Kitten

Chapter Six: Hands Don't Hurt

Her birthday was in December, just like his. Mox planned everything out over the course of November. Granted, he couldn't actually remember what day in December, but after asking (and forgetting) three different times, he figured he would just wing it. She probably wouldn't mind. Too many hits to the head. He wasn't good with dates and times. She knew it.

At least her work schedule rarely changed. Except for when they asked her to stay late, of course. That gave him the luxury of being able to freely plan things, without worrying that she'd catch on. Mox managed to get thrown a few singles matches for spare money, daydreaming about what he would get her while he took the extra beatings and meted out punishment in turn. A lot of the CZW guys had traveled back home for the holidays, so their singles roster was looking a little patchy.

Moxley (despite the fact that he knew he would probably regret it) enlisted the help of Callihan when he finally went shopping. Sami, the sadist that he was, only agreed to come along if he got a picture with the mall Santa.

Mox was used to the looks he and Sami got from people when they wandered around. He'd gotten pretty good at ignoring them, occasionally going in the opposite direction or snapping his teeth at whoever was staring at him. He hadn't done that in ages though. Not since Kitten.

Toothless mutt now, I guess.

Jon tugged at the threadbare scarf around his neck, pulling it aside to fidget with his collar while he leafed through the battered notebook that held his gift ideas. Beside him, Callihan grunted, "Dunno' why ya' wear that shit when you ain't even in the ring."

"It's not jus' for fightin', Sami." Mox tried to explain. "S' ownership, y'know?"

Sami waved him off. "I don't need t' know ya' kinks, fucker." A woman with a small child in her arms huffed loudly, making Callihan look up and then flash her a shit-eating grin. "Whups, sorry Mox, didn't realize we had company." He bowed so deep he almost fell over. "Pardoneeze me, mon cherry." Sami carried on with a cartoonishly thick French accent, making Mox puff his cheeks out in an attempt to keep from laughing as the woman stormed off.

He tried to fix Sami with a disapproving, paternal look, but all Callihan did was wiggle his eyebrows and Jon was gone, snorting out a chuckle. "Ya' a real charmer Sami. Ten outta' ten." He grinned at his friend, glad for his company. Granted, Callihan would probably end up getting them tossed out of the mall with his antics. For the time being though, they were on their Best Behavior.

...

Mox tended to ignore his own birthday. There was no damn point. He was nothing to celebrate, that's for sure. Not to mention that the memories he had of his birthday weren't that good to begin with.

He'd actually totally forgotten about the fact that it was his birthday at all. Sami reminded him with a quick "Hap'irthday fucker" and a punch to the shoulder right before he stepped into the ring.

It's my birthday today.

He raised his fists.

Wonder what my folks would say if they saw me now. Like this.

A snarl curled his mouth up on one side.

The referee clipped the chain to his collar, tugging to make sure it was secure before crossing the ring to attach Nick F'n Gage to the other end of the chain. Gage snapped his teeth at Moxley mockingly, laughing afterwards.

"You gonna' bite me, doggy? A little nip? Some of us got scarier teeth than you!" Nick taunted, baring his crooked maw at Jon.

The match got underway, both men hauling each other close with the chain until they were practically nose-to-nose in the ring. Mox figured he was in for a few good minutes of shoving and posturing.