“you son of a bitch, she said, I am
trying to build a meaningful
relationship.
you can't build it with a hammer,
he said.”
― Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit




Undisclosed Diner
Atlanta, GA
21.07.2009
9:57pm



It was heavier than she expected.

Although it was becoming increasingly more difficult to tell whether she referred to the CWF Impact title that lay over the top of the worn out duffle bag that she’d kicked under the table, or the breath in her lungs that seemed to amplify with every passing minute.
Even now, with the match more than a hour in the rearview, the sheen of sweat still clung to her skin and slicked back some of the fearsome mess of red hair that fell around her face. It was intoxicating, the way the faint scent of leather and metal polish seemed to linger on her skin after she’d held it close enough to force between her ribs.
Achievement. Ecstasy. God, even just the edge of it brushing against the skin of her ankle as she fidgeted nervously was enough to send those chills through every nerve again. With an agitated sigh she checked her phone again, the luminescent display reflecting little more than her impatience and mounting guilt.

She hadn’t even bothered to change, just a whirlwind of elation and furious guilt rushing out the door pushed by the fear that even showing up on time would somehow amount to being far too late. Cassidy would be delighted, she’d hoped with each pounding footstep on the pavement.
After all, she’d just won her first real professional wrestling title… she did it… all on her own… everything she’d worked for now felt tangible, that price for sacrifice held in outstretched hands. It was real, and more importantly- it was hers.

Regardless what that asshole Dominic Del Gado might have said.

So why did it feel as though she were breathing molten lead?

Maybe cause she’d arrived five minutes before promised, dishevelled and faintly sticky, sporting the beginnings of what would bloom into the fairer shades of a black eye for her efforts. A champion in name and nature despite the fact no one in the diner could bother to look up and care. Breathing heavily through exasperated gasps and the murmuring of a half practiced apology…

No Cassidy.

That had been 40 minutes ago.

Still nothing.

“Would you like me to switch that one out for a fresh one, sweetheart?”

Patchouli and musk wafted as the waitress leaned over the table, removing a half cup of coffee from the edge of Amber’s loosely held grasp. A mothers gentle resignation and a smile of thinly veiled pity followed before Amber had the wherewithal to notice it were even gone. On arrival they’d made small talk about things they couldn’t relate about as Amber tried to ignore the nagging urge to ask about a young blonde girl, with thick curls that bounced around her face and bright eyes that had become bloodshot red with tears.

A girl that was supposed to be here.

Why didn’t she come?

Coffee had been ordered in as many words, no charge made cause maybe it looked as though Amber needed it. A sweet gesture, no milk please, in a place and time where she felt as though she had little right to accept such charity or generosity. Going cold as fingertips tinged in red and the remainders of adhesive where she’d taped her fists tapped against the laminated tabletop- every sound resonating like a fucking gunshot in a church. A scraping of a chair on linoleum may as well have been torture, the opening of the door sent a surge of adrenaline she couldn’t control and the idle chatter of those seeking caffiene and brief complacency seemed honed in on her despite the fact they spoke distinctly of weather and office gossip mongering.

Maybe, in spite of the title belt that had so quickly meant so much, she was wrong.

Maybe she should have just fucking listened.

Forgone an opportunity when someone really needed her. Surely there would be other title shots, right? Other chances to prove that everything she worked for wasn’t just some pipe dream… other chances to show that everyone was wrong about her. That Dominic was wrong about her. No matter which way she tried to look at it, she couldn’t shake the way that pleading desperation tore her definitively in two.

“Just let me know if there’s anything else I can get you…”

She didn’t have to say it. Words were secondary when a picture spoke a thousand words.

Pity, the kind that seemingly fell from one's lips like an errant drool before it could be reined in, was followed by a soft yet reassuring squeeze on the edge of her shoulder.
Maybe if she just waited ten more minutes. Cassidy could just have gotten caught up, gotten busy or lost on her way from point a to point b by detouring through point z twice over. Hell, maybe she was just outside that door trying to muster up the courage to walk on through…
Or maybe it was just some elaborate albeit shitty ruse to make Amber feel like shit, some kind of sick justification for the abandonment she’d felt when the redhead chose to look the gift horse straight down it's throat for fear of never seeing it again.

It wasn’t as though she’d put it past Cassidy to try. Last time they’d spoken before this, Cassidy had been screaming obscenities through streaming tears on her family's doorstep- swearing on everything that she was worth that she never wanted to see Amber again. That Amber didn’t have the right to walk out on them, even for the opportunity she’d worked so damn hard for, only to show up unexpectedly with a stupid fucking grin and sheepish shrug anticipating that time would heal all infected wounds.

They didn’t and they wouldn’t. It was absurd to have ever considered it an option…

Another cup of coffee. Burnt and swirling lazily in a different cup stained similarly. Amber emerged briefly from behind her tousled facade of indifference to acknowledge and show thanks before ducking back into safety before the waitress could make heads or tails of the frantic, guilt-ridden child that played beyond those guarded walls.

“I thought it might be different this time.”

It wasn’t directed anywhere or towards anyone, just a tumble of syllables that slipped off the edge of a razor edged tongue. There wasn’t any need for context, no spider-webbed backstory of tragedy and despair- just another smile that sagged a little at the edges as though unable to fully commit to joy.
No, it wasn’t different and that wouldn’t change despite how much Amber had tried to convince herself otherwise as she hunched a little further over the table.

She’d had every opportunity to make this time different, to change course and do better. Be better. Cassidy’s voice echoed soundlessly between snippets of conversation in the booth behind- this was a cry for help in the most literal sense and somehow it had been lost amid the ‘it's just a bad time’ files to be stored away under emotional lock and key.
Bittersweet, like her coffee if the sugar caddy wasn’t caked with hardened chunks. That's what this title had quickly become- she’d been champion for barely an hour and already she was questioning whether it was worth the sacrifices that came with it.

Of course, the answer came simply.

More callous than anticipated.

Part of her just wanted Cassidy to waltz on through that door and unleash a torrent of loathing into her lap- somehow find a way to justify that her decision was right or wrong instead of somewhere in between. She wanted to see Cassidy running towards her from just beyond a bus stop as she stepped out into the night air, lightheaded with caffeine and swallowing the bitterness that she’d allowed to accumulate on the back of her tongue. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and seize all the hurt she’d created, drawing it through Cassidy’s skin in hopes that she might be able to burn that hatred as fuel instead of watching it fester in someone else…

There was no torrent though, there’d be no cries from a bus stop or expressions of gratitude when all hope seemed lost. There’d be no sorry for everything that came between them, no promises about change- no opportunity for her to lie that she could make everything better.
Amber wanted to be able to look her in the eyes and tell her that everything would be fine… however no eyes rimmed in scarlet found hers, only the hollow nothingness of realization that too little too late had long since passed her by…

Maybe she’d never learn, never quite able to find the line where two rights blurred into something that felt a little less… wrong.

Still… at least she had the title.

That had to mean something, right?




******



“I consider you to be an individual Seleana.

Sentient, with thoughts and feelings all your own.
Of course, it’d be easy to equate you to little more than a puppet that for too long has danced on the end of one of your wifes many tangled strings… a marionette with little more to stand on than the legs given to you by someone else.
Of course, Christina would love nothing more than to hear me spout her name and make this all about her- cause as well all well know, she is the very centre of the universe and all actions and spoken words must revolve around her and what she feels as though she is entitled to.

However, like many other far greater things of importance… this isn’t about her.

No, she gets her soap box at High Stakes to tell everyone about how fucking delightful she is- when in truth her own family resents her and her consistently selfish decisions. 15 minutes is far too long, but the company loves their nice even time increments and so the 17 seconds I’ll willing to dignify her with gets an expansion when it matters.

This match, this isn’t about her.

It's about you though, and the way that you have let everyone else around you dictate your career trajectory.

See, I’ve heard stories. Murmurings even, tales told that you were once someone around here- not just Christina Rose’s long suffering spouse, you weren't just someone else's mother or cousin or dogs aunt twice removed for political reasons.
Your name Seleana, it used to mean something around here- I mean, you don’t get to be World Bombshells champion without showing a fucking shred of talent and determination. Believe me, I should know. Your name used to carry weight, that a match against you meant something.
It was an elevation for those looking to make their mark, a challenge for those seeking one and a benchmark for anyone looking to go anywhere in this division to pass…

I believed all those things when I was first matched against you.

I really thought that maybe you’d show me something that I’d only caught glimpses of from many others. That this division wasn’t all overly ambitious Jessie Salcos and selectively amnesiac Bea Barnharts. You were supposed to be one of those diamonds and instead I walked away trying to wash the soot off my fingers.
From the moment I walked through the door of this company, you’ve barely even managed to underwhelm me. Do you realize how difficult of a task that is to do, you could literally have walked out there and fucking had a heart attack and I’d still rate you more highly as an opponent than the absolute void you’ve otherwise presented yourself as.

Blank. A laminated sheet of paper has shown me more insight and will to be acknowledged than you, and the laminated paper also has the extra benefit of being shiny, as well as cheap and otherwise useless. You’ve shown nothing in the past 6 months that has given me any indication that you want to be taken seriously, that you have any intention of doing any better than where you are in the pecking order right now… Equally contant to be watching from the back as you would be slumming it for a chance to mix it up in a dark match.

That's what really shits me Seleana, it's not that you were a never were- cause you’ve proven that you could do better. You have previously shown that you cared, that you had even the tiniest iota of ambition.
It's the fact you're legitimately a has-been by choice.
You knowingly accepted a role as a trophy wife to the walking epitome of why participation awards are a thing, allowing the Zdunich name to define you instead of anything you ever did in that ring. I mean you know it's an issue when your last name means more to you than the sum of your hard work and god given talent.

Yet I’m gonna sound like an asshole for bringing it up, when it's just a readily known thing that everyone acknowledges and no one bothers to question. Like hummus sitting out all day in catering- by the time you remember it's there, it's integrity just isn’t nearly good enough and you can only long for what it previously was.
Don’t get me wrong, I can't take away everything you’ve done- I just wish you hadn’t gleefully handed it to someone who could so thoroughly tank it, then claim they were doing you a favour when they realize you’ve got nothing left for them to bleed.

You are a former World Bombshells champion who can barely hold her own against the best that catering has to offer, preferring to fall into the shadows of everyone else's pageantry bullshit cause it obscures from the real truth that you just don’t have it left in you anymore.
Just holding onto this ideal that maybe you’ve got anything left to salvage- like winning a hard fought match you should have fucking walked, then thinking you can come start swinging at the top like there aren’t consequeces that come with it.

There’s a phrase for that, you know, it's called ‘bitch, please’.

Ma’am, please return to your assigned seat. You had your chance and you squandered it time and time again for the favour of someone who has done everything they can to actively prove what a fucking terrible idea that was.
I get it though, love rules over all. People kill for love, they die for love. They sacrifice everything for it… even when there's no chance of getting it back. It's a toxic cycle and sweetheart, you’re straight up more septic than my grandma's untreated kidney stones- and she’s been gone for longer than I can remember.
However- that's not an excuse to just stop trying.

Regardless of the way you look at it.

Detritus, Seleana. Skin flakes and dust, that's the mark you’re leaving on this division. A little mess of nothingness settling for the lowest possible level cause you can’t possibly disappoint anyone else if there's no further left to go.
I wanna sit here and tell you how much I hate you, how much I hate this husk of a Bombshell that you stand in front of me as cause it's such a fucking waste of time and good resources. I am legitimately wasting tape and time, and the wear of my sneakers to enter this match knowing that you couldn’t commit to anything more than a solid 60% effort.

I want to just tell you I hate you- but that would require an effort on my behalf that I know will never be reciprocated in mind. It's pretty fucking sad really, you failed at even eliciting any kind of emotional response. I’m not even disappointed anymore…I’m just indifferent.

… and that's far worse than any love or hate.”




******



Undisclosed Downtown Bar
Philadelphia, PA
16.10.2021
10:06pm




Nobody was looking, yet it felt as though all eyes were on them.

It wasn’t as though they could just blend into a crowd- with her shock of crimson barely tamed and cascading down her back, Amber lazily drummed her fingers against the edge of the glass in hopes that maybe the booze would kick in soon and she’d stop caring so damn much. Mac on the other hand just drew an imposing image, his sweet nature buried beneath the harsh Texan exterior of a man prepared to take absolutely no shit. Even in heels, Amber barely scraped Mac’s shoulder although her resting bitch face seemed to make up more than enough of their difference.

A few stares were drawn as they arrived, the low lighting and mood music giving way to the faintly sickly sweet scent of cocktail liquors and faux lemon scented cleaning supplies. Sure, there were the usual murmurs between those who recognized them- trying to decide if they had enough health insurance to cover them should they try to approach Oblivion. Amber more so than Mac, if only for her seemingly ‘unpredictable’ reputation.
It wasn’t so much that she was unstable though, as many who’d cracked through the glacial exterior had come to know- it was the fact she just struggled to relate on a meaningful level with those outside the business. They smile and make small talk, their questions a variant wording on something she’d heard a thousand times before and everyone expected their answer to feel customized to them, that for a brief moment they got to see behind the curtain.

In truth, there was no curtain. Just a blunt and acerbic tinged nothing that came across as a little stand-offish and blasé.

After all these years, she contemplated in time with a lethargic jazz-esque tune, it still seemed almost foreign to the redhead that anyone might actually be excited to interact with her. She barely wanted to deal with herself most days and others were willing to pay for the privilege.
A few brave souls had approached as they’d set up camp at an elevated circular table, one against the wall where Amber could continue to survey the room and Mac could lean when the booze finally started hitting home. They’d introduced themselves as fans and mentioned off-handedly a couple of matches, moments that had become sentimental and contributed to their appreciation before waiting for a reaction as though Amber could rub together two brain cells and remember what she’d had for breakfast that day.

Smiles and small talk.

Fuck, maybe she really had died. That this was to be her eternal penance.

At least there were drinks. Granted they were way too overpriced for the amount of alcohol they presented- but this venture was never about getting fucked up. No, she could have done that cheaper and more efficiently in her hotel room and without the distinct prospect of rolling an ankle.
No, she’d asked. Insisted even, that they go out together. Veiling it as a chance to spend some time together in the midst of their chaotic schedules- Mac had been back and forth to Texas more frequently, since the funeral, it seemed like he spent more time saying goodbye to her than saying goodnight these days.
He’d been distant, a man on a mission without a word to share. Just lost, like he was now, staring through the bottom of a half-finished drink like the glassy surface would provide him with more than just a neon-induced headache.

Amber had tried to be supportive, her World Title hadn’t been displayed as prominently, instead stowed away until needed for public appearances and moved into her carry on luggage for travel. Salt in a wound that wasn’t healing- they hadn’t discussed it, but the air between them became thick anytime anyone asked for a picture or wanted to talk about how closely she was approaching that all important title defense record.
It hadn’t been her intention initially, coincidence perhaps that the matches kept stacking, that she hadn’t quite cracked entirely beneath the pressure yet. Win after win though, four… five… six… and now seven. God, it was becoming almost unheard of.

“Are you drinking that or staring at it till it empties itself out onto the floor…”

Swirling the remaining ice in her glass distractedly Amber knew that attempting levity wasn’t her strong point, her humour had always been based out of sarcasm and straight up venom. Dry and macabre like her reputation had become, Mac didn’t respond though- too busy having a deep and meaningful conversation with the bottom of his glass.
It had been her idea to come here. A step out of her usual comfort zone landing somewhere between a hare-brained attempt at keeping up appearances in the public eye and a hail mary to soothe her mounting paranoia.

Every couple argued. Every marriage had days where they’d barely exchange more than a couple of syllables, each trying to out cold shoulder the other. For Oblivion though, the days they shared were numbered to single digits a month it seemed- Amber had been so busy with travel, with corporate publicity bullshit and trying to keep her demons from encroaching on the rest of her life… and Mac had grown distant. Time at home was spent mostly at the garage despite the fact they’d taken less projects on otherwise he’d be out somewhere in Texas trying to find peace to grief among the ruins.

They were fine though. They had to be.

There wasn’t another option.

Amber had hoped that maybe this would soften Mac’s edges, that they could maintain their place as one of SCW’s ‘golden couples’ continually setting the standard of what a successful relationship in this godforsaken industry could look like. Instead though, he’d barely uttered more than a few words since they arrived- and most of them had been directed at the fans. Physically he was here, sure… but his mind, and maybe even his heart were deep in Texas.
Not that Amber was helping much- match after match had kept her on her toes, the match for High Stakes was weighing heavily despite the fact the odds still lay in her favour. She’d beaten both of them before, soundly, so why did it feel like the sands were shifting beneath her feet?

Five defenses had become six, and six had become seven.

She wasn’t prepared to lose it yet. Amber knew she;d worked too fucking hard to get this far, in the beginning the idea of taking on records had been spoken to generate hype… Make people believe that she took this shit seriously, that she wasn’t gonna be another paper champion falling to pieces in the first real storm they faced.
Except she kept on winning. Challenger after challenger, main event after main event. Snowball effect and now all of a sudden she was on the cusp of something that she’d spoken about simply to be a cocky asshole.

She’d never held a World Title this long before. It’d been unprecedented territory from defense two onwards- although she’d never dare admit that aloud for fear someone might see that her facade of cocky assurance was built on a cracked and crumbling foundation of ‘I have no fucking idea what I’m doing’.

Mac had always been so supportive- even on her worst nights when she couldn’t sleep or keep food down cause the nerves were so bad, when she could barely walk the day after cause she’d left half of herself splattered across the canvas, when she had nothing but doubts in the face of otherwise near guaranteed success- provided she could just hold it together a little longer…
Now it seemed like he cared from a distance, detached from their reality into an offshoot of his own- determined to right whatever wrongs plagued him and even more committed to doing it without her involvement.

Maybe Amber Ryan was the best wrestler in the world right now, but that was only because she had Mac.

Now it seemed like she had to start figuring out how to approach what was arguably the biggest match on the biggest show of the year, without him.

“I’ll get you another.”

If he responded, she didn’t hear it. A soft smile followed as her head drooped in brief resignation, she could poke and prod all night in hopes of him opening up- but she dared not chip away at the ice wall that seemed to be solidifying between them… instead, she reached across the table, her fingers gently prying his apart so that hers might slip through the cracks, drawing the first flickers of a smile from a man otherwise deep in thought.

“Soon.”

They’d be fine.

They had to be, and if Amber had her way, the world would never stand to know any differently.




******



“There are people that think I’m going to go out and use this match to send a message.

It's not one of those scrawled in a public bathroom stall about calling a number for a good time, it's not a message that drips down a subway wall in hopes of eliciting something from one of the thousands that barely even glance long enough to read someone's heartache slicked in stylised neon.
Maybe it's not even a message stained with the blood of someone who should never have gotten in the way…

Or maybe it is, that's really up to you to decide Seleana.

If I’m honest- I shouldn’t have to telegraph anything. I’m the fucking World Champion kiddies, I’m the one everyone else should be trying to vye for the attention of- all those sob stories and pity parties trying to make me well up, just so someone elses can bring me down at the knees.
It's not up to me to make anyone remember what matters- they already know.
I could easily do a lot of things, Seleana- I won’t pretend like I haven’t threatened to create orphaned children and widowed men from a sideways glance. I don't proclaim innocence of any violent charge levelled at me- to do so would be trite, a lie slipping through gritted teeth.

No, see I own every shitty thing I’ve done to get where I am… and I’ll continue to justify everything I’ll do to keep it.

To make you some kind of ‘message’ would insinuate I have any reason to draw further attention to myself- like I’m not already a beacon for assholes. It’s short sighted and small minded to think about, there is no gain for me to beat you any more decisively than I already will.
I’d call it the equivalent of beating a dead horse, but kiddies…we all know that horse really deserves better. Besides, it's clear that the only person coming to save you is far too wrapped up in these fascinating delusions brought on by bleach osmosis  that she couldn’t stop me if she tried- and I doubt you’ll do little more than throw your hands up and pathetically bleat from behind them begging for mercy as though that's not what I’m already doing.

See, unfortunately for you, I’m not like the postman… cause I always fucking deliver on Sundays.

Bad joke, still probably got a couple laughs cause it's true.

Truth is though, you really need this. Not just for your career, but to prove to yourself and your family that this is still worthwhile. That you still belong, not just a tired relic of a time when fucking anyone could be champion if they cared enough what anyone thought. That you still have something to offer outside of the last remnants of a decent legacy pinata…
You need a win in this match, or at the very least a showing that doesn’t make me wanna splatter your grandchildren's future DNA all over my breakfast. You need to save some kind of face in the same way that I need a coffee in the morning- minus the threats of homicide of course- cause I save those for the ring.

I just need to show up.

I wanna see you bring the Seleana Zdunich who used to walk around with her head held high, instead of waiting for someone else to do it for you… cause recently you’ve just been a wooden doll waiting for someone to stick their hand up your back so that you might say something worth listening to.
Ventriloquism is a dying art, don’t go ruining that for us as well…
That's the Seleana that I wanna see show up- not this bullshit facsimile. I wanna know if there's still a heart that still beats in your chest or a soul that screams for release cause lets be honest- I like to see the people  kick and thrash when I’m pulling them out of their chest.

Maybe I’m the angel of mercy this place really needed- going out night after godforsaken night and ending the agonizing suffering of those left to otherwise rot in the annals of a rose-tinted past.
You give advice freely to those you still consider beneath you- tell me though, do you think yourself better than me… Morally. Ethically. It's no secret Seleana  that you used to have quite the pedigree, but where did all that ‘do good’ ever get you?

Seriously though, I’m looking for a reason to give you the time of day. I want this to be more than just a throwaway on the path to a bigger showcase, more than another stepping stone ground to dust beneath my converses- what you need to understand though is that I can’t keep lifting everyone else up to my level either. Generosity only goes so far and I can’t wring blood from every stone I come across, just like I can’t pull a good match from someone who doesn’t seem to have the will to try.

What you need to fundamentally understand is that I want the best for this division, I have done so since I won this title and have made the same claim with every goddamn defense since- after all, there's no point being at the forefront if everything in my wake is withered and dying. Every person I have left in my wake has been better off for it, they’ve found that extra gear or a side of themselves they forgot existed- when it comes down to it, razing this division to the ground has been the best thing that's happened to it since Alicia Lukas remembered that she was actually a badass. Yeah it's been a little while, hasn’t it, kiddies...

See, come Climax Control I want you to bring all that fire you spit at Bea Barnhart last week… just maybe expect more than a few massacred idioms back. It's perfectly fine if you’ve already resigned yourself to losing- by now we can just consider that your natural state, like the multiverse version of Jessie Salco where she actually wins the big one for once.
You’re skipping down the garden path looking for something to revitalise your career and I’m the big bad wolf waiting for you to stray after you promise not to.

Maybe you could be the one to do the unthinkable- it could be you, it could be anyone to tell me what a big head I’ve gotten before you cut it off with a woodcutter's axe.

Except… Well, I’ve had more title defenses this year than you’ve had wins… so maybe let's just slow down on the hypotheticals before you actually start believing you have a chance.

You’ve been sinking faster than you can kick… so kick for me sweet girl, kcik while you still have the chance before I loose another anchor around your neck.
Not because I don’t wanna see you do better, quite the opposite in fact- I want the very best that you can give me, I want everything that brought you to this title to begin with cause when I beat you, and I sure as fuck will, I want there to be no doubt and no opportunity for your wife to drag your name any further through the mire than she already has.

I want better for you Seleana, even if you don’t want it for yourself- and if it means disassembling you piece by bloody piece, so that someone might put you back together in an actual meaningful way, then I’ll gladly get a little more blood and grit under my fingernails for the sake of this division.
If you don’t bring your best, if you happen to show up on Climax Control and dare to stand across from me and fucking disappoint me- I can promise you that you’ll wish you never took this match.

This is your opportunity to save some face Seleana, and I’d suggest you actually try- before I Picasso you so badly that even reconstructive surgery would no longer be a viable option.

Have a think about it, what else have you really got to lose?”




******



Oblivion Garage
Las Vegas, ND
14.10.2021
12:27pm



“I’m hearing a lot of jargon, all corporate doublespeak… You wanna dumb some of this down for us with the brain damage?”

Cassiopeia Mare smiled broadly in response to the familiar voice emanating from beneath a grey 1970 Dodge Charger, clearly still growing accustomed to the ‘blunt force trauma’ perspective that Amber wore like battle worn armour. In reality Cassie  knew that the redhead was far more clued in to everything than she let on and that the messily thrown verbal jabs were simply to cut through what she considered overwrought pretentiousness.
Optimistically, Cassiopeia straightened up and cocked her head to the side, trying to ignore the heavy metallic waft that seemed to mingle with the everpresent diesel fumes.

“As much as I appreciate your concerns and respect your intentions to proverbially ‘cut through the bullshit’...”

Amber summarily slid out from beneath the grey charger with a raised eyebrow as though expectantly waiting for the finish of the sentence. With tangled red hair pulled into a messy bun and her hands and arms streaked almost to the elbow in automotive filth, it was safe to say that Amber looked far from being World Champion material. Thankfully for her perhaps, wrestling as an industry had long since surpassed being a goddamn beauty contest.

“As much as you… yadda yadda… Let me guess something about my image and how important it is to show people I’m relatable in spite of the fact that you and I know that's very much the opposite. I built my image already Cassie, I’m not going to pretend to be someone else for a fucking Morning Show slot or magazine spread cause they don’t think I’m ‘family friendly’ enough.”

Uncoiling from her seated position, Amber found her feet unsteadily and drawing her forearm across her face to wipe away some errant beads of sweat dripping down the edge of her nose- only to accidentally streak whatever greasy, dark smear across her nose like war paint.

“No, wrestling at its core isn’t family friendly. We aren;t going out there putting on PSA’s and puppet shows- I’ll tell you now that the same parents that rebel against wrestling in the mainstream, R rated movies and sex education in schools are the ones with brats cyber bullying and selling shitty half-cut drugs to other teenagers. There is no rainbow filter to out over what we do- and to pretend anything else is absolute garbage.”

Another cheery smile followed that made Amber want to smack the blonde off Cassiopeia’s head. God, even just thinking about that name brought back a flood of memories- Atlantic City. A girl in a dirty flower dress. An angel with only one wing and a face worn indistinct. Five years was a long time to hold onto anything.
Cassiopeia. It just didn’t make sense…

“Whoever walks with the wise becomes wise, but the companion of fools will suffer harm. Proverbs 13:20.”

If five years were a long time, then nearly 15 was an eternity ago. Plainly dressed, Reverend Alistair McCrae exuded a charisma so fierce that it made Amber wanna go sit in the corner and punch herself in the face for half an hour just to cleanse her palatte. Otherwise unremarkable, Alistair circled around the edge of the Dodge Charger taking a few moments to admire the handiwork while still managing to keep Amber pinned to the spot.

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, however you have become quite the distinctly difficult young lady to find.”

“That's probably for good reason.”

Coldly, Amber’s rapid fire response seemed to catch McCrae off guard for a moment before the flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of his lip once more. Reflected in the wire framed glasses, Amber couldn;t help but see herself- confused, nearly alone and otherwise vulnerable. Kindly, he extended a friendly hand out towards Amber who stared at the gesture blankly for what felt like an hour.

“Never did pick you for the man willing to get his hands dirty.”

Mirthlessly Alistair's chuckle reverberated through the space, amused at the less than carefully chosen play on words.

“It is refreshing to see that in such a fast paced and ever changing world, that you’ve worked so hard not to change a bit. To most that might be considered a flaw, Ms Ryan. I tend to see it as a testament to your character, call it a gold star for determination if you will.
I’ll admit it's been quite a while and the last time… well, it turned out to be quite the messy affair.”

Amber swallowed hard, vividly recalling the night in question though there were anyway she might somehow forget it. It was the night she’d sworn she’d never cross paths with Dominic Del Gado again, swore off his kamikaze business venture and sworn off especially the way he’d done nothing but use Amber from day one, as though she hadn’t endeavored to do the same and simply got beaten to the punch. Literally.

“If you’re here on business, Reverend, then I’ll have to be the one to deliver such bad news that we aren’t taking on any further projects and jobs at the garage until potentially after new years. Although I’m sure God will be more than happy to start picking up some of the slack..”

“Business is pleasure Ms Ryan, many become addicts long after the point that the chemicals started changing in their bodies however they cannot be blamed for anything, but their crushing mainstream ignorance and warped sense of justice and entitlement.”

As spry and backhanded as ever, McCrae barely even acknowledged that Cassiopeia was still in the garage with more than just a fleeting nod of vague recognition.

“It's easy to accuse a spider of being evil however it's simply using its most base instincts to survive in the same way that a cow might chew on its cud much to the chagrin of vegans. Of course, no one expects anything different from them despite the fact their ‘choices’ might be viewed as inconsiderate or perhaps cruel.”

Something about the way he spoke seemed to carry unnecessary weight as though certain syllables were dragging, perhaps he spoke in exclamation marks while everyone else around him hushed their whispers.

“No one expects change from nature, yet it's expected from humans' cause we’re believed to be better than that. Unfortunately, it only works in theory as many fail to ever learn from their mistakes…Little birdies Ms Ryan, imagine my innate surprise when they tell me of what feels as though deja vu.”

Dominic. A list of businesses. Sabotage.

Oh god, it was all making too much sense.

Alistair smiled through gritted teeth, the distinguished and famous televangelistic exterior was far from a perfect mask for the ruthless, hard nosed businessman underneath however the cracks only seemed to show up close, where no one ever got to see them.

“No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. Corinthians 10:13.
I cannot blame you though for considering temptation Ms Ryan- as admirable as ever, and determinedly narrow sighted as your intentions might be, I cannot simply allow them to… stand.”

Another hard swallow felt as though razorblades dragged down the edges of her throat, making the twitch under her eye visible and prominent. Uncontrollable like the bubbling in her veins.

“Consider this a charity Ms Ryan. Everything you’ve been offered, in exchange for doing absolutely nothing… Young Mr Del Gado has proven more than once that he is perfectly agreeable with leaving on his own terms- now normally the ‘God’s word’ wouldn’t condone such things- but an eye for an eye, without ever drawing blood.
I’m an advocate for peace, Ms Ryan. I trust you won’t have me show the lengths to which I’d go to keep it.”

Swiftly and without a parting word, Alistair McCrae took his leave, taking silence as compliance before she could quite fathom how he could have possibly known… even she didn’t. It was just names of places, minimal detail for maximum benefit of the doubt. Coincidence, Dominic had told her, a breadcrumb trail only for those who understood where it was supposed to lead… a trail that hadn’t even started before she found herself at a goddamn tipping point.

Fucking bastard.

It was only as Amber sunk back to the floor in a dawning realization, coiled messily in a tangle of limbs, did she finally remember that Cassiopeia Mare had witnessed the whole fucking exchange… with a bright, idealistic smile.

“Whoever said violence never solved anything doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Violence is the only language some people understand. Not that I’m fluent, but I know enough to get by.”
― Timothy S. Miller






Undisclosed Church
Somewhere in Southern California
01.06.2009
9:41pm




Alistair McCrae was a simple enough man.

Shrewd in his dealings and fiercely devout in his faith, to a man like him money wasn’t worth as much as the allegiance of those willing to stand by their word and alongside their faithful- although it sure as fuck didn’t hurt either.
This particular church, among others in the area had seen recent facelifts and restorations from the depths of McCrae’s pockets- many a newspaper article and online posting had shown the man himself among those pitching in time and effort. He’d told anyone who asked that he was simply giving back to a community that had been so generous with their hearts and their time- that much of this came from the donations of the pious and ardent of his flock.

Of course, the truth had a funny way of being a little twisted in the smaller details.

Despite being arguably a self-made man, much of the money had come from donations- except those ‘donations’ were more akin to payments for services rendered and for exchanges of product. Alistair McCrae himself never handled these transactions of course, for the exchange of money to be seen passing through his hands would surely poison the image he’d cultivated so carefully and sown so thoroughly through the tangled mess of roots called society.
For what and when- there were no traces linking back to the McCrae name, a big enough and more importantly loyal enough congregation could conceal all manner of business dealings. None of which, should they be uncovered accidentally or otherwise could potentially link back harmfully. For all intents and purposes- the man was a fucking saint in the flesh, a modern Mother Theresa if she were the type to throw out the dollars for stonework and stained glass.

Amber, for what little McCrae had led on about his business dealings, couldn’t fault the man- even in the cramped semi-office space he’d from a long unused storage room that the three of them had quietly piled into what felt like hours before. Dominic actively engaged with him at every given opportunity, nodding before sentences were completed and agreeing whole-heartedly despite having told the redhead beside him the complete opposite opinion merely hours before.
First impressions were key, and Del Gado was determined to make his matter… while Amber watched hers in the wrestling community slowly slipping between her fingers.

“... and while this is all fanciful talk, I have to ask just what it is you think you can offer our flock that we may not already receive from another generous donor.”

Glacial, as though impervious to smoke blowing, McCrae leaned across his desk slightly with an intrigued smile.

“Quite simply---”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

Amber wasn’t aware she was being personally addressed until the room fell into an awkward silence- broken only by her racing pulse as it seemed like the temperature had gone up 10 degrees in an instant. Dominic gave her a wary side-eye, both of them intimately aware that this perceived role-reversal hadn’t been accounted for- after all, Dominic had always been the pitch man, his sticky charisma seemingly enough to capture attention long enough to be given a chance to prove more- while Amber… well, her role had become less and less distinct as time had worn on.

“Discretion...”

Coming out more as a croak, she caught a glimpse of Dominic’s eyes narrowing, his brow furrowing slightly with visible indignation of being passed over. McCrae in the meantime, and seemingly oblivious to the display of skin that she continually tried to account for by gently tugging her spaghetti straps occasionally, softened his expression with a curious squint.

“... and loyalty. While I can appreciate that your flock might be strong and devoted, it takes only one bad apple to spoil the bunch. Minimizing the chance of a bad apple greatly increases your ability to trust the whole.”

It was all bullshit spewed on a whim, barely able to stop herself from stuttering Amber straightened up slightly as though trying to correct her hindsight's posture. She’d talked a lot of shit in wrestling- mostly just viciously idle threats and off-color analogies cause that seemed to get her noticed, mostly for the wrong reasons. However this, no, this felt different- lying through her teeth never tingled through her skin, double-dealing never set her nerves alight and misremembering facts never gave her quite the endorphin hit...
Maybe it was simply the electricity that radiated through the room or maybe… just this once… she wasn't actually lying.

“Ah… Luke 16:10: If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities.”

Intimately aware of the shift in the power dynamic, McCrae rattled off the quote with relative fondness.

“You’re an astute young lady Ms Ryan. Given a push in the right direction, you could accomplish some… interesting things.”

A lingering inflection on the word ‘interesting’ left Amber hanging by her fingernails, part of her wanted to tell him that she already had outside interests and that her partnership with Dominic was one purely for each of their own personal gain- that she really was capable of something… anything more than just a sight for sore eyes.
She really could be great, she could be more… just given a chance.

Except the words never came, the sound dying long before it ever touched her lips leaving her only to manage a weakly appreciative smile and glance away in shame that she couldn't bring herself to speak candidly when it mattered.

Just a chance…

She’d do anything…

Hell, she’d already done anything.

Everything.

Just to get… here.

Just to get here and to be in this position right now, scrambling for something remotely significant to add to a conversation that hung like a heavy smog between the trio. Desperation, that's what this was, trying to find a way out from a hole she’d contentedly been digging until a bigger and newer hole was started just a little further along the path…

“Allow me the opportunity to think about it. Expect a call, I’m sure I can find something suitable to you - how can I put this- expertise, shall we say?”

Scraping his chair across the floor, the screech barely even registered with Amber until McCrae was almost half way out the door, with Dominic trailing and excitedly thanking the Reverend for his hospitality and all the such affiliated smoke blowing. To think, Amber brooded while slowly finding her feet as Dominic disappeared like a lost puppy seeking approval from a neglectful master, she’d given up a spot on a show for this… for Dominic… for the guy tripping over himself to get noticed.

If she weren’t so frustrated, she might have laughed.

At least some good came of it though…

Amber emerged into the nave as McCrae broke off a vigorous handshake with an almost reptilian smile, a passing glance of curiosity settled on her for a moment before the Reverend excused himself back to other far more important duties.

“Un-fucking-believable”

Dominic murmured quietly, more so to himself than anyone intended to hear it, as his hands fidgeted nervously. Gears ticked over as Amber cautiously approached, unsure whether to prepare for an explosion or a mental breakdown.

“Can you believe this? Come, now…”

Without even pausing for breath or asking, Dominic grabbed Amber’s wrist firmly before almost dragging her out of the church forcibly ignoring the fact that her stilettos seemed to catch on every carpet snag and her dress hiking up so high she could feel a faint breeze dance just below the crease of her buttocks. Stumbling out onto the front steps, visibly unimpressed, Amber tried to straighten herself up as Dominic seized her face and forcibly laid a kiss on her forehead- long before she could get her hands away from the hem of her dress to defend against the sudden affectionate onslaught.

“Oh, that is such a relief… We actually just did that.”

We.

It wasn’t lost on Amber for a moment that suddenly they were a ‘we’ as in plural, as in more than the singularity that was Dominic Del Gado and whoever he took up with that week. Biting her tongue, Amber swallowed her pride in favor of finding a reason to be excited- after all, maybe it was worth missing just the one show… she’d have other opportunities, even if it meant working a little harder or digging a little deeper.

“Yeah…we… I mean, it's a great opportunity, right? Getting to prove ourselves on that next level…”

Dominic scoffed, cutting off the growing momentum of her train of thought, before placing a hand on her lower back patronizingly.

“Sweet girl, you’re still thinking small time. All that nonsense wrestling stuff might have muddled your wires a little- but we aren’t just in this to be someone's minions. No one does anything with the intention of being second best- my father impressed upon me early that if you aren't the best then you need to do everything in your power to change that. Consequences can be dealt with later, fallout is for those afraid of success- fact is Red, you can’t be the best if you’re sitting beneath someone else's thumb.”

Click. Clack. Stilettos on concrete, her gait wobbled as Dominic pressed his hand into the small of her back a little more firmly as though intentionally creating more distance between them and the place of worship.

“... but I told McCrae---”

“... and it was brilliant. We are moving into position, not to be under his thumb- but to remove it from his hand entirely and cement ourselves as more than just Del Gado Snr’s little boy, more than just another pretty girl trying to play latex-clad badass bitch #4.
We have an opportunity to prove that we belong… you wanna belong, don’t you?”

She’d never heard Dominic speak so earnestly, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was openly planning to exploit possibly the one good thing she might have done in god knows how long- she’d have almost believed every word. Spinning her to face him, his hands firmly gripped at her waist and his eyes locked down on hers- there was a spark in his eyes, one that threatened to burn them both alive and yet somehow, she’d already fallen in love with the heat.

“We could potentially be getting handed the keys to the kingdom, darling… It'd be almost criminal if we didn’t use them.”








******




“What constitutes being ‘good enough’?

Is it something we base solely on achievement and recognition, or perhaps it's simply a state of mind we will ourselves into when the odds start stacking up against us. Believe in yourself and you can achieve anything right? We’re told that all our lives from people we presume know well enough that all we have to do is have faith and to work hard. Trust that the universe will reward you for everything you put out into it…
Some people need to be told this, they need to be constantly validated by everyone around them for fear that house of cards will come tumbling down at the first sign of a stiff breeze, repeating a mantra like their career truly depends on uit working. Others simply have such a confidence naturally- regardless of whether it's true or otherwise, spewing propaganda out into the world in hopes that they might create an infection of concussive arrogance.

Where is that line drawn though- and who gets to make that decision?

You’ve told everyone a lot that you believe you are Myra, and I find that almost as admirable as it is conceited- determined to will something into existence and have that just pay off cause being the World Champion is a result of just being ‘good enough’. ‘Good enough’ to beat me, ‘good enough’ not to disappoint everyone you’ve hyped around you again, ‘good enough’ to force yourself into a title picture that never needed you in it.

Truth is, you just want to belong. Be seen for what you really are, right?
You wanna be at the top of the mountain cause you know the world has no choice but to accept you, but to look up and recognize you as something you aren’t. Talk after talk after fucking talk Myra- layer upon layer of self-aggrandizing absolute bullshit that does nothing but build this fortress of pity for you to retire into once you realize that going on the defensive only means it just takes longer for you to lose.
It doesn’t matter how much you tell yourself otherwise- you think you deserve this, and I’ll be straight up with you, at Summer XXXtreme maybe you did… You made me step my game up another level cause I wasn't ready to be known as a ‘former’, cause I wasn’t prepared to watch my hard work get thrown overboard in favour of someone else's storybook journey.

Yeah, you had my respect. You very well could have won- but you were against me… and that's why you lost.

I mean you obviously have your own opinions on that, which is fine. They’re wrong, but it's fine. I’m never gonna be the one to tell people not to lie to themselves if that's what it takes to close some emotional wounds- after all, our whole industry is built on trying to avoid the truth at all costs.
We lie to our friends and families telling them that we aren’t absolutely terrified of what barbed wire and explosives can do to human flesh, we lie to our doctors that we don't hurt as much as we do cause we know it means standing on the sidelines watching someone else pass us by. We lie to ourselves that we can do things that were never meant for us…
In the end, lying comes as naturally as breathing…

Fact is, the truth sucks. It hurts and it just leaves everyone worse off than where they started.

However, when I walked into this company I made it my damn business to be truthful, to be honest with everyone I matched up against cause I didn’t wanna be the one fuelling fantasies of grandeur or giving people a boost only for their inevitable fall to be from a greater height.
I’ll stand here and tell people what I consider the truth- regardless who I hurt along the way, maybe that makes me a fucking asshole, but in the end it's my goddamn job to expose what makes people tick and dismantle them for their own good.

That's what makes me good enough Myra.

That's what makes me World Bombshells Champion.

And that's what will keep me there.

Maybe that makes me a little sicker than your average, but sweetheart I absolutely had to be to get where I am, I embrace it with all its flaws and consequences. To stand atop that mountain, you have to be a little sadistic- to want this belt you have to accept all the good and the bad that comes with it. That's what everyone seems to forget around here- being the World Champion isn’t about just carrying a belt and taking some nice photos for a glossy magazine- it's about never seeing your friends or family cause you have publicity commitments, about missing important life events cause theres a show or a flight you’ll miss if you stay five minutes too long anywhere.
It's about being the most judged person on that roster, your every move and word criticised cause it's not ‘representative’ of the company, despite the fact the same people applauded the same thing against a different person. It's about being looked at as an outcast, walking around with a fuck off target on your back cause everyone wants what you have- it's not about goals and dreams, it's about all the heartbreaks you’re willing to accept.

I’m where I am cause I’m the one not willing to accept anything less.

Time after time I’ve proven I’m willing to go further than anyone else for this belt, and this match is no exception- I welcome it, not because it's in my proverbial ‘wheelhouse’, but because it's a proving ground. It's an opportunity to show just how badly you really want it- cause you can tell the world what it means, but that means fuck all until you go out there and show it.
You don’t have to beat me Myra, that's the important thing here- you have to outlast me… just to even walk away.
You aren’t the long haul type- you like clean and decisive, you’ve staked your career on being effective with minimal time and effort, you lack my grit and determination. You rarely ever had to scratch and claw in the same way just to be noticed, only having to fight for survival once you were truly established and chasing gold… I had to do the same thing just to get in the fucking door.
Regardless of how much you back yourself Myra- this match isn’t just a decision, this isn’t just some ‘get in, get out scenario. Fact is, the longer this match goes- the more it favours me, not because I’m better, but because I have more I’m willing to give.

Thing is, in all of this- all the talk, all the bluster and bullshit Myra- you still haven’t been able to admit that you’d be willing to sacrifice anything. For you it's about everything you stand to gain rather than what's worth losing to make it there.
To you- I’m just someone to beat, someone standing in the way of your grand tear-jerking celebration that you are just DYING to have, I’m just someone blocking your path on the way to what you feel like you truly DESERVE when all you’ve done along the way is complain that you haven’t got there yet.

I’ll admit I’m tired of hearing about what you think you deserve, cause the truth is… you deserve a reckoning. All you’ve ever done is try to make these matches about you- about everything you have done, everything you want, everything you think you’ve been through…
It's not fucking about you Myra, and that's the lesson you don’t seem to be learning in all of this.
You are not the be-all-end-all of this company, you are not nearly the best and you don’t really deserve this opportunity- yet here you are singing the same song, dancing the dance and expecting literally anyone on this roster to believe that you want this more than I do.
Every week- it's about you. You made that Internet title about you and look what happened to it, you took it's identity and plastered it across your own like some facsimile of a personality- news flash though, being a fucking champion isn’t just a personality trait.

You had your shot at Summer XXXtreme and the first opportunity you got- you told everyone you weren’t going to make excuses, and then you went out and listed every reason why you didn’t win. Now you’re doing it for this match preemptively- claims that your deathmatch experience is limited, that this match favours me… That's never stopped anyone before. No one is just inherently good at these matches.
I’ve lost to Roxi before in a Street Fight, that's the exact type of match that favours me- and with a few cheap shenanigans and the sheer bullish will to win, she managed to do something that was otherwise believed impossible.
Maybe if you stopped the ‘woe is me’ for two minutes Myra, you’d actually realize all you have to do is go out and prove you want this title more than me… I mean you won’t cause you absolutely don’t want it more, but it's nice to consider your options.

I guess that's the difference between us Myra- I can switch gears, I can look inside myself and know that should I need to throw my morals to the wind, I have the capacity to do so and not blink an eye. I can shift from being the straight up striker putting girls down with a sick left hand, to spitting fire and thumbtacks on a fucking dime. I can tell you I respect you one day- then the next put you in the morgue and not shed a tear while they’re identifying whatever remains I let them have.
While I have this title- I’ll be whoever I need to be to keep it, and I won’t apologize for that.
Fact is myra- I’ve got no mercy left to be doling out, no fucks left to give cause you chose this Myra, you chose violence the moment you opened your fucking mouth to come at me again.

… and frankly you gave up your right to respect the second you made this Violent Conduct main event solely about you.”




******



Unnamed Radio Station
Anchorage, AK
09.09.2021
7:14am





Business casual, she’d been told, yet everyone was wearing jeans.

Overdressed to impress Amber deliberated, putting in a damn effort for nobody to see. Typical really,  as Amber made a mental note to bring this up next time management wanted her to act more ‘professionally’ as though going out to the ring every time asked and making magic from the mundane wasn’t quite enough to fulfil her obligations. Another publicity event, another cog in the eternal hype machine that was Sin City Wrestling.
In truth she knew it was simply par for the course, there were dues to be paid as champion and the last five and a half months had been no exception- after all, she was representing an entire organization just by carrying the belt slung over her right shoulder. Besides, maybe little smart dressing every once in a while certainly wouldn’t kill her.

Initially Amber had been reluctant to bring the title with her, it was a symbol deserving to be glorified on a grand stage rather than some prop to prove her legitimacy. Validation was for parking tickets and insecurities- she’d long since passed the point of worrying about opinions and trying to please people when in reality no one really knew what they wanted until it was in the rearview.

“Ms Ryan, it is an absolute pleasure.”

Without a moment to comprehend the sudden conversational interlude- assertive yet lively for the time of morning, likely riding the immediate high of a fresh cup of coffee, a young woman brightly offered up a hand, to which Amber reflexively accepted.

“Oh my, you really do have quite the grip. Please, come this way…”

Almost sheepishly, Amber withdrew her hand from the embrace as the woman set off briskly. Shorter than the redhead, even in kitten heels, and with a blonde ponytail swaying with every step- she started pulling away from Amber as windows in doors gave brief glimpses of microphones and mixing tables.
With a fond recall and cheeky smile, Amber remembered a time when she’d been told she had a face for radio by some deadbeat nobody opponent with a lack of originality and less talent between the ropes. At the time she’d been offended, now she couldn’t help but admit he was right- if only because now she was a world beating company woman instead of a part-time grocery bagger with a weekend proclivity for wrestling.

“... I must admit, a lot of us have been eagerly anticipating your arrival. You have quite the preceding reputation if you don’t mind me saying.”

Whether Amber minded was irrelevant as the young woman, who had introduced herself as one of the producers in passing between quick breaths and clacking footsteps. Words like that were always foreboding and expectation was a dangerous thing- hell, before she’d even said a word there had been a value placed on her tongue. Stopping before one of the many doors, Amber could make out a number of people in clustered groups between what appeared to be a split room- half occupied by a table and microphones suspended in front of seats, the other filled with more moving parts than a Stephen King novel. Mixing tables and meters with flashing lights and numbers, it was all quite overwhelming and Amber found herself briefly relieved at the fact she was going to be on the slightly less complicated side of things.

“Just a word before you go in there…”

Hesitation seeped between syllables, the young female producer seemingly measuring her words carefully. Amber readjusted her belt in the midst of the pause, their presence starting to attract the attention of a few of the bodies beyond the door with furtive and excited glances.

“Ollie and Andy are great guys, honestly. They are our most listened to show, bar none…”

“... but…”

There was always a but, always a prerequisite, always something to be guarded against although the faint little smile that curled at the edge of the producers lips betrayed a little more than perhaps she presumed she was letting on.

“... but, Ollie likes to think of himself as edgy and controversial. In reality, he’s just kind of an ass. Andy does a great job of dampening him- the mans practically a saint around here for what he deals with. Ollie is just… he thinks he’s cool and hip, wears a baseball cap backwards unironically if you get my drift. He wants a reaction at any cost- and we’ve had our fair share of issues when guests don’t come to ‘play’.”

Allowing the producer's commentary to hang in the air, Amber contemplated for a moment.

“Are you asking me if I came to play…”

Another small smile, this one more deliberate as the producer idly played with the ends of her ponytail.

“I’m telling you that the audio is going out live and we aren’t stopping the show for anything short of a bloodbath.”

If that wasn’t permission, Amber wasn’t sure what would be. Following closely as the producer entered the table-occupied room- two men joined from the otherside, both casually dressed in jeans and button down shirts. Mid thirties she guessed, one married judging by a gold wedding band while the other ruffled his hair slightly with some of the perspiration that had collected on his brow.

“You know…”

Ollie, with ruffled hair and a shirt too loud for such a confined space, spoke first although chose not to approach.

“I thought you’d be bigger, you know… in person.”

In a voice that sounded an octave higher than it should have, grating slightly with a mid sentence inflection Ollie regarded her curiously, the obvious up and down as though expecting someone more akin to a supermodel instead of whatever the redhead was. Meanwhile, in her peripheral vision, Amber could spot the producer giving her a look- although the redhead couldn’t quite determine if it was an ‘I told you’ or ‘I’m perfectly okay with you murdering this man on the spot’ look yet.

“Like that amazon looking woman, what's her name… I dunno, I saw her on a poster or something.”

With a commiserating look, apologizing in advance, Andy stepped forward for a brief handshake exchange.

“Don’t mind him, we really appreciate you coming by for a chat. It's not often we see events like this, especially given the state of world affairs currently.”

With a vague gesture, Andy offered her a seat as Ollie eyed the Bombshells World title studiously.

“Do you mind if I…”

Graciously, Amber slipped the belt down off her shoulder gently to account for the weight before carefully laying it across Ollie’s outstretched hands, for whatever convoluted reason though he doesn't anticipate the weight and almost immediately drops the belt before Amber intervenes with a scowl.

“Shit, that thing is heavy. I thought you just got like a replica to carry around or is this just a special occasion.”

A tinge of red flooded his cheeks as Ollie quickly backed off to the opposite side of the table while Amber quietly shifted the belt back onto it's favoured resting place, momentarily revelling in its weight and it's supposed surprise factor.

In the next room, the producer made eye contact with the men diligently.

Three fingers.

Two.

Amber inhaled sharply.

One.

“It’s 7:30am and it's another beautiful day in Anchorage- which can  only mean one thing- it's Andy and Ollie coming to you live for another breakfast show. Today, we have a highly anticipated guest- everyone around here has been absolutely buzzing about the Sin City Wrestling Supercard show this Sunday, and joining us for a quick chat will be one of the two women headlining that very show…”

Smooth and professional- Andy’s tone changed on the fly from genuinely neighborly yet distant to warm and charismatic, like the crackling of an open fire translated into vocalities.

“Absolutely- and we can confirm she's a beautiful as she is potentially dangerous. I’d hate to run into her in a dark alley, unless that alley was right outside my apartment…”

Asinine and just a little chauvinistic.
Bleh.
Feigning anything but disgust, Amber internally recoiled. Perhaps the warning hadn’t been quite enough, the disclaimer covering the barest minimum of details. Still, she had a reputation to uphold on behalf of people far more professionally inclined. Channeling her inner ‘Mac’, she politely smiled and swallowed the venom collecting at the back of her tongue.

“It is our pleasure to welcome to the show this morning- the Sin City Wrestling World Bombshell's Champion, Ms Amber Ryan!”

At this stage, she expected the canned applause, or some kind of manufactured effect to fill the dead air she'd left lingering between them- the idea of being conversational in such an impersonal way was far more confronting than she’d anticipated.

“A pleasure to be here”

Lying through softly gritted teeth, Amber smiled politely in hopes that they couldn’t tell she was already regretting ever having accepted this interview.

“Now this Sunday, you face arguably one of your biggest challenges to date as champion in the form of now two-time opponent Mary Rivers.”

Perhaps he was trying to be funny, mispronouncing like it was a gimmick or intentionally trying to hype her up as though she needed the help- however she quickly realized that it was simple, deliberate ignorance as Andy whispered feverishly towards Ollie that he’d fucked up the opponents name. Part of her wanted to laugh, the other half almost felt sorry for whoever had to deal with the consequences of the 20 minute rant Myra would no doubt wanna have at the supercard, about being slighted by some douchebag shock jock.

“Yeah, I’ve never really been a big fan of trying to categorize my opponents if I’m honest… Everyone brings their own unique challenge and finding a way to overcome them is what keeps me motivated. Myra has been an exceptional force- but everyone can be stopped, it's just a matter of how.”

Oh god, even as the words left her lips she could feel the tingle through every nerve. A simulation of everything she’d once loathed in paper champions determined to be valiant and moral- in truth she didn’t feel much that way at all, people like Ruby and Jessie hadn’t exactly been threats and Alicia was never the opponent she’d packaged herself as. Trying to compare opponents wasn't like apples and oranges anymore than it was like comparing oranges and straight up trash.

“This match you have coming up is a prime example of that stopping power as well, is it not? I believe it's an exploding barbie doll…”

“It's an exploding barbed wire death match. Barbie dolls were a different match the other week I think, I tend to avoid all the pink and glitter- I find it too hard to get out of my reputation.”

Levity was trickier than anticipated in the face of a certain premeditated ignorance. It didn't stop her trying, but it did make swallowing more of that rising venom harder, more bitter, more potent stinging the back of her throat.

“Yeah, but that's all just fake right? I mean, you don’t actually go out there and… you know”

Amber stifled an acerbic chuckle, the flood of toxic retorts bubbling on the edges of her tongue.

“No, I don’t know. I mean, if you’re aware of some kind of ‘safety’ barbed wire that we could get ahold of- I’d love to hear about it. Would save a lot of people some serious time and hassle…”

Unwilling to reign in her tone, Amber caught sight of some eagerly exchanged glances being shared and whispers murmured under breaths.

“Seriously though- do you know what it's generally used for? Corralling and containing livestock, property security… It's a deterrent as much as it's an effective stopper. It's designed to catch in clothing, it's designed to rip and tear at anything that gets caught in its grasp. I’d have brought some in with me, but apparently walking through downtown Anchorage with a roll of barbed wire tends to make a girl look a little erratic… Explosives are the same, you don’t just fake those things and they sure as fuck… can I say fuck… I suppose I already did… don’t tickle.”

Resting her forearms on the tabletop, Amber gauged both men curiously before continuing when the dead air remained unclaimed between them.

“Let me ask you both a question- what's the most painful thing you’ve ever stepped on, what's the worst pain you’ve ever endured?
Or tell me this, have you ever been hit with a baseball bat, let alone one wrapped with barbed wire… Have you ever fallen 10 plus feet from a ladder- hell, have you ever been on fire?
I’m sure it must be easy to question the legitimacy of what we do when you’re cooped up all safe and warm in a studio watching from a distance- but let me explain this to you… I have basically been shredded alive, I’ve been burned repeatedly and beaten with every blunt object you can fathom, I’ve probably lost more blood than you’ve drank beer…”

Her words trialed with a hiss as they remained silent, perhaps trying to comprehend the sheer destructive effects of such mortifying events.

“I have been cut and stabbed by friend and foe alike. I have had thumbtacks stuck in my tongue, broken teeth and been partially blinded. Hell, I’ve been thrown off a fucking scaffold through glass tables then brushed myself off like a goddamn hellspawn asshole- cause I wasn’t gonna let some asshole say they were better than me. I have lived and I have died between those ropes for titles that meant less than this one, so don’t ever sit there and let me hear you question the legitimacy of what we do… Frankly I’ve been through hell far too many times to be questioned about what the temperature is like there at this time of year.”

Venomously, Amber narrowed her glare as though inviting recourse.

“That's… that's quite a lot. Certainly a storied career, and without question I will likely be having nightmares about all of those things tonight.”

Amber forced a chuckle to lighten the mood, however Ollie had already gone sallow and pale- like the kid debating whether it was worth making a run to the bathroom before they threw up… and always losing the gamble.

“Allow me to be real blunt- we don’t do this cause we like the violence… I don’t enjoy waking up and not being able to walk 20 feet without having to stop for a breather, I don’t like hearing my joints crackle and pop when I try to stand up. I have no doubt lowered my life expectancy by decades just to call myself World Champion, so another exploding barbed wire deathmatch… another storied opponent looking to steal the crown off my head before my body has gone cold… Its just another bloody fucking Sunday”

Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Amber's smile twitched and the wrinkle in her nose deepened.

“I don’t expect you to understand what we’re going to go out there and do- all I want from you is to watch… Watch and remember this. History is always being written, no one ever likes to mention that it's always in someone else's blood though, everyone skips over the gory bits like they didn’t matter, but the truth is- actions have consequences, you punch upwards and you’re eventually gonna bring the ceiling down on your head. Shoot for the moon and hope your oxygen holds out long enough for someone to find you in the midst of Oblivion…
We are basically walking, living, breathing testaments to residuum and to pretend otherwise is ignorant and obscene…”

Softly, and with the delicacy of a whisper laced with cyanide, Amber cocked her head slightly trying to withhold the tic that wanted to tug at the corner of her eye.

“Lives begin and end every day and no one blinks an eye- but televise it and all of a sudden everyone's last breath has meaning. It's a privilege to see the end of anything, whether we realize it or not. It's monumental… and at Violent Conduct on Sunday- whether it's Myra or whether it's me- something has to give and something has to end…”







******




“What's the worst thing that's ever happened to you, Myra?

Be honest.

Was it someone telling you that they didn’t love you anymore, or maybe getting told that you’d never measure to an unreachable standard despite all your best efforts. Did someone disappoint you in a way you couldn’t recover from or were you betrayed by someone you believed in whole-heartedly only to find it was all a lie...
Let's cut the crap, shall we?
You aren’t nearly the damaged goods you claim to be- you’ve built your career on drifting from minor tragedy to minor tragedy, milking the emotional sustenance from everyone before waiting for someone to sweep you off your feet and tell you that it really did mean something. You’re a damn good wrestler, I can’t fault that for a moment- but to take all the good will you somehow managed to muster and throw that in peoples faces when they don’t buy into your melancholic soap opera of soon-to-be retirement speeches every week… It just makes me wanna punch something.

Everyone loves a good underdog story, the little guy winning out over the big bad forces of evil right… It's just, you aren't the underdog this time, this isn’t David vs Goliath Myra- it's Goliath vs Goliath it's just that one of them really feels sorry for themselves.
I’m not the penultimate challenge of some heroes journey and I’m sick to fucking death of the World Title only being viewed as a representation of their hard works and theirs alone- like no one elses wins and work ever mattered before that.
Carrying a title doesn’t make anyone important, people make this title important- after all, there are far more women on this roster who have held this title and been worse off because of it. Not from the title meaning less, but because they degraded what it stood for to bolster their own failing self-admiration.

This Bombshells World title is a deserved centrepiece of this company- not you.

… and I’ll be upfront with you right now, I’m real fucking sick to death of every sob-story, every starry-eyed impetuous misfortune bound motherfucker thinking that it's their god-given right to get to carry this belt simply because it would be ‘such an honour’ or so that whichever family member who ‘would have loved to see them win’ can be talked about for another few weeks.
No one in this business gets to be the champion cause they’re real special or cause their tragedies are greater than anyone else's- this isn’t some Make-A-Wish for wrestlers who would never get there otherwise. We don’t hold this belt up for a five second flash, we hold it up so every piece of shit crawling out of the woodwork, fancying their shot, gets to see what you’ve made the title worth.

When it comes down to it, you aren’t the only person in the world who has experienced loss and adversity- that has experienced some kind of emotional distress and yet you invalidate the way anyone else has ever felt cause it can’t possibly compare right?

No one in this fucking division has ever suffered the way Myra goddamn fucking Rivers has suffered, huh?

Just cause I don’t bring it up at every given opportunity, doesn’t mean I’ve never hurt.

Fact is, I’ve lost more people than I’ll ever name on camera, I’ve hurt people I cared about wrongly and worked twice as hard to make things better because of it and I’ve fought on behalf of many who never got to see an outcome. I have honoured and represented those who cared about me more than I ever deserved to be- and yet you still try to sit there live from your high horse, telling everyone that it's only your odyssey that matters. That only your loss and heartbreak has any meaning, that you should be the only one who’s feelings need to be put on a pedestal and that the courage you’ve shown to carry on is the only one worth prostrating before.

No, fuck you and fuck all of that.

You are selfish beyond understanding Myra, and nothing I can do in this match will ever change that. See, we are in the fucking main event of one of the biggest shows of the Sin City Wrestling calender and instead of promoting how much that means- you’d rather continue to demi-deify your fears and frustrations instead of promoting what really matters.
I’ll be honest- I find it fucking disgusting and I’m beyond tired of pretending like it doesn’t piss me off endlessly.

I can only hope that your hubris will see you turned to antimatter by the time this match is over.

See, you talk a lot about fear going into this- but you have no understanding of the context. You speak on it like it needs to be conquered before you can achieve your goals, that you can never be world champion with fear in your heart… Truth is though- you actually can’t be world champion cause that's my belt, that's my life and it's fifteen years of my bloodshed and my suffering so delicately entwined with the beat of my pulse that one wrong move would surely sever my connection to any common decency I might have had left.
Fear isn't something to be opposed to, you don’t just win against it like it's a challenge- but you’re saying it is cause you need something to blame, something to define you again. Telling everyone you aren’t scared of this match isn’t something to be proud of and being fearless doesn’t make you great- it makes you fucking stupid, it makes you reckless and irrational. Most importantly though, it lies to your body and tells you that you’re far more capable than what you really are…

You’ve painted yourself into a corner- and instead of offering you a lifeline Myra, I’m going to set the room alight.  I’m not here to play games Myra, I’m not gonna go back and forth with you on the intricacies of what it truly means to be scared.
You’ll learn that soon enough and you’ll embrace it cause it's all you’ll have left to hold onto.

Violent Conduct isn't just a buzz phrase, it's what we bring to the table… and it's no secret that I’m unfortunately familiar with this stipulation, that this match technically falls under ‘my terms’ but in truth that changes nothing cause the same woman who won the title from Christina Rose, is the same woman who defended successfully at Summer XXXTreme and is the same person coming to Violent Conduct to do it again.
It's never that I loved the violence Myra- I’ve never woken up in the morning and decided that it was the day I’d just go out and tear myself to shreds in order to prove my name meant something. It's a consequence of the way I came into the industry, and I continue to do it cause sometimes I still have plenty to prove to myself… and since I won this title I never stopped proving myself and I never accepted that I’d done enough.

That's why I accepted this rematch. I still have something to prove.

Every match thrown at me- regardless how inane or barbaric, I have gone out and proven that I’m world class in any and every scenario- food fights and fire fights, to fucking glitter stained ballgown bullshit and violent gore-strewn bloodbaths.
Maybe you’re willing to accept when you’re ‘good enough’ Myra, but for me that's just not going to happen- maybe it's toxic to never believe yourself to be good enough, but I’d rather that than resting on my laurels any day.

Lets just make one thing crystal clear in all of this though- you had your shot at Summer XXTreme, you’re having your shot again now at Violent Conduct… and all you’ve done is bitch and complain about it. Right here, right now is put up or shut the fuck up- there are no more chances, no more politicking your way into your fairytale future.
No, you lose Myra? That's it. You can go stand and watch everyone else get their shot, and maybe think long and hard about how you managed to get to this fateful moment and why all your bullshit and bluster is little more than the last of the residual smoke that's been pumped up your ass for so long.

Come Sunday, karma finally comes calling for you. Come Violent Conduct the ground will shake and mountains will shift- everything you’ve so shoddily built around you crumbles to your feet and when the dust settles you’ll look at what's left and wonder whether it's worth trying to rebuild- and I’ll smile at you a bloody little smile with gold still draped over my shoulder kicking at the stones you so carelessly laid.

I’ll look at you with a moment of pity, the same pity that you’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel for so long for and I’ll explain so very carefully to you as you try and pick up those shattered little pieces of your life- that you did this… That you finally got everything you deserved…

… and that your only remaining tragedy will be that I didn’t end your fucking career sooner.”






******



Bane Hotel Room
Anchorage, AK
09.09.2021
12:49pm





There was that tic again.

Amber tried to ignore it, leaning back into a sofa that she’d already concluded was far too soft. At first it was just a little twitch, a momentary muscle spasm just under her right eye that seemed to dissipate as soon as she recognized it's presence.
It was nothing. It meant nothing. It always meant nothing.

Keep telling yourself that and one day you might believe it.

Maybe she’d overreacted at the radio station, despite the fact she’d received nothing but excitable praise and questionable applause for her blunt force trauma of verbal diarrhea, maybe she’d gone too far and showed a far uglier side to what she represented than intended.
Yeah, that was the issue- she’d always just gone too far without ever questioning if there was a far more amiable middle ground between extremes, hell her whole career had been built on human polarity and her willingness to exploit the dead areas on either side.

Dominic was probably right, she concluded with an aggravated sigh, leopards were far too fond of their spots it seemed.

“Oh hey, I thought you weren’t getting in until later this afternoon.”

Bristling from the cooler air, Mac Bane shrugged off his jacket before tossing it over the edge of the sofa she’d sunk further into the folds of- maybe if she were really lucky she might just disappear long enough for her brain to stop going in circles.

“I messaged you and told you that my schedule had been changed.”

She had messaged, but neglected to mention that she’d forgotten to press send. In truth the schedule hadn’t changed though, her guilt about meeting Dominic at the garage had created that sudden absent-mindedness that she leaned heavily into now as Mac checked against his messages, while she knew he wouldn’t find anything more recent form her than almost a day and a half earlier.

“Hmmm, maybe just some bad reception or something.”

Amber’s stomach sank further than she did, something in her throat tightening painfully as she swallowed her regret. It was wrong, and she knew it was wrong and yet she still had that damn fucking envelope in her gear bag, buried beneath pairs of shoes destined to be worn as odds and a spare pair of pants cause barbed wire had never been kind to clothing.
She hadn’t necessarily lied, yet somehow she could feel the shame of even contemplating doing so scraping at every exposed nerve she had…

“What matters though is that we’re both here now.”

Leaning over the couch edge, Mac planted a soft kiss on her cheek as the scratching of his beard tickled down the side of her neck. Amber returned the gesture with an exhausted smile- the remnants of a tic under her eye lingering just under her skin like a splinter.

“Why don’t we go and check the place out… It's not often that we get to come this far across the country, let alone have any time that's not booked up with publicity nonsense.”

He was right. He was always right.

It seemed rarer and rarer these days that the World Champions saw each other for more than a passing hour or two, their beds were shared less and the coffee normally poured for two always got cold in one cup. Consequences, she reminded herself, by working so hard to be champions they chose this life and as such everything that came with it.
Rubbing her face reflexively, Amber stretched slightly, waiting for her shoulder to make it's distinctive pop before she relented with forearms tucked behind her head.

“As lovely as that sounds…”

“You don’t wanna go”

“I’m just… I’m a little tired from the travel---”

Now that was a lie, she’d been in town long enough to do an interview and sneak in an hour or two's worth of research into Dominic’s grand little scheme she’d somehow managed to get herself dragged into. Not that it had done anything, words on paper blurred into lines that no longer held meaning while photographs melted into a technicolour Rorschach without the sexual innuendos.

“--- besides, this match has got me all sorts of on edge.”

Thoughtfully, Mac dropped in beside her and placed a hand on hers with a small reassuring squeeze.

“I’d have thought you’d be quietly rejoicing.”

It was only partially sarcasm, he knew her career just as well as anyone- if not better than most. He’d been there for some of the worst beatings she’d taken and for some of her greatest bloody triumphs- he’d held her hand when she couldn’t even lift her head and sold his soul alongside her when the times had called for it. Neither of them were strangers to violence and all the baggage that came with it- but few times had ever seemingly had so much on the line.

Somehow fighting for survival seemed to pale in comparison to fighting for the World Title that she’d worked so hard to keep on her shoulder, that she’d given so much just to return some form of prestige to.

“Yeah, I thought I would too… Usually a match like this would see me fighting from underneath though, it's always been that ‘against all odds’ mentality. I’ve never really had anything to lose that I wasn’t already prepared to give up… Whereas this, darling I’d rather be left in fucking pieces than see Myra Rivers walk away with my world title.
This isn’t survival anymore- it's spite. Everything she claims she represents just serves to piss me off, it's all so false and frilly around the edges, you know? A match like this doesn’t just make me wanna keep my title, it makes me wanna end her fucking career just to shut her up for two minutes…”

Mac chuckled pensively, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

“She’s under your skin, sweet girl.”

She wasn't the only one.

“Yeah, and I feel like I’m about to go try to dig her out with a shovel. It's just… it's not what I intended this match to be, you know? I thought I could go out there and prove that in spite of my reputation, I could be controlled and methodical…”

Both of them knew there was little hope of that ever happening, even under the right circumstances- self control and exploding barbed wire just weren’t all that compatible. Besides, she knew Dominic would just say that he told her so… that she was everything she used to be, just with far more incentive to act upon it.

No, get him out of your head.

“It certainly doesn’t hurt to try.”

“You know, you should probably be trying to talk me out of committing unimaginable acts of violence rather than encouraging me…”

Forcing a smile, she nuzzled into Mac’s shoulder and chest in search of the comfort of his heartbeat.

“What can I say, you look good with that world title…”

Silence fell easily between them, just the rhythm of matching pulses and the quiet hum of the breeze outside their window.

“Even if I wanted to Red, I couldn’t sit here and tell you to be anyone, but yourself. If that means you have to go and do some stuff you won’t be proud of later, then I’ll be waiting and if you decide that you have places inside yourself that you need to go- I’ll be here when you come back.”

They both knew what he really meant- everyone had those dark places inside themselves, the ones usually covered in cobwebs where bad intentions sat waiting to be called upon. Manifestations of everything sick and desperate loitered among those shadows- for some a whole lifetime might pass without them ever being disturbed, while others found themselves on a first name basis with the worst of their demons.
More times than she dared to admit, she’d seen people threaten to go to that place- to draw upon something they had no idea how to use, just empty words in the face of things they couldn’t begin to understand.

It sounded threatening, it sounded meaningful- and for most, maybe that was enough.

Amber considered it more like a mine- digging into it before refining what she’d found into something usable. Was there anything left to pull from it though? Each time it seemed she had to dig a little deeper to find the same raw emotion to feed off, was there enough spite and hurt left in her tank to be the person that everyone expected would show up to Violent Conduct.

They wanted the woman who won the world title, the one who’d torn a gaping hole in the Bombshells division and invited anyone who dared to step into the gaping maw of the beast she’d manifested.
In truth, these days she hated that person- before Mac she didn’t care, Amber had happily jumped down the rabbit hole of neurosis and savagery on a whim, but Mac… he made her a better person, he made her want to crawl back out afterwards and face the world as the bloody, macabre mess she’d embraced being.

That was the thing- being a piece of shit was easy, it was comfortable. It required far less effort than being any better than the literal worst.

“You mean that?”

There was a faint tinny quality in her voice, a crack in the vocal facade. Mac paused, still air hanging heavily between them as their pulses roared like thunder in their chests.

“... I do and I’d still love you all the same. There is nothing you can do that would change the way I feel about you Red, never forget that.”

God, why do they mean something so different now then they did from Dominic all those years ago...

Planting a tender kiss on the top of her head, Mac unclasped his hand gently from hers before groaning as he pushed himself out of the sofa- leaving a faintly warm space that smelled like engine grease and sincerity. Amber's chest twinged hard, as though her ribs seized inwards threatening to skewer anything in their path- just the thought of lying to this man filled her with far more dread than potentially losing the World title and yet she sat there with thoughts in a murky haze…

Myra Rivers. Dominic Del Gado. Mac Bane.

Fuck.

She was gambling with absolutely everything she had and for what exactly… putting everything she had to lose in hands she couldn’t trust and yet, sitting on a sofa that threatened to swallow her whole she couldn't help but realize...

Losing everything seemed almost as easy as breathing.

“Already today I hit you twice. Once I knocked the wind out of you, once I knocked the consciousness out of you. Here you are back the third time. You call that smart?”
― Richard Stark, The Jugger



Undisclosed Bar
Somewhere in Southern California
17.05.2009
10:03pm



Amber had never considered it possible to be so in love with someone, and yet still manage to despise them with every fibre of her being.

Yet here she was, sipping on something that had far more alcohol content than what it tasted like and tinged an unnatural pink that she knew would leave her with cotton mouth in the morning, watching Dominic Del Gado schmoozing it up like he’d done it all his life.
Maybe he had. Not that it mattered, everything seemed so heady and indistinct around the edges- bass thundering and drowning out whatever sound they’d tried to pass off as music and a thin veil of artificial smoke seemed to waft through bodies without a source.

Business and pleasure weren’t supposed to mix, but damn it was hard not to find pleasure in business when everything felt so… so …ugh, words. It’d almost become a routine by now, the last two or so years spent almost perfecting the art of wrecking havoc before the dust settled. Jacks of all dirty hands trades, keeping those with more expensive manicures out of the mire for a quietly pretty little fee…
That was the thing with most businessmen of a certain level, they wanted for nothing that money could buy and yet couldn’t stand to see anyone else rise to their standing along with them- as though the idea of shared wealth and influence were offensive.

No, the mountain top was a solitary place and every broken dream left beneath their feet only seemed to elevate their opinion of themselves.

Amber didn’t mind the work so much, running her tongue across her teeth idly, after all she’d spent years playing off petty theft and minor criminal convenience as extra pocket money while cage fights, pit fights and every other malevolent form of entertainment came later as money had become tighter.
Dominic had connections, ties to those with interests in services they might render- and Amber had just enough lack of a conscience to oblige when necessary.
Besides, professional wrestling wasn’t quite paying the bills she’d expected yet- sure a few promising results had gone in her favour, but bookings weren’t frequent enough and the pay packets seemed a little lighter than she’d been promised.

For now, just on the side… maybe she’d be able to stomach the hungry looks and demeaning side eyes that lingered a little too long on a hem line not quite long enough. Long enough to make every lingering stare worthwhile despite the fact no one had come within 10 feet of her since she’d walked through the door- and not cause she was still a month shy of turning 21… but because she’d shown up with him.

Laser focused, but wearing the lazy kinda smirk that just begged for all the wrong kinds of attention- she watched Dominic sidle up between some businessmen , their tie clips glimmering obscenely as an understated gesture of wealth while carefully groomed jawlines seemed a half second faster than the top half of their face. Small talk, introductions- if she weren’t so hazy, she’d probably have tried to lip read whatever spout of bullshit flowed from his lips like sweet honeyed wine- as though she didn’t already know the ‘script’.

Business and pleasure, such a forbidden and profitable taboo.

Yeah, they were using each other. They both knew it- but revelled in it’s profits regardless.

Deep down, while swallowing another sip of sugary facsimile pink, Amber mused about the eventual day he would come crawling to her doorstep, just begging for what they once had all the while she revelled in hard earned successes fought between rope and canvas.
One day she’d no longer need him in the same way he’d said he needed her breathlessly amid tangled sheets.

One day, she’d be able to take all of this… and throw it back in his fucking face.

Across the bar, an errant sideways glance dragged her posture back towards upright from the cliche ‘pretty, bored girl in a bar waiting for a mysterious stranger to approach’ trope that she’d lazily fallen into automatically. Flanked by two of the seemingly enthralled clients that he’d woven is web of promises and potential over-exaggerations, the group approached with drinks in hand and conversation flowing freely.
Straightening up, she still found herself dwarfed despite being in uncomfortably high heels that may or may not have been stuck to the floor- their smiles remained expensively generic and yet something about them simply oozed something oily and smug.

Dominic sidled up beside her, his fingers lacing around the edge of her hip. Flinching beneath his touch, it took almost everything Amber had not to bite through the edge of her lip in annoyance- a fact not lost on Dominic as his fingertips seemed to dig in a little further against the satin of her dress.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my associate…”

Associate. If she thought her voice might escape her throat- she would have screamed in fury and thrown the remaining dregs of her drink across the front of Dominic’s linen shirt. Without her, he had nothing… without him, at least she still had a burgeoning career and an opportunity to do better.
Which only left her with the bitter after taste of the question of ‘why hadn’t she’.

Amber extended a hand politely as she quickly realized that Dominic had left her high and dry- normally he dominated the conversation, laced his tendrils through every facet of interest that might be expressed and squeezed them for every drop that he might extract.
One after the other they spoke politely and without emotion, handshakes firm without being crushing as though their masculinity wasn't defined by how hard they could squeeze, the only distinct thing about them remained their composed demeanors as the night continued to throw temptation to the wind.

“Amber… A pleasure I’m sure.”

Asher and Elijah. Quite possibly the only men who didn’t seem disappointed as Amber once again played tug of war with the hem of her dress and lost dramatically. Returning their pragmatic smiles, Amber cocked her head slightly while silently hoping that she managed to convey that from beneath the heavy facade of makeup- cause apparently ‘bruises didn’t inspire confidence’.

You know, as if she’d had much say in the matter to begin with of course.

“Amber... sweetheart…”

God, it was almost ugly the way the word rolled off his tongue and yet she didn’t dare slip from his grasp.

“These gentlemen have expressed somewhat of an interest in some of the services we provide, on behalf of their employer.”

Neither Asher nor Elijah responded, their larger frames seemingly making Dominic insignificant in comparison despite barely being an inch taller than the swarthy silver tongued devil. Expressionless outside of their polite smiles, it was becoming borderline unnerving however Dominic seemed oblivious- if only because he was a shark that smelled blood in the water.

“Well, that does seem very fortunate and opportune for us… doesn’t it, darling?”

Amber dargged the last syllable while lacing her fingers across Dominic’s hand, sound rolled off the edge of her lips drenched in passive aggressive vitriol as she dug her fingernails into the skin folds of his knuckles. All the while, Amber maintained her polite yet aloof amusement. To his credit, Dominic didn’t react openly, however every small win mattered in such a war of attrition and this was a blow well struck- one that would no doubt help her sleep for the next week should she be so lucky.

“So it seems, and these delightful gentlemen are willing to set up an appointment for us...”

Amber paused, she’d gone over what felt like a thousand times with Dominic that she had important matches upcoming, bookings that seemed like blue moon occurrences that could be a potential foot in the proverbial door and yet… a small part of her almost sensed in advance that Dominic was about to get his notch on the bedpost back from her fingernails stunt.

“I was thinking maybe Monday in two weeks perhaps?”

Clearing her throat, Amber subtly drove her fingernails a little deeper in hopes they might soon be stained crimson.

“Ah, it might just be an appointment you attend without me then as I have prior arrangements- that we had already discussed.”

Sweet and entirely murderously, Amber caught Dominic’s eye with a glare that matched the malice that soaked through every word.

“Oh, but were you not saying just the other day how we should jump upon every opportunity that presents itself?”

She hadn’t said that. She hadn’t said anything close to that, but now she couldn’t deny it without looking like an asshole. Clenching her teeth, Amber bit her tongue and hoped that the force of her growing fury might not split it in two.
If the men standing across from them, drinks firmly clenched in hand yet untouched, had noticed the blatantly destructive social cues then they had very politely ignored them in favour of businesslike professionalism.

“Mr McCrae would be delighted to make your acquaintances, no doubt.”

“Well, it’s settled then. Shall we discuss the finer details somewhere a little more… well, fitting?”

“It's been a pleasure Miss.”

Asher was the first to respond as Dominic finally untethered his hand from her hip, while Amber silently clawed at every millimeter of flesh she might catch with her nails. Placing an unscathed hand on the back of Elijah’s shoulder, Dominic gestured the pair of men away- murmuring something about fruitful partnerships and potential networking connections leaving Amber to try and adjust the bottom of her dress and unstick her stilettos from the floor.

Watching the men disappear through a different door, Amber allowed herself a much needed scowl as she forcefully swallowed down the last blush tinted saccharine dregs- slamming the glass down onto the counter top as it smashed to pieces in her grasp.

McCrae.

Amber couldn’t quite figure out why the name tickled at the back of something resembling memory, a sugar rush no doubt clouding whatever judgement and decision making ability she’d had left. Resonating a fraction out of time with bass that seemed to vibrate through her bones- the world seemed to cock a little to one side without her ever moving her head, the floor slanted in just enough of a tilt that she found herself white knuckling the bar to stay upright for a fleeting moment.

Perhaps something a little stronger might eventually pry something free…clear her head… unfuck the room a little.

Or at the very least help her find wherever the hell her spine seemed to have ended up.



******


“Grand slam Jessie.

Got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? A familiar tinnitus as that's all that seems to be tied to your name in a positive light these days- personally I hate to shit on peoples aspirations, however if I stood here and told every opponent how great I thought they were then I’d likely have given up my right to the title long ago.

That being said, you’ve come a long way from our first encounter- although just seeing a tub of ice cream still gives me this warm sense of pride deep within the cold, heartless void of my chest.

No, credit where credit is indeed due. You’ve done more, been more since then… or so I’ve been told.

I mean you’ve made great progress right? Finally set yourself in a direction and heavens almighty are you sticking with it- heres the issue with directionality though that seems to get a little overlooked.
It’s not always forward, surethats the connotation but in reality backwards or sideways are equally viable, or in your very special and very specific case Jessie… so is straight down.

It's no secret that you’ve been here basically longer than damn near anyone else on the roster- it's just a shame that you’ve basically turned that into a punchline. You know, someone new walks in the door and you tell them to make sure you don’t pull a Jessie Salco. I believe that’s where you become a lifer, but have so little to show for it that you might as well be a custodian or part of the ring crew for all that it really matters.

You know as well as I do how we got to this place- match after match, title shot after title shot and just when it looks like the tides might be turning, you remember just who the fuck you are and come careening back to the bottom of the barrel again.
I mean it could be a lot worse- you could have short term memory loss like Bea Barnhart who talks such a big game against absolutely everything with a pulse, gets obliterated by a ratty broom then promptly disregards the fact the match ever happened.

Yeah, pretend like that world title qualifier didn’t happen.

Don’t think I haven’t forgotten the utter garbage you rambled about, acting like anyone- including your husband who seems capable of winning the occasional match- believed that you weren’t just cannon fodder for the masses.

No Jessie, you haven’t quite stooped that low yet.

Maybe if you’re lucky you won’t ever.

That being said, right now- you’re at square one wondering just how many more times you can pull these big time contingencies and hope spots from between your cheeks before your left standing at catering by yourself wondering why your hands smell off-putting.
You’re running out of good will Jessie, as endearing as your story might be- but feel good doesn’t do fuck all, as I’ve so very well proven since I walked in here and took my shot at Roxi.
Besides, you know as well as I do that some of the girls are getting bitter- I mean you cut in on a line they didn’t even realize they were in and the worst part?

Worst part is that it's going to be for absolutely nothing.

I’m sure it’d be real easy to be like ‘third times a charm’, something something law of averages. Stranger things have indeed happened- like real audience members have actually cheered Christina Rose despite the fact her identity disorder is very obviously a cry for help. Not even just the thousand and thirty six members of her and her wifes extended family- REAL FANS Jessie.
That's some stranger than fiction shit right there.

… that's the thing isn’t it.

You very well could beat me.

But you won’t.

… and I can tell you exactly why.

Odds are, you probably havent even realized that you even do this yet.

Before the match has even taken place, before you even peek out from behind that curtain to embrace and accept what is surely a forgone conclusion- you’ve already made a backup plan. You’ve already accepted that theres a chance of losing and you’ve created a contingency for what happens next.
What that tells me Jessie, is that even you don’t fucking believe you can beat me… You’re already worrying about which heavy metal album releases next, who’s nipping at your heels in the SCW Bombshell pecking order and whether another run at the Internet title might be on the cards.

Oh, don’t get me wrong… I think it's absolutely delightful that you’re so organized.

It's just… it means you don’t take this seriously. Not enough anyways. You’re so much more concerned with your image and the fallout that you haven’t even braced for impact, choosing to stock a storm shelter you’ll never userather than  taking cover back in your house of straw.
You’ve taken the opportunity to move on before the match has ever taken place. How do you expect me to consider you a real threat to my title when you’ve already mentally checked out in favour of something a little more… achievable.

When it comes down to it- you’re another ‘aim for the moon and land among the stars’ analogy, except you forgot to pack a space suit and you’ve got about thirty seconds to give me a reason not to rip you apart in a vacuum before your existence is snuffed out.
Most of that locker room will argue that you don’t deserve this shot- and arguably, ona  fundamental level, they’re probably right… but see they aren’t the powers that be and they sure as fuck aren’t the champion otherwise I have some serious issues going on upstairs.

If people who ‘deserved’ a shot were the only ones to ever recieve them- then it’d be the full time dregs with their sob stories and underdog tales of rising to every challenge would take centre stage, everyones pity party laid out on the table to be rifled through to see who is the most tragic. It’d be the assholes who seem to win on a minor stage then blow it under the spotlights repeatedly getting chance after chance cause they won just enough matches to keep them ahead of the next try-hard doing exactly the same thing.

Deserving a title shot is a revolving door of inevitability.

I don’t believe people deserve a title shot for showing up- I believe in giving it to those who prove they want it badly enough. Who are willing to give, who are willing to sacrifice just for the chance to say they tried and failed. I’d much rather eventually lose to someone who absolutely worked their ass off to be better than me on the night, than just keel over out of fucking boredom and let some lucky asshole on their fifteenth attempt get a sneaky little pin while the medics perform CPR.

So make the most of your shot Jessie, really savor everything it has to offer cause whether it's a food fight, ultraviolence fight, standard catch as catch can fight or some fucking petting-zoo-glitter-bomb-chocolate-pudding-rainbow-sparkler-upsidedown cake-extravaganza match… It doesn’t change fact. It doesn’t change who you are, what you’ve done and the direction that you’ve already pre-chosen.

I mean, I won’t lie… I’m fucking pissed about the stupid goddamn gimmick and I’d tell Candy to her face if she didn’t run screaming everytime she saw me down the far end of a corridor- but it doesn’t change the here and now. Besides, I’ve got plenty of time to be annoyed about it after I’m done scraping the last of the whipped cream and sprinkles off my title plate…
In the grander scheme of things, this little ‘stipulation’ means absolutely nothing- kinda like the perfect analogue for your career to date and arguably the subtitle for your 23 page career autobiography where you detail all six of those wins you’ve had since the last time you were champion.

See, you’ll come into this match as the odds on underdog, a house of fire with nothing to lose and everything supposedly to gain... and you’ll leave just the same way- only with a few more bruises on your ego for the fucking gall of it.
Keep on shooting your shot Jessie, just don’t point it towards someone who outguns you on every meaningful level maybe...

Breathe in and breathe out, yeah deep breaths just to make all this feel real. I want you to really take this all in and revel in what could one day be- cause this really is it… This is your proverbial freebie, your pity opportunity, your bluff called and raised on the table, your golden chance to take everything anyone has ever said about you and your incredible choke artistry and shove it straight back down their throats.

This is what it comes down to… everything you’ve ever wanted.

… and honestly? I’m not even going to feel bad when I turn those hopes and dreams to cinder between your fingers. Again.”



******


Vegas Airport
Las Vegas, NV
26.08.2021
7:28am



Just smile with your eyes.

It isn’t that hard.

Surely.

Amber adjusted her facemask slightly as fervent and ecstatic thank yous and middling praises were left hanging as another pair of fans disappeared back into the terminals midst. She couldn’t help but quietly admit that she at least appreciated the subtle artform in only having to emote from the cheekbones up as fans threw up hand gestures with broad grins hidden behind fabric facades.
It wasn’t as though she hated the fan interaction, if anything the idea that anyone considered themselves a ‘fan’ of hers to begin with still remained a foriegn concept, if only cause they’d unlocked the secret to liking her that she hadn’t quite figured out.

Across from her, quietly content with watching the world pass them by, Mac sipped away at a coffee cup that seemed far too small in his calloused hands. He seemed to enjoy the road life as much as she did, his ability to socially adapt somehow made the more daunting aspects of travel feel far easier- and her vaguely control freak nature kept them efficient and targetted.
While they both loved working out of Vegas, if only for the fact that they’d had some semblance of time occasionally to devote to the garage, the idea of stepping back out into the greater landscape filled Amber with a sense of exhilaration and independence.
It's just the whole belt thing was a bit of a nuisance.

Not that she’d have changed it for the world, her foot nudged softly against her carry-on bag finding the faceplates upper edge. Fans always asked to see it, as though in disbelief that they actually carried a physical embodiment of their achievement, while others were determined to live out a fantasy that seemed all too far out of reach.
Mac was always the more agreeable one on such matters, as if there were any surprise. Dragging his SCW World Heavyweight title from the clutches of his beat up duffel (that she’d told him more than once to just throw out cause it was practically falling apart at the seams) always got the reaction and admiration it so properly deserved- the ohhhs and the ‘can I touch/hold it’ questions seemingly endless.

He endeared himself in the way a champion was supposed to.

In the way that Amber couldn’t bring herself to oblige.

Deer in headlights stares would follow as her reluctance would bubble up to the surface, perhaps so used to the request just being acquiesced to- many couldn;t comprehend why the answer wasn’t automatically what they wanted.
It wasn’t as though they didn’t deserve to see her SCW Bombshells World title, it was the fact that the belt deserved a far greater spotlight than shitty airport lighting. It deserved to be centre stage, the prime focus rather than some fucking novelty pulled out for a quick rubberneck. Eventually she’d cave in- and always after a knowing glance from Mac- and the fans would leave with their pictures and stories about how much larger than life the ‘golden couple’ really were.

Back into her bag the title would then go, nestled atop her gear. Earlier in her career, she’d probably have just checked it all in and given a non-chalant shrug- however a gear mishap with an airline losing her luggage within the first few matches in her career left her scrambling to fit into someone elses sparkly hot pants in hopes that she didn’t jeopardise future opportunities.
Admittedly it had also been at a distracting time- when personal and professional lines were blurred beyond the point of a recognizable change. Stardom and success seemed laid out at her feet, stretching into the distance and little things like ‘keeping ones gear with them’ seemed so incredibly minor in comparison to the side business scheming and in ring notoriety building.

“Y’know you’re actually allowed to smile under there Red.”

Garnering a little half smirk, Amber said nothing at first, allowing the man in her life to revel in this easy victory.

“Give me a reason and I’ll consider it.”

A small chuckle followed, unable to stay morbidly serious for too long in Mac’s undeniably charming presence. He put her at ease, made her a better person… a better champion. If it wasn’t so fucking obvious, she might have tried to pinch herself in the hope it wasn’t just another concussion.

“You mean spending time with me isn’t enough?”

In mock offense, Mac took a long sip of coffee.

“Seems like I need to up my game.”

Running her fingers through the tangled mess of hair trying to hang over the side of her face, Amber gave Mac a knowing eyebrow raise.

“We’re married remember, things aren’t as easy as they used to be. Besides- bullshit gimmick week seems to have finally caught up with us. Well, me at least…”

A loud exhaling laugh emanated from somewhere deep in Mac’s chest, hearty and warming as though filling the air around him with delight.

“Ha! You trying to tell me you’d rather do the glitter nonsense… even after that match with Roxi.”

She didn’t need reminding, but he brought it up regardless. Amber’s last encounter with glitter had also been the site of her last singles loss in the company- the second of three matches against the hero, cementing her place in the Bombshells hierarchy.
Glitter. Ugh. Even now the memory left a bad taste in her mouth, worse than the sludgy mess no doubt left in the bottom of her coffee cup now she’d let it start to get cold.

“Least yours gets to be a death match. Besides, a few hundred showers and you’ll get that shit off…I always did wonder what your beard would look like with a little sparkle.”

Gimmicks were a part of wrestling. Always had been, always would be- simply a way to drum up interest in something that could otherwise be seen as pedestrian in a world where violence was the status quo. Most of the time there was a reason though, something undeniable in the way that two people wanted to hurt each other for a perceived disagreement.

“Food though… I could be smelling like cake and mashed potatoes for weeks potentially. Nah, fuck this bullshit- I’d have rathered all this just to be straight up and let the limelight shine on where it really matters.”

Violent Conduct. Myra Rivers. Again.

It wasn’t as though Amber was looking past Jessie, but the looming shadow wasn’t exactly difficult to miss either.

“Never would I thought I’d hear the day that you of all people would be upset about a match without rules.”

“That's the thing though, it's not really a match, is it?
A food fight isn't inherently related to what we do- it's an exhibition you put on when two people aren’t good enough to stand on their own and make magic happen between those ropes. In this case it's a crutch for two people who are perfectly capable of walking without assistance- we’re being hobbled in the same way the gimmick would usually be wielded to help and disguise.
Death matches I understand- it has history, it has meaning. You say those words and you know what to expect, even if there happens to be glitter on literally everything.”

A long sigh escaped the Bombshells champion, her foot idly tracing against the edge of the faceplate inside her bag.

“I get it. I really do, the fans are fucking weird like that… I guess just for once I’d have liked something a little more… conventionally macabre?”

A slight inflection at the end of her sentence caught even Amber a little off guard.

“Like, we’re going into the most violent Supercard of the year… I’m going out there and defending my world title in a fucking prop match. If they wanted things to get a little crazy- all they had to do was ask…”

With her eyes falling back to her coffee cup and a new set of fans approaching, nervously excited while practically tripping over the words in their head, Amber murmured quietly with a faint hiss.

“Besides, a little blood never hurt anyone.”

“One to be a murderer, the other to be martyred, One to be a monarch, the other to go mad.”
― Marissa Meyer, Heartless





Sun Princess Cruise
Somewhere out at sea… probably.
12.07.2021
11:28am



Amber was certain everyone saw through the façade.

Smile. Flash. Another photo.

No, smile harder cause first impressions fucking matter.

She would have sworn up and down, as the enthusiastic fan rejoined the buzzing ballroom space, that everyone else in the room was humouring her poor attempts to fit in. Meet and greets were always a mixed bag, the raucous showed up in force, not caring who was slated- or in this case when- just that they needed to be remembered, acknowledged by those whose lives seemed to matter far more than theirs. Hell, she’d done this type of stuff plenty before- but mostly as a nobody, as a new face in a company trying to be recognized. Most of those who did were the rabid, the ones who paid their rent money to attend a show, skipped a doctor's visit for a new shirt, who cared so much about what they loved that they even remembered the ferocious little redhead in the opener that was  just happy to have made the main card.

Those were small scale affairs though- maybe they thought she seemed kinda cool or simply banked on the fact that they were 80% sure she wasn’t just some backstage pleb shuffling people through robotically.

She’d never really done anything like this as a world champion though… Now everyone seemed to be glancing across the room as they moved between other more approachable stars trying to figure out if they could get a photo without losing too much of an important limb.

In truth though, she was far more terrified than they ever could be.

No, just put on the damn face Amber and pretend like your nervous system isn’t stuck in fast forward and you don’t wanna lose your breakfast all over this generic carpet. Internally she scolded herself, there really wasn't anything to fear but her own insecurity- but be damned in having a hundred or so eyes on you when you were actually paying attention to what they thought wasn’t just slightly intimidating.

Nearby, leaning on the edge of a table, she could hear Mac chuckle loudly. Desperately she wanted to give him a side glance, a sightline SOS cause it felt like she was drowning on dry land.
He knew she was putting it on, even without looking at her he could sense that she’d grown tense, that her smile hurt more than it should have.

God, since when did wrestling become the easiest part of being world champion?

Amber mused quietly as a small group of twenty-something year old fans approached, their cautious smiles offset with nervous chatter and overly polite questions. Even her tongue felt dry, almost swollen to the point she could barely close her lips- words tumbling out in a way that she hoped didn’t shift the power dynamic. They seemed satisfied although she doubted they had much other choice, or simply were overwhelmed by adrenaline and euphoria that the disappointment of Amber mumbling barely incoherently wouldn’t sink in till much later.

No, at least with wrestling there was a singular focus. One person, one goal, one belt. One achievement at the end of a misshapen rainbow with distinctly too much red. In that ring, she could be anyone else and receive no judgement- being good, bad or otherwise was simply part of the journey instead of a predetermined destination.
That was the thing, a thousand eyes might be on you, but you didn’t see them- for the time between those tolling bells, everything those eyes had to offer, had to resent and judge you for… they didn’t matter. They held no power, they had no sway as though their mouths no longer noise and their hearts stopped beating until they were given a three-count jumpstart.

Between those ropes, surrounded on six sides- she could be anyone else. Maybe she’d be the person she always wanted to be, the one she dreamed off late at night as a kid surrounded by posters nearly falling off the walls… or maybe she’d be everything she’d come to loathe internally, the person who’d do absolutely anything to anyone on the proviso that the end justifies the means.
Mostly though… Amber resigned herself to quietly admitting, trying to ignore the chatter of small talk and rising temperature in the room… Mostly she was both of those people because somehow, someway they ended up being one in the same.

She knew though, shooting Mac yet another sideways glance that seemed to bounce off his affable nature, that once it came down to the match… when it came down to what really mattered… when it just came down to what she could do inside a six-sided ring.

She knew she’d be fine.

So where the fuck was that Amber now?

“Miss Ryan?”

Like flicking a switch, Amber shifted into auto-pilot ‘professional mode’ as an older woman approached whilst flanked by a group of special needs teenagers and adults.

“Yeah, sorry was just… you know... ”

Amber actually didn’t know, however the lady nodded with a polite, almost matronly smile. No doubt just as confused, but shrugging it off cause these damn wrestlers and their daydreams.

“I hope you don’t mind if we---”

Straightening up as though being told off for slouching in her chair at school, Amber slipped the Bombshells World title off her shoulder- almost savouring its weight in her hands before passing it off to the older woman. Briefly Amber opened her mouth to warn her that the title was heavier than it looked, but after a moments realization the title was already being gently placed on the shoulder of a young lady in a wheelchair.
With a smile that Amber could only one day hope to successfully imitate and fluffy brunette hair that fell around her face, framing wire-rimmed glasses and hazel eyes glimmering with an untold excitement, the young lady gave- what Amber could only presume- was her best ‘Distorted Angel’ impression.
Determinedly distant and apathetic, although definitely tempered by a radiating excitement that simply couldn't be contained.

Watching amusedly, Amber leaned back against the table behind her for a moment, almost glad not to be the centre of attention for a minute or two before a soft touch on the arm drew her back to reality. A knowing, almost crooked smile met her as the older lady leaned in slightly.

“Perhaps you’d like to, oh I don’t know... join her? You are, after all, the champion I presume...”

Despite the inflection in her voice, Amber immediately realized that it wasn’t being framed as a question. For some reason, she’d always considered the title as the centre piece- the only reason that anyone came up to someone like her to begin with besides asking for money- the redhead was realistically just the vessel, like a direction to be pointed in.

“I mean I’d hate to ruin her---”

“Trust me. You won’t be ruining anything.”

Swallowing hard, Amber tried her damndest not to stumble over her own feet- she was merely a consequence of the privilege. That Bombshell's World title was a symbol of excellence, it was a statement above all others and a declaration of what could be achieved. In the eyes of many, no doubt, she was just the newest pretty-ish face to lug it around while explaining to airport security why her extra carry-on bag weighed so damn much.
Just lucky, and probably a little fucking cuckoo.

Mac caught her edging glance this time, his own gathering of special needs fans milling about whilst a slightly younger woman corralled them thoughtfully- with a knowing wink, he leaned down towards a particularly frail looking boy while helping support the hefty title belt resting on his small shoulder.

See, Mac understood this… he made it look so fucking easy that it was almost infuriating.

Given the option, she’d just as quickly have disappeared under the table as she would take another photo…

Do the right thing Red, she could practically hear Mac telling her now, take the damn picture. Go say something nice, thank them for not being complete assholes and move on to the next one…

Leaning into where she presumed the frame would be, as an obscene amount of mobile phones emerged from pockets, she could feel the smile almost tear at her cheeks while her dry lips cracked a little from the exertion.

Smile. Flash. Another photo.

She didn’t understand how it came so easily to everyone else- making small talk between photos, smiles plastered far and wide as though grimaces had been painted garishly into grins. It all felt like an inside joke that she’d only ever heard the build for, the punchline somehow elusive as everyone devolved into raucous laughter before she could learn their secret.

God, she wanted it to make sense… for all this to be as easy as breathing.

More photos and smiles, more pleasantries as the group moved off- satiated on everything she had to give, despite the well having run dry before she’d entered the room. As the group shifted off, stragglers gave a gentle nudge in the right direction while the more enthusiastic were shepherded back towards their troupe while gleefully muttering about what they’d been allowed to be a part of.
Before Amber could exhale the breath she’d been holding onto- the matronly woman, her name badge obscured by the thick plait that had crawled over her shoulder and down to her waist, placed another gentle hand on Amber’s forearm in the type of way that only grandmothers and the such like could.

“Thank you, I know it's probably a bit of an ask when everyone wants their moment…”

Amber stifled a scoff as best she could, obviously she wasn’t exactly familiar with who Amber was- only that she had a shiny belt and therefore that made her important.

If only that were remotely true.

Perspective was key- having the belt made her someone to be seen with, regardless of how she’d gotten there.
All the things she’d done along the way- previously shunned and scorned for the same violence that was now praised and widely regarded as a significant turning point. All the things she’d said- too harsh, too virulent and venomous, not appropriate and deliberately acerbic, now everyone hung from her every word and treated her opinions as though they were spun from gold.

No, because she had the belt… everything was somehow forgiven cause it was a means to an end.

“... but you made some very special people very happy today.”

Amber could only wonder if the same would be said once she went out there in front of the world and did heinous, possibly inhuman things to retain her Bombshell's world title…

Or if it really was just a matter of perspective.





******



“In the span of a year, you could do many great things.

Lives begin and end within mere days, change happening in but the blink of an eye. Everything you know, everything you’ve worked for- that you love and you sacrifice for moment after moment can turn to ash between your fingers as you try to hold onto absolutely anything before it's lost to the breeze.
Under ideal circumstances there is infinite potential- but our lives don't quite work like that, do they? This industry that we’ve committed our very existence to wouldn't dare allow us such a luxury and so with the rolling tides and the setting of the sun- we rise and we fall.

Some of us take flight, using those fallen around us as motivation to do better. To take stock of what left us grounded and we rebuild, hoping that the foundation holds long enough before the scavengers steal the legs out from underneath in an effort to elevate themselves. We do better cause we have the willingness to do so and the belief that for whatever reason- we might deserve it.
Of course, then there are others who fall and continue to do so cause they fail to realize that just because it's movement from a status quo, doesn’t make it a positive change where reality only sets in once they hit the fucking floor. They wallow, they make excuses and refuse to move from that place cause they want someone else to start building their foundation beneath them, they want to be elevated by what little of their reputation still carries weight and favour.

In the span of a year we can fall in love a thousand times over- maybe even more. Sometimes it's with someone else, unexpected perhaps or someone you chose to see everyday. Other times it's simply with a cup of coffee after a long night or a particularly lovely sunrise when you’re on your way to the gym… we attach ourselves to things and people cause we need to feel love, to reciprocate it.
We fall in love with our achievements and we mourn their losses cause we understand that they can't possibly be forever- and though we may admit as such, it's still a shock when you wake up without that extra weight on your chest.
We fight and we mourn for what we no longer have, for everything we’ve done and what used to represent our hard work. Celebration in the same breath as acceptance of an inevitable failure.

Lives change so drastically in the space of a year, that sometimes we forget it really only takes one night.

At Summer XXXTreme last year- you won that Internet title. Of course, I don’t need to recount the story or blow smoke cause you do just fine at embellishing details without my help. Fact is that for a year now you’ve kept a stranglehold on that title- you climbed that mountain and you made it mean something… sort of.
It's easy to talk about climbing mountains when you fail to see the bigger one just on the horizon, to talk about overcoming challenge after challenge when those chasing that title aren’t quite giving you their best cause they don’t think either you or the title are really worth that.

I’d never say you haven’t earned every single one of those nine defenses…

… however it's a little rich as well to make it sound like you’ve climbed Everest, when you’re standing on a plateau.

See, the issue here is that you pigeonholed yourself without really meaning to- you created this niche, and at first it seemed like a great little short term hang out on your way to greater things, but defense after defense went by and you got comfy. You started furnishing this niche, hanging wall posters etc you grew comfortable cause you knew that you had a safe place- you had a homeground advantage, a sanctuary and be damned if you’d be beaten on your own hallowed ground.
For a year there was no need to do better, you had no reason to look beyond what you had- cause it was yours.

A year is a long time though, and the challenge just isn’t there anymore. There’s only so many Char Kwans and Jessie Salco’s that you can beat before things get a little tedious, and that internet title doesn’t shine quite as bright when it's not in the main event.
I mean I honestly commend you for being willing to step beyond the threshold, taking that much needed step out of your comfort zone to find a much higher mountain with a far less comfortable summit- see, this isn’t a place that can be claimed, you can't settle down here cause the terrain simply won’t allow it. Rarefied air does funny things to the brain when deprived for too long, and the top of the mountain was never meant to be owned.

We rent this space, this air isn’t ours to claim, but we make it home while we can meanwhile trying to ignore the skeletons just below our feet from all the other poor suckers who just weren’t ready for the high life.
I have no allusions to think that my reign will last forever Myra, I’m not in such a state of denial to think I can’t be beaten just because I have the literal higher ground- after all, many a title has been lost when hubris is prioritised.

See, the thing is you look at me and you continually make assumptions. Maybe all that oxygen deprivation and head trauma has done quite a number on me- but you’re still talking at me like you have this inside information, like you’re saying anything that hasn't been regurgitated from almost every opponent I’ve ever faced.
You wanna say I’m a mystery, but then proceed to unwrap me like a kid at Christmas. I mean I hate to break it to you, but just cause it's in barbie wrapping paper and is shaped like a barbie doll box- doesn’t mean that it can't be yet another big ole middle finger from the universe. I’m very much not the one-dimensional edge lord that you’d like to make me out as, I might have my issues granted and I’ve spoken very openly about them- but I have the same ambitions as anyone else on this roster… oh, except for you of course.

Myra Rivers, paragon of virtue.

Hmmmm, poor choice of words maybe.

You’re the ‘manic pixie dream girl’ of the Bombshells division. You aren’t like everyone else, you pride yourself on integrity and honour- you just wanna go out there and do all the good things, and the fact you’ve gotten where you are is just cause of hard work and believing in yourself.
Don't you think I heard enough of that from Roxi- I mean I know you beat the woman, but to steal her schtick as well might be a little low for someone of your high moral standing. You act as though you’re above this match, above this division- while we’re all scraping away to be considered the best in an industry leading division, you’d much rather show everyone that you’re better than simply being champion. You surpass all expectations and socio-economic standards of wrestling.

Just like Mother fucking Theresa if she could do a mean headlock.

See, there's a reason things aren’t good enough for me- and it's got nothing to do with validation, I don’t have to look in a mirror and repeat mantras to get going in the morning. I work harder cause I know I can do better, I know I can be better- why should I settle when there's always a new mountain?
You’re content Myra, content with what you’ve built cause you have little reason left to be ambitious- you were just like me, and you did whatever it took to get what you wanted. You don’t win world titles without being a piece of shit, you don’t stay champion for 300 plus days cause you’re just really happy to be there- no, you had that hunger, that drive and now that you’ve done everything you wanted, you can sit back and rest on those precious laurels.
You get to take a step back and judge the rest of us assholes with something left to prove for all the things that you once did, shunning the same behaviours that made you exactly who you are.

God, it must be really easy to call people hypocrites when you’re so fucking oblivous to whats coming out of your mouth.

Maybe one day, if I ever get to that point of course, I’ll get to smell the proverbial roses before they wilt. I’ll stop and enjoy what I’ve done, I’ll be able to look back and marvel at the distance I’ve covered and every step that I took to achieve them- but the fact is Myra, I’m not there yet. I’m a work in progress and maybe I will be for sometime- I didn’t come up the same way as you, I didn’t just get opportunities and title shots cause I made a lot of noise…
It took me a damn long time to start speaking up for the things I wanted, the things I believe I had earned. Longer than I care to admit- and I haven’t done as many impressive things as you. I’ve won four world titles in almost 13 years- it's a laughable amount in retrospect, and makes it seem like I’m just a late bloomer.

Four world titles from less than ten attempts- really my batting average isn’t exactly terrible however it's not as many as I should have gotten- see I missed many chances cause I was told that I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn't ready. That it wasn’t for me.
So to hear you try and tell me that I need to validate myself is fucking laughable, I might be my own worst enemy Myra- but I know I deserve better. I’ve known for a long time and that's why this ‘all or nothing’ really is all or nothing for me. Why it means so damn much, cause the prospect of losing everything to someone who thinks that I’m just another self-destructive wannabe legendary twat is absolutely maddening.

You don’t get to tell me when enough is enough, when we both know that if you weren’t elbow deep into that Internet title reign you’d be frothing for my place just as much as I am.
Right and wrong, good and bad- maybe I’m a little unconventional and yeah, it’ll probably be my downfall- but that's my issue, that's my business and the fact is… There is no ‘right way’ to be champion, no… fuck ‘the right way’ Myra- there is being a champion and there isn’t.
Either you want it or you don’t.
Judging by your inability to admit so, it's easy to see that you don’t. You no longer have any investment in that internet title cause it can’t get you any further, but bearing your fangs for the world title proves you to be more of a hypocrite than your words betray.
You call me out for letting my ambition be my ruin, but not once have you made any claim to the world title other than that it's an extra piece of luggage you have to plan for. I made being world champion something to be proud of, I took it from those who say it as just another trophy for the mantle and I’ll be fucking damned if I let it go back to being a conversation piece on a coffee table.

Here’s the thing, you make being a walking timebomb sound like it’s a bad thing, that the idea that I’ll simply self-destruct under my own pressure is a surprise to anyone. Truth is, I’d rather be that claymore on legs threatening to detonate if looked at the wrong way- but wear the Bombshells world title with the pride and respect it deserves… I’d rather lose it all eventually to someone who can prove they want this title more than I do, rather than someone who walks around thinking that being comfortable in the wrestling industry is something to be proud of.

Look me in the eye and tell me you want this Bombshells world title more than I do Myra, tell me that and mean it- and I have no doubt you could beat me.

You can’t though, not honestly. I’d rather be left in that ring in bloody pieces than know you’re out there undermining all the hard work I’ve put into rebuilding this title's prestige. You sucked the Internet title dry and now you’re looking for new blood, well no dice here sweetheart cause I put more blood into this title than you have the capability to draw and I hope your personal hubris finally sees you turned to anti-matter at Summer XXXtreme.

A year, a year is a bloody long time Myra. For everything you’ve done, I commend you

… but what takes a year to build only takes all of three very long seconds to obliterate.”






******




Sun Princess Cruise
Somewhere still out at sea.
13.07.2021
08:03am




“Red, you can’t just stay in the cabin for the rest of the trip.”

Slightly exasperated, Mac Bane studied his wife for a moment as she sat awkwardly cross-legged at the end of the bed with a book sprawled across her lap. Without even looking up or missing a beat, Amber flicked the page over while the beginnings of a knowing smile tugged at the edge of her lips.

“Of course I can’t, I mean I still have to go out and wrestle…”

Sarcastic and a little smug, Amber’s gaze lazily wandered over the novel's pages- although she seemed far more interested in avoiding eye contact than what any of the pages before her said. She knew what Mac had meant though, outside of the prior meet and greet commitment that she’d been ‘strongly encouraged’ (and by strongly encouraged, they meant obligated by being the Bombshells World champion) to attend the day before- she’d had very little reason to leave the balcony cabin she shared with her Internet champion husband.

Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Mac, she’d contemplated asking to downgrade rooms before launching if only for her own sense of self- besides, being champion for her still didn’t quite go hand in hand with luxury and indulgence. Maybe she had earned it, a fact that Mac had been trying to drill through her thick skull since she won the belt, but it still didn’t excuse all the excess that seemed to automatically come with it.
It wasn't as though she didn’t appreciate all the niceties that the cabin had, nor the generosity of their employers in valuing both Mac and herself as headliners- it's just that… it all felt like too much. Too much in comparison to what she had to offer them as a person, too much for what she considered her worth to be, too much for someone who maybe didn’t have the capacity or taste to truly understand why these things were important.

If anything, she’d simply never had the chance to get used to niceties without strings attached.

Soft and plush, excessive purely for the sake of appearing so and materialistic in such a way that didn’t feel like it added any value outside of aesthetic, she couldn't help but wonder what kinds of people had stayed here before her… had they been wrapped up in the little details, overwhelmed by opportunity or had they grown so used to such rarities in life that such class and refinement had become mundane.
Beside her, as she adjusted slightly while trying not to sink further into the bed, the Bombshells world title sat gleaming happily and catching the morning sun that streamed in through the open balcony.

It was difficult not to linger on the fact that everything about this room was immediately connected to that belt- a fact she was more than intimately aware of and if anything, it made her almost resent the beauty of the space more. Maybe it was the whole reason she was here- but it's value came in what it had become to her, an extension of who she could be, a representation that good could come from anywhere and anyone under just the right lights… While she hadn't quite adjusted to the idea of accepting a more exquisite taste, she could more than appreciate what that belt had meant for her as a person.

… and how much she wasn’t prepared to lose it anytime soon.

Amber couldn’t help but smile a little as she considered how much she’d come to like this person she was becoming- maybe it was a bit lonely at the top, but the view was the best you could get. Assertive and a little more confident in who she was, she'd become accustomed to the nameplate on the belt- as foreign as it seemed at first- and the way people looked at her with a different point of view.
Fear and respect weren’t all that different- but finally she could find the thin line in the sand that separated them instead of obliterating it the moment she stepped in a room.

“You know what I meant darling- why don’t you use your time for good, I dunno run a class or a seminar… Go swimming. Learn to tap dance…”

Amber glanced up from her book with a ‘really?’ kinda stare, to which Mac could only shrug in response.

“Tap dance Mac… That's the best you have for me?”

Gently, yet deliberately Amber closed her book. Taking a moment to compose herself, she cleared her throat slightly and settled her hands on the edges of her knees expectantly.

“As for some class or seminar- what is it that you think I could teach anyone that wouldn’t get them arrested… What could I possibly stand in front of a group and speak on that doesn’t automatically presume that every problem could be solved by violence?
Shit I dunno, how to pickpocket 101… How to hotwire a car?”

“Amber…”

“What about- hot to start a brawl in any bar with five words or less. Yeah, that's a spot on life skill.”

“You’re being ridiculous now.”

“... or better yet- how to alienate everyone on your way to the top.”

Silence fell between them for a moment as Amber’s acerbic tone left a faintly bitter twang on the tip of her tongue. Regret perhaps, or something far simpler…

“Have you considered for a moment that you might be overreacting?”

Narrowing the gaze of her left eye, she cocked her head slightly forward' she regarded him curiously as though trying to study the level of seriousness in his voice.

“Oh, I absolutely have… and you’re entirely correct that I am. Here’s the thing though, and we both know this darling- the only real ‘skills’ I have, are the ones that got me onto this boat. They are the ones that got me to being a world champion- and if I’m brutally honest, I hope no one ever tries to follow my path cause I don’t think I could live with myself knowing someone wanted to be just like me.”

Placing her book to the side, Amber rubbed her forearm instinctively as though a reflexive nervous tic.

“Besides- there are people out there Mac…”

Trailing off her a moment, Amber briefly lost her train of thought- her tone softening in contemplation as the breath escaped her lips.

“... there are people, and I see them maybe once a week. We pass each other in the halls- sometimes they smile at me instead of hissing and scowling, but mostly we just avoid each other cause I don't understand them and they don’t wanna be anywhere near me… and you know what? We’re stuck with them for the next god knows how long… I’ll be honest with you now, I’d rather take a head first dive over that rail than get stuck in an elevator with half the people here.”

“... Come on Red, it's not that---”

Amber threw a hand up curtly, almost begging for Mac to hear her out.

“--- not that bad? Maybe not for them it's not- see they want to make small talk, they wanna forge connections cause they get this shit… Damn near anyone on this roster can walk into a room full of people and know they aren’t gonna offend anyone simply by looking in the wrong direction, they don’t feel like their chest is about to explode when someone starts a conversation about nothing.
I can accept the fact that most of them don’t hate me these days- but plenty sure as fuck don’t like me much either…”

Reaching to her other side without looking, Amber pawed for a moment trying to get a firm grip on the Bombshells world title before pulling it into her lap like a security blanket.

“... because of this. Because I’m me. I’m safe here Mac, they don’t have to pretend and I don’t feel like I’m gonna choke on a hello. So, why leave?”

Forcing a smile, Amber gripped tightly the edge of her world title. There was comfort from leather and metal as Mac watched her solemnly- measuring his words in hopes that the rising snark and frustration didn’t seep into his words too deeply.

“... You know, you haven’t exactly made much of an effort.”

Amber was sure he didn’t mean it to come across with such… haughtiness. As though the idea that she hadn’t been trying was something so averse and unapologetic that he couldn’t help the way the words seemed to fall. Both of them knew what he meant though- Amber had a distinct way of simply vanishing into thin air when sociably threatened- hell, she’d termed herself on more than one occasion as ‘socially claustrophobic’. Fact was, unless she happened to be wickedly hyped up on adrenaline or simply switched into what Mac had delightfully coined as her ‘hurricane mode’, then odds were that she’d actively avoid any potential civil situation not on her terms.

“Maybe so- and that's on me, however it doesn’t change the fact that we’re still gonna be stuck around each other and I don’t wanna be the reason anyone is miserable unless it's Myra fucking Rivers after our match cause I kept MY world title. It's just- I don’t get to wake up in the morning and everything just clicks, I don’t get how to suddenly read a room or make small talk that doesn’t feel like chewing aluminum foil.”

Pulling her title a little closer, Amber looked down into the golden surface somehow hoping it might distort the view of the person looking back at her.

“Besides, as much as I love being the world champion- and as hard as I’ve worked to get here… Having this belt just alienates me even further- you know, as if I had a fucking clue to begin with. Bombshells don’t see me as a friend, or even an ally… I’m a goddamn target and I wear that bullseye with pride, darling. I’m a walking challenge, and who the fuck would really wanna get caught up with that shitshow…”

Another pause, although neither of them dared to move. Instead the silence created more distance in a space that seemed to feel smaller by the moment.

“In that ring Mac, I’m someone else cause I learned how to be… cause I had to be, even though sometimes I hate that person more than anyone else. There was no choice, cause the girl that first walked into a professional ring wouldn’t have made it a year otherwise… When it comes to being in the ring, I don't have to make friends, I don’t have to be a conversationalist or a shoulder to cry on. I just have to be better than whoever is standing across from me…”

Relinquishing her stranglehold on the leather edges, Amber sighed softly. There was something almost distant in the way she regarded Mac, something desperately trying to reach out and connect but somehow unable to keep a hold of anything meaningful for more than a few fleeting moments at a time. Brushing her hair out of her face, Amber’s expression softened with a pensive smile- almost thoughtful.

“... outside of that ring though Mac? I’m just a girl who never really learned how to make friends.”





******




“You know, sometimes we just gotta put on our big girl pants and admit when we’re wrong.

It's a rare moment, I know, this is the point everyone gets our their dictaphones and such to take note of such an occasion- but you have a point Myra, and I have been wrong. I mean granted you had to do some serious digging and grudge holding to get there- but who the fuck am I to judge, right?

Blast From The Past was ugly. It brought out the worst in people and obviously I can tell you’ve been holding onto a little bit of resentment since- I said some shit, you said some shit. We both talked a lot and neither of us really listened until we thought we were being condescended to and subverted for the others gain- I can admit I said things that were wrong cause I was hurt, I was carrying alot of unresolved baggage and I was speaking from a place of emotion instead of logical thinking.
Here’s the thing that kinda gnaws at me a little though- in order to be so annoyed, so very irked by such things… there has to be an element of truth. In all the bullshit spewed whilst trying to keep my head above Christina’s drama, I stumbled across a very real nerve that you simply wouldn’t let me forget about.

You don’t hold onto an insult unless it hits home- although in truth it's all irrelevant now. I moved past that cause I realized that holding onto it gave Christina Rose an attachment to me that I really didn’t feel like dragging. I took everything that came with Blast From the Past and I let it slip from my shoulders- but for some reason, you can’t.
Despite the fact you got the better end of that deal, that you went on and- dare I say- got robbed in that final by someone who didn’t have the nerve to stand in the ring long enough to actually lose… and yet you still linger.
Once again though, you are right… I did try to diminish what you had done, I took all my pent up resentment and I fired all barrels in your direction in hopes that something might stick, that I might feel a little better about myself in the wake of breathing in all of that Zdunich detritus, that you might cleanse my palate from the muck and mire that I’d been swallowing.

I took your achievements and I drove them into the ground- and even though it did nothing, you still feel slighted.

Are you honestly that insecure Myra, that you have to scratch and claw for a reason to feel anything towards me and this match. Are you so deprived of literally anything to care about that you have to dig, you have to bury your hands in the muck despite not liking to get dirt under your nails- just so you might feel some kind of justification for the forced emotion you’re putting on.
Truth is, you’re impassive. You’re entirely indifferent- either you care so much about things I said back then that you’ve been waiting for a chance to come at me, which you’ve had plenty of opportunity to do… or you don’t give a fuck at all and are looking for something to mask your obvious apathy and disdain for having found yourself in this situation.

I’ll be honest, I’m more impressed that you’re trying so fucking hard to get a rise out of me with this shit than I am that you’ve held that belt for so long without your pretentiousness literally creating a black hole where you stand.
I was an asshole then, and I’m a slightly better asshole now. I’m a more clear headed asshole cause I don’t have that blue haired walking distraction tactic trying desperately for senpai to notice her, I’m not up to my eyeballs in empty threats and outdated cliches so maybe you’ll get something a little more original this time.

You’re a woman who takes great pride in her ability to remember, I find. You’re meticulous, noting anything even remotely detrimental that might be connected with your name- you scope and filter through everyone's words looking for a mention so that you might be able to complain about it between humblebragging about your achievements. Never forget anyone who might have wronged you Myra- not those minions cutting into the catering line, not that one guy who parked like a douchebag and bumped your car door trying to get out- not even the powers that be forcing you into as match that requires you to find something to get angry about.

I tend to find these things are more rooted in perspective and the way it warps to what we seek… We view ourselves through such a narrow scope, forcing ourselves to believe that we’re the only ones allowed to operate in shades of grey. Everyone else has to comply with the way we view the world, or they’re wrong.
Everyone has the right, and many flex this to an unhealthy degree, to believe that they are the good guy in their own fairytale- that all the dragons are lined up for them to slay, the riches for them to attain and the princesses hanging out of windows are just begging to be saved by them and them alone.
Few are willing to admit that maybe instead of the lead, that they may just be a supporting character- that their efforts, as well meaning and impressive as they may seem in isolation, are not in fact, actually significant in a greater narrative.

Let's be honest though, if you actually cared about the outcome of this match Myra- you’d be arguing that you’re a noble protagonist instead of some bit-player making up the numbers. You’re like Nightwing trying to pretend like you aren’t feeling a little pissed that you don’t get to be Batman, that your promise and potential doesn’t leave you in quite the position you previously imagined.
Obviously you’ll call me a liar cause that's the obvious course of action- you’ll be very offended, but that you understand and it's all just a part of my psychological need to throw myself off a tall building.

You just seem to have me all figured out, just like everyone else.

I’m just a confused girl who can’t appreciate what she has. I’m too reckless, I’m too ambitious, I’m too whatever the fuck else virtue or attribute can be contorted into a backhanded compliment. I’m too much of me and that's just a problem… I represent the best of this company, and you can’t quite get through your skull that being champion for longer doesn’t automatically make you better. The very fact that you’ve beaten me- does not make you better.

What does then- cause obviously something has to, right?

You can’t possibly be walking into this match with any other outcome than winning, you have it all planned out down to the last frame- cause you’ve done it before. Funny how that's your hang up, like I don't have the mental capacity to… I dunno, move on? Accept that I fucked up the first time, that I approached a match in the worst way and paid for it.
You paint me like an idiot rookie in all honesty, you have this tendency to talk down like it's my first day in wrestling school and I managed to mess up running the ropes cause I fell through them instead. You treat me like I’m this child that needs to be educated Myra, that I somehow don't understand what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into- like I fluked my stupid ass into being a world champion and this whole thing has just been a lazy attempt at ironic comedy that people lost interest in months ago.

I came into this company and I aimed for the top- you found your way to a comfy place and settled. Yeah, that is called complacency and it's also called accepting your position. Instead of working my way up the ladder, I literally went all or nothing to get here and now you look down upon me instead of up at me- I sidestepped your petty bullshit to get where I am, I didn’t need to ‘get my win back’ to do better Myra- it's just a happy bonus if it happens.

And it will, although I know you’re struggling with that concept right now.

I guess the thing is- you don’t like the fact that I didn’t ‘go through you’ to get where I am. I didn’t need to step through the ‘gatekeeper’ title to find my way into the main event scene- a win or loss against you did nothing to affect my trajectory, it didn’t affect my ability to win when it mattered.
I could very easily have never had that first match against you last year, and I’d still be where I am now… you though, you needed to win against me, you got catapulted because of my name Myra, not the other way around. I came in like a bull in a damn china shop and you were steadily making your way through the lower-midcard- you got elevated by doing something that everyone said you shouldn’t have and frankly you did a good job of capitalizing.

I shot for the top on day one, and I earned every step I took towards it. I chose to put my name out there and I suffered the consequences when I overstepped my boundaries- I faltered and I failed at times but I stuck to my guns instead of allowing myself to believe that second best was what I deserved.
Time after bloody time, even before I won the World title, I was representing this company at the highest levels- I stood for more than even the World Champions quarrelling about who was getting more TV time- and since I’ve won, I’ve dragged opponents up to my level who might not have been there otherwise Myra. Courtney Pierce got to prove her worth, that it wasn’t just a fluke that got her noticed, Ruby Stelle- despite being woefully outmatched- still had the best match of her career cause she found a reason to step up, Alicia Lukas proved to everyone she could still be the world champion if I wasn’t already tightening my grip on the belt… and lets be honest here, I got the fucking best match out of Christina Rose that this company has seen in years.

I elevate those around me, Myra. I take what I’m handed and I make everything better.

Let's be honest here- the only reason you ACTUALLY want the Bombshells world title is because it means something. Before, it was a hot potato dancing between hands like everyone was worried it might leave a black mark on their career, that it might be cursed cause no one could successfully defend it without becoming an absolute cunt in the process. You sat back, cosy with your little consolation prize and you waited… You waited until I gave this title meaning, I gave it reason to be respected and in time I made your title appear obsolete despite the fact you’d been breaking and setting unprecedented records.
You waited until the World Bombshells title was once again the most coveted title that women in our industry could hope to compete for- and then you made your move, you decided that now it was suddenly your aspiration and your dream to represent this company.

No, you fucking had plenty of opportunity to step up and do more. You watched this title get bastardized week after fucking week and you chose to simply stand back and let it happen-you racked up the days cause you knew that the worse the World title looked, the better the Internet title looked.
Lets face it Myra, I might be a little dumb- but I’m sure as fuck not stupid.
You’re a predator playing priestess, you preach love and strength from the rooftops like a goddamn sermon for the masses while gently raising your pedestal, looking for that next new platform to be pretentious from.

Trust me Myra- love truly can get you a lot of things in life, hell it can give you life cause I learned that one from experience… but it doesn’t break through walls, it doesn’t tear down ivory towers and cut down tall poppies. People do those things, and try as best as you can to deny it- but you’re just as much a selfish piece of shit as I am cause otherwise you’d never have accepted this match.
Love might have gotten you this far, but it doesn’t get you through me. I’m not just gonna bow out of the way cause you’ve got a personal reason to win- that's not being insensitive, that's looking out for my own interest, which you’d do in the same situation.
I’ve been through enough adversity to know what it does to your brain- colours taste different and sound always seems just a little too loud for comfort, I’ve watched those I care about fall around me like dominoes and plenty of those I care about have watched me do the same.

Fact is though- you’re walking into this be all, end all trying to win for someone else. You don’t wanna win the title to be champion, you wanna do it to prove you can, to make up for whatever guilt you might be feeling- like the black hole inside your chest might somehow be satiated by some more achievement. Just keep shoving gold in there Myra, I can promise you nothing will change...
Granted, your motives seem noble, but that doesn’t make me view this match any differently- at the end of the day, you’re coming to take something from me that I’m absolutely not prepared to give up just cause you think your purpose is more worthwhile.

Come Summer XXXtreme though- you won’t lose cause you brought your best, cause you didn't have enough love and support at your back from everyone who thinks you’re gods gift to humanity…

It's cause your best, your love, your support and everything you have to offer…

It’ll never be enough.

… cause lets face it, I should know all about that.”





******



Sun Princess Cruise
Somewhere still out at sea.
13.07.2021
02:17pm




“I must admit Ms Ryan, I never did pick you for the cruise type.”

Leaning gently against the balcony, the horizon stretching beyond sight in crystalline blue-green, Amber rolled her eyes whilst resisting the urge to simply dump her phone off the edge.

“Personally I find them rather abhorrent. Normal, everyday people becoming google-eyed miscreants indulging in cheap excesses- they think it gives them status, there’s a certain elitism that I struggle to look past. No one goes on a cruise cause they enjoy the ocean, they go on cruises cause they have mindlessly self indulgent lifestyle dreams they wish to live out without the threat of anyone they know judging them for their choices.”

Dominic Del Gado chuckled on the other side of the phone, grating on the redheads already frayed nerves.

“It’s simply the worst of Vegas put on a boat and sent to sea with all those attracted to neon buffets and poor impulse control.”

Despite the fact she knew Mac was busy, no doubt being a social butterfly or some such, she couldn't help but continually glance back over her shoulder as though she expected him to be standing in the cabin watching… judging … It was hard enough to disguise the fact she’d had to ignore three of Del Gado’s calls while Mac tried to convince her to come rock climbing.
As tempting as it may have been, she knew she’d regret it the moment she stepped onto the deck- well, that and the fact she knew that Dominic wouldn't stop calling until she picked up.

“If I’d known you had such an aversion, then I might have indulged more previously.”

A derisive laugh echoed down the line as Amber’s attempt to show contempt was thrown back at her in seconds.

“Ah, Amber… We both know you’d never do such a thing. You can barely stomach a change in routine, let alone throwing it out the window for a self-indulgent jaunt.”

Swallowing hard, she knew the gentle motion of the ship was more what left her stomach feeling a little off kilter and the faint taste of bile on the edge of her throat- although she’d have been more than happy to blame it on Dominic’s ever-present condescending sneer. A few more seasickness tablets and she’d probably be fine…

“It's one of the many things I admire about you, and why I believe that you can help me.”

“You need far more help than I can give you.”

Amber spat noisily off the balcony in hopes that maybe she might cleanse her palate, but instead found looking down only made her lightheadedness worse.

“For such a beautiful young woman, you hold onto a lot of spite. If it weren’t such a defining trait of yours, it’d almost be a shame…”

Trying to distract herself, Amber shifted her sunglasses on her face and focused on the broadening horizon- she’d never really spent much time on the water, as a child she never had access to people who owned boats and in the carnival the closest she ever got was the occasional autumnal beach trip between towns when the water was far too cold- but she knew she’d splash around in it anyway cause that's just what was expected. Reflexively she rubbed her forearm, the skin already reddened and slightly angry from what was becoming an increasingly frequent twitch.

“I trust you’ve had the opportunity to consider my offer.”

To call it an offer was generous, an implication of business more likely and even then she’d had no idea what she was supposed to be agreeing to- like selling her soul for an IOU on a coffee stained napkin from IHOP. It wasn’t as though she didn’t want to see Cassidy, to try and mend bridges that had long been ash and cinder in the back of her head- just one opportunity to make good, or at least fucking try… Fulfil a dead man's promise, maybe ease a little bit of her own guilt.

“I can’t really say I have- I’ve been teaching seniors how to do sick backflips and orchestrating toddler fight clubs. Gotta get them started early, you know?”

Sarcasm was an automatic defense mechanism- in truth she hadn't really considered much of anything outside her upcoming match with Myra Rivers. It was hard not to, in all honesty, she had far too much on the line for it to be anything less than priority one.
Amber knew she’d worked too hard to build this house of cards to simply watch it fall cause she couldn’t get her head out of the past, to allow her personal life to interrupt what was arguably the best year of her career to date.
She’d gotten better- maybe not so much as a person, but as a professional… as though after 12 years in the industry, she was finally starting to get how this shit worked. Why being champion was so… addictive. There was a thrill, a rush of seeing her name on that plate and knowing that she had earned it off ehr own back, that everything bloody and broken felt like it was worth something.
She’d been recognized as someone worth believing in- and now, part of her was starting to believe it too.

“Ah of course, I suppose the health insurance would be top notch for all those broken hips and gouged eyes. I’m surprised you weren’t out there having cocktail nights with the girls and wild, raunchy or---”

“If you’re quite done.”

“Not so fun when it isn’t you, is it? Come on now, Ms Ryan we both know you’ve done little more than ruminate on every possible way things can go wrong…”

“You know, it's a little hard to wanna agree to anything when you haven't given me any more details than that you want me to do you a favour. Generally how that works is that you actually give me some idea what the hell I’m actually supposed to do…”

“I’m aware of the nuances of agreements, I’m also aware that you generally aren't one for the cautious approach. Normally an ‘act now and ask questions later’ type of gal.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint.”

“Mmmmm, I doubt that.”

“Have you considered for even just a moment, that I might have changed?”

Flashbacks, nostalgia flooded in just behind her eyes. It all felt very deja vu, only with more than a decade life experience telling her otherwise.

“I had, but you haven’t and that's why you’re useful. See, it would have been very easy for me to just accept a monetary donation and walk away- but I have a far more pressing issue, a far greater financial hold up if you will. One that makes everything Mr Parker would seem like chump change- but things have stalled and someone needs to give a little… push.”

A push could be a kind word or it could be a boot to the chest sending someone flying off a cliff. Amber said nothing to begin with, trying to find a way to verbalize her frustrations that Del Gado wouldn't simply belittle the moment it left her mouth.

“I’m not just some fucking hired goon.”

Another laugh, one filled with merriment and ridicule alike.

“I wouldn’t dream of such a debasement of your abilities. Besides Ms Ryan, contrary to popular belief- not every argument can be won with violence. Your expectations always lead down such dark pathways, although I’d be remiss to expect anything different from you- if anything it reminds me of before when---”

“You and I have very different perspectives on that time.”

“Why must you harbour such resentments from what was such a profitable arrangement.”

“Cause it's you.”

It was more than that, she could feel her skin prickle as salt seemed to collect like a thin veneer on her skin. She’d spent her life and career making toxic decisions, desperate to just be accepted by someone for what she was and what she could do. Back then, anyone would do…
Now, her sentimentality could no longer spread so thin.

“Before I agree to anything- promise me one thing.”

Another swallow, although this did nothing to ease the knot tightening in her throat.

“... that I don’t have to hurt anyone this time.”

An uproarious laughter erupted and died in moments, the red mark on her forearm now deepening into a purple bruise.

“Such a noble and distinctly black and white perspective to have on all of this- and coming from you of all people. No, see that is the very nature of business and you, you have made a career of ruining other peoples livelihoods for the sake of your own. You take hopes and dreams and you shatter them for bragging rights and title belts- so forgive me, but you aren't exactly in any position to be debating the ethics of progress."

In a voice sounding far smaller than it did in her head, she could only hiss out a response.

“That's a whole different thing.”

Another chuckle, although this one seeped of venom and harsh absolutes.

“No, it's not… You sit there wanting to try and find a way to justify in your pretty little head that you can do something harmful for your own perceived good and still be reassured that you aren’t a bad person. Truth is Ms Ryan, whether you like it or not… Doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person Amber, enjoying them does.”

WRITERS NOTE: This first flashback sequence is an immediate continuation from the one featured in 'The Business of Personal Business', so if you haven't read that oen the this one might be a little harder to follow in places.
Otherwise I hope you enjoy, and to Myra and Cross- good luck <3





“Here he is, the man who knows things and who should want to help me. But it is so hard to bring up things with any weight at all to a man like this. A man like this doesn’t have real conversations.”
― Megan Abbott, Die a Little




Undisclosed Hotel
Woodstock, VA
04.11.2006
11:37pm



Another shove, rattling and violent.

It was desperation now as her strength wavered against the stopping power of well crafted Italian leather shoes that seemed far too grown up for the boy wearing them.
Amber snarled something, although it didn’t really come out as words- instead she doubled down, biting into her lip out of instinct before the flash of lukewarm iron spilled across her tongue and started dribbling just a little down her chin.

“Come on Amber, you’re being unreasonable.”

Dominic Del Gado edged his foot further into the space, finding a little more purchase as the strain in Amber’s bruised and battered body took its toll. Spite was no doubt a powerful motivator, but it wasn’t a long term solution.
She could imagine it now, a common sight for a place like this perhaps, a well dressed 17 year old boy trying to force his way into a room that he obviously wasn’t welcome in- around here though, no one would intervene even if they did walk past.
Personal business stayed that way and nobody here was paying enough to be bothered by the muffled grunts and expletives of yet another domestic dispute.

“I really don’t understand why you’re so adamant about not hearing me out.”

In all honesty, Amber hadn’t really considered much of anything outside of being petty and inconvenienced. Dominic walked around with his head held so high he had little other choice, but to look down his nose if he wanted to see where he was going- and wore privilege like it was last year's trendiest laundry basket. Maybe it was just the idea of him wanting anything from her, or somehow ending up in service like some blood splattered pawn trying to ignore all the dried puddles of red staining the board.
No, the only thing someone like Del Gado would ever want from her was something that money couldn’t buy…

“... Cause you’re a stubborn asshole who can’t understand someone not wanting to grovel at your feet.”

A small chuckle crept through the door as he eased off slightly, as though her perspective was some kind of minor epiphany.

“Is that what you think this is… Don’t you think that if I just wanted a yes man, I’d pick someone who doesn’t punctuate it by telling me to go fuck myself. Honestly, I wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you if I didn’t think it was worth both our time.”

There was something oily about his words, something vaguely unsettling about the way that they left a residue smeared across her logical thinking. Now felt like the perfect opportunity to slam the door down and the idea of him going to pay someone to polish out whatever scuff it might leave was a small, albeit kinda pathetic, win on her part. Now felt like just the moment to prove how she’d grown into her backbone, that she’d become just as prickly on the inside as she had out, that a few choice words and the illusion of choice wouldn’t allow him to just walk in like he…

… and he was already halfway across the sparsely decorated room before Amber found her wherewithal once more. Hand still resting on the door, while her brain frantically tried to compute the blank spot in her immediate memory. Just a moment of time, mere seconds perhaps- brief yet rather poignant and now entirely lost in a blur she could no longer remember finding herself lost in.

In spite of his social status, he said nothing of the sparsity of the room nor it's woefully outdated decor and cigarette smoke stained carpets instead just briefly rubbing the sole of his shoe into a small burnt patch that crunched slightly under his weight.
Amber, on autopilot closed the door softly whilst trying to put the pieces together, the momentary loss of time almost more worrying that the fact she was now alone with Dominic Del Gado and she had no reasoning to either problem.

“Look, I know you just well enough Amber, that you like to earn your money. Granted I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of getting punched in the face time and time again for it, I like to think that it might grow thin eventually- what if though, I could offer you something steady. Something far more real than the promises of a wannabe tough guy trying to play bookie.”

Amber didn’t move from the door, watching through narrowed eyes as the 17 year old conducted himself like a businessman more than two decades into his trade.

“You sound exactly like the guys you’re telling me you’re better than. Besides, there are a thousand other no-names who’d give you their right nut for the same bone you’re trying to throw me.”

“There are indeed, but you have a work ethic that surpasses their highest potential. Besides, we both know there's little future in all this fighting nonsense- you have all of this potential, yet you’re so determined to waste it on what exactly…”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Amber could hear the springs straining and bending as Dominic bounced gently to gauge it's support- his poker face briefly betraying a vague disgust before the torrent of slick syllables flowed from his lips once more.
He wasn’t wrong, there were plenty of other ways of getting paid that didn’t involve waking up, feeling like she’d been hit by a train- but it was hers…
That being said though- trying to explain the bruises to Cassidy, without falling into a full blown argument, was getting tougher. Hell, even in spite of Grizz’s insistence that she’d eventually get picked up by a professional organization- she couldn’t help but wonder if it was simply another act of false hope to buoy her spirits, a carrot dangling just that little too far out of reach… Placating in hopes that maybe she’d simply just be happy with what she had.

“Besides- as good a mechanic as you might be, you know for being a girl and all, there are few beyond this collection of shoddy tents and death traps who’ll take you seriously… and that criminal record of yours, that doesn't just go away Amber. People look down their noses at the smallest whiff of delinquency so you have to wonder what it is you have to lose?”

Discontent with the state of the bed, Dominic stood slowly whilst adjusting his posture and brushing a few errant creases out of his shirt.

“What I’m offering you Amber, sweetheart, is something that you might not ever end up getting without my help… A real life. Not just some blurry existence on the fringes, but something legit.”

Amber wasn’t sure why she hadn't seen it earlier, maybe the faint haze around the edges of her vision had sunk further beneath her skin or that she’d been so determined to block him out that the now less than subtle nuances of his body language glowed a garish neon with realization.
Approaching, he stood only a few inches taller- but his presence left her drowning in his shadow, he extended a hand out to her as though convinced she’d see the world through his particular lens now she’d been given a glimpse.

Pity. That’s what she felt radiate off him, that she could almost taste on his cologne. All he saw was a fucking charity case he could keep under his thumb, right where he could see her and squash any fuse that burned a ltitle too close to her powder keg personality.
Maybe he really thought he could help her, that he was doing something good- but the way he looked at her made her wanna lose the last dregs of bile her stomach clung to.

“That's all well and good, but you seem to be forgetting something.”

“Oh?”

Sucking in all the air she might manage without choking it down, Amber straightened herself up as far as she could in an effort to exhibit some form of self-authority.

“I like this fighting shit Dominic. I guess I like getting my face kicked in and burying my fist through someone else's teeth gives me the kind of satisfaction that people pay good money for. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not exactly a pet project that you can polish up and put on your mantelpiece nor do I intend to sit by your feet patiently waiting for instruction.
If I’m honest Dominic, and this is with all due respect… but I think I’d rather die a nobody than be rebuilt as anyone's charity case."

Clearing her throat, Amber steeled her glare.

"Now if you wouldn’t mind…”

Not even bothering to gesture for the door, the pair simply stared past each other for a moment as though daring the other to be the first to break.

“You’ve had a rough night. Just… just think about it maybe.”

Piercing blue green into a rich espresso brown, Dominic’s gaze softened as a half smile crept from the corner of his mouth as he took his empty outstretched hand and laid it on Amber’s shoulder just long enough so that he might gently squeeze it as he passed her by.

“It’s just, I’d hate for you to end up making a decision you might regret”

Whether he meant for her to hear or not became quickly irrelevant as the sound of the door opening and promptly closing at her back punctuated whatever thoughts she might have managed to spark, and now alone again, Amber couldn’t ignore the return of the nausea and radiating ache from behind her eyes- only this time the pangs and knots in her guy weren’t from the fights or the stench of cheap, warm beer in her nose… but this niggling, nagging idea at the base of her skull that maybe...

… maybe she had made a mistake.




******




“Can you feel it?

Theres electricity in the air and it isn’t just because someones been fucking with the power plugs again, no… theres this feeling of anticipation building cause opportunity is at stake, a chance to be on of the biggest shows of the year instead of waiting in the wings as just another spectator.
It's real easy sometimes to forget that for some- this is a blue moon occurrence, this isn’t just a given and that every moment spent in that ring has been scratched and clawed for and that all the hard work can somehow be validated simply by a spot on the card before the potential outcomes are ever mentioned.

See, it's a little strange to me cause for the last year or so… there hasn’t really been a big show without some form of representation from this tag match. Time after time, we’ve shown up and made everything better for us being there- Mac Bane, Mark Cross, Myra Rivers… and yours truly. Main event after main event, show stealing moment after show stealing moment and accomplishment piled upon accomplishment to the point we may as well start getting disqualified from these discussions otherwise no one else will ever get a mention.

… and yet the powers that be, they take all this information. They take a year and somehow manage to roll it into a match given away for free- it's actually rather impressive when you consider it.

Here’s the thing though, they couldn’t just let us be… they had to go and incentivise it.
Ladies and gentlemen, kiddies of all ages allow me to explain something that you will only understand once you’ve been to the top of the mountain- you don’t get where we are without always wanting more.
There’s no such thing as enough, cause the things you always thought would satisfy always seem to leave a little space that you can't fill, there's always a void demanding it's fill and a taste you can't quite wash off your tongue.

Now this might be the point where everyone starts salivating at the prospect of Myra and I verbally eviscerating each other before we ever get on the damn boat, this is where you’d expect me to start saying that whiles she good, I’m better and all the usual crap that comes with walking around ten pounds heavier on one side. 
Thing is though, everything Myra has said about respect so far… She’s not wrong.

Shock and horror, please pick your jaws up from the floor cause it hasn’t been mopped in weeks.

Seriously though, few people in this industry can walk up to a microphone and tell the world they respect me and have me believe it- and as such, out of the very same nature of respect… I’ll refrain from saying anything too inflammatory.
Maybe some will call it cheap, but the fact of the matter is that Myra deserves my full attention and at the Supercard, she gets that. Undivided and honest to a fault, she deserves to hear what I might have to say without distraction and disruption…

Besides, our match is winner take all, so why mince words when there’s nothing yet at stake.

This match, however, does pose it's conundrums- and to say I’m intrigued is a vast understatement. Each team is logistically at odds with their partner yet forced to work in cohesion for the sake of momentum- if it weren’t genius I’d almost call it cruel.

Or was I thinking of it the other way around…

Of course everyone wants to win, but to do so as a bystander almost feels like getting pushed on a swing by a kick between the legs. That's the thing, wants to be the one to win the match, to say they have that advantage and that they were the ones to earn their match the rightful top spot- as though it's not already well claimed as ours to begin with.
We face a conundrum with little answer and to anyone who says they can work as a unit and not care if they aren’t the ones to actually win the match- then they’re a fucking liar and deserve to take the proverbial ‘L’.

Sure, this might be framed as a tag team match but I’ll be damned if we aren’t a bunch of individuals in this situations trying to play for our own marbles, where out interests loosely collide with someone close by. As far as I see it, the sooner we accept this, then the sooner we can differentiate why it is the women- as per now the norm- absolutely deserve the main event spot.
Fact is, and I’m sure Myra would hesitantly agree with me- we’ve taken titles that were driven into the ground and made them worthwhile, we went from mid card snoozefests to record breaking and must see while the poor guys are still trying find their feet again after one too many nose dives.

Of course, it's not necessarily their fault. Sometimes they get a little too preoccupied with pissing up a wall to remember that it only really matters when you do it between the ropes.
Oh, don’t get me wrong- I’d be immensely proud if Mac managed to get into that main event, and I know better than most how greatly he deserves that opportunity- however, he also knows that I won’t simply stand aside cause he asks me nicely to.
Between you all and me, I’d just as soon kick my darling husband in the face to get the match I want as I would anyone else on this roster- maybe that makes me an asshole, but it also makes me a fucking professional who understands what that spot on the card truly means.

You see, we are called Oblivion for a reason- it's not some cutesy pun-worthy name or something to be picked apart by playground vultures still trying to learn how to string together an original insult. We came together almost by accident while trying to avoid the career abyss that threatened to pull us under, we fell in love under the constant pressure of our lives threatening to crumble around us on any given day and we’ve spent the last few years of our careers being told that whatever we’d done elsewhere meant nothing. That we were irrelevant until proven otherwise, just more relics and ruins destined to be forgotten the moment they stepped from the spotlight- so we refused.
We refused to step into the shadows so someone else might fail to appreciate its warmth, we refused to accept anything less than the top cause we spent so long being told that it wasn’t for us.

Time and time again, oblivion nips at our heels and we hold it at bay by throwing whoever is in our way into it's gaping maw.

Don’t get me wrong- this match may just be for individual success, but I’ll have there be not a shred of doubt that we’ll be cohesive and like-minded until the time comes to be otherwise.  Make no mistake kiddies, I’d just as quickly save that man as I would bury him under a ton of bricks professionally if it meant getting something I wanted, just as I’m assured he’d do the same thing in my position.
We’ve fought just as much as we’ve teamed and spilled the better parts of each other across enough canvases- and in the end, as we always do… we go home, curl up on the couch together and be cool with it cause we both understand that it's just business.

Can you say the same thing Myra? How about you Mark… I’m intimately aware how capable you both are with different partners, your combined adaptability makes this whole thing just a little more spicy and frankly, I’m kinda enjoying the heat.
That being said though- this is a matter of pride, an indistinct need to be proven as the best and I can't help but wonder whether that's a potential fissure that even your silky smooth tag team partner transitions can’t quite smooth over.

If nothing else, Blast From The Past was proof of that. Mac and Myra took every team to the limit, a dark horse that shouldn’t have been painted while Mark, you got a second chance when everything looked at its most dire and you took advantage in the biggest way in spite of where you’d stumbled previously.
That being said, there were circumstances that were out of control and to say that this kinda feels like a touch of closure might be underselling things. Fact is, we’ll neve truly know how that semi-final was supposed to end and whether that would have changed everything that has led us to the here and now…
Dark horses and underdogs, the scrappers and scroungers somehow made their way to the top and now everyone pretends like they expected it all along…
Credit where credit is most certainly due- everyone in this match has earned their place in the main event of Summer XXXtreme, but that spotlight is only big enough for one.

That's what this comes down to, isn’t it?

At Climax Control we’re all going out there trying to make a statement on behalf of our matches and our titles- we are literally taking that spotlight in our hands and gifting that to the same person we’re trying to beat into sand.
I won't lie, I’ve grown accustomed to that spotlight, even before becoming champion I started making it my own and I’ve gotten a taste for the big time that I’m not ready to part with. Besides, I’ve been told that I was never very good at sharing my toys...

That's the thing, I’ve been going out in top level matches, high end of the card and main events for the last fucking year- this is my home turf, this is my comfort zone and I’d politely ask you boys to wipe your feet on your way out. Come Sunday, I’m going out there to fight for the right to maintain the status quo and I’m giving my opponent the opportunity that she’s come so close to having- if any opponent of mine deserves to share a main event right now, and man I hate to give credit, but it's Myra Rivers.
You don’t get higher profile than the two most dominant women in the company squaring off…

I promise you that I understand the same result occurs if Myra somehow beats me, but the truth is that it's just not the same. Pride doesn't come at the expense of momentum, you can’t have your cake and eat it too, until you’re the last one standing in that spotlight with head held high and strap held higher.

You don’t know this yet, but you will soon enough Myra… but you actually want me to win this match. For us… for our match… for everything we’ve built in this division.

For a year in the making- this is the one time I promise you’ll smile while taking a three count.”





******



Bane Household
Las Vegas, NV
01.04.2021
11:14am



“You gonna answer that, Red?”

Playing ignorant, Amber glanced over towards the phone lying on the coffee table suddenly lit up in harsh fluorescence, ‘Private Number’ begging for her attention on the screen- no doubt the same private number that she’d already ignored almost a dozen times since Dominic Del Gado showed up at Oblivion Garage.

At first it was annoying, just the knowledge that he’d gotten her mobile number had left her sour, but then it was text messages and the emails that went deleted without being read, sometimes a note left on the garage door that promptly went into the bin without ever seeing the light of day or a shiny car loitering a little too deliberately outside a gym.
She knew what he wanted, and the more determined he became- the easier she found it to overlook.

“Hm, probably a telemarketer or something. Had a call from Amazon supposedly the other day saying I needed to update my account details or I’d get billed- I told them I cancelled my Amazon account almost 7 months ago and good luck to whatever poor bastard fell for their nonsense.”

Mac raised an eyebrow, her deflective technique on the rough side and always less convincing than she thought it sounded. He knew, or at least he knew enough to know she was being petulant- the history and depths to which her relationship (a term used very very loosely) with the Del Gado’s didn’t need to be scoured and nitpicked. Dominic had come out of the proverbial woodwork in Grizz’s passing, and she’d be damned if she let him under her skin simply cause he thought it comfortable there.

Dominic just wanted to talk, but Amber had no intention of listening.

“So, how long do you plan on ignoring these telemarketers then- granted they seem awfully persistent. Saw that note crumpled in the rubbish by the way, probably a good excuse to empty the office bin occasionally if you don’t mind me saying.”

Amber bit her tongue, curling up a little tighter on the couch. There’s been a note in Atlantic City too, one she’d surreptitiously forgotten to mention, that the building landlord had told her about it- although Amber had quickly shrugged it off as potential fan mail or something equally inane.

“I dunno, as long as it takes for them to get the message I imagine.”

“... and if it doesn’t?”

Amber hadn’t really considered that, chalking it up to simply hoping that he might eventually grow tired of the chase and disappear back beneath the rock he’d crawled out from. Wishful thinking of course, but it certainly gave her one less headache to mitigate.

“What's stopping you just talking to this guy- you know, just get it over and done with. Tear it off like a bandaid?”

Earnest and sincere, Mac gave her that all knowing smile that tore through her facades like paper.

“These things don’t just get over and done with Mac, you pick up the phone to a telemarketer and next thing you know you’re getting offers for things you’ve never spoken about aloud and nigerian princes determined to hand off their family fortunes”

“That's an email scam, love”

Amber sighed loudly in frustration.

“You don’t read your emails, do you?”

“Do I look like the type of woman who spends their spare time reading emails darling, if some asshole overseas wants to give me money they can show up on my doorstep with a bag marked with a dollar sign… and If Dominic Del Gado wants my attention then he can earn it like anyone else.”

She hadn’t meant to say his name out loud- but the satisfied smile that curled on Mac’s lip suggested he’d been waiting and expecting the verbal slip to eventually come. Admit fault, admit weakness- it only hurts for a little while…

“Look Mac, I don’t have the time nor energy to be dealing with him right now. If I thought talking to him achieved anything besides falling in deeper and giving him space rent free in my head- I’d have done that by now.
Fact is though, I have a far more pressing issue right now named Myra Rivers and if I don’t give her my full attention then this world title is as good as gone…”

“I know but-”

“There’s no buts Mac, there's no side-stepping cleverly around this one. I make a mistake and it's done- right now I’m a world champion standing on the edge of a cliff knowing that if I don’t jump, then I’m gonna get punted off the edge. Hell, I’m like a skydiver with just enough short term memory loss to forget whether I packed my parachute or not…”

Unfurling slightly, she could feel the tension in her knees ease briefly.

“I don’t doubt that you’re gonna go out there and do what you always do… but this week, I’m just not sure I can stand by and watch. I’m not worried about losing, I’m worried about winning… you winning. Cause if you do, then I’m not in that main event and right now that feels like my lucky charm- every defense I’ve had has headlined the show.
Maybe I’m fucking out of my god damn mind and I’m letting superstition creep in where it doesn’t belong but the fact of the matter is I can’t afford to leave anything to chance. Not this time.”

A resignation echoed slightly in her voice as she searched for the right words.

“I love you Mac, truly…”

Sincerity could only mask so much, the hardened professional stepping across the loving wife with a steely gaze.

“... but I can’t just let you have MY spot.”

(Writers Note: Sorry bout the late posting, I hope this is up to scratch. I had a final scene to add, but I've decided to hold off using it cause I just don't think I have the time to do justice to that part of the story in this moment. Hopefully it still reads alright and any feedback is always welcome- otherwise enjoy, and good luck Ruby <3)





“It was funny how little justice seemed to come in the wake of justice being done. It was funny how often the word “funny” described horrors that couldn’t be screamed away.”
― S.R. Hughes, The War Beneath





Unnamed Fairgrounds
White Springs, FL
09.07.2005
11:17am



“You really gotta cinch that arm in Bambi, yeah… See, now you have a bit more control over the body.”

Even under the summer sun, Grizz couldn’t help but beam with pride. Despite having been running drills for the better part of a couple of hours, the young redhead seemed unperturbed by the sheen of sweat that had collected on her skin nor the ragged breathing coming from her clearly overwhelmed opponent. With a smug authority and a leverage advantage, she forced him to his knees whilst jamming his arm further into the middle of his back.

Almost bored, Amber had to admit that he hadn’t presented much of a challenge- but she quickly concluded that it likely wasn’t his intention. Familiarity bred contempt and complacency, rolling with the same people day in and day out did little more than dull her senses as their best became second nature- no, this one was another ‘lost cause’, another no name derelict taken under the wing of someone who should have known better. Scraggly blonde hair stuck to his skin as he tapped feverishly as far back towards the redhead as he could reach, begging for mercy- or at least a reprieve.

Without a word, Amber relented disappointedly- he’d likely be gone again within the fortnight.

Allowing her hapless ‘sparring partner’ to roll out in search of a breather, Amber absent-mindledly twirled her fingers through the end of her messy ponytail as she covered the distance between the middle of the ring and where Grizz watched, still bearing the same spirited grin.

“Atta girl.”

Deftly avoiding the faint moisture stain on the canvas from her foe’s skin, Amber watched him try to shake out the cramping and soreness through his shoulder while shooting the occasional surly glance in her direction. No doubt he thought he’d hit the goddamn jackpot with this gig- an easy payday for easier work, given free reign to come out swinging against this skinny young redhead girl who, he’d been warned, had a mean left hand. Maybe he thought he looked like a badass throwing hands, trying to replicate something he saw in a video game once perhaps- regardless Amber had been content to let him run himself stupider as an exercise in control.
Countless opportunities to lay him out with a solid kick to the face or a left hand through a very open guard felt anti-climactic, defeating the purpose of what she’d presumed the point was- no, possession was 9/10’s of the law and she’d been determined to hold it as her own.

“Why do you sound surprised?”

Grizz shrugged thoughtfully in response as she brushed the hair from her eyes.

“You aren’t exactly the patient type. Thought you might lose your cool and make a silly mistake, let your guard down… get frustrated”

He wasn’t wrong, she’d already cultivated a reputation through busted lips and blackened eyes. Bruised and bloodied knuckles were a mark of pride- and afternoons spent like this were more of a public service, humbling the trash before it ended up in the bin, than a chore.
Looking rather bemused, the 16 year old redhead leaned heavily against the ropes, her arms resting lazily across the top edge as the harsh sun radiated off her face, Grizz moved in closer with a ‘good job kiddo’ kinda smile.

“Oh ye of little faith. Besides, you’re acting as though I have no self control when the truth is I just don’t use it.”

Grizz had promised that when she got good enough that he’d finally spar with her- her mind raced at the possibility of proving herself, an opportunity to really see if everything she’d worked for had paid off, that it had led somewhere for something. A glimmer of pride remained despite her smart-assery as he went to respond; however his voice died in his throat as a commanding voice rang out across the open grounds.

“Ah, Mr Parker… I was hoping I might catch you.”

Faintly accented, although Amber suspected that might have been more deliberate than natural. Snapping to attention, the approaching man's toothy grin betrayed nothing of his very choice moment of intrusion and authoritative nature of address.
By now she had guessed it was pushing 100 degrees out there, the sweat traced across her skin confirmed that and yet the man’s discerning yet worldly smile and full business attire made him seem as though the laws of weather had no effect on him. As he approached, Amber was certain his tie was getting uglier- and his swarthy complexion was cosmetically altered just enough to be slightly off putting, yet close enough to natural that it took some staring to properly determine- a fact not lost on the man himself.

At his side stood an older teenager of similar dignified posture, although his complexion ran a little lighter and his half-smile less warm and welcoming, bored perhaps by the less than thrilling expedition across the fairgrounds. Far more captivated by the middling crew and their assembly of a neo adorned, generic adjective named thrill rides- his gaze settled on the pairing of Cassidy and Sticky loitering just off to the side, their toxic relationship seemingly laid bare for all.

Effusive in a way that Amber never thought she’d bare witness too, Grizz stepped away from the ring with arms spread welcomingly while his smile almost seemed to crack at the edges, taking the smaller suited man into a weighty embrace- Amber caught sight of the remnants of a scar below the left eye that, no doubt, had a lot of work done to reduce its appearance unlike the deliberate salt and pepper smattering through his temples and well groomed facial hair.
With a smile reminiscent of a crocodile preparing to strike, the newcomer gestured vaguely to the grounds as work continued in the near distance.

“I must commend you, this is quite the welcome sight- especially in consideration to the last time we spoke. I trust business has improved?”

Business-esque, his tone attempted to make a personal connection, but instead came across as almost condescending. Out of willful ignorance or happy obliviousness Grizz allowed himself a hearty chuckle.

“If our lights are on, then I’d say business is doing just fine. If that changes, then we might be having an entirely different conversation I imagine.”

Guardedly, Grizz gestured away from the ring however the businessman stayed grounded- his attention turning towards the redhead still surveying the rapidly changing conversational landscape with an openly cynical and apprehensive expression.

“I presume she’s one of your… how do I put this... strays?”

Despite not addressing her directly, the man stared through the redhead curiously as though fascinated and oddly repelled at the same time, perhaps by her unwillingness to ‘play along’ with whatever had been previously agreed upon without her.
Moving between Amber and the newcomers, Grizz’s smile became that of genuine pride once again- his heart swelling inside his chest as he vaguely motioned in Amber’s direction despite his back being to her.

“Something like that I suppose.”

Through gritted teeth, Amber watched Grizz tense disapprovingly as her stomach did the kind of backflips the Olympics would be demanding a drug test for.

“Amber is my protege, and I’ve no doubt that she’ll one day make all of us proud… Bambi, I’d like you to meet Mr Del Gado, one of my long time business partners and one of the biggest reasons we’re able to keep doing what we love…”

“Bambi, that's quite the charming nickname.”

Amber wanted to vomit where she stood, the way the words almost dripped off his tongue sent a shiver racing through her spine. Grizz cleared his throat uncomfortably, deliberately avoiding Amber’s very annoyed, narrowed gaze.

“I see you’re brought your son along as well.”

Gently placing a hand on the teenager's shoulder, Mr Del Gado’s half smile blossomed into something a little more genuine, or at the very least well practised.

“Ah yes, my son Dominic. I thought it prudent that he get to see some of our work first hand to begin to understand the scope of what it is we do… I trust that's of no inconvenience Mr Parker.”

Finally acknowledging Amber at his fathers unspoken request, Dominic Del Gado gave the redhead a knowing wink- while in the meantime she could swear that the pit of her stomach fell through the canvas.

“You’ve got a lot of faith in Miss Ryan- and alot of weight on her shoulders. Such an expectation to succeed, it's certainly not for all.”

Fighting the urge to cringe, Amber forced a smile.

“Of that I have no doubt, perhaps you’d like to wait in my office while I finish up here?”

Waving over Cassidy and Sticky, Grizz quietly gestured towards his office. Cassidy put on her most charming smile while Sticky was no doubt concocting a plan to weasel his way into either Del Gado’s pockets.Watching the businessman and his son disappear amid the throng of activity, Amber loudly spit out into the patches of grass a few feet away- no longer able to restrain her disgust.

“What the fuck was that…”

“Look, I’ve known the Del Gado’s for many---”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt you have- but that's no reason to throw yourself down in front of them the moment they say your name. Come on Grizz, be real with me here… how long has this been going on?
You can’t tell me this isn’t related to the late night meetings and skeevy assholes in expensive suits and cheap haircuts…”

Disappointed, Grizz turned to face Amber with a look of resignation and acceptance.

“It’s a little more complicated than just that…”

Trailing off, Grizz struggled to meet the redheads judgemental gaze.

“Is it though? Look, we might be dumb, but we sure as fuck aren’t stupid… okay so maybe most of us are- but I’m sure you get my drift…”

Softening her tone, Amber couldn't help but almost pity the man- for everything he’d done and the lives he’d changed, his pride had been sacrificed and tagged with a price.

“We’re family Grizz- you made us all family. If this is affecting you, it's affecting us and I don’t wanna wake up one day and be totally indebted to these assholes without at least knowing what I might be in for. Whatever this is, we’ll get through it, we always do… right?”

Without making eye contact, Grizz turned to face her trying to feign an unmistakable false confidence. It almost turned Amber’s stomach to see the way he fought to keep the edges from fraying and his professionalism being torn asunder beneath the pressure he’d created.

Swallowing hard, trying to find the right words, Amber’s softened gaze still managed to tear through the paper thin walls.

“... It's a necessary evil. I made a promise to everyone that I’d take care of them Bambi, everyone here is relying on me to do the right thing, to keep their heads above water. That's what I’m doing, even if that means I have to drown a little in the process.”

Forcing a smile, Grizz ran his fingers through his thick mane absent-mindedly.

“I won’t pretend like they aren’t predatory assholes, and that maybe I’m out of my depth… but sometimes it's the shittiest fucking people in the world that are the only ones willing to do what everyone else won’t.”

Lowering her own fearsome stare towards the ground, the ground almost inviting her to dive headfirst into it like it might solve any of their problems, Amber shifted her stance slightly while trying to restrain the disappointment that seeped through her tone.

“I just hope, whatever it is, that it's worth it.”

“Don’t worry Bambi, so do I.”

Turning away, Grizz sucked in the deepest breath he could muster.

“... so do I.”




******



“Do you think I’m a bad person?

Perception in this industry seems to be everything, and opinion hinges so precariously on those few moments where people decide to give a shit that it's any wonder that there's a positive word ever said out of sincerity.
I mean, if most of our peers are to be believed- I’m just the fucking worst.

Not that I’m bad at my job, or that I’ve actually done anything really to wrong them besides exist and have an opinion about my own existence- those I’ve wronged have their gripes of course, but it's the ones who’ve been adjacent that seem to voice their disapproval most loudly as though I can affect what others do cause I happen to be THAT toxic.
I mean lets be honest Ruby, I’ll always be the first person to admit that I’m not exactly a nice person- I’ve found  it's really tough to maintain that kind of discipline in an industry where you are constantly incentivised to cause harm and speak ill of those who oppose you.

I’ve done a lot of terrible things, I’ve been a part of heinous acts. I’ve made some statements that people fundamentally oppose cause it doesn’t fall within their opinions and therefore is systematically wrong. However, I’ve always had a damn good reason for it.
Every step of the way I’ve done my damndest to maintain a level of professionalism, even if it means being morally reprehensible. I go out there and I exceed expectations, I go beyond every limit set before me- even if it means I rub a few people the wrong way for it.

Method and madness Ruby, it's not all that different.

Don’t ever think I feel good about those things- that I walk backstage holding my head high cause I am once again chief asshole of the grey area. I feel things just as much as anyone else, I regret the things that I can’t and won’t apologize for- I feel remorse for the careers I’ve ended and the lives I’ve considerably shortened cause it was a necessary evil.
I’m the Bombshells world champion because I’m willing to say and do things that most others in this industry won’t.
Ethically, morally, emotionally- they hold their own virtues in higher regard than being champion, and you know what? Good on them. If that's what helps them sleep at night, then by all means they can revel in a solid uninterrupted eight hours…

I’ve sold my morals to the highest bidding company for opportunities, I put aside my ethics and virtues in order to prove that I wasn’t just another nobody sailing through mediocrity whilst clutching my life jacket of goodness like that would somehow save me.
I have said things and done things to people I care about, things I couldn’t take back even if I still had a soul to sell, just so that I could add another line to my resume like anyone was ever gonna read it.

Every title I’ve ever held came at a personal cost Ruby, one after another I’ve burned bridges so that my name might be a little more lined with gold. Maybe this is the point where I should start looking at myself and asking if it's all been worth it, that I’m getting to the point of my career where I should start caring more about people rather than shiny things and that my relationships are worth more than another shot at being a little better than anyone will ever give me credit for.

I should do all those things- I should care far more about the fact I just got married and wrestled a hardcore match the same night instead of revelling in this abundance of love and appreciation that I’ve stumbled headfirst into. I should care that I walk through that backstage and people who don't know me can’t, or just won’t, even make eye contact cause they worry that whatever is wrong in my head might just be contagious.
I spend more time these days in a fucking wrestling ring than enjoying life outside of it, my name is synonymous with sacrifice and violence- I hurt, I fight and I bleed for everything I’ve earned and yet it's still never going to be enough cause I’m not willing to pretend to play nice on top of that.

I give everything for this title, this opportunity to be champion.

So politely and with all due respect Ruby, I’ll be fucking damned if you think I’m just going to roll over and let you have it.

Not because you haven’t worked hard to get where you are- there are few people in this industry I’d say don’t belong, and they know who they are and for what reason. You’ve done the work and you’ve earned your place- it's just that, that place isn’t at the top. Not yet and certainly not while I’m there… Sure, you’ve shown up, you made a splash and you won a few matches- congratulations you’ve achieved minimal expectation.
But we both know the only reason you’ve got this opportunity is Blast From The Past- otherwise you’d still be finding your footing among the big kids and trying not to get lost in the shuffle.

I can’t take that away from you in the same way I can’t take it away from Courtney when she won it. Only difference was she actually earned it, while you tagged along and got rewarded for having your original partner drop out. Of course, that's a whole other thing isn’t it- we’ve got plenty of time to dissect that whole shit show.
No, what this is about right now is the match- it's about you stepping up and stepping out of your comfort zone, this is deep water and I’m not about to teach you how to tread it. You have to remember that this isn’t some fuck around curtain jerker against Apple Coren, this isn’t some feel good warm and fuzzies tag match with Candy and Team Hero all proclaiming how much they love each other.

We’re top of the card, scratching and clawing to keep our place while everyone underneath scrambles for our spot- and I promise you Ruby, everything that everyone tells you that I am… I’m all that and a bag of chips kiddies, I’m the goddamn fucking reaper in this division and you’d best be willing to give me everything you have or I’m taking your soul as compensation for my wasted time.
I’m not here to make anyone's day, I’m not making dreams come true or bringing fairytales to life- I’m stomping out happy endings cause that's what it is I have to do to keep my title. I have given up more than you have to offer just for a shot and while I can respect that you’re willing to give this a red hot go- I’m the one who has to bring reality crashing down on your head.

I’m not the champion cause I’m the best at anything Ruby, I’m not the champion cause I’m the biggest or the baddest- I’m the champion because I’ve given the most and I’m the one willing to put it all on the line to stay champion.
I’m the one with everything to lose and that is a far greater motivator than you’ll surely be able to understand.

All I can ask Ruby, with the utmost sincerity is just what are you willing to give… Honestly. What is it that you’re willing to sacrifice to beat me- are you willing to break, to bleed, to cry and scream into the void in hopes that your willpower might somehow overcome mine.
Would you kill for this belt, would you die for it?
Are you willing to take everything else that you love and put it on the backburner, put it to the side for ten pounds of leather and metal- to stand atop the mountain knowing that one day you’ll fall and there's nothing you can do about it.

You don’t have to be a shitty person to get to the top, you don’t have to burn bridges and slit throats- you just have to be willing, to allow that side to come to the forefront should it be required. You need to be able to smile in the face of someone else's misery cause they’re now one step further back from your spot, to pretend like the doubts and the hate doesn’t hurt when it cuts through your walls like a machete through tissue.
You need to take the weight that everyone else throws on your back- and you need to laugh in hopes that no one sees your knees buckle.

So don't you get me wrong- I have no doubt that you’re willing to bring it Ruby. That you’ll be fire and exuberance, that youthful rookie spirit shining through at Into The Void- and you’ll go out there with the intention of making everyone proud.
I promise you won’t let them down when you lose, cause you care too much about what they think that you’ll never stoop far enough to be me- and they’ll love you more for it.

Just know though- like I’ve heard in every goddamn fucking match of my career, and probably more of them to come… like I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove wrong...

Everything you have to give Ruby, it just isn’t enough.”




******



Unnamed Gym
Las Vegas, ND
12.05.2021
5:37am




Jab. Jab. Duck right. Cross. Duck right… Then drive the elbow through the side of their fucking face.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Something had to give eventually, right?

Although the dents in the heavy bag were promising as it creaked loudly on it's chain, the ache that radiated down from her elbow and out through her fingers couldn’t be ignored. They’d never stop coming from her- for every opponent she put down there’d be two more with her name firmly in their mouths ready to step up like scavengers at her carcass.
Being champion didn’t mean the work stopped, a fact that had been drilled into her long before she’d ever won her first strap- complacency was killer and she’d vowed to never stay still long enough for rust to form.

Of course the matches were taking their toll though, the quality of opponents might have varied but the quantity would eventually be what would overcome her. Amber, contrary to popular belief, had never been disillusioned enough to believe that she’d be champion forever, hell the idea alone was exhausting and sucked the wind from her lungs as she forced the repetition through again.
Another combination, another focus. Another weapon in the arsenal.
Never let them catch you doing the same thing the same way twice…

Give them a pattern, something to sink their teeth into.

Jab. Jab. Duck right.

Let them memorize it.

Cross. Duck right.

Then… make them fucking pay for it.

… and kick the air straight out of their chest.

Everything hurt, everything goddamn sucked for days after a match like Climax Control 300. There was no doubt that Courtney made her work for it, that she’d given Amber everything she could handle and then some- it wasn't that she was surprised by it, but that she’d actually lived up to her word.
Many a time, many more a match, Amber recalled between ragged breaths, she’d been promised the fight of her life only to be sorely disappointed when the opponent accepted defeat before they’d stepped into the ring. You could see it in them that the false bravado fell away, allowing a peek behind the curtain at a soft underbelly that Amber could seize upon- only to find that it was all she was getting when the time came to throw down.

No, thankfully or not, Courtney Pierce had been much more than that- and Amber, in spite of her outwardly abrasive nature could appreciate that.

What the problem was though- was that no one really won.

Arguably Amber was still the champion- that was without dispute, the circumstances to which though… well, it had left the redhead a little more than bitter as another fist sunk briefly into the ripstop edges. It wasn’t as though she had doubts that she COULD have and SHOULD have won- but it was the fact that it could be disputed, that there was a shadow of doubt that could be cast.
Her first goddamn defense and there was rain on her parade.
With an aggravated sigh, Amber found her focus slipping and her resolve faltering as the strikes landed wayward, skimming and catching her tape instead of dissipating the pent up frustration. This was supposed to be monumental, a statement of intent and proof that she wasn't just another flukey bitch lucking her way into something she didn’t deserve- another paper doll in the line of impotent champions.

This was supposed to prove that she’d earned her place, that she was living up to everything she claimed… Instead all it seemed to prove was that she was willing to settle, to accept victory even when it wasn’t truly so, proving that she was everything everyone was saying she was… No better than the ones she swore she’d outwork and outshine.

“Y’know darl, you’re allowed a day off from being ‘you’ every once in a while.”

There was a comfort in Mac’s tone as he lingered by her duffel bag, she’d been so intent on channeling everything out of her system that she’d never heard the ‘One Man Wrecking Crew’ come in. She could even tell the way he was watching her without ever having to glance over, that insightful gaze that seemed to permeate the walls she so desperately tried to fortify against the world for fear they might see her for something other than what she intended.

“I’d probably be more inclined to agree if 300 hadn’t ended in such a shit show…”

Untaping her fists, she flexed her fingers for blood flow, trying to ignore the angry red of her knuckles as layers of skin seemed to have been worn away with repeated punishment. Mac smiled fondly, bowing his head in understanding as she absent-mindedly crumpled the tape between her hands.

“Ah, yeah I figured that's what this was about.”

There was a faint derision that only he could get away with, borderline and acerbic she let that brief tone shift slide as her focus shifted to the tape around her ankles and bare feet.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t see it.”

“I saw it alright- I also saw you retain your title but---”

“--- but nothing. There shouldn't even be a 'but'. Don’t bullshit me darling. We both know what this means- I might have the belt, but how the fuck can I expect anyone to take what I say seriously when I can’t even…”

With a huff, Amber tore away the tape that snaked around the bottom of her feet and up around the edges of her ankles.

“... Right now, I’m just about every bit of the fraud I accused Christina of being.”

Amber paused thoughtfully, trying to collect her thoughts as Mac cautiously approached.

“No one thinks you’re a fraud--”

With a rabidity usually saved for the ring, Amber stepped back- no doubt if she had hackles to bear, they’d have been raised and angry, her composure falling to the wayside in exchange for something more primal. Something fuelled by fear and loathing.

“I do Mac. I do despite the fact that I’ve been going out there for practically a year now running my mouth and telling the world that I wanted the Bombshells title to stand for something better, to mean more than others had allowed it to. It's supposed to be a privilege, it's supposed to carry weight- and if I’m going out there getting wins based on referee fuck ups instead of my own fucking work… then I deserve this title less than those I’m calling out for the same, or worse.”

Instinctively, Mac’s own body language went on the defensive. He’d been in the ring with her enough, he knew where this was headed and no doubt had every intention of letting it go no further. Part of him wanted to reach out and make some form of connection like grasping at a woman on a ledge knowing she’d stray too close to the edge- but the better part, the one who knew her better than damn near anyone knew that she’d see it as an insult. As needing to be rescued, irregardless of the fact that she likely did.

“It was one match Red, you can’t just ignore everything else you’ve done because one time things didn’t go as expected. Sure, if the ref had seen it then you wouldn’t have won there but I’ve got no doubt in my mind that you’d still have won eventually cause that's just who you are… You’re relentless, and I love you for that.”

A soft chuckle spilled from her lips as her head lolled slightly, her shoulders relaxing slightly and the tenseness of her muscles seeming to give a little. His platitudes, despite their sincerity were falling on quickly deafening ears, selective and visceral her senses sharpened to a knifes edge threatening to tear through the threads holding her together.

“Maybe I would have Mac or maybe I’d have lost and lived up to my reputation for failing when it matters- we’ll never know now, and Courtney is always going to hold that over my head like a goddamn anvil. I can't change it Mac, instead I have to walk out as one of the main events and pretend like I’m just fucking cool with it- cause if I don’t, then I’m admitting that I wasn’t good enough, that I needed the help.
In the meantime- I have to stand in front of the world and try tell Ruby Steele the same shit I told Courtney and expect her to believe a goddamn word of it like she’s a fucking idiot.”

With a sad smile, Amber adjusts her ponytail, her fingers slowly trailing through it's tangled length.

“ God, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t want to be some paper champion, I wanted to prove that it could be better… that I could be better. That it's worth believing that I was capable of more than just mindless violence…”

Gently Mac stepped closer, making his move to catch her before she fell into the abyss. Each step became that through a minefield of emotions and fists. She couldn’t deny that he radiated a comfort- one she wanted to deny, that he gave her a security that she tore to shreds and used as fuel in this moment for her self-loathing. It would have been so easy to leave, if only for the fact she wanted him to stay just a little more.

Hell, even if she could muster the words- she knew he’d never leave.

“You’ve done that though- anyone who knows you can see that, and if they can’t well that's just too fucking bad for them.”

“It's funny, cause I thought that too.”

Expression hardening into something more determinedly sick, a crooked little half smile at the corner of her lips blossoming in spite of the overwhelming melancholy in her eyes.

“Until I came to realize that now… Just to get back to square one, I have to be worse than ever. I have to go backwards just to feel like I’m moving. Mac, I’ve got to be someone I’m really trying hard to be better than- just to prove I was right from the start, to prove that I’m everything I keep telling everyone I can be...”

Stepping away a couple of steps, Amber shook her head apologetically.

“I’m sorry darling. I really do appreciate you trying- but that one refs fuck up is threatening to invalidate everything I’ve done to get here.
Fact is, I have to win and I have to do it definitively... regardless of the cost. If I don't, then I’m just as bad a champion as everyone else thinks I am. As I think I am…”

With those words, Amber turned away in hopes of concealing the last remnants of  realization and despondency that washed over her. Storming off, she hoped that Mac wouldn’t follow and that maybe he’d come to understand- and satisfied that heavy footsteps didn't follow in her wake, she disappeared silently into the gyms maze of locker rooms in hopes of disappearing long enough for the industry to come to terms, and perhaps forgive, with the atrocities she might force herself to commit at the supercard- just for the sake of a fucking title and it's legacy.





******



“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done to get here.

I won’t pretend like ‘winning’ against Courtney gave me any more satisfaction than swallowing a mouthful of live bees in front of a lukewarm studio audience. If we’re willing to call it that.
If she’s to be believed, this match should be between you two- one of the many lovers trysts that made me wanna take this belt more, to have it no longer serve as a conduit for the failure of personal lives or a reason for emotional infidelity. If Courtney Pierce is to be believed, she should be walking into this main event as the champion- cause she’s a better person than I am.

Honour. Dignity.

Apparently I lack a spine. That instead of accepting someone else made a mistake in my favour, outside of my knowledge until after the fact, I should have ‘done the right thing’ and given her another chance or restarted the match or… fuck, I don’t know… punched the ref in the mouth cause zebra stripes cause selective blindness.
I’m just not allowed to be grateful that the match ended mercifully sooner for her than it could have, that she wasn’t put back on the shelf cause I didn’t feel like being a complete asshole when the opportunities arose. I’m not allowed to act as 99% of this fucking roster would have in the same situation cause Courtney Pierce is a pillar of virtue in this quagmire of derelict morals and ethical abscence.

We get it. I’m a piece of shit, tell me something I don’t know.

So, why don’t we look at the fact that I didn’t argue about her getting a shot when I could have easily brought up the time gap, that her record coming in was spottier than an acne ridden dalmatian breeder. Why don’t we look at the fact that I could have gone out in that match and used her triumphant return as an exclamation mark at the start of my title reign- I might be a fucking awful person, but give the devil her due once in awhile. I get it, it's really easy to overlook the things I’ve actually done mostly right in favour of the one thing outside of my control.

Fact is, I never wanted this title to be marred by personal vendettas and petty squabbles. I won this title with the full intention of making it worth challenging for- not something that needs to go through a bleach bath cause title celebrations can get a little… sticky when you’re messing with couples vying for the same belt. Now, it feels like I’m spinning my wheels cause a ref can’t functionally manage the most important job they have- that thing they’re getting paid to do right night after night.

Walk in, count a clean three or a submission, then go home.

It shouldn’t be this goddamn hard.

I shouldn’t be sitting around kicking myself in the ass cause I still have the belt. I’m supposed to be confident and fulfilled and instead I just wanna chain smoke till my lungs give out- and they don’t make a nicotine patch strong enough for that, believe me I went looking.
I’m the champion, I’m still the one to beat- and as confidently as anyone might cling to their moral life preserver, I can assure you that when presented with the chance- most people will stoop cause lust, cowardice and greed are like water- always seeking the lowest possible point

Would you be content to win that way Ruby?
Knowing that in your heart of hearts, knowing the way Courtney interpreted her loss on social media and that she was saying she wouldn’t react similarly and knowing that you cannot physically beat me otherwise. When it comes down to it Ruby, I’m one of the baddest women in this industry and you’re a jumped up pastel pop start pretending to roll on a canvas for shits and giggles, acting like you understand anything of which we do and mocking the very foundation that women better than I have laid for us to showcase our evolutions.
I mean I’d call you a joke if I thought the punchline might be funny- but I’m far beyond such things cause I’ve come to realize that you don’t care. You lucked your way into this match and now you’re actually shitting yourself cause you realise this match is happening and you aren’t ready.

Truth is, I cannot erase from history that you ‘won’ Blast From The Past. I cannot erase the fact that you got a second chance with a partner determined to make up for lost time- a partner willing to wrestle like he had nothing left to lose, cause he just didn’t.
If I could remove such things though- where would that have left you… I mean, really what was your contribution to the team, you didn’t really make much of a splash- no one was talking about any of your performances cause most of the audience forgot you were there standing on the apron like a badly dressed mannequin.
As far as everyone was concerned, you were an anchor tied around the throat of men expecting better- I mean, of course Mark Cross wasn’t going to let you drown despite the fact you made little to no effort to save yourself. You were one of those picks almost everyone dreaded getting tagged with- a rookie with average promise and a middling sense of entitlement.

Daniel Morgan got it, he understood and disappeared as soon as he could say that he tried. Mark Cross had everything to gain, Despayre and I already knocked him out of the tournament once when he had a better partner- so you got a ‘get out of jail free’ card and he got his shortly-awaited redemption arc.
That's the thing isn’t it- it's not that you didn’t try… It's that you didn’t need to. Cross was always going to do all the heavy lifting cause he had something to prove- all you had to do was show up and not lose…

That's what this is about though Ruby, it's about having something to prove.

You’ve got the lingering stench of a tournament win that some people don’t believe you worked for, a coat tails ride to a level that you just aren’t yet on. You won something that wasn’t meant for you and now the consequences are looming and you haven’t figured out yet that your best option was to run.
Was. Past tense.
It's a bit late now though, cause you’re stepping up against me… on a good day that's a bad enough prospect, I’m already well beyond your reach to the point that I almost feel bad for punching down.
It's not a good day though, I’m feeling a little off- a little unlike myself I suppose cause despite having proved myself time and time again- it's still not enough.
There’s an asterisk on my records that I can’t erase Ruby, this little goddamn footnote that plagues the otherwise brimming pages of achievement after bloody achievement that I have fought for.

I’ve got a bee in my bonnet and a bitter pill on my tongue. I’ve been feeling so fucking venomous since Climax Control 300 that I haven’t dared kiss my husband for fear I’m gonna take him down too- so I keep swallowing it, I keep it sitting in the back of my throat festering until it's got somewhere else to go. I’m holding onto to the moment that ended that match, Ruby- the one that Courtney feels so very slighted by and I’m owning that shit cause otherwise I might just vomit my heart out.
I’m coming into this main event with a chip on my shoulder that I can’t shake off until I put a full stop on the end of the sentence that is my first title defense- even though there's already one there, but it's just in Comic Sans.

You were just supposed to be a challenger and this was meant to be the grand reward for a triumphant victory- instead, you’re another blood sacrifice to a vengeful goddess whose veracity and lack of morality is quickly becoming legend among the ranks.
I’m well aware this match is without stipulation and gratuitous violence- but I don’t need a weapon to make you regret ever signing up for Blast From The Past, there's no need for anything beyond my fists and hell-given talents to make you understand that your wonderful girlfriend poked this rabid little honey badger with a sharp stick till she flew into a virulent rage.
Fact is, I'm the necessary evil so everyone's got something to jeer and loathe while you're showing up to fulfil expectation.

Yeah, I’m pissed Ruby, but it's not you. It's at the fact that I’ve worked too damn hard to get to this point- only for noses to still be upturned and opinions doubtful of whether my word means anything. I’ve given everything to get here only to watch fucking rookiesfast track their way through and expect to be treated like they’ve given something more of themselves. I’ve spent years upon years being damn good at what I do, to be told that I’m not allowed to be grateful for when the fates fall preemptively in my favour.
I’m pissed off Ruby, cause nothing I do will ever be good enough and I’m too goddamn stupid to stop trying to prove otherwise.

You’ve got a bright future, of that I have no doubt- but it's my job to dull your shine. It's not your time and it's not your place to be squaring up with me Ruby, regardless of what anyone might tell you. Fact is, sweet girl, this match just isn’t about you... sure you might be in it, but you’re a bit player, a supporting role in a greater narrative. This little fairytale run ends with the turning of this page, leaving you little more as a trivia question for the diehard SCW fans.
No, see this match is about being better and setting a higher standard. I might not be coming for blood Ruby, but I won’t complain if it's drawn either like an exclamation mark on a sentence that doesn’t necessarily need one.

Into The Void demands finality. It demands closure- and come that main event I promise I’ll have you staring down the barrel of your own career mortality just for having the gall to pretend as though you truly earned this shot and by the end of the night Ruby Steele, well… lets just say you’ll be practically begging me to pull the fucking trigger.”

“Anytime I fall for a dame like you I hope that somebody will take me outside an' cut my head off quick because I would rather be tied up to a coupla wild alligators than get myself hitched on to you.”
― Peter Cheyney, Your Deal, My Lovely




Undisclosed Motel
Somewhere in Georgia
18.12.2005
10:03pm




Another fight.

They’d become far too common recently and even with the chill of Christmas dusting snow lightly across the gravel and the faint illuminations of gaudy Christmas decorations in the reception window weren’t enough to lighten the mood.

Most carnivals stopped before the holidays citing a need for family and rest, however Grizz- as with most things of this nature- saw it as an opportunity to go begging. Many of the crew kept their families on the road with them, those that didn’t either had none to speak of or had become estranged and the subtle cruelties of Christmas only salted those wounds further.
As such the schedule had ramped up, the travel albeit not as extensive had become far more common- a night anywhere and then gone by noon the next day. After all, novelty created demand and it turned out that even just throwing some cheap Santa hats on grumpy carnies seemed to do wonders for the holiday cheer- the tightness of pockets easing a little in the name of amusement.

Poorly placed mistletoes and some frayed tinsel wreath on the door didn’t slow down Cassidy Parker as she stormed in the motel door, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her eyes seething and watery with indignance. She’d tried to slam the door in her wake, only for it to be caught by an equally flustered and faintly snow dusted redhead, Amber managing to catch the door before she had to try and casually explain away another broken nose to some wary nurses.

Another fight in as many days. Christmas was on the horizon and yet the pair of siblings- by everything but blood- once again seemed to stand at an impasse.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!?”

To that, Amber could have thought of a thousand answers although none of them seemed appropriate- most of them off-handed and smart ass in nature which she was sure only served to fuel the younger girls angst ridden rage further. Stopping, with the door still firmly in hand, Amber watched as Cassidy paced in frustration as though unable to further articulate without a prompt.

“You know, I keep asking myself the same thing.”

Wrong answer.

Amber knew it long before the fourteen year old closed the distance, and even well before a hard slap crossed her face. The crack of sound caught Amber more off guard than the shot did, her cold skin amplifying what had amounted to little more than an insult and yet, if she weren’t momentarily stunned by the searing jolt through her cheekbone and the physical turn things had abruptly taken- she might have been proud of Cassidy.

“You know, you really should be thanking me instead of, well instead of this…”

It was difficult to not return fire, to not allow things to devolve. Cassidy might have been brazen, but she was also fourteen… She hadn’t taken a day in her life of training in any martial discipline despite her fathers background in pro-wrestling, hell Amber had barely ever seen her get physical with anyone- even the weird creeps who thought carny girls were just… well.
No, Cassidy Parker was a pacifist by nature. A pacifist with a damn good slap.

She’d never stand a chance against Amber.

And both of them knew it.

“Thanking you?! You broke his cheekbone--”

“Allegedly”

“-- and three of his fingers”

“Okay that I’ll admit to.”

“I might not get to see him before Christmas now!”

There was a whine in her voice that struck home, like flicking a switch in the redheads brain. She shook her head vehemently as though realizing the trap she was walking into only after the snare had wrapped around her ankle.

“... I don't see the issue.”

Him. He was the one they’d always seemed to argue about these days, the only reason in the past four years that they’d butted heads over something that couldn’t be settled with a good nights sleep and a half-hearted apology insisting the other was still wrong. Brendan ‘Sticky Fingers’ Griffiths. ‘Sticky’ for short- by name and nature it seemed and Cassidy had found herself hopelessly entangled in this cycle of outwardly misogynistic attitudes and less than subtle hints at a desire to ‘open’ their relationship, she’d of course decline and he’d claim to respect her decision right before finding said fingers in any honeypot that might offer itself to his ‘charms’ without any clue how they might have gotten there. A fight and a break up. Cassidy would swear off his bullshit and Amber would do her best to believe, right up until he'd come around with crude and rudimentary attempts to win her back as though it took more than a ‘I love you’ to get her wrapped around his finger once more.

As far as Amber was concerned- he was lucky to be breathing. Yet somehow in spite of it all, she was the one who ended up with the lecture…

“You don’t understaaaannnnnnd”

Amber murmured something under her breath expectantly as though a script were being followed, trying to distract herself with the seventies wallpaper stained with cigarette smoke in a non-smoking room. She’d almost forgotten to close the door as she realized her fingers were numb and flushed white with the cold, dutifully doing so as though the next three rooms weren’t already privy to the argument.

“... Bambi, I loooooovvvveeeee him”

There it was, the age old nickname pulled out in desperation for approval and sympathy. Anger hadn't done anything to sway the older girl, now the sympathy ‘woe is me’ card was on the table and Amber found herself less than impressed.

“Yeah, just like every other time before right?”

Dropping down onto the bed with a heavy sigh, Amber ignored the less than even spring of the coils in the mattress and the stray one she was sure was trying to poke into the back of her thigh.

“How can I possibly understand what an absolute dirt bag he is when I’ve only seen him trying to suck another chick's tonsils out 15 times and stick his fingers somewhere they absolutely shouldn't be going in public. I mean honestly Cass, what did you want me to do- give him a pat on the back and congratulate him on the improvement of his technique?”

There had been plenty of other ways to deal with it, no doubt. Violence was never supposed to be the first point of call- but when she’d seen his hand start creeping down her…Amber shook her head, she didn’t need Cass knowing all the gory details. Save her at least a little bit of the humiliation she was sure lay somewhere underneath the layers of disgust, betrayal and heartbreak that would soon surface.
In the morning, they’d likely joke about what a good job Amber did and how stupid he looked in the moment- like this argument had never happened.

“How can you possibly understand what it's like to love someone.”

Cassidy’s tone was cold, even more so than the breeze that slipped through the closed window and beneath the door, deliberately venomous with the intention to hurt.

“Now, that’s not fair--”

“No, what’s not fair is that you have to insist that everyone is as fucking miserable as you are!”

There was the rage again, tears were streaming hard and fast now down the younger girls otherwise pretty features. Sobs wracking between attempts to demoralize and deride, her fists so tightly clenched it was as though she’d taken everything she had and balled them into her small fists as though prepared for a throwdown that wouldn’t happen. She could hit Amber a hundred times, and the redhead would never raise a hand… Not against Cass.

“You know what- I bet that's it's not even that you don’t want to…”

“Cass… Please.”

“It's that you can’t. You couldn’t love anyone, even if you tried…”

With that, as Amber sat shell shocked on the edge of a mattress that listed slightly to the right, Cassidy stormed into the dingy bathroom and slammed the door with all the might she could muster before the sound of her heartbroken sobbing seemed to echo loudly once more.
Those words delicately balancing on the edge of her mind- Amber knew that Cassidy didn’t mean it, hell she might not even remember saying it in a couple hours after she cried herself to sleep, but somehow… as Amber buried her face in her hands resignedly… it didn’t make it feel any less true.





******



“I’ve been told more than once in my life that I’m hard to love.

It's not like it's news or anything, I’ve never exactly made it easy on anyone who found themselves caring more than they should have- and I won’t deny that I find it hard to relate to most people.
Maybe it's the way I view the world, my acerbic personality and general reluctance to relate on any terms that aren’t my own- you can ask anyone who has spent any kind of time around me.
I’m really tough to be around.

This is the point where I get told that I need to try harder, you know?

Make more friends, it's not so hard.
Smile more, it won’t kill you.
Don’t be so aggressive all the time, not everyone is out to get you.
You just need to put yourself out there more.
Don’t be such an asshole.
Don’t be such a miserable bitch.

Do anything, but be yourself- cause no one likes you when you’re you.

Hell maybe if I did half those things, I wouldn’t be hearing in the show previews that how I prefer being lonely at the top of the mountain. How I wouldn't have it any other way- I mean, it isn't wrong cause no one can stab you in the back if they aren't already behind you… but man, it hit home more than just a little and got me thinking.

What if?

What if I had done everything differently.

It's no secret I have a reputation for basically being a piece of shit, but what if I wasn’t- what if I was more like Roxi Johnson and basically everyone she encounters immediately getting added to the BFF list, or Christina with her paid posse of disingenuous sycophants or even like Alicia backed by the ever growing army that is Wolfslair…
Could I still have gotten to where I am, could I have been even marginally liked and been successful- could I have looked myself in the mirror and told myself that I wasn’t pretending to be someone else for the sake of popularity and filling a void I’d happily left gaping between my ribs.

And if I’m honest- I’m not sure.

I like to think there's a reason the top of the mountain is for the few- it's never because you don’t want everyone there with you, that those around you don’t deserve to be recognized and elevated for their own achievements.
I’m gonna sound like an asshole when I say this, but in honestly Jessie I’m not gonna expect you to understand, not everyone deserves to be champion. Not everyone should get a shot to hold the belt, to stand as a symbol of excellence and set a standard for everyone else to try and follow.
How would you expect the Bombshells to be recognized if fucking Apple Coren got a run with the belt just cause she’s been around for awhile, theres a reason for hierarchy and it's not just so people can chase another ‘conquest’ in the Grand Slam.

Fact is, last Climax Control I went out there and I laid it all on the line- maybe I rustled a few feathers, maybe no one gave a fuck. I stood out there and told everyone the way things are going to be- the way things should have been all along.
A return to form if you will cause with diminishing quality comes disinterest. There should be a line out the door of women who want to join this division, to fight for the belt that I wear proudly on my shoulder and instead it gets a solid ‘eh’ or a vague shrug.
No one is ever going to want this title if the title doesn’t have the respect of those who fight for it- it's within our best interest that the best holds the belt.

Maybe the argument can be made that I'm not in fact ‘the best’ and I’ll be first in line to argue that maybe I’m not... but I’m the best right now- I’m the best person who challenged for this title, who has wanted- nah, NEEDED to be champion, the best person who came along and decided that this fucking company deserved better.
So maybe I’m not the best- but you know what? I plan on fighting like I am until someone comes along and proves otherwise.

Now you’re coming along, the first of many I’m sure, determined to ‘earn’ your spot and force me to look at you as though you’re a real contender.
Tell me though Jessie, sweet vanilla girl, do you think you can beat me- I mean honestly. Not the bullshit you spew on camera cause you need to sound like a badass stepping up to the plate- but deep down inside you at this moment, or the moment you walk into the backstage with a spring in your step, or the moment before you walk out from behind the curtain with your hopes and dreams woven onto your sleeves.

Do you, right here and right now, think you can beat me…

I’ll be honest, and I say this purely out of respect although I have no doubt you’ll take great offence, but I don’t think you can.

Unfortunately for you, it's not something you can fix or change in the span of a couple of days, it's got little to nothing to do with your talent and you’ve come to prove yourself more capable than most gave you credit for… it's just…

Jessie, you just… you care way too much.

I’ll admit though I admire your empathy and the way you so easily connect with so many people- but you invest in them quickly and deeply, your focus far more focused on whether they like you than where your next title shots are coming from.
You have a prime opportunity and instead you’re chasing the nostalgia hit from a tag match on a milestone show yet to come- I get it though, it's probably real easy for you to shrug off the idea of a shot at me. Maybe it's ‘not in your current sights’ or you’re ‘working towards it’ but you spread yourself way too thin… Trying so badly to be admired and appreciated, you seem to forget that the only way to secure that in this industry is by cracking skulls, not fucking kissing them.

All this time, all you’ve wanted to do is prove everyone wrong- yet when the opportunity arises… where are you?

Match after match, you get a chance. Don’t think I forgot about that little gifted title shot you got cause you exceeded expectations- the chance you were handed on a silver platter against Christina when she was too busy focusing on how to be an absolute cunt instead of the goddamn champion.
A chance that arguably you shouldn't have gotten- especially ahead of me.
I get it though, my shot was for the Supercard, for Blaze Of Glory- but the singular idea that somewhere along the way, after all the shit she tried to stir, that she might have lost that fucking title twice…

Yeah, okay. Maybe I’m a little fucking bitter.
A little old school if you will…

I believe that a champion and their contender fight for the title, if you earn your shot then you’re next… None of this ‘hey, you did a thing… have a title shot’ bullshit.
Oh yeah, you did good… but one good thing in a sea of disappointments doesn’t necessitate an opportunity and yet once again- here we find ourselves in a similar situation and believe me Jessie, if the title was on the line I’d not be extending you nearly as many courtesies.

You’d be dead four times before I ever laid a fucking hand on you.

Here’s the thing… and I don’t expect you to understand cause you don’t quite have the experience to speak from…

Until you’ve taken someone you love and respect- and you’ve pushed them back down the mountain for the sake of your own legacy. Until you’ve sacrificed everything about yourself that you always believed you’d never falter on, for the chance to be champion a day longer. Until you’ve done horrendous things to people who didn’t deserve them and worse to those who did- just for some leather and metal etched with your name and soaked with your blood.

Until you’ve become everything you hate, and embraced it for the sake of something better than you…

You won’t beat me."




******



The Bane Property
Outside Las Vegas, ND
13.04.2021
5:37pm



Adrenaline. Serotonin. Dopamine.

God, Amber hadn’t felt this fucking exhilarated in a long time.

Perhaps some of it could be attributed to the way she raced the old dirt bike between the gnarled and sun worn tree trunks as they bristled in the afternoon breeze, their leaves fluttering to the ground in a carpet of oranges and browns that obscured the dirt track. Maybe it was the glowing sun on her back, trying to make the most of the little free time she’d found between winning titles in two companies and planning a wedding.

Four days.

My, how time had flown.

Or perhaps, it's simply because she’d deliberately left her helmet back at the house.

Thin branches reached out and snapped against her, scraping down the edges of the dirt bikes already faded and scratched paint work. A bandana wrapped around the bottom of her face did just enough to stop the excess of sand and dust from caking in the back of her throat and her sunglasses did just enough to slow down the watering of her eyes from the wind and kicked up detritus.
She knew the old barn was little more than half a mile from the house, but instead she’d taken the longest possible route- circling the wooden structure more than once while allowing the wind to whip through her open jacket  as she slipped between a pair of trees reaching out for the others embrace.

To think, in four days, she’d be getting married here.

Rattling over some rough ground, Amber was quickly reminded that the suspensions best days were long behind it and the handling was a little less sensitive than she previously and inaccurately recalled- and yet still, it turned over first time every time, even in spite of an engine rattle that for the life of her she couldn't quite diagnose.
Admittedly, as much as she loved this old thing, it wasn't nearly the same as her Hayabusa.

Swallowing hard, Amber slowed the dirtbike to a halt as the brushed past some low hanging branches as the looming structure of the barn dominated the clearing. It's rough exterior was weather beaten fromMother Nature's year round glare and yet still held a certain old world charm, the shock of oranges sprinkled with yellows and reds of surrounding trees combined with a growing chill in the breeze made this little corner of her world feel so secluded, feel like it was somewhere else…
Somewhere that was… hers.

That felt weird to say, at least to herself. Pulling her bandana down around her neck, Amber pulled her sunglasses atop her the shock of crimson she’d pulled into a messy bun- a faint ring of dust imprinted on her skin around where her sunglasses and bandana had shielded. Heavy riding boots crunched across the fallen leaves as she slowly made her way towards the barn, the door left ajar from all the recent coming and going that came with preparing for something so… momentous.

Somehow it still hadn’t quite sunk in yet, everything so surface level still like it wasn’t real. Yet it was, it absolutely was- just as the two title belts sitting on the kitchen counter back at the house.
A couple of weeks earlier, she’d become Uprising Tag team champion with Mac under the combined pseudonym Oblivion- and then less than two weeks ago… the ultimate goal.
SCW Bombshells Champion. Less than a year from first blood to finale.
Everything she’d worked for since walking through the SCW doors, every moment of ridicule and derision she’d brought upon herself with every unpopular decision she’d made. Every drop of sweat soaked into a canvas and blood splattered for a rival's revenge at being slighted- it had finally meant something, been quantified and justified, everything she'd done had gone towards this and now… Well, now was the hard part.

It was one thing to win a title, it was always another to keep it.

Slightly musty, a few faint streaks of light crept through the roof and illuminated spots on the dusty wooden floor, creaking slightly beneath her boots.

In about four days time, this place would be filled with a small crowd of their favourite faces- all of them seeking the fulfillment of love, the beginning of a new journey that all of them had been invested in perhaps before even Amber and Mac themselves had quite realized. In five, she’d be squaring up in her first match since winning the title- and against the same person she had her first SCW match against.
Amber breathed deep, adjusting her jacket against the breeze that crept through the building- she knew no one else would be here and yet she felt the weight, the presence that all of them were already watching on her back.

Although she couldn’t quite determine if the wedding or the match made her more nervous.

“I came up here just the other day.”

She hadn’t heard Mac enter, her own distance from reality seemingly deafening.

“Thought it might- I dunno- make things feel more real.”

His arms snaked around her waist as he leaned over her slightly, the height deficit still leaving him towering over as her hands traced over the back of his softly.

“You aren’t having second thoughts are you- cause if you are… well, now is probably the time to run.”

She intended her tone as joking, but couldn’t hide the very real concern that she’d held all along- that he deserved better, that one day he’d realize and that he’d one day walk out the door, that she’d never be able to live up to--

“Not a chance. You?”

Mac’s voice didn’t share the same tone of concern- somehow every syllable made her feel warm from the inside out, his confidence radiating through them both and filling the expanse with ease. She’d always wished she could share in it, somehow believe in hers enough that it might one day resemble the same- that day would be a long way off, and in the meantime she found herself more than content to bathe in the glow of her soon-to be husbands.

“Oddly enough, I’m far more nervous about a match I’ve already won before than I am about this.”

Mac peeked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow and small smile that made her heart swell inside her chest.

“Not sure if I should be offended that you’re more concerned about work, or pleased that you’re not considering leaving me standing up there like an asshole.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna leave you standing there- girls gotta make an entrance and all that.”

Deflecting, she slipped from his grip- wandering slowly further down the middle where the fated aisle would run. She grazed her fingers across each chair, the ones soon to be occupied by their friends and family alike- she could already see their smiles, the glint in their eyes and the way their smiles seemed to reach deep between their ribs.

“... the match, you’re worried about--”

“Don’t say it out loud.”

“Why?”

“Cause I feel like it sounds real stupid and superstitious.”

Mac paused thoughtfully, dropping into one of the seats and ignoring the faint cloud of dust that rose from the sudden movement. As the chair scraped across the floor noisily under his size, he beckoned her back closer with arms outstretched and hands waiting for their smaller counterparts.

“I mean it does, I won’t deny that--”

“You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

Mac chuckled as their hands embraced, hers almost lost amid his. Safe and secure in his grasp.

“I feel like I should have gotten a recording of that. Might come in handy…”

Amber pouted slightly, knowing she was being openly mocked for something even she knew was absurd.

“I’m serious Mac.”

“So am I, and I also think it's ridiculous.”

Mac pulled her closer as she reluctantly moved in. He was right, as per usual, though she dared not admit that for fear he would actually record it- she was being over superstitious and completely out of her mind. Her title history, for those willing to dig, would have noticed a distinct pattern- that of her five world titles, SCW Bombshells included in that total, only one had ever been successfully defended, and all of those matches had been her first following the title victory.

Superstition, perhaps. Coincidence, probably. Unnerving for a new champion- without a doubt.

Every title win came with this little voice in the back of her head- after all, in a little over 15 years she’d only been a world champion five times. Five titles in probably eight or nine opportunities total- her paths had always been long and winding, everyone reluctant to let her get near the gold for fear she might actually win.
Only to win and either lose in the first defense or the company to shut down days after- only one had been defended successfully and it was by the skin of her teeth, only to be lost in the defense that followed. Maybe she wasn’t normally the superstitious type- but a match following a title win always seemed to have her a little more than just rattled.

“I mean, you said it yourself- you’ve won this same match before.”

“... and this time is different.”

“Why- cause they know you now?
You aren’t just some reputation on legs forcing everyone to wake up and realize that shit just got real anymore sweetheart… You’re a force of nature. My force of nature.”

Amber scoffed slightly, cocking an eyebrow at the level of persuasion coming into play.

“I’m a fucking jinx Mac. Maybe it's karma or some bad juju but I dunno, until I get this match out of my system I feel like I’m not gonna be able to sit still.”

With a cocky smile, the kind that she’d fallen in love with a hundred times over, Mac pulled her in and interlocked his hands at the small of her back.

“Well, it's a good thing we’re gonna be standing then.”

Shaking her head, Amber settled slightly under Mac’s grip, trying to shake off the doubt that seemed to settle in her pores amid the dust and autumnal chill.

“God, you’re such an ass sometimes.”

Planting a momentary kiss, Amber touched her nose against Mac’s as their eyes met like raging infernos coming together in a drought ridden grassland, she allowed herself a whisper tinged with sarcasm, a small chuckle and the faint scent of cinnamon.

“... and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”





******



“A year tends to be a really long time in our industry.

There are whole careers that span less time than that, promise fulfilled and potential lost within months- I mean how many people have you seen come through these doors full of piss and vinegar with the intention of setting the world in fire only to fizzle out when they realized there was no cake walk to be had. That they actually had to WORK to be successful here.
Needless to say, it feels strange that it's nearly been a year since we faced off- since a very infamous promo where you spent no less than half an hour screaming obscenities cause I unearthed this strange vendetta you have against ice-cream.

Yeah, I remember it well.

I also remember how the match went.

I’m not gonna be an arrogant bitch though and try to tell you that things will be exactly the same second time around- I’m aware enough of the passage of time and not nearly full enough of myself to expect a repeat that follows the script so carefully laid out before us. If I’m honest I’ve never much been one for following directions at all…
I know as well as you do Jessie, that we aren’t necessarily the same people who squared up with the unknown stretching covering the distance between us. We aren’t carbon copies of the past trying to correct our mistakes and change an already written destiny…

Things changed.

People changed.

I rose to the top of the mountain, and you… well, at least you won some matches.

I promise you that I’m not trying to undermine your successes, but the way you speak about them gives them the sense of far more grandeur than what I feel as though they are actually due. You said it yourself on Climax Control- that you haven’t just beaten the likes of Apple Coren or Twisted Sister, that you’ve been beating a higher level of opponents at Supercards.
I mean, admirable and congrats sure… You can’t hear my applause of course cause that would just fuck with the audio so maybe I’ll wait till we’re in person and I’ll even slow the clap down just so you can keep up.

Y0u went through a list naming names like some goddamn campaign of war victories- but I took a second look at those names, without the benefit of your enthusiasm to make everything sound bigger and badder than it already was and I gotta say… I’m a little more underwhelmed than I expected.
Allow me to explain- if you’re gonna talk about who you’ve beaten, maybe starting by saying you’ve done better than the literal worst is a bad choice, although for you there really isn't any other choice considering most of those names are basically just a step higher than the bottom.

First up is Maki, don't get me wrong I think she’s great and she’s finally started really finding her feet around here- but when you faced her, she was still a little… lost. Couldn’t quite start stringing wins together, crazy undead girl was dropping more matches than she could feasible hold onto- so while beating her might have been impressive for now, back then it was barely an upset.
Violet Amelia Holt- I mean honestly. Quite literally a step off the bottom and that's only because the bottom of the barrel is already fucking occupied.

Now here's where things get interesting though, right?

Evie fucking Jordan.

Now if that isn’t a trophy to take, then I don’t know what it… just a real shame she was already halfway out the door when it happened. Maybe she lost physically that night, but mentally I don’t even think she showed up to the building so I guess that's congratulations for scraping by the husk of one of the best?
I dunno, maybe if she ever comes back we can see how that match would have gone if she actually had a shred of her heart in it…

Finally… Char Kwan. Yeah, her… You know, the uh… Hmmmmm. We’re back in hovering over absolute zero, aren’t we?
Another case of this shouldn't be an upset and yet we’re gonna frame it like it is- get all the mileage you can from this one Jessie cause there isn’t much gas left in that tank.

Here’s the thing, you beat them all on Supercards but… well, what about all those shows in between. Funny how that doesn't get brought up, how you went to try swing at Christina cause everyone just wanted to see what would happen.
Tell me though, did you lose cause she was even remotely better or because you knew if you won you’d have me breathing down your neck?

Actually, don’t answer that.

Let me break this down for you Jessie- you can’t possibly expect to come out on a show talking up a storm and not expect someone to come along and basically pick everything you say apart when it's proven to be little more than bluster and bullshit.
If you wanna talk up wins and losses, maybe start winning more than you lose. Superards are a great showcase but if you can’t rack up wins week in and week out, how are you ever going to expect someone like me to take you seriously?

Don’t get me wrong darl, you’ve come a damn long way in a year.

… But you’re punching well above your arms reach while talking like you took a swing at fucking God himself and didn’t get smited for the sheer indignance of it.
In the space of just under a year Jessie I have won three times as many matches as I’ve lost- I beat Roxi Johnson twice, I beat Seleana Zdunich twice, I beat Christina Rose when she threw her whole fucking universe and everyone in it at me- most importantly sweetheart, I made a promise that I’d come in and I’d become champion.

I might not be well liked, but you damn sure know I’ve earned most of the respect I’m given and all of it I’ve not. I’m not greatly admired but everyone knows that I’m not here to fuck around either- you had a chance before Jessie and you squandered it when it shouldn't have been yours.
Now, opportunity presents itself again but this time I’ve got some advice… Don’t show up. Take this as one of those signs from the universe, a glowing neon billboard saying to save your breath cause this isn’t your fight…

You’re looking for your chance in all the wrong places, and if you stick your hand down enough dark holes then eventually someones going to bite it off- and you’re going to stand there fucking bewildered wondering how it happened.

Do yourself a favour, keep focusing on that big Climax Control 300 match with Team Hero. That big reunion of Metal and Punk should mean something- at least to you guys- so just keep your eyes on that prize cause that one isn’t gonna leave a mark.
Pick your goddamn battles, just stay in your lane Jessie and punch within your reach instead of falling out of your spot just for a wild swing at the clouds- and maybe then if you stop taking for granted that opportunities seem to keep presenting themselves to you then perhaps you’ll finally understand what it takes to be champion.
To be… well, me.

Granted you’ll still be the Dollar Store version of the worst angel equivalent in wrestling- but at least then it might be worth the attempt.

Of course, you still won't beat me… but at least I won't be so bitter about you trying."




******



Amber's Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
15.04.2021
11:28am



It’d been almost a month since she’d last seen Grizz at the hospice.

Since she’d said a heart wrenching goodbye.

They’d given him a week or two and still he’d kept persisting, in this case hearing nothing was the best thing if only to stave off the inevitable a little longer. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised- he’d always been the one to exceed all her expectations, from the moment they met he’d always been unpredictable in the best possible ways.
Always kept her guessing in a world that wanted to be so sure of itself.

She’d told herself that she had come back here to give herself some space before the wedding, some time that she might breathe and allow herself the chance to pull her proverbial shit together before allowing all of this to sink through her glacial armour.
Some time before allowing herself this… happiness.

Staring at her phone screen, the stupid selfie taken with Mac smiled bleakly back at her- tongues out, eyes squinting stupidly backstage at a show. She’d taken it barely a couple weeks earlier and yet the memory seemed so much more distant like the passage of time had changed and no one thought to tell her about it. In the photo, she was wearing his hat and they both looked so fucking happy.
… God, why did it feel so weird? ...
Flickering the screen off again, Amber gazed out expectantly across Atlantic City as though waiting for some garish billboard to light up with some kind of answer to a problem she couldn’t articulate- instead only finding neon advertisements for girls and liquor, vice flaunted openly before midday as though trying to persuade the masses that sin was okay when it was so openly embraced.

In truth though, she needed the space for a different reason. One she couldn't look Mac in the eye and explain for fear that he’d want to help… Not that she was opposed to it, but somehow she’d taken this weight on her shoulders and was determined that she wouldn’t buckle. On the kitchen counter the envelope from Grizz still remained sealed- plain white, nothing special about it except the seal of a dead man's dying wish.

He’d asked her to give this to Cassidy, his daughter. The closest thing Amber had ever come to a sister- estranged by years and pride, trying to follow a trail of breadcrumbs left in the midst of a fucking hurricane.

… “Burn it. Put it through a shredder. Unless it's her eyes, it never sees the light of day.” …

His words still echoed fiercely in the silence, his tone still strong despite his words coming out weak and crackling. She’d made a promise that perhaps she had no hope of keeping, yet still found herself determined to chase if only for the fact she could still say she tried…
Of course, she only had one lead, the same lead that kept her staring at her phone screen simultaneously talking herself into it and out of it- the same lead that left her skin tingling uncomfortably and a layer of bile coating the back of her throat.

‘Sticky’ was still in prison, at least she could count on that. Didn’t make it any easier to talk to him though, his leering eyes always cutting straight through whatever façade she could muster and his crude innuendos and offers of sexualised nostalgia left her feeling nauseous . Hell, even the thought of conversation with him left her feeling prickly and restless.
Still, he was the only one who likely knew where Cassidy was- between their sordid history and his insistence that he still had her wrapped around his little finger meant there was little option she had. There was always the fact she could just ignore it, after all she was getting married in two fucking days and she could have just told all of this and everyone involved to simply go to hell… She could carry on her life, shrug the weight off her shoulders and leave the past firmly embedded there.

Flicking the phone screen back on, the wallpaper sent another wave of warmth through her weary body, dissipating the faint queasiness lurking in her stomach.

She could break the promise that she made, but then what… For years she prided herself on keeping promises, for the longest time her word was all she really had and was all she could offer- she’d made it mean something and those around her had that expectation.
Grizz knew what it meant. Cassidy knew what it meant… and ‘Sticky’ knew what it meant, and he was banking on it.

Yeah, no doubt he was an ass. She hated him with every fucking fiber of her being… but this was closure, not only for her, but for someone no longer able to attain it for themselves. Scrolling through her contacts, she found the number she sought and pressed the call button on her screen reflexively, allowing autopilot to perhaps ease some of her nerves in hopes that maybe if she could force herself to care less- all of this would be easier.
To this day Amber never understood why Cassidy loved him- he stayed when Amber left, the vicious cycle of their relationship carrying on unchecked and unrestricted- she'd no doubt have come to rely on him the way she used to rely on the redhead.

It was Amber’s fault- for everything and she could no longer simply ignore that.

Just suck it up. Grit your fucking teeth.

The professionally polite voice on the other end of the phone left Amber briefly disarmed, sounding far more at home as a hotel receptionist or secretary at a car dealership instead of the first point of call in an Arizona prison complex. Breathing deeply, she knew she must have sounded nervous as hell however she also didn't have it left in her to pretend like this was even a remotely enjoyable experience.

“Hi, yeah… I was wondering if I could arrange a visit with an inmate sometime in the next week?”

Trying to remain professional herself, Amber could hear the breaks in her own voice and hoped that the phone didn’t further amplify it. Overly polite, Amber guessed the responding voice to be middle aged- she pictured a woman of smaller stature yet with a commanding presence behind a desk. Feminine against the oppressive nature of the place- her roaming imagination soothed her nerves slightly, focusing on something unrelated as though that might change literally anything while the clacking of a keyboard interspersed the smoothness of her voice as she asked for a name.

“St-- uh, sorry. Brendan Griffiths.”

She’s grown so accustomed to using the nickname for so long, she'd almost forgotten that it wasn’t his legal one- although she had little doubt that if given the opportunity he absolutely would. More opportunity to make sexulised innuendos and advances on women when the conversation was struck, no doubt. More clacking filled the dead air between them as Amber watched the sun trace across the midday skyline- Atlantic City during the day masquerading as something far more respectable than the interwoven burrows of neon fluorescence and carnal driven debasement.

“I’m terribly sorry, but according to my records Brendan Griffiths was released almost three ago on parole. I’m sure you could---”

Amber tuned out as her blood stopped in her veins, the world shuddering to halt for half a second as even her heart seemed to skip a beat. Those winter chills in the autumn breeze suddenly felt colder, cutting to the bone instead of skimming across the skin and the harsh midday sun became brighter and more overbearing as though reflecting off every surface straight towards her balcony.

That couldn’t possibly be… he can’t have been due yet… It didn’t make any…

God, it must have nearly been months since she last saw him by now- her pride and personal feelings had left her to put off the inevitable for as long as she could, she’d told him she'd be back in a week or two and then things… well, things got hectic. She got injured, then there was the wedding planning and all of the stuff that happened with Christina.

Was it really that long ago?
Had she really fucked up this badly?

Amber hadn't even realized she was still on the phone until the voice spoke up once more, inquiring if there was anything else she could help with- an undercurrent of impatience seeping through the otherwise efficient approach. Distractedly, Amber managed to say no and signed off amid a jumble of syllables that she hoped sounded like competent sentences before the call disconnected and the background noise of the city penetrated her bubble once more.

She’d been so fucking sure…

How could she…

God, Amber sighed aggravatedly as she buried her face in her hands, this really was a fucking mess.

“It was funny how little justice seemed to come in the wake of justice being done. It was funny how often the word “funny” described horrors that couldn’t be screamed away.”
― S.R. Hughes, The War Beneath




Undisclosed Fairgrounds
Somewhere in Georgia
13.07.2008
4:17pm



“Y’know Bambi, if you wanna have a private conversation around here…”

Amber didn’t need to turn around to hear the coy smile stretching across Grizz’s features. Buried beneath his wild beard that had increasingly been peppered with white and grey, it glowed effervescently like all the pride and joy in the world had somehow filtered into every one of his missing tooth grins. Crossing one of the few grass patches not shrivelled and yellowed in the heat, Grizz’s frame casted a shadow that Amber found herself temporarily grateful for as she sheen of sweat lay heavy against her skin and every breath tasted like lukewarm rain and discomfort.

“... You’d best hope the walls go deaf.”

Swatting idly at some of the incessant flies, Amber restrained her own soft chuckle whilst shoving her phone roughly back into her pocket with her free hand. Things had been moving quickly, far quicker than anticipated and the anticipation of change seemed to linger as thick as the Georgian summer humidity.

“If I should be so lucky. Fuck this heat though…”

With a few more errant swats finding little more than air, Amber distractedly pulled her ponytail a little higher trying to find some semblance of relief. That and a poor attempt to shift the conversation in a different direction- part of her had always hated their summer route through Georgia, the overbearing humidity was one thing, but the constant grizzling of patrons who thought they had the power to change it- well that's something she could definitely live without.

“You say that- but give it another month and you’ll be missing it. Although by the sounds of that phone call, it could be a damn sight sooner…”

Relentless in the best possible way, Grizz gave her a raised eyebrow which only served to further highlight the bloodshot in his eyes and the heavy wrinkles that seemed to deepen with every passing day. Unlike Amber, he revelled in this weather- Georgia born and bred he’d loudly proclaim as they travelled through, as though that changed the fact everyone else seemed fucking miserable.

“They offered you a contract, didn’t they?”

She didn’t need to answer in the same way he didn’t need to ask. They were a wrestling company looking to reopen after being dormant for almost 5 years, looking for new blood to start a new revolution and all the usual cliches that came with the wrestling industry. At first, it all seemed like bullshit to the redhead- a couple suits coming up after a show with big plans, talking about potential and all of what they saw in her- despite the fact she’d barely gone 5 minutes that night with an under-trained newbie cause the crowds had shorter attention spans than they did patience.

They all said they’ll call with an official contract offer in a few days- and then she’d never hear from them again. Same song and dance, all while pretending like this one hadn’t been heard before. At 20 years old and 5’8, pushing 125lbs on a good day- Amber held little hope on these things- arguably for good reason.
For the last 5 years, she’d been content- maybe even happy- packing her life into a duffel bag and cramping herself into a van or bus with a bunch of others just like her determined to believe that this, this fucking crappy existance was what made them happy…
Hell, some of them even believed it.

Only this time… they called.

Numbers had been thrown around that she’d never even considered, terms that she’d only heard in passing on television and in overheard conversations between pretentious blowhards now seemed to be a reality.
Could she start in a couple weeks? They wanted their first show in September sometime to commemorate an event she hadn’t heard of before. How about sooner? Sooner would be great, sort out of the contractual kinks
There was the question of gear and entrance music, dietary requirements in catering. Hotel bookings, car rentals, travel… Amber’s mind was still swimming now in possibilities beyond comprehension.

People like her... they weren’t supposed to make it.

She was supposed to end up in a ditch with a needle in her arm, or pregnant chasing a deadbeat baby daddy for enough change to pay for a place to stay cause she was running out of couches to surf. She was supposed to just be another dreamer with stars in her eyes and defeat in her future- resigned to running the same routes year after year like a hamster in a wheel. Pretending to smile as those same lights of ambition died with neglect.
Talent only got you so far, determination and grit maybe a little further…

“So?”

Grizz watched her expectantly as she snapped back to reality, the dense air washing back over her as the words got stuck in her throat. People like Amber weren’t supposed to make it- and maybe there was a good reason for that…

“So what?”

Cassidy Parker, Grizz’s daughter and Amber’s sister in everything except blood, sauntered up with an anticipatory delight. She hadn’t overheard Amber’s conversation- perhaps thankfully and maybe given a little while to think on it she might have found a way to bring it up that wouldn’t---

“Our Bambi here got offered a contract.”

Pride beaming through the rough exterior, Amber thought Grizz might burst into happy tears. If it weren’t for him, odds are she’d have just been another Jane Doe cold case on a slab waiting for someone to remember she existed. Unable to do little more than shrug, Amber’s gaze caught Cassidy’s the moment the colour drained from the younger girls features.

“What do you mean ‘got offered a contract’, what does that even mean? ... You aren’t leaving… Are you?”

If heartbreak and hysteria had a face, Cassidy’s surely would have mirrored it as the realization crossed them all at the same time. They’d been sisters, maybe even closer than, for almost seven years now. Inseparable. Always saying that no matter what- they’d stick together cause that's just what they’d always done, what they’d always do. What they were supposed to do.

After all, there’d never been any reason for them to think otherwise.

“Cass I---”

“You can't leave. You promised. Everytime they said they'd call, you promised you wouldn't. You fucking promised!”

Hurt and betrayal had turned Cassidy’s once radiant smile into an ugly scowl, mascara smudging and leaving dark tracks as the tears began to fall. Amber couldn’t make a sound as much as she tried, verbally being cut to pieces where she stood without so much as a moment to breathe and proverbially bleeding out into the dying patches of grass.

“Is it that easy for you Amber, to just up and leave… Spent your whole life till now doing it, so I don’t know why I expected anything different. You always told me that whatever happened that you’d be there for me, that you’d never leave me behind no matter what- now you’re some fucking big shot with a contract, everything before now doesn’t mean shit. All of a sudden you’re better than the rest of us…”

Vitriolic, every insecurity that Cassidy had been holding close seemed to burst forth. A caustic verbal barrage tearing through whatever defenses Amber had at hand, her walls left in ruins and her having fallen through the bottom of her chest, lost to the stampede of resentment that seemed to have fallen from Cassidy’s lips.
Amber had no donut she was hurting- that she’d taken the redhead at her word and she’d believed every promise made, cause at those times they were true. They’d always been true and that didn’t change now. Barely able to utter a sound, Amber took a step towards Cassidy in an attempt to mend whatever might remain of the bridges left smouldering between them, trying to make amends for something she’d never done- but somehow bore the guilt for.

Amber hadn’t broken those promises though, a contract didn’t change anything they were- except in the heart of a 17 year old girl with a bright smile and thick curls that seemed to dance with every step, it changed everything. Maybe that's why she’d hesitated to say anything to Cassidy, treading lightly as though stepping through a minefield of feelings, trying to find a way to salvage from something that she couldn’t understand being as broken as what it was.
Between the three of them though, as Cassidy sobbed through ragged breaths and frustration, no words beyond ‘I’m not leaving’ would change any of this- and even then their relationship might still have been strained as though trust had been tainted when only truths had been shared.

“I ha---”

“Just go and enjoy being the big shot… I hope it's everything you want it to be… and that it makes you miserable.”

Storming away in a disconsolate huff, Cassidy quickly disappeared from view leaving only the sound of her sniffling tears and malicious verbal tirade in her wake. Amber, in spite of this, finally found her voice, murmuring barely loud enough for Grizz to hear through the cracking in her own voice…

“... but I haven’t accepted it yet.”

Resting a large hand on her shoulder, Grizz squeezed softly as though trying to still gauge the damage.

“You should.”

With watery eyes and her chest emotionally torn to shreds, Amber looked up towards him questioningly. Doubtful of reasoning in the wake of his daughters own perceived betrayal and resentment.

“You could stay… and maybe you’d be happy, but you’ll always wonder what if and come to resent us all for not telling you that it's okay to make a hard decision and that it's okay that sometimes people we care about get hurt along the way.”

Another squeeze, this one a little more authoritative.

“You have the potential to do far more than chase your tail here Bambi, there's something inside you that can’t be taught in a school or cultivated in a gym. When we first met, I thought you were delusional. That you were just another runaway looking for somewhere to hide- but you earned your place when no one expected it. You fought for everything you earned here, but you’ve outgrown this place… and you’ve outgrown us.
I won’t tell you that you’ll be successful, cause I won't be the one to give you false hope… but I believe that you deserve this opportunity to try.”

Amber wipes her eyes as though trying to wipe away tears before they fall, as Grizz removes his hand and goes to walk away- perhaps in an attempt to minimize the collateral damage.

“... what if I fail Grizz? What if I go out there and I let everyone down.”

In spite of himself, Grizz gives her a warm half-smile, brushing away what looked to either be an errant bead of sweat or the beginning of his own waterworks from a sun worn cheek.

“I’d be far more let down if you didn’t.”

Turning his back, his voice echoed with a clarity that even Amber couldn’t help but find resonated somewhere beneath her sternum.

“It's okay Bambi. It's okay to say goodbye and it's okay to leave- even if it hurts to admit.
I’m proud of you Amber, we all are, and I’ll be more so when you go out there and be the woman that the industry needs you to be, the bloody force of nature you’re supposed to be…”

Grizz paused once more before disappearing around the back of his trailer, as though suddenly struck with something poignant that couldn't be left unsaid.

“Now go... piss off and call them back before they change their minds…”

With a hearty chuckle Grizz’s large frame disappeared, his shadow trailing in the waning afternoon sun as Amber, with heart in pieces and brain stuck on tumble dry, dragged her phone back out of her pocket and held her breath as the last number rang out.





*******


“A lot of people recently have had a lot to say about me.

If you listen to someone like Myra Rivers- she’ll tell you that I’m rushing towards the end of the road and taking the concept of deadlines to a whole new level of literal, that I’m blissfully unaware that actions have consequences and that I’m preoccupied with burning bridges faster than I can get off them.
Maybe if you listen to someone like Keira Johnson- and I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t recommend it- she’ll tell you I’m the fucking anti-christ of womens wrestling, that I’m the reason anything bad has happened in Sin City Wrestling since I walked through that door.
Hell, if you listen to Jessie Salco she’ll tell you about the adverse reaction that vanilla ice cream has on her speech patterns- but I’m not entirely sure that one has all that much to do with me.

… and if you speak to Christina Rose, she’ll turn the conversation back to herself.

It's quite astonishing really how the whole universe has somehow managed to restructure and realign so perfectly to revolve around you.

From Inception and YOU getting ‘viciously attacked’ after winning the Bombshells title, to YOU acting like you were better than petty revenge and YOU making a big ol’ show and dance about bringing YOUR daughter to ringside. It's all been about how YOU got misted for acting like an entitled brat and how YOU felt watching your daughter get a little scared by the ‘big bad wolf’ cause YOU put her in that position to begin with.
YOU went out seeking revenge, YOU wanted to escalate things. YOU wanted to go out there and take from me like I’d just stand there and fucking let you without consequence, YOU wanted to hurt people that I cared about cause YOU couldn’t bring yourself to admit that at any point YOU fucked up. Now, after everything, you’re sitting there wondering how YOU got yourself into this fucking mess and all the ways YOU might try to weasel your way out.

Here’s the worst part, and what has kinda stuck in my craw from the beginning.

It was never about you to begin with. It was only ever about the title...

See, you have this preconceived notion Christina that I have this vendetta against you, in truth- you and everything you claim to ‘represent’ was never even a blip on my radar before you made yourself into a standing fixture in my schedule, before this I’d have barely passed a thought of you until you had something that I desperately wanted.
Fact is- I’d have done exactly the same thing at Inception had it been literally anyone else holding up that belt.

Against your wife, I wasn’t angling for your attention- I was out there proving why my name still meant something as I came back off the shelf, had she decided to actually ‘show up’ then maybe I’d not have felt so goddamn spiteful about being treated like an afterthought in your familial drama. I went out there and proved that I was back and that I wasn’t fucking around, I wasn’t gonna sit back and wait for the shot I’d long since earned and had been passed over multiple times for.
After the Bombshells title match- I went out there and I made my statement of intent, back then you were just the warm body holding up the strap.

In that moment of time- you could have been any other Bombshell on the roster and I’d have dropped you all the same.

Thing is, you couldn't stand for any of this to be about anything, but you. About the fact you felt as though you’d been targeted and slighted, that you wanted to make a point of taking the high road despite looking for any opportunity you could to act out like a spoiled brat.
I offered you the high road Christina, I gave you your chance to even the score and set everything back to the way it should have been- but you just have to make a fucking scene.

See, I don’t sit here and pretend I’m a good person. I’ve said plenty of times that I’d be willing to do whatever it took to become champion and I won’t stand here and apologize for burning bridges cause your clothes smell like smoke cause you got a little too close.
I refuse to go around and tell the world that I’m such a wonderful fucking person, that I’m so great cause I adopted a child, that I’m someone you should look up to- right before going and acting the cunt cause you found something to vaguely justify your shitty behavior.
At the first moment you could, you took this to a personal level and the moment you get called out on it- you wanna say it's because of everything that I did.

You know what I did?

I decided to put the title first. That's why I didn’t fight back, that's why I didn’t tear your heart still beating from your chest and expose you as the fraudulent, vile, hypocritical blue haired cunt that you are when you took something I truly and sincerely put years of my life into, destroyed it and then flaunted it around for your own amusement.
That's why I didn’t strike you down where you so proudly stood when we signed that contract, why I didn’t say a word cause nothing I could say would make you understand just how fearsomely repulsed I am by you getting to call yourself a fucking champion.
Day after day, night after night, I look in the mirror and I hate who I’m becoming- but I continue down that path cause there are people like you who want to exploit every fucking loophole they can find, trample across any worth and value that anyone might put into that title and pretend like they were the hero all along.

While there are people like you pissing all over this industry, I’m going to continue doing exactly what I’ve done till now- whether it's loved or loathed is fucking irrelevant cause at least I’m willing to do something. I would rather lose myself to the darkness and become someone that would be better off in the ground, than play ignorant and let you continue to strut that high horse around like you didn’t already flog it to death and are now just sitting proudly on it's rotting corpse.

No, you aren’t a real champion.

How could you be?

You’re far more focussed on getting bedazzled jumpsuits tailored to your fragile ass than rightfully representing arguably the most talented group of women in this fucking industry. Too busy trying to keep that spotlight on your shitty regrowth that you forget that being a champion is more than just holding up the title and expecting everyone to cheer on cue. See, maybe you’ve forgotten this but the title doesn’t make the champion- there's work involved you silly bitch, and not the kind that involves toddling around on heels, staring down a camera and reading off a teleprompter…
A champion, one who legitimately cares, will elevate that gold and make others want to challenge for it- tell me, what's your defense record looked like… Keira Johnson and Jessie fucking Salco.

Top level women in this company would rather AVOID challenging for the title right now cause they can’t bear to deal with your self-centred, self-righteous, victim blaming bullshit. Women who would rightfully use your fucking face as a mop, cause that hairs only good for clogging up a drain, would rather fight for the chance to do anything except face you…
Blast From The Past had a top turn out of women cause you were the champion and they all hoped that someone would step up and knock you off that pedestal by the time they got to the final- they didn’t wanna beat you cause theres no acclaim left in that.

Keira only wanted a shot at the belt to stop me, despite explicitly saying she wasn’t looking for a rematch, so what the fuck does that say about you as a champion Christina?
She didn’t even register you as a threat cause she doesn’t even believe you can slow me down, you’re a nasty little speed bump and everyone knows it except you.
Maybe if you considered actually making the title mean something instead of trying to keep the spotlight on your shitty regrowth for five minutes, you’d be considered a legitimate threat instead of a fucking nuisance.

Hell, you might be the champion but I’m the one you’re swinging for, not the other way around. I’m the one Keira was looking to face while you, even as the champion, have little to no relevance in any of these matters. You inserted yourself personally cause you couldn’t stand not to be the centre of attention and now you’re in so deep you can’t even tell you’re drowning, cause your mouth hasn’t stopped moving long enough to take a fucking breath.

From the get go- you’ve always been too focused on getting your shit in, intent on being seen as a ‘badass’ like it doesn’t come across more as a petulant temper tantrum. You’re good under the right circumstances, but this isn’t on your terms anymore- you don’t get to dictate the rules of engagement cause you think you have the biggest set of balls going.
No, I’ve come to realize you’re little more than sentient garbage, like bubblegum stuck to the sole of the Bombshells division, the absolute epitome of everything that I hope is one day eradicated from this industry… See, being a five time champion doesn’t make you important as much as it means you’ve got slippery fingers- and I’d go as far as to call you a five time fluke if I didn’t consider it an insult to luck.

When it comes down to it Christina- I want to be the Bombshells World Champion, you just wanna be special.
I want to go out there and represent what this division actually stands for, even if I’m hated for my methods cause I believe it deserves more than what your selfish nature could ever hope to offer- you? You just want everyone to get down, kiss your feet and tell you how fucking great you are.

You had your goddamn chance, more times over than you ever deserved and I’ve done everything in my power not to simply annihilate you on the spot cause, not only will it leave a nasty stain on the floor, but because in doing so I’d simply be stooping to your level. I’d be no better than you, and that thought alone makes me wanna go take a shower in some bleach till the taste stops burning in my mouth.

More importantly though, and you need to understand this, I value that title… the one you carry around like a fucking half price accessory from the dollar shop… far more than I value you, or your life.”



******




Amber’s Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
15.03.2021
10:58am



Almost nine hours now.

That's how long it had been since she’d slipped away from the house Mac and her shared in Vegas, how long it had been since she’d tried to quantify her breaking heart with justifications that she needed to just disappear for a little while and get her head back together- knowing full well that inside she was already tearing herself apart at the seams. How long it had been since she walked out of that house, clinging desperately onto a hope that he’d be able to forgive her, and everything she knew that she’d be willing to do, when all this was over.

Almost nine hours now.

That's how long she’d been running from everything she couldn’t stand to destroy.

Slipping beneath the water's surface, Amber found herself briefly grateful that Mac couldn’t see her now. She wasn’t sure if she could explain how an ice bath intended to nurse the bruises and niggling injuries and placate the emotional apathy creeping across her synapses had become the occasional rush of water over the bathtubs edge as she slipped beneath the surface in hopes that in possibly failing to come back up that she might leave those she cared about better off for it.
Beneath the rippling water, clear yet cold and stinging on her eyes, she found a muffled solace in the distortion as though somehow she were the clear version and everyone else were the ones who could have been considered broken.

Water had always been known for its cleansing properties, but there was so much blood and grime that she couldn't simply wash away. No scrubbing could change anything she’d done to get here, for every layer scraped away there’d be another further ingrained to the point she wasn’t even sure that what was left would be worth salvaging in the end.
Time had accumulated everything horrific she’d done to get to where she was under her skin, out of reach until she tore through everything better she’d tried to be- even then though, the layers would thicken and grow more unwieldy for everytime some poor innocent fuck got caught in the cross fire and paid the price for her ambitions.

Part of her waited for Mac to burst through the door, knight in shining armour looking to save the dragon from itself while cutting down the townsfolk who just didn't quite get that the princess in the tower deserved to rot in the rubble of every lie she’d built. He wasn’t coming though, not yet at least. He would, of course, because he always did- but by that point Amber had already planned on being lost to the wind. For every time she created distance, he’d close it. For every wrong, he’d make it right. She didn’t deserve him and yet he’d never stopped fighting to prove otherwise, that her worth wasn’t based solely on what pissants thought of lions.

Besides, she'd stolen his key to her apartment on the way out the door.

Just for good measure.

She’d told him she just needed some time- despite the fact both of them knew it was a lie. It was an easy one to tell though, cause she’d done it all her life…

… “It doesn’t have to be this way.” ...

His eyes were bleary when he said it, his voice a little hoarse cause he hadn’t expected to be fighting a verbal tug of war at 3:07 in the morning. She tried to dispel that she heard confusion and hurt in his voice, hoping that the early hours and continual disquiet disconnect between her ears had her hallucinating- it wouldn’t be forever, she’d promised as though that somehow made it any easier to explain away.
Just long enough that she could get past this. Whatever the fuck it had become.

Now, with skin prickling and an ache in her chest, she knew exactly what it was and she despised it.

Pressure creates diamonds, she’d been told that a thousand times in her career, but people always seemed to forget that pressure also created combustion- and for these past few weeks Amber couldn’t deny that the inside of her chest had become a raging inferno. Every nerve had been frayed to the point they might simply snap with an errant gaze, the same person that she’d buried for the good of all was the only one who seemed to be left after everything else of her had been razed to the ground.
There was little left of the ‘Painted Hurricane’, the destructive force of nature that had torn through the Bombshells division on her way to the top of the mountain and perhaps less of the Distorted Angel who had built the foundation for which all her successes had blossomed from…

All that was left was Amber Ryan.

… and it fucking scared her to death.

… “I just… There’s just things I need to deal with.” …

Not because she was fragile, brittle like bone china, the vulnerable and scared little girl running from everything cause that was the only thing that made sense… but because, at her core, she was the worst of them all. Pure unadulterated sociopath filtered through the worst that society could throw at her, the cold fucking dead heart of a stone angel and the eye of an F5 no longer masked by monikers and good intentions.

She could feel the burning now, the pressure bursting in her lungs as her body screamed for oxygen. Of course the surface was right there, all she had to do was meet it- but it would mean leaving the muffled solace of nowhere in particular. Beneath the water- she was no longer Amber Ryan, no longer bitter and broken skin and bone- just weightlessness and thoughtlessness drifting closer to a precipice begging her to just peek over the edge one more time.
Maybe she could stay a little longer, after all the water wasn’t so cold now…

… “You don’t have to deal with everything alone, you know?" …

Bubbles seeped between her lips as she struggled to open her eyes, her chest felt as though her ribs were caving in now as though trying to close off it's contents to anyone who might want to peek inside.
Maybe she should have just thrown the match, taken her chances at the contract signing and given Christina everything she was owed, receipt after receipt for all the hurt she’d caused just to get her name on people's tongues, to remember that she wasn’t just some bit player in a grander narrative… It certainly would have saved a lot of heartache.
Maybe it wouldn't have changed the result of the Blast From The Past semi-final match, but she’d have breathed easier knowing that it wasn’t her restraint that had cost them their opportunity. Despayre had already been screwed once by Christina, and now Amber had let it happen again, Mac had been dragged down with them- the momentum and grandeur of the win now tainted cause the blue haired heathen couldn’t be without a spotlight.

Collateral damage. It was always expected, but to go out of one's way to create it… even Amber had never stooped quite that low.

Lights were flickering in Amber’s vision as she squinted, trying to find her bearings despite not having moved, while her ribs seemed to close in tighter and a violent, raging ache seemed to pulsate out from behind her eyes.
Want had nothing left to do with who she had to be- what was necessary wasn’t always best, but it was the only way that justice- if it could even be called that now- could potentially be dealt. Actions had consequences and so far Christina had seen little to none, coasting by under the false pretense that they no longer applied when you solely coloured outside the lines.

Amber had chosen to bide her time and allow karma to enact it's full retribution- but now she wondered perhaps if she’d waited too long...

… “Maybe not, but this time I do. I love you” …

There was nothing left in her lungs now as the last bubble drifting listlessly towards the now still again surface- only a decision was left to be made as the lights flickered brighter and harsher, the throbbing ache behind her eyes rattling the loose bones around her skull and her pulse slowing… fading…
Whatever, whoever came from this- she’d have to accept.
Even if the mirrors reflection roused a dormant sense of self-loathing, even if everyone believed that all she had left to offer was derision and destruction… even if it cost her damn near everything.

… “I love you too. Whatever it is you need to do, be safe.” …

It would be worth it for the title.

Leather and metal, a universal sign that told everyone that you were the best- regardless of whether it was actually true or not. That's what all this had come to- leaving the champion a broken, bloody mess to be scraped off a canvas would mean almost nothing if she didn’t have the Bombshells title.
A catharsis, sure, but that void Christina had created beneath her sternum wouldn’t just be satiated with carnage and chaos, it wouldn’t make her feel close to remotely vindicated if she couldn’t take the one thing from her that she relied upon to keep her relevant.
Obliterating Christina would be one thing, but to watch her scramble furiously as she realized she was about to fade into obscurity without the title… That would be a whole other level of absolution for the redhead.

Forcing herself to the surface, the faintly stale air of an apartment barely lived in quickly filled her stinging lungs while the heavy stream of dark crimson tresses trailed behind her like a sudden spurt of blood, as though the pressure relieved out the back of her skull and trailed down her back.
Water rushed over the bathtub edges in a surge, spilling and splashing across tiles and further flooding the bathroom floor while silence once again took over the space. Amber knew, running her fingers through her hair as she sat upright, that within hours it’d be like she was never here… That Mac, her soon to be husband, would come through that front door and find only a key and a note where he’d hoped to find something far more tangible in red.

Almost nine hours now.

That’s how long she’d taken to finally accept that this choice hadn't been hers all along.

… “I always am.” ...





******



“It's hard to believe that I wasn’t always this way.

If I’m honest though I doubt you’d believe a word I said regardless, just in the same way I don’t think you’re capable of an original thought nor distinctive comeback that doesn’t involve scraping it out of someone else's sock.
It's not as though I’ve ever given much reason for people to listen, by the time we get to the point of reasonable conversation I’ve usually commenced with blunt force trauma, and at that point one must assume that the time for talking has long since passed us by.

Thing is though, of all the undesirable things I might be labelled with- a liar doesn’t happen to be one. At least not in the sense that I’ll stand here and tell you something blatantly untrue whilst trying to pass it off as fact. Skies aren’t green and the moon isn’t made of cheese- but you Christina, you happen to be far inclined towards such things…
Renowned for your willingness to spin a web of lies so malicious and deceitful, it makes most mere mortals heads spin. A backstabber and a saboteur, a hypocrite without the good sense to simply admit that she might be wrong- you know, instead of doubling down in hopes that digging your heels further in the mud might deter and distract from the rancid dribble of shit trailing off your lips.

You’re certainly got a reputation- not because any of it's any good, but because it's so obvious, that your attempts are so obscenely brazen that most of the locker room are convinced it's satire.

Yet people say that I’m the malevolent one.

I won’t pretend I’m an innocent party, mind you- my matches with Roxi and the things I did in the midst of our rivalry are very public and well-documented. I’ve done a lot of shitty things Christina, but I’ll be damned if I don’t own every single one of them and have a justified reason for doing so- even if it happens to be a disagreeable one. I don’t simply act and react for the sake of attention seeking, I’m not so reliant on recognition that I need to go out of my way to act the cunt just so I can publically make a scene when I’m called out on my shit.
What I do, what I have done and what I will continue to do has reasons, has motives and has goals.

Whereas you just want your cake and to eat it too.

Not that you care- collateral damage is past tense, it's in the rearview and a busy little beaver like you can't be dwelling on the past, right?
Heaven forbid all the times before now that you tried to ruin someone else's life cause they barely even needed to try to outshine you, when they didn’t smush and contort themselves to fit that very specific standard that you have no hope of living up to.
How many Bombshells in that locker room do you think would actually come out and save you if I started smashing your face into a concrete floor? By the time your facial features start to resemble hamburger, I’m still counting the number on one hand.

How many more would cheer, would take up a front row seat and throw popcorn, would consider anything I leave behind as an improvement provided that mouth of yours no longer works. Now we’re starting to get to the point that I’m running out of toes…
You have screwed so many people, taken liberties when they weren’t yours to be taking and you expect that there is anyone not related to you who’d take up and fight for the false honour you so desperately need defended.
That fucking microscope you wanna shine on everyone elses indiscretions sweetheart, turn it back around and take a long hard look- then take the lens cap off cause you damn sure aren’t nearly as fucking perfect as you think you are.

I’m not coming out here to stand up for those you’ve left in your wake, well not all of them, I’m not planning on taking up heroism any time soon cause there's enough of those already that make me feel violently ill with their self-righteous vigor. I’m coming for those you I care about that you hurt unnecessarily, those of mine who you dragged into this fight…
Mac and Despayre.
It's almost funny really, cause outside of Inception and whatever smart-assery you thought you were pulling on Valentines with your sweet, darling little girl… I left your loved ones out of it. Just like I did Roxi until they interfered, until they decided to cross my path willingly or otherwise.

Professional and personal, I like to draw a line between these things but you can’t seem to tell the difference- similarly to how you can’t seem to remember which orifice you’re supposed to defecate from.
All this bluster and bullshit you put on, this pantomimic poorly scripted redemption arc that literally no one is buying into… I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to distance myself from those muddy waters of familial drama that you luxuriate in, I wanted to come into Blaze Of Glory and rescue that title from the murky soap opera that is your existence.

I have no doubt you’ll bring the pageantry and posse to Blaze Of Glory- strength in numbers only works though when there's strength at all. I doubt your wife would want much of anything to do with me, although I do look forward to seeing if her motivation to actually fight has returned… Your daughter? I might be a monster, but even I wouldn’t hurt a child. Not intentionally at least.
Friends, relatives, far off distant cousins related by divorce and despair at sharing your heritage- by all means though, you bring them all. You wanted to make this a family affair, I’m opening the doors and welcoming them all in personally cause when it comes down to it- you could bring an army to Blaze Of Glory… and I’d slaughter them all just to make you understand.

I’ll be honest, I don’t care if you come alone or flanked with minions too fucking brainwashed to realize that it's the daft leading the blind, I couldn't give half a fuck if anyone shows up to help you cause as far as I’m concerned- and yes Christina, I’m gonna spell this out and tell you it's absolutely a warning and a threat so you don’t mess this one up later, anyone steps through that fucking curtain and it's their blood on your hands.
If you can’t fight your battles alone, if you can’t dig yourself out of the hole with your own two hands cause your nails are too pretty to mess- then I will cut them down where they stand.

Let it be known loud and clear- I could go out there tomorrow and eviscerate you and not even blink, I could widow your wife without losing a moment of sleep and I could orphan your daughter and my world would keep on spinning all the same.
Being a parent, as admirable as it might be- doesn't automatically make you a better person by default and it doesn’t change that you’re willing to continually put people you care about in harm's way like glorified meat shields, in hopes you might somehow play the victim in the aftermath.

You don’t get to dictate anymore, you don’t get to run pawns across the board thinking that your way through as queen is somehow more glorified cause it's over their sacrifices.
See, this match is designed to remove all excuses- and I’m sure you’re already lining them up like dominoes in a chain… Fact is Christina, you’re in deep water now. You swam out here of your own volition, but your legs are getting heavy and it's getting harder to breathe- normally I’d implore you to not look down however I’d love to catch the final glimpse of your face before I drag you under the surface.

I made my name in ultraviolence Christina- it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t fun. Still isn’t and I doubt time will come to change that, but I’ve become very fucking good at it- maybe you think that makes me a one trick pony, but the truth is I’d just as readily leave your limbs tied in knots as I would throw a fireball in your face. I hit like a truck without the benefit of a driver slamming on the brakes, I kick like a horse with a muscle spasm on steroids- and most importantly, I’m not afraid to break a nail.

There is nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been attempted- everything you gave me when you were doped up on emotional anguish and rage, was that your best? I hope not, and I know you’ll vehemently deny it cause it doesn’t serve your chances well.
With the advantage of surprise, without me even fighting back- you couldn’t even get that right… You failed at putting me down just as badly as you’ve consistently failed to be a good role model for your daughter, as you’ve time and time again managed to fuck up being a good wife.

You had your chance and you showed me your hand, so now consider me exceedingly underwhelmed.

When it comes down to it, this is my game Christina Rose, and you’re strutting around like you’ve got any kind of advantage, like you’re calling a bluff that doesn’t exist trying to save face as reality once again blindsides you from head on.
This Ironman stipulation is to make sure it's definitive, that for every fall where lay flat on your back staring at the lights while your vision stains red, everytime you scream out while furiously tapping that mat in hopes I might show mercy and relent- I want you to finally understand that action does have consequence and that karma is a patient mistress.

Everything you’ve done, it's coming back tenfold. Every word you’ve said, I hope burns all the way back down. Every moment of hurt, of deceit, of betrayal that you’ve inflicted with such a blase and debase attitude- I want you to never experience another day without suffering, without the intimate knowledge that this is your fault and yours alone.

You can tell the world you’ve changed, that you aren’t that person anymore- but the moment that you saw that opportunity to step back into those shoes, you did it without even a second thought. From the start you’ve worked backwards in trying to find a reason in what I’ve done to justify that all you ever wanted was to be who you are right now...

Congratulations champ, you’re everything you ever dreamed… and I just hope it was worth it, while it lasts.

See, I wasn’t always this way…

… but people like you Christina Rose, you’re the reason I am.”




******




Undisclosed Hospice
Somewhere in Georgia
18.03.2021
3:41pm




Grizz was a stubborn old bastard, and even standing at death's doorstep she had no doubt that he’d deliberately choose not to wipe his feet.

Frustratedly, the late-middle aged nurse bustled through the door to the ‘common room’ as Amber dutifully followed, through every corridor she’d murmured about standards and how everyone seemed to allow the inmates to run the asylum as though the residents were hardened criminals instead of the declining and frail. Amber chose to keep her mouth shut, more so in an attempt not to swallow too much of the antiseptic air pumped through the facility, than a show of restraint in the face of the nurses slightly archaic point of view.

A new wave of sterility washed over the redhead as she stepped through the door, like a cold and dry shower that left the taste of disinfectant and the elderly lingering on the back of her tongue, before being motioned to step aside and out of earshot as though any of them had the ability or really cared.
Amber gauged there were only four residents currently sharing the space, a woman rested peacefully in a recliner with oxygen tubes seemed to dwarf her tiny frame while two other men sat across at a table in a rather heated, albeit laboured discussion about something she couldn’t overhear.

It was the cozy recliner by the window though that seemed to leave Amber momentarily lost for words.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking…”

Almost as sterile as the air, the nurses tone grated at Amber almost immediately like a sugar coating a dog turd.

“... but Mr Parker has been awfully stubborn about leaving his chair, it's recommended that he be laying down in his room so that we might best supervise and---”

… Mr Parker, huh... If it weren’t so inappropriate to laugh in this scenario- Amber had no doubt that she’d nearly have been in stitches, just the idea of anyone addressing Grizz so formally itself was funny enough sure, but picturing his reaction to being referred to that way. Knowing the way his brow would furrow deeply and the corner of his lip would curl into an unimpressed half smile as he gauged the seriousness of their tone.
‘Mr Parker’ was his father, he’d reiterate with a faint drawl, a solemn and serious man without much sense of humour and small talk- or so he’d tell so softly that you almost had to lean in further to make sure you captured every word. If you’d like to speak to him, and by now he’d have the listener hooked, I can give you directions to the hole I put him in 30 odd years ago.

Everytime and without fail, Amber knew she could probably repeat the speech word for word despite having not heard it for over a decade herself. Satisfied, Grizz would correct them and the conversation would continue- however the nurse hadn’t fully grasped the memo it seemed, much to the redheads amusement.
Lifting a hand to cut the nurse off, she knew she’d heard more than enough after the first couple of syllables of the well practiced spiel that she was about to not-so-respectfully disagree.

“--- You want me to go over there and tell a dead man that his last days would be better spent on his back staring at a beige ceiling, than in a comfy chair watching the world go by. With all due respect- he’s likely going to be horizontal plenty soon enough so I wouldn’t be stressing that he’s missing any of the experience.”

Taken aback, and very obviously offended, the blush in the nurses cheeks glowed red. Amber had little time for such trivialities, and she liked to think that Grizz had given a very similar response based on the way the nurse stormed off with little more than a huff and a ‘I trust you can see yourself out when you’re done’ glare.
Sidling up, Amber pulled over a smaller chair beside the recliner at the window- granted the view wasn’t much of anything, she couldn’t bear to deny such a simple pleasure to---

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Grizz hadn’t even turned his head to face her, still gazing almost enchantedly out of the window, but Amber knew it wasn’t quite the same man she’d grown up so quickly alongside. No longer the man that kept her head above water for just long enough that she might learn to swim, the man that saw potential in delinquency and a Distorted Angel among the ruins of a resentful 13 year old girl.

“You’d think with the money they charge to put someone in here that they’d make an effort to give us something to look at.”

It had been less than six months since she’d sat across from him in a trailer, sipping iced tea through gritted teeth while trying to swallow the harsh truth of a cancer diagnosis caught far too late. He hadn’t said it was terminal, but she wasn’t stupid enough to believe otherwise. From then to now he’d become almost unrecognizable- his large frame had withered and hunched and his face once bristling and fierce seemed far more wethered and gaunt, the salt and pepper in his beard now a pallid grey contrasting against bloodshot eyes that watered incessantly.

“You haven’t found her, have you?”

Cassidy Parker was still very much a ghost, and that guilt wouldn’t let up. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been trying, Amber reminded herself harshly, things had been slow like wading through molasses in socks… She’d found Josie and by extension managed to find Sticky.
Amber wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of him, that snide smile through a plexiglass window while his voice practically begged for a tracheostomy, she had no donut whatsoever that he knew where Cassidy was. That she was probably somewhere waiting for him to get out, that she’d long since abandoned hope that Amber might one day try to make amends for what she’d done.

Opening her mouth to answer, the words never came out, only the faint choking sound of guilt getting stuck in her throat, gurgling and pathetic, seemed to emerge. Grizz, while dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief reflexively, smiled something akin to acceptance and placed a bony hand on Amber’s.

“It's okay. I figured it wouldn't be quite as easy as we’d hoped- perhaps if you do… You could give her this, it's everything I wanted to say to her face to face…”

He wanted to say more but his voice trailed off slowly, placing down his handkerchief and instead taking up a plain, white envelope that had already been sealed.

“... and if I don’t?”

It wasn’t a question the redhead wanted to pose, but logic overwrote emotion nine times out of ten in her life as she took the envelope from between Grizz’s fingers. Nothing written, nothing distinguishable. May as well have been empty, she silently mused.

“Burn it. Put it through a shredder. Unless it's her eyes, it never sees the light of day.”

Understandingly, Amber shoved the envelope into the pocket inside her jacket, almost feeling the weight of expectation force her to lilt slightly to one side. Regret was a funny thing, Amber found herself contemplating as her gaze fell back to the window, she’d spent so long just accepting things the way they were cause it was one less thing to fight that she’d almost lost track of the things she’d somehow lost along the way, the people who’d fallen by the wayside of her ambitions.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t do more.”

Grizz scoffed to the best of his ability, drawing a further glare from the middle-aged nurse passing back through the room.

“Listen to yourself- a internationally successful pro-wrestler apologizing for not completely a dead man's errand cause she’s too busy being successful. I’d be a damn fool to expect anything more, and an idiot to think you’d manage anything less- you’ve taken enough hits on my behalf Bambi, it's not on me to give you further grief.
Besides, you seem to be doing a better job of that than I ever could...”

He’d known her for long enough to know she wore expectations heavily, that she’d been the only reliable thing in her life for so long that she had to continue carrying that burden. Everything was to the grave, as though she hadn’t already taken liberties with that as well.

“Yeah well... It's a tough job making everyone miserable, but someones gotta do it.”

Humour eased the tension slightly, though it did little for the twinge radiating in her chest. A knot tightening in the void where she told everyone her heart used to be.

“Besides, aren’t you supposed to be telling me that I need to be the bigger person?”

She knew he’d kept an eye on things, no doubt he’d have his opinions as everyone else did- however he chose not to voice them knowing the little difference it would make. Old habits no doubt died hard, but grizzled old mongrels that maintained them always  seemed to fall a little harder.

“I could, but you’d tell me I was full of shit… and you’d be right. Only you can decide who you need to be to handle your business, I won’t sit here and tell you I agree with your… methods… at times, but I also never stopped you from making stupid decisions when I could have saved you from a world of hurt.
You never did like being saved Bambi, especially when you needed it.”

Amber said nothing, nostalgia and all it's rose colored tint was a trap that she’d promised herself she wouldn't fall into. She’d come here out of respect and obligation- not to wax poetic on what could have been should she have done absolutely everything differently. In the background, the faint rattle of harsh breathing and the muted deliberations seemed deafening in the absence of conversation, the space having grown more cramped and suffocating without having changed.

“You know, Cass really did love you despite what she said...”

There was that twinge again, making her eyes water and her skin prickle uncomfortably.

“I made her a promise Grizz.”

“You did, in the absence of future knowledge. Whether she admitted it or not, she understood why you couldn’t just stay. It wasn't her decision nor should it have been and whether we like it or not Bambi- sometimes leaving is the best thing we can do.”

“I made you one too.”

“... One you’ve kept to the best of your abilities.”

“Stop blowing smoke, you’re making my eyes water.”

That wasn’t the reason at all, but fuck it sounded good in the moment. All the emotions she’d pushed down inside for the past few weeks, every moment of grief and loss that she’d told herself wasn’t real and the lingering disappointment she’d caused that lay heavy on her shoulders all seemed to crash down on her at once. Tumbling bricks and chunks of steel from the walls she’d thrown up fell at her feet as her reality seemed to lay everything she was bare.

“You know you’re invited to the wedding, right? Wanna put you right in the front row so you can properly see me flipping you the bird once I get to the altar.”

More humour, more suppression as her throat scraped further raw with every word and the bubbling emotion under her skin felt as though it were seeping through her pores. Grizz chuckled softly, replacing his hand on hers if only for a moment before withdrawing it back to his lap.

“We both know I’m not going to make it there, but I appreciate that you’ve thought of me.”

Another pause, laboured and weighty fell between them as neither wanted to admit that there was little more left to say. Dutifully Amber leaned over to peck Grizz on the cheek, wearing a smile to mask the fearsome ache that now seemed to rattle her spine with every breath.

“I love you Grizz. Don’t ever tell anyone I said that though…”

Finding her feet gingerly, she barely managed to get three steps away before Grizz found his own words, his voice hoarse and brittle, still they were words that seemed almost hauntingly familiar to the redhead who couldn’t help but smile, even in sadness.

“I’m proud of you Amber, regardless…”

… “and I’ll be more so when you go out there and be the woman that the industry needs you to be, the bloody force of nature you’re supposed to be…” …

He didn’t have to say it for her to know that he still believed it, even if he might still be the only one.

“Now get the fuck out of here, before you end up like the rest of us miserable bastards.”

Complying, if only for the first time in her life, she managed to get as far as the corridor out before she could no longer restrain the tears, allowing them to run freely down her cheek as she whispered an impassioned final goodbye.

"How can I clearly see what’s wrong with someone else, and then look at myself as though I’m standing in front of a fogged mirror?"
— Jarod Kintz, The Days of Yay are Here! Wake Me Up When They're Over.



Undisclosed Motel
Somewhere between New York and Connecticut
27.08.2006
9:02pm



Motels were an occasional luxury when things were going well.

To most luxury meant more than beds that usually stank of sweat and cigarettes in the height of summer and bathrooms that promised a corner of abyssal mould that spread in tiny flecks across a ceiling stained with 30 years of mildew and steam. Still, the beds were softer than those worn out in a caravan and less sharp than the stones that would jut through a sleeping bag as sleep finally came through the makeshift campgrounds. Bathrooms weren’t mandatory but only recommended and a TV that showed a picture through the static just often enough that you could tell when an actor was on the screen- little things would bring a smile to the most weary of travelled faces.

Problem was, as Amber pulled up across the gravel in a small spray of stones, things hadn’t been going well recently and no one was smiling.

Competition was higher than ever, a proliferation of carnivals on the circuit had worn many of the routes thin and trusts tenuous- forcing many to go further and spend more for little to no better return. Bankruptcy to stay in business seemed to be a growing trend, one that Grizz had seemingly managed to quietly sidestep while many contacts had opted out before they hadn’t anything left to salvage. Amber had never been one for the business side of things, her strengths lending themselves to the practical side- making things work with what they had rather than balancing the books to replace what wouldn’t.
That being said, it wasn’t as though it wasn’t obvious- less locals were taken on in towns while more work was demanded from those who stayed, the draws thinner and interests dulled from overexposure to a product designed to be distinctive despite it's common cliches.

Of course, everyone would pull together under the promise that things would get better- cause they always did.

Until they didn’t.

Excitable faces had become bored, the carnival wonders had lost their lustre. Towns had been razed of interest, burnt to a cinder by those desperate to glean every dollar they might with little thought to consequence outside of where the next pay day might come from.

Maybe that's why Amber had found herself less than surprised by the small congregation outside of Grizz’s room- the man himself was silhouetted in the doorway as the grey in his hair and beard aged him unnecessarily under the low light. Even with the slight hunch in his posture, he still managed to tower over the three other figures before him- their crisp power suits would have blended them into the shadows if only for the yellowed glow of the room and faint, radiating air of grease and smarm.

Amber made no secret of her approach, her sneakers crunching loudly as they turned. She didn’t care for their blank stares, and tried to ignore the trickle of blood that seeped from a small cut along the top edge of her cheekbone.
Every town she could, she’d tell Cassidy every night she wasn’t needed on site that she’d be going to a local dojo for some extra training- that the bruises and cuts she’d come back with were just errant punches and kicks from sparring sessions, that the time she fractured her wrist was just a badly thrown punch and the time she sprained her ankle so bad she couldn’t wear shoes, was just a misstep.

Hell, maybe she’d even go occasionally if only for the sake of the ruse.

In reality, she got enough training from Grizz and the tattooed Phillipino twins who’d taken her under their collective wings. No, when things had become sparse- Amber had begun to supplement her own strained incomes, and Cassidy’s slightly haphazard spending style with bar fight, cage fights and any form of altercations that might earn a few extra dollars for a night's work.
Of course there were far more legitimate forms of quick income, but many were hesitant to offer the redhead an opportunity, they couldn’t begin to trust a carny despite the fact juvenile criminal records weren’t made public.

Fights were easy, they didn’t care who you were. Only that you could throw a punch and take one in kind. Amber was a spectacle, a curio in their banality- even at 18 years old she was lithe, wiry and most importantly… unassuming. Vastly underestimated, the odds were always placed high against- and as such to place a bet on her would surely have been risky for most… but monetarily advantageous for a redhead with little to nothing to lose. Ten dollars here, twenty there would quickly become multiple hundreds and she’d summarily disappear into the night with her winnings as quickly and silently as she arrived before they’d realized they’d been fleeced.

As such, Amber could recognize a loan shark from a mile off. Preying on the desperate, those just needing a little help back to their feet before their kneecaps were taken back for failure to live up to unreasonable expectation- if she didn’t already feel a little light-headed from the evenings extra-curricular activities, she’d have felt downright nauseous watching Grizz even acknowledge the parasites on his doorstep.
Staying back, allowing them their space- Amber watched Grizz’s gaze shift from them to her and back, both of them in quiet deliberation and judgement of the others' circumstances.

Sure things had been rough, but this?

“I trust we’ll be hearing from you in due time.”

A brusk New York accent wafted in the breeze as Amber wrinkled her nose. Even from where she stood, far enough to stay within shadow, close enough that she wouldn’t be considered hiding, the air felt heavy as though slicked with grease and muddled ambition.

“We have an agreement, don’t we? I told you, just as I told you’re boss… I’m a man of my word. Take me at that or don’t not bother darkening my doorstep again.”

With a cursory nod of agreement, the men dissolved into the night- giving Amber several wary glances on their way past while she restrained the urge to violently vomit into the nearby rose bushes.

“You know, it’s not becoming of you to eavesdrop.”

Grizz leaned in the doorway thoughtfully, an eyebrow raised as Amber closed the distance and the cut materialized into greater focus. It’d probably need a couple of stitches, easily explained away with feigned clumsiness in the dark- the bruises on her ribs and wrapped around her forearm might have taken a little more creativity though.

“It’s not eavesdropping if you can see me. Not like you were being all that subtle either- may as well have told everyone your business.”

Grizz scoffed softly as Amber paused, scuffing the toe of her sneaker in the rocks distractedly.

“How much do you owe them Grizz?”

She didn’t want to make eye contact, she didn’t even want to have the conversation but to leave it lingering would have only let it fester into contempt and scorn.

“Enough that they wanna check in. Not so much that they didn’t wanna take my kneecaps.”

A pause fell between them, crickets somewhere nearby chirruped as though determined to put their two cents in.

“Cassidy doesn’t know you’re doing this, does she?”

Amber wanted to lie, to throw his question back in his face- but couldn’t manage more than a sigh.

“You know she will eventually, she ain’t dumb. A little naive and maybe a bit overzealous at times, but she’ll figure it soon enough… and then what?”

“Don’t you dare try and turn this on me- you’re the one who has introduced fleas to the proverbial kennel. What if everyone else finds out what are they gonna---”

“--- They’re gonna be happy enough that there’s still money coming in- one way or another. I swore I’d look after everyone who looked after me- and that hasn’t changed Bambi, especially you. You’re like my own blood, and you want me to turn a blind eye while you whore your potential out in exchange for what, a few dollars and some blood in sand and sawdust?”

Grizz stepped out of the doorway, his heavy footsteps echoing across the gravel as his bear like hands cupped Amber’s face gently. Fatherly even, as though she were his own.

“Promise me that I won’t be the one to bury you before your time Bambi.”

Amber stepped away instinctively, as though his touch burned against her skin and the words struck through her chest.

“I’m doing exactly as you would- making my own way by blood and bone. Damn it Grizz, I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life looking in a mirror and seeing bruises and blood splatters, lying to myself that I love the way it feels if only for another couple hundred dollars.”

Amber goes to rummage in her pockets, even in the wake of the night- there's still sweat and blood on the crumpled notes in her jeans.

“I will though, if it means that everything and everyone I care about is a little better off for it…”

“Save your money… and your speech. Someday you’ll need them both on a far grander stage. If you really want to help Bambi… Pray. Pray for us all...”

Leaning down, Grizz planted a soft kiss on her forehead before turning away back towards the harsh yellowed glow in the night.

“... and don’t make the same mistakes that I have.”



******


“Maybe this question makes me sound bitter…
You know, as though the general opinion has shifted at all since last time I talked down through a camera and told everyone exactly the way the world worked, and why they were going to hate it.

But, does being THIS positive all the time get exhausting?

Cause if I’m honest, I’m fucking wrecked just watching you pair bounce around spewing pleasantries like this suddenly became a popularity contest for class president. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for enthusiasm as much as the next person with a deathwish and enough booze to knock an elephant on it's ass- it's just that… it's so constant.
For the love of god, find an off switch and give the rest of us who prefer misery a chance to wallow peacefully.

See, the thing is a lot of what we do is mind over matter- beyond the whole ‘I don’t mind and you don’t matter’ cliche that I have no doubt was telegraphed three seconds ago. We structure our careers around a placebo effect and place our futures into the hands of people who really don’t care all that much if we actually have one or not.
Being optimistic isn’t a bad thing, but it gets a little worrisome when you start looking at your win loss records through rose colored glasses and start chalking up all those L’s to just ‘bad luck’ and ‘difficult circumstances’.

I know I’m legitimately going to kick myself later for saying this- but I don’t hate you Candy. In all fairness, I don’t hate a lot of things and less people- I find you incredibly tacky and about as enjoyable to be around as having a root canal without a general anaesthetic, but I don’t hate you.
I should, cause you represent so many of the things that I’ve grown to resent about what we do and the way we’re perceived as Bombshells- you’re a walking stereotype that needs to acknowledged as such, you’re so hit and miss these days in that ring that I worry whether you remember that winner isn’t the one looking at the lights.

You take everything that someone like me is trying to build- and you paint it pink and glittery, tuck it away in your fucking purse next to your yapping bathmats and skip on through the flowers towards yet another goddamn loss. All while the world can’t wipe the smile from your face.
I didn’t join Blast From The Past just for the title shot- I’ve got that already, but I wanted to see if something as cutthroat and demanding as a tournament could bring out something more… something better in people that it's expected from.

Krystal Wolfe came and showed up, she went out there and did a damn good job… but she was a long way out of her depth, swimming with the sharks after someone had taken her legs off at the knees. She tried, and she bettered herself- but the result was always inevitable.
Whereas you Candy, I watched your first match… and you were exactly the same as you’ve been since I walked through that door.
Same stupid smile, same endearing nonsense in the ring. Yeah, you won… Cause your partner wasn’t absolute garbage.

I happen to think you’re damn talented- when you want to be. More than once, you’ve proven that you can be something better than the happy-go-lucky, smiley faces and rainbows, everyones my best friend… You’ve proven you can be a champion, you can be more than the punchline to a joke no one asked.

On your best day, you could beat me.

But you won’t.

So busy worrying what everyone thinks, whether you live up to moral expectations and whether your hair flicks just the right way on camera- that you forget that standing across the ring form you is someone who stopped caring what others thought, who realized that moral expectation was an anchor wrapped around a set of concrete stilettos and who realized there was more to stardom and fame than the way she presented.
Fuck opinions, fuck expectation and fuck stupid fucking hair flicks- I joined Sin City Wrestling to prove I was still good enough to call myself one of the best. That everything I did to get where I am meant something and that the things I do will simply be another chapter in a book that maybe no one will ever read- but they’ll know to be true.

I’ve straight up beaten you before Candy, this isn’t just a case of deja vu. It's a regular occurrence cause a match between us can only go one of two ways- pin or submission. I’ll be honest, I don’t even have a preference cause I’m pretty well caught up after Inception with both…
You watched everything unfold with Roxi, you got caught up in the webs and for that I feel a sense of guilt- you were never supposed to be involved and yet suddenly you found yourself in the crosshairs. Now, again, without meaning to- you’re back where you don’t wanna be and part of me almost feels bad for what I’m willing to do to go further.

That's the difference, isn’t it?

I’m willing to do anything it takes, and you’re still trying to wrap your head round the idea of colouring outside the lines.

It’d be almost cut and dry if this wasn’t a dance for two, if there wasn’t some variables to keep things a little more interesting than fight and win.

It’s Coby, right?

Third most important member of a two person tag team.

I should show a level fo reverence cause you know, being a champion and all but it's difficult for me to do anything except wrinkle my nose in disappointment cause you got fucking handed the title when Kris Ryans realized he had far better things to be occupying his time with.
World title problems, and all that I suppose.
Good for him, there's nothing better than a step up- but man does it make you look kinda like a chump. I mean, Mikah at least earned her half of the titles- and before she wants to pipe up, yeah you and Kris beat Mac and I in a fucking random swamp match that had literally no bearing on actually fighting for the mixed tag titles- but if you wanna talk shit, by all means come see me one on one.

In the meantime though, man Coby… For a guy with a title, you’re still looking a little lacklustre. Underground boy hits the big time and realizes that he doesn’t have a lot of time to start measuring up. Maybe if you were teamed with Mikah in this, her snark might have kept you guys afloat a little longer but instead you’re teaming with a woman who would paint over a title plate cause the colours don’t match back with her bedroom rug.
You aren’t idiots- but you’re young and inexperienced teaming with someone almost incapable of taking things seriously until she’s in legitimate danger- after all, look what happened last time.

Candy wasn’t the prize last time, she was bait.

Now it's being dangled out there again like I’ve won the fucking lottery and all I have to do is hand over my bank account details and social security number. Don’t think for a second that this is me writing you guys off before you ever get a word in edgewise- you’ll have your say and you’ll probably say that while I’m a great competitor, that I’m not as good as I think and that last time was just lucky… you know, generic small talk from people who don’t like to look at anything below the surface.
You’re shallow, you’re immature and you just don’t get that this isn’t a carnival game where you win a crappy toy for participating- the further you go, the most desperate everyone gets to be the winner.

You might be desperate, but not quite in the way that gets you past us.

Despayre and I, we might be oil and water. Hell, we might be blood and sand- but we understand what it takes to get a job done and all the ways the human body can be broken down to achieve such results. Despayre is a firecracker, a rabid animal who forgot to clean under his nails between maulings and fucking toxic in such a way that I wish I could bottle and sell it at an exorbitant price. Whereas I’m like creeping death, the reapers mercenary when things start getting a little too out of control- I hold my head up when the world wants me to bow in shame cause I’ve done things that they wish they had the courage to admit their jealousy that they didn’t do it first.

Blast From The Past- it's not about the end result. It's about the journey, it's about taking limits and flushing them down the fucking toilet cause that shit just doesn’t apply here. Candy and Coby- maybe against any other team I might have you pegged as favourites but you drew the short straw and tried to drink from a tall glass that's always halfway filled.

You pulled us though- you pulled a team who doesn’t have ethical limitations or a trigger in their brian to tell them that enough is enough and you can’t kill a person any further once they’re dead. Despayre might be a lot of things- but he’s my partner and, whether the world believes it or not, I’ve got his back till championship match or crash and burn.
I might not be considered trustworthy by many, but look at the sources, people who earned the wrath that befell their doorstep… Those who’ve drawn my attention did so by being blatantly disrespectful cause they believed reputation was far greater a litmus test than what they saw before them.

Win or lose, Despayre is my partner, and he’s one of the only fucking people in this place who doesn’t act like I’m a fucking monster cause I’m willing to be honest about my intentions. Loyalty is worth more than gold and if it came down to it, I’d be willing to bleed out on that canvas if it meant Despayre got his title shot...

Try and tell me that either of you would be willing to do the same thing.”


******



Madame Tussauds Wax Museum
Las Vegas, ND
02.03.2021
5:12pm


“These things never fail to give me the creeps.”

Amber mused idly while staring into the weirdly lifeless eyes of Tiger Woods. Profoundly fake, and yet real enough look that you wanted to reach out just in case- god, it was almost as though they’d taken inspiration from the pro wrestling industry and proceeded to make a fortune by recreating pop culture iconography with it.
Temptation dictated that she reach out and touch, just to satisfy curiosity but there was something immensely off-putting- even just in the ways the lights captured changes in complexion and the faint microexpressions etched into features that looked as though they changed the moments the lights went down.

Fascinating and yet incredibly unsettling, Amber even had to admit that she was enjoying herself far more than she expected- maybe it wasn’t so much the setting as it was the company though. Despayre, in spite of the obvious quirks, seemed to have taken enough of a liking to the redhead that he didn’t run off the moment she entered a room or say something disparaging simply cause that had become the status quo for those still figuring out how to string a competent insult together.

Despy, for what it was worth, made her feel normal.

Around him, she wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t a force of nature. She was just some redhead chick who shared a ring with him on occasion and had proven herself to be pretty cool- under the right circumstances. Maybe he didn’t care what she’d been known for, maybe it didn’t even matter- but there was something that invigorated the darker recesses of her chest to know that for once… for fucking once in a very long time…

She wasn’t being judged.

It was strange, she found herself contemplating, as she tore herself away from the golf players waxen visage. Something about Despayre put her at ease, as though the idea of expectation had been lifted the moment that he didn’t really know who she was- many would have taken such a slight as insulting and derogatory, but for someone who spent their career trying to change the way they were perceived… Well, it was almost as though she’d been gifted a brand new start without having to burn ever chapter that came beforehand.

Around Despy, Amber got to be… someone else.

Not necessarily herself, cause in truth she wasn’t sure what that even constituted anymore, but someone who’s reflection she didn’t internally hate.

“I dunno, it's almost too lifelike you---”

Perhaps as should have been expected as Despayre and by proxy Angel, had managed to disappear among the figures with as much subtlety as one might imagine a hyperactive toddler would walking into a Build-A-Bear workshop on International Teddy Bears day.
Pale complexion and shock of dark hair on a small physique, it wasn’t difficult to spot the imposter among fakes while he had a startlingly multi-faceted conversation with a Lady GaGa figure comparing her to someone called Delia that he reminisced upon quite fondly.

“--- know.”

Shaking her head with a warm and knowing smile, Amber began her rather leisurely pursuit of her tag team partner who seemed rather intent on integrating himself with the figures rather than simply spectating as others might. Pausing, Amber's smile twitched upwards as she restrained laughter as Despy had tried to mimic a rather sassy looking Beyonce pose- only succeeding in looking as though he’d developed scoliosis and a hernia in the same blink of an eye.
If nothing else, it was a welcome distraction from the demons she found herself trying to outlast- his carefree nature rubbing off even just a little bit on the redhead who’d found herself retreating further back into her own head by the week.

“I gotta say though, this Beyonce backup dancer might give the Queen a run for her money…”

It was sarcasm badly disguised as bemusement, a compliment wrapped in an itchy blanket of mockery. Who was Amber to tell him any differently though, happiness was such a fucking rarity in the world these days it was a wonder that anyone remembered how smiles worked.
Amber rubbed the side of her head reflexively, trying to put the other lurking shadows to the back of her mind so that she might be allowed to just enjoy doing something that didn’t make her feel pain or misery for an hour… Shadows though were unrelenting and as Despy ‘vanished’ between the figures once more- she couldn't help but swallow that lingering bitterness on the back of her tongue.

Christina had become like an unexpected splinter, like every time she spoke it dug a little deeper under Amber’s skin. It was never supposed to be that way, it was never meant to grow personal- although Amber had made the same claims when it came to Roxi but things had a way of escalating when the ‘good guys’ were determined to be proven right about their righteousness.
Christina was supposed to be a challenge, a step in the right direction- but she’d buried herself in the skin between her fingers and at the top of Amber’s sternum as though woefully determined to justify her own fucking shitty outlooks for the sake of doing so.

No, Blast From The Past was the immediate goal. She owed Despayre that respect and far more- one match in and she’d found a sense of comfort and belonging that she’d struggled to find in anyone beyond the limited social circle she’d curated.
Everyone else was too busy looking at face value, too busy making assumptions based solely on limited experience and word of mouth- it was astonishing what one might hear about themselves through the rumour mill after all. Amber had learned a great deal of things about herself she'd never known before simply because someone else's flaws and faults meant no one would put a magnifying glass to their own for a little longer.

With an easy saunter, Amber followed the excited shrieks through to the Marvel Superheroes display. A perverse attempt to capitalise on branding, although watching Despy somehow squeeze into the space in Hulk's fist was, admittedly, rather impressive. Coloured lights and the faint smell of humanity left Amber feeling a little light-headed as Despayre struck his best heroic poses beside pop cultures best- she couldn’t deny that it left her feeling a little rubbed the wrong way.
For months she’d railed against the idea of heroes and how hypocritical their ideals and the way they were implemented with Roxi, shedding blood and tears in an effort to prove that she wasn’t just fucking insane… but that she was right all along. To now, finding herself among exploited art and storytelling, wearing a smile while something inside scraped her veins raw.

Everyone had their hero phase- the do-gooders out there determined to make the world a better place with a smile and a kind word, the sketchy motherfuckers praying that some mark might buy into their facade long enough to empty their wallet and the somewhere in betweens who couldn't decide which direction their moral compass was pointing- only that ‘doing good’ justified all their actions.
Candy and Coby, they were the first example- enthusiastic, but woefully unprepared for what was about to be rammed down their necks while Christina was undisputedly the last one, acting out of alignment and using emotion and fear to reason her outrages.

Amber, arguably could have been the middle one- and for a time she was. There were many points in her background that she never hesitated to prey on the socially naive and their pity compass. Distorted Angel wasn’t a cute nickname, it was a descriptor after people who’d fallen for pitiful eyes and an insincere smile only to find their wallet picked clean and their missing watch exposing an unsightly tan line.
Cassidy Parker had been the middle alignment. Brendan ‘Sticky’ Griffiths had been the middle one. Graham ‘Grizz’ Parker- well, he’d taught the redhead that true success had to lie somewhere in between them all- the worst of all worlds and best of none.

These days, Amber could barely even tell up from down, right and wrong never felt more antiquated and outdated- Blast From The Past had initially been a means to an end, but now somehow that journey was far outweighing the destination.
Stepping out from the display a little indignant, Amber found the amused smile return and weight lift as Despayre had already surged ahead- although a little too literally as the waxen visage as a member of BTS had rolled from its body only to be replaced with one far more gaunt and animated while Angel hitched a ride on his shoulders.

It’d be a matter of moments before they’d likely be escorted out by security, no doubt, possibly banned for the vandalism as though it weren’t a vast improvement on the original. Maybe she should have been mad, disappointed that their fun would be ending abruptly- yet watching Despy attempt to place his chin on the headless figure of a K-Pop boy band member was almost enough of a distraction to make her forget the obnoxious vibration of her phone in her pocket.

“Ah, fuck it.”

No. For once- real life could just fucking wait…

With a gentle kick, the head rolled further to the side as Amber took up beside Despy as the first of the security rounded the corner- their dismay and disgust overshadowed by the display of childish happiness and stupidly relentless joy.