Bison Jones stuffed his few belongings into his duffle bag. He lingered in his empty room for only a second. He wasn’t going to miss this place. He swung the bag over his shoulder. He had enough of this place. Bison no longer had a good reason to stay in this shithole another minute if he wasn’t getting paid by Adam. Adam, the man of the god damn hour, didn’t even spend time in his own home. Only the Russians used the Allocco compound; they treated it more like a hostel and sex dungeon than a place of residence. And that was even more reason to get out of there as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, Anastasia caught wind of his intentions. How? He doesn’t know. She waited at the bottom of the stairs, her arms stretched out to form a human wall. Despite her best effort, Bison knew he could swipe her aside like swatting a fly. He wouldn’t though. Not because he was terribly afraid of the consequences. Sure, the Russians were insane and vindictive but he ain’t scared of no one like that. No, it was the principle: you don’t manhandle women. Only losers lay their hands on a woman… or a professional wrestler.
“DARLING! Why are you leaving me?” Anastasia cried out. The way she launched herself forward, she looked like she almost jumped out of her bra.
Bison looked away. “I’m going back to Detroit.”
“No, Darling… No! We NEED you here!”
“Who we?” Bison asked. He stuck his neck out, pretending to look if she hid anyone behind her dainty frame. Petya sure didn’t care for him. He was a dick anyways, almost as bad as Adam, but not quite.
“No, DARLING, I need you!” She leapt at him. She tossed her arms around his neck, the impromptu cowgirl wrangling Bison with her lasso. He swung her around, out of the way. He started shaking his head, trying to throw her off but she held onto the bull. “Don’t leave me alone! I have no one. I’m trapped here.”
“I could put a call into ICE if that’s what you want.”
“I can’t be deported!”
“Then you’re stuck here.” Bison shrugged.
Anastasia leapt back. She pouted. Bison still refused to look at her. He didn’t get her infatuation with him. At first, he thought he was an upgrade from Adam when they were shooting porn. Since Adam left, that well dried up, rendering Anastasia kind of useless. Maybe she hoped that by clinging on his coattails, she wouldn’t be left behind. And his damn heart actually harbored some pity for the Russian porn star; however, he had a family in Detroit. He had new responsibilities in Detroit.
“Anyways, I see you around?” Bison lifted her up before setting her down out of his path.He noticed she was slick with sweat. Had she been doing some more of that webcam weirdness again? People will pay anything to see some tits you can find elsewhere for free.
“Really, DARLING? After all pouring out all my undying love for you, are you still leaving?” Anastasia threw the back of her hand to her forehead. Next thing Bison knew was that she crumpled over.
Alarm bells rang in his head. He hurried to scoop her back up into his arms. He rested his hand on her forehead and immediately rescinded it like a kid who touched the hot stove. The problem was that the hot stove was Anastasia. How sick was she? He carried over to the couch and laid her down. You can’t fake that kind of temperature so he knew it wasn’t an overdramatic reaction to the rejection he just dealt her or a con to incite sympathy. Nah, she definitely was sick.
She fluttered open her eyes. Confused, she attempted to sit up but Bison pressed her back down. “What— what— what happened?”
“You fainted on me.”
“I’ve never done that before except a few times after some very intense gang—,” Anastasia muttered, trailing off in the end.
“Stay right there.” Bison left the kitchen. He poured a tall glass of water, dropping a few ice cubes. He came back, serving her the water. She eagerly lapped it up. “Why haven’t you gone to the doctor?”
“I cannot trust American doctors and their crazy ‘scientific’ methods. Plus, we Russians have a very strong immune system. I shall survive,” Anastasia said. She handed him back the now mostly empty water. “If you must go, darling. I need you to go now, I can’t handle drawing this horrible occurrence out any longer. It’s killing me!”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“So you do care about me? OH, DARLING, I KNEW YOU WOULD COME AROUND,” Anastasia celebrated. She again tried to rope Bison in with her long thin arms but he knocked them aside. He retreated. “Oh? Where are you going now? Why are you running away?”
“I’m not getting too close to you, Nast. No way am I getting sick. I’ll cook you some chicken noodle. I’ll fetch some ginger ale. But under no circumstances am I going to let you touch me in any way, shape, or form,” Bison said. That reminded him, he needed to find the stash of hand sanitizer in the house. His skin popping with goosebumps thinking of all the germs she ejected onto him. They were crawling all over him. He needed a scorching hot shower to kill them all. Bison shivered.
“You scared of a common cold?”
“We don’t know what you have. It could be a lot more serious. I have to protect myself.”
“You’re such a fool. You’re big. You’re strong. But little itsy bitsy germs scare you.”
“People die all the time from diseases. We humans are god damn plague carrying pests, especially kids. They touch anything and everything then don’t even watch their hands before they eat!” Bison’s daughters weren’t ever like that. He raised them right. Wash your hands before each meal. Wash your hands after you go to the bathroom. Wash your hands after you shake someone else’s. Wash your hands after you touch a door handle in public. Always wash your hands regularly.
Anastasia struggled with a laugh that turned into a coughing fit. She laid her head back down onto the pillow Bison propped underneath his bed. “You’re too much, darling. Too much indeed.”
“You sure you don’t want me to take you to see a doctor?”
“I just don’t want to be left alone in this terrible country.”
“You didn’t have to come over. You could have stayed in your home country. You wouldn’t have had to work with Adam. You are with family and friends, lighting it up,” Bison commented. He eased into the chair next to the couch. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands underneath his armpits.
“No family. No friends. I wanted to get away from Dmitri. You don’t know what it’s like. He fancies you and then the inevitable moment comes when he’s bored. He doesn’t simply leave you, he sells you, packs you into a suitcase and ship you to rich men to be slave,” Anastasia explained. Bison’s heart dropped. Was it really that perilous to be involved with these clowns? He met some very unsavory characters when he bounced in the nightclub scenes in Detroit. They too were downright deplorable men who didn’t care about anything but partying then making money the wrong way to pay for said partying. He guessed it didn’t matter where you went, there’s real shitheads everywhere.
“You’re safe here.”
“Safer if you stayed by my side.”
“Why not come with me to Detroit? It gets a bad rep, but it ain’t any better than Rochester or Buffalo.”
“Are you inviting me to run away with you, darling? To elope, darling?” Anastasia lit up. Her eyes reddened. She definitely had some sort of disease and Bison prepared himself to run if Anastasia tried to hug him once again.
“No, ma’am. I say you can travel with me. You can continue being my valet. And if any of your fellow Russkies try anything with you, they have to answer to me. Can you dig that?”
“Oh. Definitely, darling! You’re the best— ow!”
“Back, foul beast! Back!” Bison waved her away as she tried to slide off the couch and lunged towards him. He stood, backpedaled while she retreated back to her perch on the couch. She wrapped a light blanket around herself and stared at Bison. She didn’t care about his germaphobia. She probably thought it was comical to upset him. She was definitely lucky that the only time he lays hands on a woman like that was when he was in the ring.
—————–
“To the right… no, to the left. Too far–” Anastasia tried to have Bison make a posture in front of the camcorder. She gave the okay sign and started filming.
[REC]
“The nights have turned cold. The weather is harsh. But I was born and raised in this shit. Now I’m out here in these streets, streets that look the same. Doesn’t matter if it’s Detroit. Doesn’t matter if it’s New York. And it definitely doesn’t matter if it’s Quebec. The streets are mine. Mine,” Bison paused for a moment. He cracked his knuckles while grinding a fist into the palm of the other hand. He wore a trek suit with a hat on. “And I know I have a following. I know there are many young men looking for a role model and here I am. I’m going to leave a favorable impression on their minds, their expectations from life, to show that they too can fight and carve out a spot for them in this crazy mess up dog-eat-dog world. So I’m going to earn my stripes the right way, the hard way. And I know I can’t let them down.”
“So I have to pull all the stops, reach deep down into the reservoir and trust the process. Hard work. Integrity. That is what breeds success just like winters breed us strong.”
“What about you, Raab? Can you say the same? No. No one is looking up to you. No one believes in you anymore. For all your career, they felt sorry for you but you earned their respect by putting in the same effort, day in and day out. You never let a loss get to you. You kept chugging, the train that could. But now? You don’t even have that anymore. All that respect you earned has dried up. So where does that leave you? Some mad fool with a raging erection, standing over the red shades in your local Sherwin Williams store,” Bison stopped. He circled his finger to the side of his head. He then get back into his strong man posture, with his hands on his hips and his chest out.
Bison shook his head. “It’s insane. You’re going to cut me up? You’re going to bust me open? Try it, Raab. Try it. When we’re finished, the only thing red is going to my knuckles from beating that damn face paint off your ugly shit face. There’s one thing that I know I am, that I take pride in, that I’m a bona fide tough guy, a fighter who doesn’t take shit from anybody, especially not Ronald McDonald’s redneck cousin.”
“And it sucks to be you, Raab. Really does. See I’ve been warming up, tuning up the band, and now I’m on stage, ready for a concert and you’re my instrument. I’m going to make sweet music with you on Breakdown. I’m going to turn more heads. I’m going to convince them that I’m more than a hunk of dark meat, some hired muscle that gots no business being in that ring. No sir. No way. I’m Big Bad Bison Jones, the Motor City Titan. I’m here to leave my mark and I’ll use your favorite color to do so, Rabb. Red.”
[/REC]
King of HARDstyle 
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