Walk Alone
Scene One | Off-camera
“You need fucking help.”
This was the last thing she had said. Alex had done something she couldn’t, and she had lambasted him for it. The worst part was she wasn’t even angry at him. She wasn’t angry that he had hidden his hallucinations. She wasn’t angry that he thought he may have actually been the Leon that had been tormenting them. She was angry that it took something like this for her to be truly honest. Relationships were a tough walk at the best of times, but this. Most people would never come back from a situation like this. Deceit, lies and manipulation. The last time she had ever truly been open and honest with him, was when they were kids. Just like then, she was a hot-head. The difference now, Alex was a lot more reasonable. Or, at least she saw him that way. On the surface he was cool, calm and collected. Always willing to talk something out. Ready to discuss things. She missed the hot-head at times. The kid who would fly into visible emotion, who fought desperately for everything. The kid who she broke. The man who was ever weary of being broken again. Trust was not the hallmark of their relationship.
Aimless wandering was her way of clearing her mind. Dangerous, to be sure. She left her phone at the apartment. A reason to go back. A reason to talk when cooler heads prevailed. Regret was like a pit in her stomach. Regret for walking out. Regret for not taking a moment to listen to him. Regret for making this all his problem. She omitted the truth, and now she was resenting him for having a mental break? A fragile mind was something of a curse for the Rabenschwarz family. His mother suffered delusions. His father, alcohol induced paranoia. Alex was a poster child for unhealthy coping mechanisms. Yet, he let her walk. He let her leave to cool her head.
Fuck Alex.
Fuck Alex, fuck Leon, and fuck James. She wasn’t the victim, and she wasn’t their keeper. She wasn’t responsible for their actions. She wasn’t responsible for keeping them grounded, human or otherwise. Leon made his own choices. James, for better or worse, knew better than to step into her world. And Alex? She had done nothing but bare her heart, and show love to him. And he still couldn’t be open with her. A mistake of a child, and he still punished her for it. Fuck him. Fuck Leon. Fuck James.
“Little Miss Luna, how dangerous for you. Do you not know the hour? Queer to find you walking around at this strange hour.” A voice spoke.
Sullivan. Which meant Harrison likely wasn’t far away either. She’d been so absent-minded her walking, in her frustration. Suddenly aware of the world around her, she realised in her anger she had almost walked straight to James’ bar. She was currently in an alleyway just nearby. Just across the road. Standing at the end of it, the silhouette. Well-dressed man, a sharp grin pulled over his skull. As much as she adored Sully and Harry, she was always rightfully creeped out too. Modern day mafia types. Always immaculately dressed, and able to get things done. Other ‘saved’ Broken persons. They were all just a clusterfuck of emotional manipulation and mistakes.
“Our birdman said you’d be coming this way. Seems he was right. I owe him $50. Thanks, Lulu.” Harrison said.
How he managed to hide just out of the eyeline was always impressive to her. He was a hulking man, and yet he was elusive. They were warm, but they were also uneasy. All these years, all the time spent together. She still didn’t trust them. She laughed a little to herself.
Trust.
“I’m afraid we might have caused some distress. Apologies, my sweet. But, as we are all headed the same way. I ask that you join us, Miss Luna. I may be able to shed some light on our dear sweet Alexander’s delusions. Maybe even his loss of mind and memory. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Sullivan spoke slowly, concisely.
She’d never felt this uncomfortable around him. But if he knew something she didn’t, then it was better than nothing. If they knew where she was, then Jimmy probably did too. Alex seemed to be one step ahead. Why was she always one fucking step behind everyone? Why couldn’t she just be her own fucking person?
“No.” She said, loudly.
Sullivan’s smile faltered. A momentary slip. A glimpse beneath the carefully curated mask. The angry man that lived beneath the perfectly put together image.
"I’m afraid I must insist, sweet thing.” Sullivan said, bluntly.
She could see the conflict on Harrison’s face. He stepped towards her, not through want of his own. A good soldier, but not one for thinking for himself. She felt sorry for Harrison. Another victim of this game of politics. Another victim of this eternal power struggle within their friendship. Surely, most friends weren’t this dysfunctional.
“No, Sully. I do not care.” Luna retorted.
Sullivan sighed and waved his hand at her. Harrison’s face sank, and his heart broke. But it was quickly washed away with his emotionless stare. Detached. They were all still so fucking broken. Luna went to turn and walk off. She could feel hands on her shoulders, a strong grip. She turned straight into the chest of someone. Tall, broad, and unfortunately lanky. Her brother, James.
“Go home, Lulu.” James spoke sharply.
She screamed. Her fists beating against James’ chest. Perplexed looks from all three. She screamed and shoved. Thundering her balled fists against his chest, knocking him down. Turning around she struck Harrison square across the face with a backhand that rocked him. Sent him backwards a few steps. Banshee-like cries, she went to hit him again, but he grabbed her wrist. A look of understanding. Painful understanding. Sullivan cocked his head slightly, like a confused puppy. Harrison let her hand go, James getting to her feet.
“All of you, leave me the fuck alone. I don’t need any of you. I don’t need the reasons. I don’t need the fucking excuses, and I don’t need fucking protection. Leave me alone!” Luna screamed. Roaring even.
Sullivan smiled, and tipped his head a little. A slight bow, and he turned on his heel. Harrison smiled at her, softly, warmly but full of hurt. Another victim of this game they were forced to play. Her heart hurt for him. The invisible leash pulled him to Sullivan’s side. She turned and looked at James, who had gotten back to his feet. His face cold, his eyes distant. Everything was falling apart. Her brother needed her, but right. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.
“I’m sorry Jimmy. But leave me alone.” Luna said softly.
He looked at her. The Pasilno gaze. Ice-cold and deep cutting.
“Fuck you Luna.” James snapped.
He pushed past her, and strode towards the bar. Her world was in ribbons, but she didn’t care. They’d never fought before. Not like that. Jimmy had never been that angry with her. She’d seen it elsewhere, but never with her. She couldn’t remember a time he had ever called her Luna. She was always Lulu to him. Right now though? She didn’t care. She was sick of being coddled, babied and controlled. Sick of being seen as lesser. Sick of being walked over and stepped on. Tired of being the secondary. The worst part? Alex was the only one that never saw her as lesser. Always as the equal. Always as the queen. And she felt that hole of regret once more.
Fuck them all.
And fuck Alex for making her love him.
Walking again, alone. She had no direction. Aimless wandering to cool her mind and give her the strength she needed. The strength to be able to stand on her own two feet. To not need those who she was so used to surrounding herself with. The rain began, and the drops did their best to hide the tears that were beginning to streak her face. She hated feeling so weak. She hated all of this.
Pain, again
Scene Two | On-Camera
“Here we again, Kimberly. Round two, fight.”
The crash of the ocean against a cliff face. The sun slowly going down on the horizon, the yellow glow of the afternoon sun cast wide over the ocean. Luna stands on the precipice of one of the rugged cliff edges. It’s almost impressive, the six inch white heels. An unbelievable steadiness in her stance. Skin tight black leather pants, high-waisted. A simple white crop. Her hair was loose and down, whipping wildly in the sea breeze. The ocean beyond threatening to take her off the rocks themselves.
“You’re an insufferable cunt, you know that? Not only did you have the audacity to upstage me the last two times we met. Failed to secure the Mixed Tag Championships. So did we. You beat me, showed the world how much better the experienced veteran is than poor lowly little Luna fuckin’ Vanity. You know, angel? That’s okay. I can admit when I fuck up. I can admit when I’m in the wrong. I can admit when I’ve made mistakes, cause god knows. I’ve made a ton of them. Guess what, Kimberly? It doesn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, all that matters is the result of the night. All that matters is that when we step in the ring again, you have far more to lose than I do. You lose to me, it brings into question. Should you have even been put in that match? The match that you didn’t even fucking participate in. Queen for a Day could have been my crowning achievement, my early dash for greatness. Yet you stole that from me. Not only did you steal it, you squandered it. You didn’t even turn up for that match. Injured? You were injured were you, sweetheart? Funny. They could have put me in. Ran a last minute scramble to pick a replacement. But no, they just let it lay. And you get another opportunity to fix the wrongs. How poetic, baby.”
Luna runs a hand up into her hair. She pulls a hair tie from her wrist with her other hand. She pulls it all back into a loose but high ponytail. A few stray strands hanging over her face. She takes a step forward, holding one foot over the edge of the cliff. Her eyes locked far away on the horizon. Her expression was empty.
“I’m upset, angel. I’m upset with myself. I’m upset with you. I’m upset with the world. I’m upset, because I know I can do better. I’m upset because I know you should have tried harder. I’m upset because the world cares little for the facts of my life. Cares little for how I feel. Cares little for how my world is crumbling. I had moments of peace between our meetings. Moments of happiness, moments of escape. Not the girl who was crying her soul out in the shower. Not the angry little bitch who was moping for a man who didn’t even want to talk to her. I was free for a moment. But not really. No, I’ve never really been free, Kimberly. My whole life I spent my time attempting to lift others. Alex, my brother James, the deceased Leon. Sully and Harry too. So many people in my world that I’ve spent my life attempting to please and placate. Never taking a moment for me. For the pretty Luna P. A masochist of fate, if you will. Forever hurting myself in the hopes that it will please the world around me. Please the men in my life who do nothing but attempt to coddle me against the harsh reality of the world. Yet fail at every step to acknowledge my autonomy. I’m upset because I have to prove that I am worthy. I’m upset because you, Kimberly, are an insufferable cunt.”
She bends slightly, straightening the leg hanging over the ledge out. Shifting down into a standing squat. Impressive leg strength. Holding her entire body weight up on one foot, the six inch heel holding the world up with it.
“This week isn’t about you, Kim. No matter what you wish. No, this week is about me. This match, about me. It’s all about me and my fucking vanity. Or rather, this week is about the death of Luna Vanity. Let me elaborate for you okay, sweet angel? I’m sick of being known for something I don’t believe in. A gimmick of convenience because of my own vanity. I love myself, despite everything. I fucking love who I am. I love how I look, I love how I move, I love how sound. I love what I do, and I fucking love who I want to love. Love is a powerful fucking emotion, and yet. I’m sick of wasting it on everyone else. Wasting my dwindling love on people who do not deserve it. On people who refuse to have their own. I’m sick to death of being the Queen of Vanity. I’m sick of being anything but me. The emotional masochist, the physical sadist. I’m Luna goddamn Pasilno, and I am not anything to be overlooked, sweetheart. Yet, there is an interesting tidbit here. You’ve had a lot to say about me, Kimberly. A lot of fucking assumptions. And I am listening very clearly.”
Luna leaned back, allowing herself to slip backwards and her butt planting on the cliff. Her outstretched leg dropped to hang limply over the edge. The water is splashing up. Splashing at her feet. The sun continues its slow descent beneath the horizon line. Filling the world with beautiful streaks of sunset colour.
“Assumptions. That’s all people ever have about who I am. You had your chance to be queen and you fucking squandered it. You throw this idea that I called myself Queen for status or privilege? You know nothing about me, lover. I’m used to crawling in the mud with the trash of trash. I’m used to biting, clawing and fighting anyone who would dare slander my name. I’m proud of who the fuck I am. I’m proud of how I work to be how I am. I won’t simply let people mock and belittle me because they think it fits their rhetoric. Oh no, Kimberly. I won’t stand for it. I won’t stand for you bitching and moaning about how everyone should follow in your footsteps. Just like the fucking vets that I have been hounded on since I came here. Full of wisdom, and yet still throwing themselves at the lesser because it is the only fucking way they can build their ego. Hurt the inexperienced, because that makes you a better person. You can’t even take a moment to actually do even the slightest bit of research. The Conspiracy? It’s not literal, you absolute bumbling cunt. Take a moment, just one fucking moment to think. Ravens, Conspiracy. It’s a play on words, it’s an analogy if you will. A group, a kingdom, a fucking Conspiracy of ravens. You like to belittle others. It makes you feel big and strong, doesn’t it? Earning, earning. Everything is about earning for you. We earned our fucking names elsewhere you asinine dense bitch. Foul-mouthed and brutal, we, the broken children of the south, we earned our monikers doing what we had to survive. Fighting off alcoholic parents, abusive partners and building our own kingdom. We are kings and queens not in vanity, but of blood, sweat and tears. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? No, because you don’t care.”
There was anger in her face now. An anger in her eyes. Her nostrils flared in irritation. Her eyes still locked far into the distance. Staring at the beauty that existed beyond the rolling sea that was beginning to leap ever higher. Threatening to take her into its depths.
“You know what I’m truly sick of? I’ve said it again and again. This absolutely baby boomer attitude of your old slags that prance your way around here in Sin City. Praise and respect the old school, because they have infinite wisdom to share. Congratulations, you inspired us to get in the ring. Congratulations, you have shown that it is possible for us to do what we want. To be strong, to be independent, and to be champion. Congratulations, you want your flowers? Here’s your fucking flowers, princess. Now put up or shut the fuck up. Our debutante Bombshell Roulette champion, Alexandra Calaway. She’s a veteran. Do you think it mattered when I took barbed wire to her? Do you think the difference in experience mattered when we went through a table? No, Kim. It didn’t matter one bit. All that mattered in that moment was I wanted it more. She pushed, and she pushed, and she got what she got. I proved what I needed to prove. You, Kimberly. You have pushed, and pushed. You have insulted, you have belittled. You have dragged me down, and you have upset me. And I am not a pretty bitch when I’m fucking upset. I’m a crying, cowing and moaning little girl. That’s what everyone thinks of me. That’s what they’ve always thought of me. Until the knife slips between the ribs and takes what little arrogance they could muster from them. The leaking blood is a great metaphor for the stupidity leaving their body. I’m a masochist, sweetheart. I will take my licks, my beatings, my bruises and my bleedings. I will take it all in stride, learn and come back. I’m always going to come back. Because I refuse to stay down. Yet, I remind you. As I started. You are nothing but an insufferable cunt, Kimberly.”
Her arms wrapped tightly around themselves. Her nails are digging into the flesh of her forearms. Sharp, pointy daggers, tearing into her own flesh. It took only moments for rivulets of blood to begin to leak from beneath the puncture sites. Her eyes narrowing, her nostrils constricting now. Deep and heavy breaths.
“Here, on these beautiful cliffs, I am reminded of my past. I’m reminded of where I come from, and where I want to be. I will stand tall, for myself. I will stand tall, for others to see. Not because I need their validation. Not because I need the status or the respect. No, I will stand tall for every girl who was beaten down because they dared to fucking love themselves. They dared to be happy. They dared to be pretty, and to glam themselves up. I will stand tall for them, because people like you, sweetheart. People like you won’t. They do everything to hold us down, because it is the only way their ego is inflated. But it’s okay. When you are breathing heavily, and I haven’t even broken a sweat. When you are gassed and I’m just getting started. When you are hurting and slowing down, I'm still outpacing you. When I bounce back from everything you throw, quicker and stronger. It’s okay, Kimberly. It’s truly fine, angel. For I will out-speed you. I will out wrestle you, and I will out hurt you. And why? Because I damn well feel like it, Kim. Trust me. Because when I beat you, and prove that it was a lucky day for you. I just know what Mark and Christian will put in front of me. I’ll get another go at the Bombshell Roulette Championship. It’s only logical. I either get to shut Calaway up once and for all. Definitively beat her once again. Or I get my second chance against the other Zdunich bitch. Fix the wrongs of my past. Another set of vets to fall beneath my fucking heels. And baby, they’ll be the best six inches of pure agony you've ever experienced.”
She releases her raptor like a hold on her arms. Suddenly broken from the transfixed stare she had on the horizon. She looked down, streams of blood pumping from the fresh wounds on her forearms. The needlepoint holes flowing bright red. The smile that spread across her face spoke more than words ever could. Truly, the Masochist had been born.
“Mark my words, Kimberly. I won’t be slighted again. Luna Vanity is dead. And ‘The Masochist’ Luna Pasilno, is fucking here. And I’m going to enjoy every moment of redemption. Every time you try to hurt me, I simply smile. Not because it doesn’t hurt, but because it does. And I fucking love it. Oh, and Kim? Do try not to be such an insufferable old cunt. I’m a foul-mouthed little scrapper, but even I don’t spew as much shit as you do.”
A flash of a smile, the batting of eyelids. The cold gaze that sat behind it all. Luna was fed up, and Luna was angry.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
