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Shawn's POV
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I was in a mood. I had been being short with everyone lately, even Paul. I knew that wasn't fair, especially since the guy had been by my side through everything, but not even that guilt could pull me out of my downward spiral.
I just wasn't the same without Kat.
I was just so pissed, all the time recently. I wanted to hit someone, or break something.
I threw my fist at the wall, but just my luck, the shitty hotel wall gave in and my hand went threw it. So then I was stuck with my fist in the wall. Fantastic.
I groaned. This was not helping my mood. "Hey, Paul?"
He came around the corner, to see me attached to the wall. "What the fuck did you do?"
"What does it look like I did?" I shot back.
"You're a dumbass."
I rolled my eyes, because I knew he was right. "Yeah, thanks. I got that. Can you help me out?"
Between the both of us, we wrestled my fist from the wall. My hand was cut and bleeding, so I had to go to the bathroom and wash it up. I came to the conclusion that Paul was definitely right: I was a dumbass.
What good did I really think would come from sending a right hook at the wall?
When I came back, trying to wrap my index finger -unsuccessfully- with a bandaid, Paul was already moving one of the taller hotel plants in front of the hole I'd made. The bandage was aggravating me, because I couldn't get it on. If Kat were there, she'd know better than I on that kind of thing.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? Kat wasn't there.
Paul's voice snapped me from my thoughts. "Can you see it?"
If I tilted my head just right, and took two steps back... I could still see it. I cringed, both internally and outwardly. "Russia can see it," I replied.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. He stepped back to where I was standing and muttered again.
I finally gave up on the bandaid, which wouldn't sit right, and accepted my fate of bleeding out. I could see the tombstone: "Here lies Shawn, the fucking idiot that punched a wall". I snickered to myself, which caused Paul to glance my way to make sure I was still sane.
"Look, let's just leave it and hope they don't see it," I suggested. I knew that was a terrible plan, but I didn't have a better one.
"They're going to see it," Paul argued. "...but, maybe if we leave fast enough, we'll be out of state by then."
"I like your thinking." I tore my gaze from the gash in the wall and dropped down onto my bed with a defeated sigh.
Paul sat across from me, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you going to tell me why you decided to take your anger out on the perfectly innocent hotel?" he asked with a raised brow.
I didn't meet his eye contact, tensing at the conversation. "You know why." It was a non-answer, but at the same time, it was true. Paul already knew everything that I could possibly be upset about.
He let out a disappointed huff before standing and grabbing his bag. "Fine. Let's go, then."
***
I tried to ignore everyone but Paul while we were in the arena. I wasn't up for any niceties or chit-chat. Or bullshit, most likely.
I was not thrilled, obviously, when I was suddenly joined by Bret Hart. I hated his guts, he hated mine. That was just the way it was. He was probably at the very bottom of the list titled "People I actually want to talk to".
I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling as he made his way over. He held his hand out to me, like he really thought I would shake it.
"Hey, congratulations. I heard you're going to be a father."
I felt a chill went through me when he said that. The hand that had just learned its lesson only hours before was already clenching into a fist again.
"Was," I corrected.
"Excuse me?"
I couldn't help myself. I decked the bastard. I couldn't even stop there. I just started wailing on him. I was getting out all my frustrations on Bret, and it felt good.
He sent back an attack of his own, but I didn't care. I started this, and I was going to finish it.
"I was going to be a father, you dick," I spat. I didn't even care that we were being pulled apart.
I only settled myself when I saw Paul holding me back. Bret was being held by his own people, wiping the blood from his nose.
"Shawn, he didn't know. He didn't know, okay? You know how the tabloids are." Paul's voice pulled me closer to reality, but not close enough. So what if Bret didn't know? He still deserved to have his face punched in.
"It doesn't matter," I told him. "Because now they all do." He looked confused at first, before I directed his attention to the rest of the locker room, who had seen and heard it all.
Paul opened his mouth to say something else, but I didn't listen. I didn't need any more of his sympathetic bullshit.
I stormed past him, all of them, to Vince's office.
Vince seemed slightly startled as I slammed the door shut. He looked up from his desk with a puzzled expression before I started ranting to him.
I don't know what possessed me, but I felt the need to just unleash all my feelings on Vince. I needed someone who wasn't Paul, telling me everything would be okay even when we both knew it wasn't. I needed someone that wasn't Kev and Scott, who were so distant that it felt like they were out of the loop. I needed someone that wasn't Kat, because half of my problems were about her.
So, Vince it was.
I started talking about the crash, and how I felt it was my fault, and about Kat being hurt, and how empty and lost I felt without her.
He didn't say anything, just stared intently at me, as I kept going.
Things went south fast. I started in on how I wasn't happy in the WWF anymore, because everyone hated me and I was alone, with no one but Paul. How I missed my friends.
"Please, just let me go down to WCW with my friends. That's all I want. You've admitted it, I'm a problem around here, and you hate me anyway--"
Vince stopped me, to speak for the first time since I'd whirled into his office. I stopped pacing to listen.
"I don't hate you, Shawn," was the first thing he made clear. "I think you've got your problems, but underneath is a very good man." He took in a breath before continuing, as if it almost pained him to say, "I find myself warmer and warmer on the idea of you dating my daughter. It's just that she's still my little girl. I can't seem to let her go."
I was going to reply, and explain to him about how Kat was so much more than a little girl, but he cut me off again.
"Yes, I know, I need to suck it up and get over it," he even showed me the ghost of a smile before he turned serious again. "I'm afraid I can't let you go either. Legally, you're still under contract. Even if you weren't, I would still try to persuade you to stay. You're my top talent, Shawn. We are at war with WCW, don't you understand? 1997 is going to be the year we go under if we don't pick up the ratings."
I did understand. As much as I was happy for the boys, they were kicking our asses business-wise.
I knew, too, before I even I said it, that I was still under contract, but it didn't connect until someone else said it.
A lot of things were like that.
"I know," I breathed, barely audible. In comparison, my problems all seemed very small.
Vince motioned to the seat across from him. "Will you have a seat? I think you should relax for a while, let off some steam."
I nodded, sitting in the office chair. He was right, I needed to get my head on straight. I knew that, but it didn't mean it was going to happen.
He assured me that everything with Kat would be fine. "She's a strong girl. She's a McMahon, after all." I wasn't sure if his sentiment made me feel any better.
For the next month or so, while Kat was healing, I was going to have a lot of time to think.
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-A/N-
My angsty boy😭
#endprocrastination2k18 My resolution is to stop procrastinating on my writing.
...after today. Sorry.