“There are words to describe her, my dear, but one does not repeat them in polite company.”
― Gail Carriger, Soulless
Somewhere in the Suburbs
Phoenix, AZ
22.01.1999
8:42pm
“Looks like it might rain, huh?”
World weary and traipsing into the ninth hour of what was shaping up to be another eleven hour shift, Officer Chris Waterson furrowed his brow softly as he caught sight of the 11 year old redhead in the back of the cruiser. A smattering of freckles across her nose crinkled as she vaguely acknowledged hearing him, busy staring out the window towards an overcast sky that had been threatening a downpour since the early afternoon. Young Miss Amber Ryan had become no stranger to Officer Waterson, this might have been the third time in the past two weeks that the impish pre-teen had found her way into the back of his car. Probably more than eight or nine in the last two months since she’d been taken in as the newest transient taken in by the Russels and their determination to help fix all the ‘broken children’ they could.
Good people, he mused as the cruiser rolled underneath the garish glow of the street light overhead, a little too over ambitious perhaps though. Especially this time. It wasn’t that she was a bad kid- smart and funny with a wicked little smile that kept everyone guessing. Mischievous beyond comprehension, but with a good heart and better intentions that seemed to carry her a little… wayward. Just another troubled kid having trouble settling into a family that wasn’t hers…Nights like this made him wish he hadn't seen it a hundred times before.
He saw none of that in her this evening though, a little more dishevelled than usual and sporting a black eye that was blooming into deep purples and shaded outline of sickly green. Blood splattered the front of her school uniform, but the safe presumption was that it wasn’t hers. Not a mark outside what appeared to be a lucky shot that managed to catch her flush- lithe and lean, she'd heard rumours from other officers that she was a wonder to watch in full flight, although he doubted his sense of professionalism would ever allow himself the honour of letting it occur.
Since getting picked up nearby the 7/11 near the school, loitering on the curb with a half eaten chocolate bar by the time he was called by the clerk, she hadn't said so much of a word. Witty banter and acerbic commentary on his choice of music had died in her throat long before she slipped into those familiar, worn back seats.
“I’m willing to bet that you got the better end of that deal.”
Smiling thoughtfully, Officer Waterson glanced into his rearview in hopes of eliciting something from the redhead who seemed far deeper in thought than many 11 year olds that he’d come across before. Amber didn’t feel the need to respond, the idea of trying to justify herself more than she knew she’d already have to, was exhausting. What was she even supposed to say- she’d watched her ‘new’ sister get humiliated by girls in her year, one above Amber’s, day after day and was always told to leave it alone.
Teachers would say they’d handle it and nothing else would get said, retaliation frowned upon far more severely than the provocation, a three vs one somehow not justifying anything more than a stern word and finger waggle.
Amber had witnessed it today, like they’d staged it for her benefit. Humiliating Heather Russell in the cafeteria to the point she broke down into tears and disappeared into the bathrooms, stealing her lunch money in view of staff and having a blind eye turned when it was too inconvenient to step in. Too much effort for what would ultimately amount to a slap on the wrist.
Heather would never tell her parents, despite the people they were- fundamentally good and looking to make a difference in the world, oddly oblivious to their daughters withdrawl at the mention of school and the existential dread in her eyes at the thought of having to face another day.
Amber would never be able to explain how she confronted those girls on the way to the 7/11 where she knew they liked to hang out, acting as though wandering the streets gave them special rights. Like the world owed them something. It almost brought a smile to her face when Amber realised they’d probably never even made a fist before, not one they’d ever been willing to throw anyway…
It was over in a matter of minutes, all three of them huddled and humiliated as one cradled her bloody nose, another clutching at her face where a fractured eye socket would surely underlie while the third carried the emotional trauma of having witnessed their consequences come to light.
What they’d wrought, exploding forth in a flurry of fury and red.
Some may have considered it overkill, that an apology might have been enough to satiate. Bloodlust wasn’t an answer to problems ,they’d surely tell Amber later on- as always, but it sure stopped the problems from continuing to be so. Peace of mind was worth some bloody knuckles and the notion of good intentions paid for by the skin of her own back seemed like a fair trade.
Thing was, no one would care about the reason once they saw the result- tunnel vision of the outcome would sully the belief of claims that this was earned. That it was thoroughly deserved.
Somehow sending a message didn’t seem to register as clearly once the ink ran a little too red.
At 11 years old though, Amber didn’t care. She’d tried to protect her sister, to tell the world that things weren’t nearly as okay as they seemed. How was she supposed to understand that there was one rule for some and another for everyone else, that retribution only seemed justified when it was for the favour of a majority- that people were willing to overlook gratuitous violence and acts of erraticism until they found themselves touched by the resultant ripples.
How come it was alright for others to act out, but when she did it was considered ‘dangerous’?
Slowing to a halt, Amber rocked in her seat following the inertia of the car. Seat belt straining as she unclipped silently, unwilling to make eye contact as Officer Waterson turned from the drivers side to face her briefly.
“You know, the Russells… They are really good people- maybe give them a bit of a break, yeah?”
Briefly silhouetted in the doorway- Mrs Russel was across the verandah and halfway across the lawn, crunching noisily across leaves not yet raked, by the time Officer waterson had gotten around to open Amber’s door.
“Oh, thank you so much again Officer. I’m sorry she’s been so much trouble recently.”
A brief knowing glance of disappointment muddled with concern was shot towards Amber as she lingered on the edge of the car seat.
“It's no trouble at all, she’s a good kid really…”
Taking the redhead's face in her hand, Mrs Russell immediately zoned in on the black eye and opened her mouth to question it- the maternal fire lit under her in a matter of moments, however Officer Waterson picked up on it before the sound ever escaped and quickly moved in to deflect.
“... Just got into a bit of a scrape. Young Amber here was just trying to do good in her own way, I'm sure.”
A courteous smile followed a wink, however Amber paid little attention. Another figure, silhouetted in the door albeit briefly blotted out by the appearance of Mr Russell making his way towards the cruiser, watched on from a distance. Heather Russell still in uniform, almost serene with initial confusion and eventual recognition before what appeared to be the first signs of a genuine smile that Amber had witnessed in what felt like weeks crossed her features.
There would be consequences no doubt, but for once… maybe they were actually worth it.
******
“It must be really fucking exhausting being a doormat.
Hell, don’t even get me started trying to imagine the absolute garbage that you allow on a daily basis, surrounding yourself with people who just actively let you run your mouth about being a mediocre champion busy tallying her days instead of actually making them mean something. Without fail, you bend to the whims of those who speak louder as though you gave away your personality for a shred of talent and a guaranteed fifteen minutes.
Never lasts long enough, does it?
You get that taste for it, get a little cocky and you start to crave more- it’s your downfall though, it's always your downfall cause soon you start biting off more than you can chew and you start to choke cause be damned if anyone thinks you can't handle your own. You get a little too big for your boots and eventually someone comes along wearing them better and stomps your face through the floor.
It's astonishing how far you’ve come when your greatest attribute is being a fucking sock puppet, constantly enabled and told how great you’re doing when all you’ve managed was… hang on, let me check my notes.
You beat Char Kwan.
That's the accomplishment you wanted to throw in my face?
In your big, bad moment facing down the Queenpin, you bring up how you scraped by beating some literal nobody camped out in catering and earning her dime for taking a licking to validate what little prestige you’d built. Yeah, wow… I’m impressed, Krystal.
Great fucking job- you found a book on generic badassery in the library and wrote the notes on your hand, better recite them word for word or you’ll look like you haven’t worked hard enough on making that impression. I’ll be honest though, I might have missed my cue to be nervous so feel free to give me the prompt as needed cause frankly, it's been awhile since I’ve been worried about being morally brow beaten to death.
Here’s the thing Krystal, if you’re going to try and look down on me… try finding some moral high ground first.
Do you think being some ‘avenging angel’ changes anything? Showing up far too late to make a difference and actively standing by until you picked the right ‘cool moment’ to step up into my face.
I warned Carter that actions had consequences- I never specified they would be directly towards him, that's the thing with consequences though Krystal… It's a butterfly effect. What you say and do affects others, a butterfly beats its wings in the amazon forest and because of that a rookie’s groupie takes an L cause their ‘friends' were too busy swerving into the wrong lane of traffic.
Yeah, instead of realising the magnitude of the mistake- you encouraged the hole to be dug deeper, you CHOSE to insert yourself into something that had nothing to do with you- why, cause you saw the opportunity for a rub and just had to get yourself some?
Ha, no… this is something else. This is bitterness, an unwillingness to accept that you fucked up and that you continue to keep fucking up like accoutnability no longer applies to you. All of this is a manifestation of you trying to foolishly rationalise just how you lost the title and you’re determined to make sure everyone else happens to be as fucking hopeless as you.
You’re looking for someone to blame, and coincidentally you and the mirror have just had a sudden falling out.
You’re angry and I get that, but honey… I’m not the complaints department- that's out the back of the building and labelled as Las Vegas Waste Control. I’m not your therapist, but be damned if I won’t get paid like one for having to listen to far less.
No, I’m the World Chmapion who is fucking sick and tired of having everything she does put under a microscope by people not qualified to be overanalysing the genetic makeup of their own warm puddle of piss.
Please, do go ahead and humour me… Tell me during which of those 200+ days of your reign were you entrusted with the gift and responsibility of judging me. What the fuck have you done to earn the right to look at anything I’ve done to get where I am and frown at it…
At the end of the day, former champion or not- you’re still a rookie, you’re still a goddamn child in this industry and while I usually have a pretty strict ‘no violence’ against children policy- for you sweetheart, I’m willing to offer up another one of those precious life lessons that I seem to be handing out to all the kids overstepping their fucking boundaries.
I’ve earned my place Krystal, make no mistake about it. Everything I did to earn this title and everything I’ve been willing to do to keep it- I’ve owned every second of it. That doesn't mean I’m proud, it doesn’t make me a good person- but it makes me the World Bombshells Champion and that's something I don’t ever expect you to fully understand.
I’ve never gone out there and told the world I was something I wasn’t. I’ve always been a professional until the option was no longer offered to me- say what you will, and you will, about my techniques but never forget how effective they are.
Until there comes a day that you can stand up of your own volition without one of your posse keeping their hand up your back, until there comes a day when you’ve done more than earn an eye roll at the possibility that you have an opinion about how I continue to handle my business- then might I suggest you get back in your box, you take that box and you throw it off the biggest bridge you can find.
You have no reason to be in a ring with me, no excuse to be standing there claiming you belong. You took 200+ days to make your title mean something, and even then it's only in losing that it became more prestigious…
Isn't that just the saddest part?
Most people don’t care about something until it's no longer theirs to care about. You had your chances to do better Krystal, you had every motivation to take a setback and make something of it- instead you use it as an excuse to jump at the first opportunity possible to do something fucking stupid cause ‘you’re emotional’.
No, you’re a fucking moron who thinks she’s automatically entitled to opportunities that aren't hers to claim and now you’re pissed cause the only people that agree are the ones who can do literally nothing about it.
You’re a fucking moron who thinks I’m just going to overlook her- another half baked idea that gives a bad name to potatoes. That I’m gonna take it easy cause Roxi is lurking on the horizon waiting to pick my championship bones clean.
Theres not one match I have overlooked or taken easy since before I won this belt- you might be delusional, but you aren't any different. Bella thought I would look past her on the way to Johanna, Johanna thought I would take her easily cause she was the proverbial ‘dark horse’ of Wolfslair, Mercedes thought that I’d gloss over her on my way to advancing in Blast From the Past…
Now you, you wanna sit there and tell me the same thing that I’ve heard for almost a year cause no one is willing to admit that they just don’t know how to beat me…
I’ve laid the groundwork, I left breadcrumbs spelling it out all along the way- still everyone thinks that they’re the underdogs, that they’ll be the ones to somehow sneak under my radar… 300+ days proves that I haven’t taken any of this as easy, that I’ve worked harder than anyone else on this roster, that I’ve never taken my foot off the accelerator when running down those who thought that I’d mercifully stop mowing down civilians.
There are no underdogs left, I’ve put a slug between all their eyes. There are no overachievers, they went and migrated to warmer climates cause hell froze over a little further than they liked. There are no good guys and badasses- they all went colourblind the moment I took the belt and did exactly as I said I would.
You’d never have been Roulette champion for as long as you were without me paving the way and showing what was possible, you’d never have been offered a contract beyond Blast From The Past last year if it weren’t for my name being across yours on the marquee.
I’ve taken everything that was possible for Bombshells in this company and I’ve tore the glass ceiling off, still you wanna cling to the walls cause taking a risk at being better is terrifying and somehow shitting where you eat is preferable if only cause you can’t exactly fuck that up.
I’m the reason you have a Climax Control main event. I’m the catalyst for everything you’ve accomplished, Krystal. It's about time you start recognizing all those who have laid that little easy going path that you’re so arrogantly proclaiming as a career.
I’m everything you aspire to be and now you think you hate me for it…
… and nothing has ever mattered to me any less.”
******
Bane Household
Las Vegas, ND
03.03.2022
7:09am
Amber had never expected to feel like a stranger in her own home.
Maybe it was because she’d made things that way- maybe it was because it rarely ever seemed to rain in Vegas. A myth appropriated by years of willful ignorance and subjective memories- people only ever remembered the harsh neons and perverse excess, lights and sounds creating such a sensory overload that something as simple as the change in weather might just be considered another illusory non sequitur.
It had been raining as she arrived, the mud caking onto the soles of her converses as she squelched slightly up the stairs- anticipating being knocked off her feet by a Cane Corso quickly followed by a handsome Texan.
Only Couyon was ‘on vacation’ with one of the garage employees and Mac was in Colorado likely trying to decompartmentalize days on end worth of Mikah complaining about the cold. Part of her was relieved, as she melted gently into her unspokenly assigned wicker chair on the front verandah, that there wouldn’t have to be a charade of awkwardness between them while they tried to sidestep each other's fragilities and stubbornness.
All it felt like they had done in recent memory was argue… but that couldn’t possibly be right, there had to have been more than that left.
Common ground that didn’t leave one of them trying to defend a position that had no traction left to sink their heels into.
Being world champion seemed to be it… and if that wasn’t the saddest fucking reality that she’d forced herself to come to grips with recently, then she wasn’t sure what else could be. Work had brought them together to begin with- at first as professional rivals, Mac had delivered Amber her first defeat upon returning to Carnage after injury in late 2017. Early the next year, Amber beat him to qualify for a world title match- not before dislocating her right shoulder twice for her trouble.
They’d gone on their first date mere weeks after that.
Bonding over a shared perspective that violence was a universal language, that some people would only ever understand when things were put to them in the most base and primal of terms. For some reason, there were those who only ever got the message, once the message was buried half a foot into their chest cavity as they sputtered for rhyme or reason.
That was always the thing- their shared brand of violence was never random, it was never simply for the sake of doing so. Gratuitous with purpose, otherwise it was doing for the sake of physically doing… because they could.
No, there was always a reason.
A justification that their actions meant something- even if it were frowned upon or deemed to be ‘too far’. Yet it was never too far when random acts of aggression were taken out on them, every verbal jab and unwarranted blow. Every chance to chip away at the armour when all they were doing was existing. In the face of an industry that rewarded bad behaviour cause action was equivalent to value, those acting impulsively were considered to be ‘above the societal rules’.
Be damned that their reasons were selfish, if otherwise nonexistent. Be damned if they made the conscious choice to involve themselves in business that never pertained to them and surely be damned if retaliation was taken against those aligned cause they were dragged into the firing line time and time again by another's obliviousness.
Amber had maintained a professional reputation throughout the years of being able to handle her own business- while those who complained about her ethics and morality only ever chose to do so when they found themselves in the crosshairs cause they couldn't blunder out of their own mistakes fast enough.
… and it was one of the few reasons, she was quietly sure, that Mac had fallen in love with her all that time ago.
These days, it might have been one of the only things keeping them together. A sheepish smile crept across her tired features- three hundred plus days of carrying a company on her back had left her chiropractor aghast on a regular basis, and had deepened the lines on her face to the point she was contemplating using them to store her keys and loose change cause women's clothing didn’t nearly have enough pockets.
Mac would have approved of her actions, of the way she’d ‘dealt’ with business. Perhaps, if he were here, he’d liken it to the Amber he remembered so fondly… the woman who’d have done anything to become World champion cause she believed she was good enough to earn it, to deserve it. Recalling the woman who still had enough humanity to pretend like she qualified for real feelings, that warranted being loved in spite of all the atrocities that had been stitched together to create her.
Many would have said what she did to Ariana was overkill, that bystanders didn’t deserve to be dragged through the flames for the indiscretions of those determined to ignore the continued existence of consequences.
Most of those people didn’t have a fucking clue.
Pulling her knees up in an attempt to shield from the cold that forced a flutter of rain beneath the cover, Amber shuddered while delicately cradling a cup of coffee between hands enveloped by the sleeve ends of a hoodie that likely belonged to Mac.
Even against the waft of coffee, she could still smell his scent… Heady and crisp, almost making her eyes water as it mingled with the slightly acrid bitterness of the black coffee still lazily swirling between her fingers. Yeah… it reminded her of the first wisp of frost in the morning after a spring rain and despite everything, she couldn’t help breathing deep.
Still, it didn’t stop her being a monster. Or a hypocrite toting double standards. Or a marionette dancing at the end of someone else's soul threads… or whatever other insult that could be reasonably levied by anyone failing to rub together their own original take.
In another place and another time, she might have simply made an example of Carter himself- teaching the young star absolutely nothing except how to bounce back, to continue making the same mistakes cause his choices only directly impacted his own well being.
However the redheads patience had worn thin- the continued prodding at her frayed and fractured nerves, the near constant niggling of naysayers and delusional misnomers on social media determined to weasel their way into an opportunity beyond their station, the background noise that was so very determined to demand her attention by dancing on her frontal lobe while teasing an inevitable self-inflicted frontal lobotomy as the only way to fix anything.
… No. There would be no quarter given, no mercy rule applied. Consequences affected more than just those concerned, they were a ripple effect. Tsunamis weren’t just Mother Nature deciding to throw her weight around, they were a snowball effect of a disturbance to the equilibrium- no one ever fucking blamed the deep ocen tremor for their family being crushed by a wall of water.
Earthquakes weren’t the ground getting upset, the result of a shift in things that perhaps weren’t supposed to be messed with- yet no one ever held it against the deep earthen plates when their best friends were crushed by the rubble of a house they were told would protect them.
When it came to the blame game- those who eloquated most of revenge were usually the ones unwilling to accept that they had somehow brought part of this upon themselves. That their actions directly or indirectly lead to someone else being hurt by their decision…
Helluva Bottom Carter made his choice to seek repentance, to walk into SCW and piss all over the floor just to spite the person who was visiting - Krystal Wolfe had jumped in to defend that decision despite the fact she knew better, declaring that it was ‘okay’ cause Amber’s partner deserved it so it must have been fine for Amber to be caught in that crossfire.
As though the stupid fucking bitch knew what it was like to be collateral damage.
Amber’s career had been built off that foundation, that she’d amount to little more as a damage sponge. Another rookie just trying to find their place, stuck between the gnashing teeth of angry wolves determined to take a pound of flesh from wherever they could get it.
Krystal would never understand where Amber had come from, that she’d taken almost as many beatings on her way up simply for being booked as she had the ones she’d actively earned. No, Amber’s road into the industry had been caved in behind her… the path abolished as though it violated the fucking Geneva conventions.
She’d learn though, Amber contemplated as the rain surged through the gloom. Pattering against sand, stone and metal without prejudice. Eventually the storms would pass, the black clouds dissipating overhead- and everyone's double standards would reset to a default of praise and reverence until the realisation that hurricanes didn’t choose which houses to flatten finally sunk deeper than surface level.
Another deep breath rattled through Amber’s lungs as the indistinct beat of rain seemed to mimic the pulsating beat between her ribs, while another lungful of sentimentality and longing for something she’d desperately sought to cling to- despite her best efforts to sever every meaningful tie- left an tightening ache where she was sure her heart had resided before Mac had stolen it from the grips of her being.
She’d have given almost anything to make them all understand the way Mac did, that the justification was more than just because she could… but because of a promise she’d made to the Bombshells division when she became champion.
Be better. Do better.
Or else she’d fucking make them.
******
“At what point of time do you finally start to realise that maybe you’re the problem…
Is it when you have to start justifying yourself to ease the guilt in your chest that says you could have done more, or is it when you have to tear down the justifications of those around you so that yours don’t seem so unreasonable in comparison.
Krystal, honey… I won't pretend like I can’t commend you for coming to the unrequested aid of young Mr Carter when he found himself so hopelessly buried up to his neck in regards to the absolute piss poor effort he called ‘decision making’ HOWEVER that's not your cue to automatically assume that because I disagree… that I’m wrong.
I never defend my partners actions cause it wasn’t my place. I didn't automatically back him cause we were in partnership cause I respect that his baggage and his business was in fact his own- so just the idea that you felt like you so wholeheartedly had to insert really demeans your relationship and shows that you don’t trust your posse to handle their business without your express approval.
I’ve no doubt Ari would have handled herself much better if you didn’t treat her like a fucking errand girl and instead gave her the ability to grow her own backbone instead of waiting to be assigned one.
I mean, at what point in your SCW tenure did someone say to you that you had the god given right and talent that you could start dictating to people?
Just cause they are rookies, didn’t mean you needed to fluff them up behind you so that you might look moderately important when all they really function as is jumped up meat shields that you purposely throw into the line of fire so you have a reason to get offended when something happens.
Like a mother bird tossing her babies out of the nest and getting pissed when a fox decides to come sniffing around- no, Krystal… you don’t get the right to be fucking pissed when it's essentially your fault that things got this far.
I warned Carter and I warned you. Stay in your fucking lane.
I told you to go cool your jets, pull your fucking head in and take a deep breath before trying to play the ‘heroics’ card… instead, you doubled down and decided that you were too important to be taught anything. That being Roulette champion for 200+ days somehow made you exempt from the consequences that everyone else has to face…
That you were in some way… special. That the conventions of the industry and the people within it no longer applied to you cause the number next to your title reign in the history books meant more than the ink it was printed with.
See, it's one thing to have faith in one's abilities and exude a level of professionalism… but it's another thing entirely to step outside naked and threaten to fight God cause you’re suffering through another minor inconvenience that's surely the end of existence. It's a fine line Krystal and one you decided to massively overstep on your way to becoming absolutely ludicrous and delusional about what you’re really worth in the grander scheme of things.
When it comes down to it- and whether you wanna admit it or not… You’re still a rookie, a moderately successful one, sure, but you’re still a little wet behind the ears and soft around the top of your head. You’re still getting a lay of the land cause you’ve never really strayed from where the light of the kingdom touches…
You’re still learning that success doesn't change the way your behaviours are perceived, the way you’re so thoroughly enabled by those around you. After all, they just want you to do better… and at every given opportunity you fail to do so, cause you think you already are.
Actions never stopped having consequences Krystal- I mean, do you really think going and training with Team Hero changes the absolute bloodbath that I’m choosing to enact cause my patience has worn through to the point that my better nature is tattered and raw. Do you think that Roxi’s ethics and teflon positivity simply rubs off on you cause she chose to lay a hand?
Do you think that actually ‘morally’ ever saved a career?
Roxi, of all people, should have been the first to take you aside and ask what the state of your health insurance was the moment this match was announced- she understands better than most what it means when my hornets nest as been thoroughly punted for the sake of seeing someone else's reaction. She understands my capabilities when I choose to turn off the filters, when I make that conscious choice to accept that the hurricane under my skin cannot be eternally contained in a prison of bone and sinew.
I’m a piece of shit human being, Krystal. Of that, theres no doubt… but everything that's going to happen at Climax Control, you could have avoided. You could have stomped the brakes, you could have stepped off and instead you got cocky… you let all that sense of success cloud your judgement and now you’re walking into a veritable slaughterhouse wielding little more than a resume that reads like a career jenga.
See, this is MY stipulation. This is my speciality Krystal- I’ve pioneered matches like this, I’ve innovated ways of hurting people that torture techniques are now based around. I’ve spent my career proving myself in fights, in the carnage of recklessness meeting pride head on.
There is nothing you bring to this match, no army at your back or tactic learned from the mouth of a hero never quite good enough to finish the job… that can negate the sheer experience edge that I have, let alone my god forsaken willingness to put whatever shreds constitute my morality on ice.
I’ve spent the last 300+ days busting my ass to create a division for someone like you to eventually inherit- and instead of being thankful, of being respectful of my sacrifices and my determination to improve on something long since neglected in favour of petty drama mongering… You question my methods, you have the utter fucking nerve to try and look down on me as though you’ve done a damn thing in this comoany to earn that right.
You scold me for acting in the exact same way that you have praised me for before.
Yeah, you trying to scold me…
What a fucking joke. It’s like functional retardation on a never-before seen scale… Or undiagnosed syphilis.
It's astonishing cause for someone who has so little to their name otherwise, you let all this go straight to your head- believing your own hype cause the little voices you keep around you told you that you were doing great, never mind the fact that you lost the belt the moment the competition actually stepped up a notch.
Fact is, hype is for everyone else to pile on. It's their way of relating and feeling as though they are somehow contributing to what you’re doing instead of resorting to whispering mirror affirmations in a public bathroom. No matter from what angle you approach it, someone always ends up looking real stupid.
That's the thing though isn’t it- that threadlike fine line between being an ‘up and comer’ and veteran shovelling down another two vicodin just to show up fifteen minutes late for a meet and greet.
Confidence is surely key, but don’t you fucking dare have enough to create a solid foundation of self-respect and dignity.
Go ahead and believe in yourself, by all means- but no more than anyone else does or you’ll sound like you’re a burgeoning narcissist.
I suppose we’re too late for that though, right?
I mean it takes so actual fucking nerve to come nose to nose with me, open your mouth and then utterly disappoint me so badly that I felt it all the way down my genetic line. I have great great grand children who are going to be born with the memory of how badly you fucked up in that one moment of badasseyr you so desired.
You wanna ‘bring a storm’... Bitch please. I’ve been called a ‘Painted Hurricane’ for legitimately longer than you’ve had a fucking career. What you are, sweet girl, is a miserable overcast day at worst. Muggy and clingy, with a strong chance of being entirely forgettable.
I fear more for what the humidity will do to my hair than I do about what kind of storm you’re threatening to leave on my doorstep.
Step off, cause your entitlement is starting to show and you no longer have a belt to deflect it with.
When it comes down to it- on your best day, you’re a watered down version of the swill getting passed off as a sideways rub of my worst. Just like every chuckle fuck with my name so wrongly on their tongue, you’re walking into this expecting a little spitshine off my hard work, that cause you had a comparable-ish reign to mine that we’re somehow on the same level…
Apples and oranges, sweetheart. Or in this case… Apples and… well, trash.
I’ve beaten you already, you just don’t get it yet… I beat you in Blast From The Past last year, and I’ve already done it again before we’ve even touched- still you tried, that I can’t deny… God loves a trier, after all, but now you’ve gone and opened your damn mouth talking about things you clearly have no place talking about.
I suppose there is some wisdom in getting all the use you still can out of your face hole before I put my fist straight through it though…
Climax Control, Krystal.
Consider this your life lesson in humility and hubris… for what little you’re left with by the time I’m done.”
******
Undisclosed Church
Somewhere in Southern California
05.03.2022
10:14am
Amber knew, deep down in her heart, that she’d never be a California girl.
Something about the stark white facade against the crystalline blue sky always gave her a distinct unnerving feeling, as though she were walking through a movie scene and soon someone would pull it all down the set pieces, leaving her with little more than an excess of scaffolding and suffocating greyscale.
Nothing about California ever felt real. Tangible. A deep falsified lie told so commonly that it had taken on a truth of its own in an identity it was never supposed to have.
Stepping through the doors- every surface appeared to be bathed in a natural light that seemed to only amplify the carefully constructed mirage of fragile illusions. In truth, she didn’t have to come here… and even now the regret seemed to linger on the back edge of her tongue, soaking into her blood despite her best efforts to swallow it down. Nevada to California, California to Bahamas for the Thunder Pro Duo’s title defence she had scheduled- a defence and then another plane back for a different sort of defence… One of validation and realisation. One to prove something that should never have been in denial or question.
Third row from the back. Close enough to the exit to disappear, not so close that her sideways glances to her periphery seemed as obvious. Always third row from the ---
“If I had known you were stopping by, I’d have made myself available.”
Reverend Alistair McCrae materialised as though expectant of her arrival, his usual religious attire replaced with something far more casual. Beige linens and light taupes that complimented the sun-stolen tan of his skin. She supposed that given his status as an acclaimed televangelist, and his continued generous ‘donations’ to community and church respectively, afforded him some privileges that would otherwise not be up for negotiation.
Warmly, like the glow of his skin under the streaming light through skylit roofing, he regarded the redhead who made little effort to move from her kneeling position. Prayer after all, was sacred and despite not believing a word of it for herself- Amber maintained a level of recognition and revere- despite the fact she was trying to bluff with a man who’d been under the Lord’s service for almost two thirds of his life, perhaps longer than even the redhead could intentionally attempt to mimic.
“It's not salvation that you’re here for though, is it?”
Saying nothing, Amber finally murmured the attempt at a response, quickly falling by the wayside as Amber focused on remembering to say ‘amen’ to herself and quietly seething on all the times he’d been bullied only now actively encouraging children to defend themselves.
“You hide your face, they are dismayed;
You take away their spirit, they expire
And return to their dust.
Psalm 104:29”
Alistair smiled politely as he stood nearby to the pew, so that Amber might have to square up instead of simply disappearing as she was known to do.
“Although, in your case we could readily substitute ash...”
Small talk that Amber could feel in her arms and hands, itched in a subtle throb that seemed to radiate outwards. Despite the otherwise public nature, words spoken here were considered sacred and yet dangerous.
“Have I become that predictable?”
A humourless chuckle escaped the man with silver well groomed hair and a busty early 20 something looking to be ‘spoiled’ without expectation of reconciliation.
“Predictable? No, Miss Ryan. If anything, I anticipated this visit far sooner.”
Playing his cards close, Amber knew she’d never manage to get onto a plane towards a secondary salvation with this kind of defensiveness from both sides. Clearing her throat as she unsteadily forced herself upright Amber met Alistair's gaze, briefly paralysed and mind blanked by the self-made iceberg of a man who casually drifted wherever his services were dutifully required.
For a fee…
Amber however had little use for his platitudes and less for the drawn out riddles, getting as close as she might dare before aggravating Amber’s nervous twitches to the officers.
“Perhaps there is something you could elaborate on for me.”
Thoughtfully Amber lowered her voice, as though there were shadows to dramatically emerge from and someone vain enough to consider themselves worth talking about.
“What's a pound of flesh worth to a man who already has everything?”
