had put on an absolute clinic. It was a catch-as-catch-can classic from bell to bell. A bout that made sure to wake the crowd up for the rest of the show. An exhibition that lived up to its hype so well that all men involved could not deny the respect they had grown for each other. Yes, that was another thing he was sure of: he had now respected Kevin Owens.

But goddamnit, it should’ve been his. He was undefeated before tonight. Momentum and ability were both on his side. That RPW World Championship felt so damn close. But there he had laid. One, two, three. He heard the referee’s hand slap against the mat for those three death tolls. He had felt Kevin Owens hook his leg. He had seen the lights shining above him. He heard the crowd chant the numbers. But something wouldn’t let him push out of it. He wanted to, oh goodness, he wanted to. All that had to be done was to push his head away, to force his leg from his grip, to draw his shoulder up just a little. But it never happened.

So what’s a man meant to do? He was a father. Someone two growing children looked up to. Someone who had been through much worse. Someone who taught himself honor because no one else would. Could he allow himself to be bitter? Would it be fair to feel envy when, at the next pay-per-view event, Kevin Owens’ name is announced as ‘challenger’? How did he really feel?

He was taken out of his thoughts when Ted the Technician patted him on the back as he rounded the corner towards the locker room. After their passing pleasantries, he grabs a water bottle from a table just before the locker room and enters the door.

Jesse James daps him up as they switch places - Quincy Reagan in and Road Dogg out. It’s a large room, with a row of at least twenty lockers along the wall. He sits on a steel chair against the lockers after grabbing what has to be his duffle bag. In that same time, his phone goes off.

He reaches in his bag and pulls out a cased iPhone 6s. “Sheila” read the caller I.D., and in the moment he saw, he once again found himself pondering how he really felt.

Quincy Reagan
Hello.

His greeting was simple. Neither happy nor sad; neither excited nor angry; neither positive or negative. Almost like a symbol of their relationship at this point, his greeting was stale. It was simply a “Hello.”
Sheila
You shook his hand?!

That, on the other hand, was definitely said with emotion. Disgust roared in between each syllable.

Quincy Reagan
Whatchu hollering for, girl?

Sheila
You had the nerve to shake that man’s hand? After the shit he pulled?

Quincy Reagan
You talking about Owens?

Sheila
I dunno, Q, who else would be talking about? Ol’ ignant ass acting nigga.

Quincy Reagan
Aight, you can calm down now Sheila. Yeah I shook the dude’s hand, why acting a fool about it?

Sheila
After what those two did to me, in front of your kids. You’re gonna shake his hand?

Quincy Reagan
After a match like we had, yeah, Sheila, I’mma shake his hand. My kids should’ve been in the crowd watching that happen, too.

Sheila
Oh, they saw it. I let them watch on the TV. But never again.

Quincy Reagan
Because I decided to be the bigger man? You mean to tell me they had a fit over that?

Sheila
Nah. Nah, they were proud.

Quincy Reagan
And that doesn’t make you proud?

Sheila
No. It terrifies me.

He heard the three beeps signifying the end of a call. He dropped the phone from his ear and looked at the ground. He didn’t know how to feel.
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Quincy Reagan

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