Asher – Could’ve

By: Asher Jules

Date: 28th Jun 2021

Iíve had bad days before. Days where I was one step off a wobbly stool from ending it with a clothesline I lifted from a dollar store. Iíve had days where the handful of pills I took was for a temporary release was almost doubled for a permanent one. But the day I got that package, the day I opened it, and saw that the hope Iíd finally locked down after so many years was dashed upon the same rocks Iíd swan dive onto if possible, was the worst day Iíve had in a very long time. And when I tell you thatís saying something, I can assure you thatís an understatement. In fact, you could say to the world that I was as close to wanting death as Vincent Black was to becoming it, Dane Preston was as boring someone to it, and Joe Montouri was as being with Allison Riggs until it did them part. But thankfully, something happened. Something I didnít quite expect. Vincent Black, who Iíd spent every minute since I met him making miserable, had once again come through for me. Itís not every day I get arrested for telling a cop to suck the puss out of my infected cock, but it is quite often that the troll drops his eyebrow threading appointment to come and rescue my sorry ass once again. And for once in my existence, I can honestly admit I was glad to have him. Like how, When youíre dying of thirst, youíre glad you can at least drink your piss.

Donít get me wrong, Iím thriving with the piece of shit on my back like he is, but donít you ever forget for one single moment that everything he does is not for me. Itís for him. To point to and say Ďlook what iíve created. BEHOLD.í He paints, he writes, he sings, heís one bad match away from dancing with other has beens, and now heís set his sights on the only form of creativity he hasnít mucked up with his drab tastes. A protege. Like the god damn mad scientist sitting in his lab, working on a corpse. Save that I ainít dead in the way he needs. He is the doctor, and I am a monster, but I ainít his. And Iíll be damned before Iíll be broken.

I know what youíre all thinking, too. You got blinders on, the lot of you. Thinking Iím grateful for his help, despite my actions. Having him support me and get any help I ask for. He called up an old drunk I saw on the interwebs and made him live with me to train me. He didnít cure fucking cancer. Heís not a god, heís just an asshole with a lot of money. Heís done nothing for me that anyone with a right mind wouldnít do. He see that Iíve got the spine for it. That iíve got the mind for it. And he knows that if he hitches to my wagon, His stock will go up. Which he needs. Because heís a legend in this business like a fire is warm. You gotta feed it from time to time.

Itís not me overlooking his contribution to my life in order to disconnect, which is what I know youíre all gonna say. That Iím only acting this way because it makes me feel better about having to ask for help. That feeling like heís taking advantage of me is somehow easier to take than what it looks like, which is someone gives a shite about me. Because he only cares about me from what I can give him. Iíve seen it once, Iíve seen it over and over and itís all anyone ever dones. So donít try to tell me that this isnít a better deal for him than it is for me. Donít. Heís only trying to make me need him, thatís all. Thatís all it is. Heís frankenstein, and Iím the monster. And we all know how that ends, donít we? Actually, never read the book. Could be a bit different, couldnít it? Suppose it might be. But anyway.

Let me tell you what is what with people like him. When I was a lad, I had some troubles. Nothing worth mentioning right now, but they were what they were. I was handed off to a child therapist. One of them specialists who thinks they can hear thoughts and reflections. Well this lump of cat shit sat with me for over a year, and then wrote a book about it. He didnít name me, prolly because I didnít have one just then. But he took me life story, wrote a book about it, and made himself famous of it. Didnít see one red cent of that book inspired by me happenings. But itís common, innit? Taking what someone else built and making it your own. Especially in this business. But Iíll get to that. First, Let me explain to you how much I enjoy flying.

I absolutely, positively, fucking do not. And there is no one, or way youíll get me to do it.

Vincent Black sits in a fine leather recliner. Warm sunshine falling across his shoulders and part of his face from the window next to him. The massive wound on Vincentís head looks even worse in the light, as every bit of the redness around the stitches is almost glowing in the light. Before him is a glass of whiskey neat, with a glass plate consisting of mashed potatoes and a steak. Next to him is an empty seat taken by an old leather backpack that has seen itís share of use. In the seat across from him, is a small british man by the name of Asher Jules, who is duct taped to the seat, and struggling harder than an animal caught in a trap to be freed. The gag over his mouth muffles his screams, which are probably made up of obscenities directed toward his mentor, but barely. The crew member emerges from the back, looking quite upset and nervous. Vincent takes a sip of the whiskey, and nods to him, knowing already what theyíre about to say. Asher begins to gag, with spit bubbles forming around the strip of tape over his mouth.

Vincent stands up, and picks up the plate. Offering it to the crew member. He holds out a hand and shakes his head, his ear length blonde hair wiggling comically in a room full of people with no sense of humor.

Flight Attendant
Iím vegan, but thanks? ” Vincent nods and points at the pilot, to which the Crew member shrugs ” Sheís pescatarian. Only eats fish. Also a lesbian, so...

Vincent places the plate back down, and immediately rips the tape off of Asherís mouth, sending a blood curdling scream shooting out powered by every bit of his lungs. He then pulls the pocket sized pain in the ass out of the chair, ripping away the rest of the duct tape save what is on his clothes and left behind on the chair. Asher picks up the steak as Vincent deboards the plane, and begins to bite into it, pleased with himself to say the least.

Walking back through the private airport Vincent did his best to ignore the sounds of Asher licking his fingers and sucking the bone of any shreds of meat left behind. The sound travels over every single other sound in the area, almost as if it is on a direct path to Vincentís ears.

Asher Jules
..was good ay-ef. You shou-Vincent turns and raises his hand, jaw tight and temples pulsating.

Vincent Black
How..How. HOW..did you fly to japan, but canít fly to Texas?

Asher Jules
First, Japan is a place. Texas, thatís like a punishment, innit? Bunch of cowboys, prancing around in their fancy boots, acting tough, while trying not to get their gallon bonnet dirty. Itís like, hell but for the living. Second, I was in fact on a mass amount of drugs then, wasnít i? Slept the entire way in a nice little coma.

Vincent Black
Asher. I am trying to help you. Trying. Trying. Can you try to help me, help you.

Asher Jules
Ďh course. Just not on an airplane, is all. Maybe a boat, or one of them buses. I wanna be on teh ground or level wif it. eh?

Vincent Black
Ö.I am going to bury you beneath it. eh?

Asher Jules
Now, weíve just begun getting along. Letís not ruin it over some terrible inability of yours to understand genuine fears of others.

Vincent Black
Asher. I am trying to help you, in case youíve not noticed. I have kids who donít understand why mom hit dad with a bat…

Asher Jules
Oh Iíd wager they understand..

Vincent Black
Iíve got The Cure nipping at my heels..

Asher Jules
Not even the cure to anything that you need. Like your vitamin D problem, powder. Sad really.

Vincent Black
And on top of the fact that the war between the mothers of my children is now not only going to get worse, but I lost to Graham Clauson.

Asher Jules
A guy I beat.

Vincent Black
Ye…You didnít beat him.

Asher Jules
Didnít beat me tho, did he? Didnít pin me. Call that a victory.

Vincent Black
He didnít pin you because I inter-Asher. I have an associate in Egypt. One that has resources I need. Thatís where we were going.

Asher Jules
Resources? Thought you were filthy with it?

Vincent Black
Not money. Resources. Information. Contacts. Youíve given me fuck all to go on. And if you want to find this sister of yours, weíre going to need help.

Asher Jules
Well..If yeh serious. I can help, without having to go nowhere. But we gotta swing by the place.

Vincent Black
No. We canít.

Asher Jules
…why?

Vincent Black
Weíre moving you guys. With the impressiveness youíve all shown lately, we figured you deserved a better living space. Also it needs to be in New York. So. But tell me, how can you help me help you?

We climb inside the car, and before I know it, Iím telling Ďm me truth. Not just me truth, but the entirety of my truth. The real truth, that is. How I barely remember much, save for the airport and Lily letting go of me hand. Me giving chase. And then her being gone. I tell him some other bits Iíve never said out loud before. Not because I trust the grumpy troll, but because itíll endear him to me, see. And that makes him more gullible. So I get myself ready to tell him about the –

Vincentís phone rings, and interrupts Asher as heís about to say something. Vincent turns his back to Asher and is agitated by the interruption. Hanging up, he puts his phone back into his pocket with his hand shaking from the anger running through him.

Vincent Black
Change of plans. Iíve been summoned.

Asher Jules
…because youíre the devil?

Vincent Black
No. By the devil. Youíll have to make your way back home on your own. Uber it on my card that you think I donít know you have.

Asher Jules
Right, right. Ok. Well, better luck next time, eh? Enjoy the flight on your death missile.

Vincent Black
Death missile?

Asher Jules
Is a death traps, innit?

Vincent Black
This is a jet, not some single engine plane.

Asher Jules
Leave it out, Iím good. Thanks for not.

Vincent Black
…Iím leaving now. Vincent turns and walks up the steps of the stair car to the jet. As the stair car pulls away and the door slowly shuts, Asher lights a cigarette and waits to watch as the plane takes off. Before it even begins to motion, the door opens, and Mutante is tossed out toward the stair car, obviously drunk as hell but still able to catch himself before falling down the mobile staircase. Did you remember he was with us? Because I confess that I did not.

Vincent pulls the door to the plane shut, and it begins to Taxi. Asher watches with utter confusion as Mutante stands on a step, not walking down at all. It then occurs to him that the old spanish bastard is so fucking sauced that he believes heís on an escalator. Asher uses his teeth to grip his cigarette and takes a pull, a cloud of gray smoke floating before his face.

Asher Jules
Muchacho, This is the up escalator, You gotta go the other way.

El Mutante
Gracias.

Mutante turns around and looks into the other direction. Asher almost doubles over as the man just stands there, waiting to reach the top of the Escalator. The driver to the stair car gets out, and looks at Mutante. Asher waves and explains that his uncle is very sick, and slightly deranged. The driver explains that he has to go to lunch. Asher looks at his watch and tells the man that his meds should be kicking in any minute, and that once heís simmered, theyíll be on their way. The Driver nods, and jumps into his little buggy and buggers off. Asher waves and looks at Mutante, hoping he doesnít fall off.

Iím Driving down the highway at 65 MPH, with tears in me eyes as i imagines Mutante holding on for dear life. Cars honking as I pass, me waving back, acting like Iíve no idea what is occurring. Coming to The exit, I dash off the road quickly and look into the side mirror, looking to see if the old man has fallen off yet. No such luck. Reaching a red light, I lights a cigarette, closing me eyes from the heat of the lighter. When I open them, Mutante is seated next to me, angry by the look of his face, and insane by the look of his hair.

Asher Jules
Fastest escalator ever, eh guv?

El Mutante
If you were to disappear, no one would miss you. I would keep this in mind going forward.

Asher Jules
Tell you wot. We get back to the apartment, Iíll draw you a nice bath, put some of them oils in it, light some candles, and maybe, that stick up yer arse will come out a bit and give you a break, so you can give me one. Sound right?

El Mutante
You have attempted to murder me for the-

Asher Jules
Fourth time?

El Mutante
LAST TIME!

Truth be told Iíve tried to murder him only twice. The first was when he attempted to show me how to land a particularly nasty top rope move, and I disconnected the ropes from the turnbuckle because A, I was told that the best could handle any deviation from whats was prepared for, and B, because fuck him, right? Fuckin little elf. I did do that 3 times, tho. So maybe?

Mutante pulls the cigarette out of Asherís mouth, and takes a draw off it before tossing it out the window. Asher looks at him like heís lost his mind.

Asher Jules
Tosser. Whats the deal?

El Mutante
Youíre small.

Asher Jules
Fuck, no one told me.

El Mutante
The things youíll need to do, Youíre going to need speed to do. You wonít be able to lift them up, but if you train hard enough, you can knock them down,

Asher Jules
Watsit leave me, then? Gave up the pills, now the f-cigarettes…

El Mutante
If you say it about them I can say it about you, remember.

Asher Jules
Ainít right, geezer. Got no vices left Ďcuz of this biz.

El Mutante
Donít worry, Culo. You shed all vices for this business. Because this business is the best vice of all.

Asher Jules
…disagree.

El Mutante
…not for long, Culo. Not f-

Asher Jules
Oh shut up. Fucking dramatic repeatition.

This old fuck is another one. Trying to be the yoda to me luke. The fucking ras to my batman. Iím not going to pretend that he donít have some use. He knows his shit, and heís pretty funny for someone Iím sure has molested someone somewhere. In fact, my training has been getting harder and harder, and Iím chalking that up to the fact that Iím getting better and better. Maybe Iím not ready for the main event, and the top dogs. Like Paul Montouri, who for the first time in his professional and personal life, is actually able to be found. Or his brother Joe, who has spent more time trying to take another manís horse than he has trying to take another manís belt. No, Not at that level yet. Right now Iím still at the level of say, Jason Ryan. Or is it Ryan something? The guy who never wins but talks about how great he is? Which one is that? Fuck me if that actually narrowed it down. I know Devin Stone is another. Tall for nothing and thatís twice more than what heís good for. Fucked up thing is, Iíve got two mentors in this business. One as tall as a fucking building, smart as concrete, and handsome as a face that hit it, and another whoís more like a little spanish sponge for a bar, only it contains more booze. Both of them, lord knows what for, have done a bang up job at trying to train me.

All of these people have some sort of accolade, or achievement in this business that makes them stand out. Me, Iíve done nothiní. In fact, Iíve got more negative accolades than some do positive ones, really. I never won any OPW title. Iím sure I couldíve. Didnít wanna.

I didnít start one of the best OPW stables to ever walk the so called Ďearthí. Teaming with like minded individuals who also like to get it on or whatever we metaphorically call it. I didnít want to. But I couldíve.

I also never told most of the roster what I thought of them. How they annoyed me with their very existence in my vicinity. But fuckin Ďell, I couldíve.

When I got to the womb, or the whackhouse, or the Dumbitory, as we tend to call it, I pulled up onto the sidewalk and climbed the stairs and came through the window. Not really. But I couldíve. The Lucha Loser had fell to sleep and I didnít bother to wake him. I wanted to strip him naked and lay him out on the stairs, see the noise he made when his drunk arse woke. Didnít. Couldíve. Over the next few days Iíd spend most of my time working out, packing up, and celebrating the good news that dizzy miss and troll brought back with them. Good news being subjective, Ďf course.

The entire ride to NYC, the two blabbermouths talked about the unknown. How things are up in the air and how it will take time for them to settle. They speculated about this new building, this new name, and every other thing they could think of. While I thought about the womb. The doorless, shithole of a pit that we were forced to cohabitate in, hoping beyond hope that it would either foster a competition, or bond, And quite honestly it worked because I hate these people more than Iíve hated anyone ever and that is a feat in and of itself.

But also…

You know how you get to someplace that you donít want to be? And the very sight of it each and every day wears away at you in mind, body, and soul? And no matter what you do to it, no matter how hard you try to alter it, it just bites at you and takes away chunks of you? And then one day, you look up and now itís not a strange place anymore. Now, itís where you go to feel safe. Where you run to when things are hard. And then you never want to leave, when at first ou wanted to burn it down? Yeah, me either. I Still wish I couldíve burnt it down, and watched the flames dance amongst the pink and yellow everything, And…oh fuck, I couldíve!