Brandi unwinds the tape around my bloodied fingers, shaking her head. I stretch my fingers out now that they are freed from the sweaty gloves; at least I am still allowed that small relief. “I knew this was a terrible idea,” Brandi says as she tosses the dirtied bandages aside.

Damion, who is seated over in a corner, nods along with her. “Your manager won’t drop you. I’ll have a word with him. He should have called this match after what happened. You weren’t ready, and he knows it.”

I keep my mouth shut. I’m still thinking about the funeral later today. It makes me sick to think about. I’m not looking forward to it at all. Brandi kisses my forehead. The door to the locker room opens, and Donte enters with his gloves thrown over his shoulders –his fingers now freed from the tape and bandages. He spots me over in the corner with Damion and Brandi. “Hey man, heard about your buddy Gabe,” he says, “tough break.”

I nod –acknowledging his words. I guess he’s not that big of a jackass. He’s just my competition is all, so I guess it’s easier to think of him as a dick. Donte opens up a locker, digging through his belongings. “Are you going to shower here?” Brandi asks me, but I don’t get a chance to answer her.

“So what happened to him exactly?” Donte says from his locker, “I mean; I heard that it was a car accident, but someone else told me he had been shot.”

“Look, man, I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say and then when I glance over at him, I see that he has this grin on his face. What the fuck? “I’m sorry, but what the fuck is wrong with you?” I snap.

He holds up his hands defensively, “What?”

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” I snarl.

“Jonathan, don’t,” Brandi warns me, but I’m already standing.

“Hey, I just won a match, I can’t smile?” he grins even bigger to emphasize his point.

I’m not stupid. He was asking me about Gabe with that goofy grin on his face. “Fuck you,” I hiss, but I lower my hands. I’m not going to get into a fight in the locker room.

He shrugs, “Sorry if I struck a nerve,” his tone wreaks of sarcasm. “Was just curious is all. Honestly, jackass, I had heard a rumor that you had been driving drunk and got your buddy killed.”

“Shut the hell up; you don’t know shit!” I shout at him, and he steps over the bench he had been standing by in order to get in my face.

“You sure do have a big mouth for a guy who just had his ass handed to him,” he says, still wearing that stupid grin on his face. “You fight like a little bitch,” he says and then looks over my shoulder right at Brandi, “If you’re ever looking for a real man, sweetheart-” he starts, but I don’t let him finish with whatever he was about to say to her.

I punch him in the face, and he immediately reaches up and wraps an arm around my throat. We stumble toward the door and wind up falling out into the hall –right where all the damn news fuck-tards are with their cameras ready to go. We hardly notice, of course, and we swing at one another like a couple of nut jobs.

I hear Damion and Brandi running out of the locker room behind us, but neither of us listens to their screams to get off of one another. The paparazzi bozos fight to get in front of each other to record the incident. I manage to somehow get the upper hand, and I pin Donte against the wall with one of my hands wrapped around his throat. “Stop!” someone screams at me, and I feel their hands touch my arm. I fling an elbow back, realizing it was Brandi a split second too late.

I immediately let go of Donte, who drops down and starts to gag and choke –putting on a bit of a show, I’m sure. “Shit, Brandi!” I say and go to help her up off the ground, but she slaps my hand away.

“Fuck you, Jonathan!” she says, and I can see that I busted her lip.

She grips her elbow, clearly having landed awkwardly on the ground. “Back off, Jonathan,” I hear Damion say as he helps Brandi up and escorts her through the crowd of on-lookers, disappearing into the back of the building.

“Brandi!” I shout after her, but I’m blocked by a couple of brave reporters who are giving me some “eat-shit” looks.

Donte stands, his hand around his throat where I had had a good grip on him. “You damn psychopath,” he snarls and pushes his way through the crowd, probably to go find his manager.

Looking up, there are probably half a dozen of cameras in my face. Well, if losing to Donte didn’t get me dropped, this certainly will. I can’t believe I knocked Brandi down. I hurry back into the locker room if only to escape the media frenzy for a brief while. I really messed up this time.