A lone figure sat in an empty locker room, wiping dried blood off of his face. The rest of the occupants had left half an hour ago, but he preferred to stay back and spend some time clearing his head.
"Ah fuck..." he softly exclaimed when he stood up. His back and neck still hurt from the powerbombs he took. He stripped off his tights and dressed back up in his normal clothes, consisting of a green shirt, purple hoodie, dark blue jeans, and a pair of purple sneakers. he ran a hand through his short, green hair and stuffed his tights into his backpack before heading out of the locker room.
Once he made it out into the parking lot, he walked over to his car, a beat-up, dark purple truck that he repaired with help from the brother of one of his friends. He got into the driver's seat, throwing the backpack into the passenger's seat before starting the car and heading home. As he drove home, he peeled a white bandage off of his forehead, revealing a shallow cut about an inch long above his left eyebrow He groaned aloud as he looked at the cut in the mirror.
Ah shit... he thought. Twilight is gonna freak if she sees that. He hoped that she was in bed. It would give him enough time to come up with some explanation. The bruises were easy to hide underneath his clothes, but how was he supposed to hide the bruises on his face and the cut on his forehead?
That's what I get for letting Iron Will slam my head into an uncovered turnbuckle. he groaned softly as he gingerly touched a bruise forming under his left eye. Repeatedly.
*Riiiiiiiiiing!*
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered the call, hitting the speaker button and setting his phone down on the dashboard.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, Spike." his father, Night Light, answered. "How'd the match go?"
"It went great." Spike answered. "I got some color, Took a couple powerbombs, put him in the Crossface, and he tapped out."
"Atta boy." Spike smiled at the pride he could hear in his dad's voice.
"So how's Trottingham, Dad?" Spike asked.
"It's great, son." Night Light answered. "Your mother and I have, uh...learned a lot of new, interesting things."
Spike cringed. "Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there, because I know what you really mean when you say that, and I seriously don't need to hear about your and Mom's sex life...and don't say you don't know what I'm talking about, because you couldn't lie if you're life depended on it."
After a long pause, Night Light spoke: "How did you know?"
"Because I can tell when you and mom are lying." Spike answered. "Which is how I knew that you guys weren't really vacationing in Trottingham to go and visit museums and the like when you told us that you were leaving for the weekend."
Another long pause followed. "Change of subject: I need to ask you something."
Spike grinned. "If you're gonna ask me what I think you're gonna ask me, then all I'm gonna say is that they have books on the subject, and you should probably stretch first." Night Light ignored Spike's remark and got right to the point.
"When are you gonna tell Twilight that you're a wrestler?"
Spike's smile faded. "I don't know yet."
Night Light sighed. "Son, I know that your mother and I promised that we wouldn't tell your sister, but you have to tell her sometime. We both know that she's going to overreact, but the longer you wait, the worse it will be."
"I know, Dad." Spike said. "I'll try to tell her soon. I've gotta go. Enjoy Trottingham."
"See you on Monday. Rest up, champ." With that, his father hung up. Spike shoved his phone back in his pocket and continued driving.
When he pulled up to the driveway, he noticed that the lights were on in the living room. He turned off his truck and walked up to the front door, knowing fully well that there was no point in trying to be sneaky. He pulled up his hood to hide his face and opened the door, walking through the living room and right into the kitchen, ignoring Twilight, who was sitting in the armchair in her pajamas, arms crossed and looking none too pleased at how late her brother was coming home.
Spike opened up one of the cupboards, grabbed a glass, and walked over to the sink and filled it with water, he looked in the reflection of the window above the sink to see Twilight standing behind him, arms crossed, tapping her foot on the floor as she waited for an explanation.
"You don't have to wait up for me, you know" he said, without facing her.
"Yes, I do." she replied. "You do this every Friday night. You go out, going who know's where and doing who knows what, and come back all bruised."
Spike drank from the glass. "You're exaggerating." he said.
Twilight raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Then take off the hood and look at me."
Spike groaned. Reluctantly, he turned around and took off his hood, revealing the visible injuries on his face. Twilight gasped.
"What happened to you?" she asked him.
"Nothing." he answered. "I'm fine."
"Don't tell me you're fine!" Twilight ordered. "Look at you, you're bleeding." She went to put a hand up to his cut. He shied away from her touch and walked away from her, back into the living room.
"Twilight, I'm fine." he reassured her. "I'm taking a shower and going to bed. Goodnight." He left before Twilight could say another word.
As he showered, he began to fell guilty about not telling Twilight the truth about what he was really doing. When they were little, they used to share everything with each other, and now he was hurting her by keeping secrets from her. He knew that he had to tell her eventually, but he didn't know how.
He finished showering, redressed himself in the same pair of jeans he wore before, and went to his room, looking into Twilight's bedroom along the way to see that she had gone back to bed and was already asleep.
When he reached his room, he closed the door and pulled his wrestling gear out from his backpack, which consisted of a pair of long, dark purple tights with emerald green flame patterns on the sides of each leg, a pair of black wrestling boots, and a couple rolls of black wrist tape. He took his gear and shoved it into a crawlspace inside his closet before plopping down into his bed unceremoniously without even getting undressed. It wasn't long before he fell asleep and was steadily snoring.
