“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.
