“Something about her is so tempting to look at. Her anger has a childish aura as if she isn’t made of real evil; just a bratty princess playing with her toy fangs.”
― Cameron Jace, Snow White Sorrow
Amber’s Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
12.10.2020
3:17am
“... Couldn’t sleep?”
Perhaps the footsteps should have given it away, Amber could do little to disguise the sleepy albeit knowing smile as Mac Bane rested a hand on her shoulder. Part of her wanted to freely admit that she hadn’t actually gone to bed yet- coming up on 36 hours awake, she knew the crash would be inevitable however sleep was a fickle mistress and kept that sweet relief just outside the redheads reach.
Still, there could have been alot worse places in the world to watch the nights pass. Atlantic City had been the closest thing to home she’d had in years- the temptation to simply up and move for the sake of it quelled by her travel schedule and straight up procrastination. Just a few more weeks stuck on repeat anytime she started to feel guilty about the growing attachment to a place where she’d almost memorized the hairline cracks in the walls and the way the countertop always seemed almost imperceptibly on a lean but could never quite prove it.
“Something like that.”
A small reassuring squeeze on her shoulder followed before Mac settled into the plastic chair beside hers- his much newer and far less broken, she’d made the joke that it was their first serious purchase as a couple. They’d found the concept far funnier than the middle aged couple nearby, studiously studying outdoor furniture between intermittent stares and whispers at the seemingly odd couple.
After all, you couldn’t imagine it was everyday that a 5’8 redhead and a 6’6 cowboy strolled into a WalMart with similar skull face masks and discussed the pros and cons of a plastic chair…
“... so, work or something else”
She hated the fact he knew, the predictability and self-assurance in his voice was infuriating only made worse by the fact she likely knew that he already knew the answer. There was something about catching up with Josie that left an aftertaste, statements that stuck in her craw and body language that Amber could have sworn was trying to hide something.
Mac watched her intently, the proverbial gears mechanically grinding in the quiet night air as Atlantic City sprawled like a garish neon lit ghost town, normally they’d have stayed in Vegas or Baltimore however both their work lives had become increasingly erratic recently and so Atlantic City seemed just far enough away from it all to kinda reset.
“Something about that talk with Josie isn’t sitting right with me.”
Mac didn’t respond immediately, his silence somehow inviting for thoughts to escape.
“I dunno, she was never a good liar when we were younger. Not saying she’s lying now but-”
Amber trailed off quietly, running her fingers through the thick, messy mane of crimson that fell around her shoulders. She’d long prided herself on her intuition, her ability to read body language like it was a billboard on an empty highway but something about all of this… the recollections, the tone of voice… It made her feel a little sick.
“You think she knows something she’s not saying?”
With a frustrated sigh, Amber picked at her fingernails idly.
“I mean maybe? I don’t even know if it's that though, just something doesn’t sit right. What she told me, I feel like there's something important I’m missing, like I should know and it should be obvious but I can’t see it.”
Mac chuckled beside her, resting a hand on her thigh. A mischievous glint sparkling in his eye.
“... what?”
“Pretty sure that's how most other people feel looking at you.”
Maybe it was the indecision between reluctance and eagerness to see Amber, the frosty reception despite there being little more reason than it being inconvenient on a weekday afternoon. Granted they hadn’t been as close as Amber and Cassidy were, but that didn’t make them any less friendly…
… “Why, is she in trouble… God, what the hell has she done this time?”...
Why would she have thought there was trouble? Law enforcement perhaps, a couple of unpaid parking tickets forgotten in the doldrums of everyday existence or some speeding fines cause Cassidy had more than once proven her foot was made of something akin to lead.
There was no surprise in her voice, an expectancy that consequences had finally come calling for their pound of flesh.
... “She went off the rails a bit, like you were the only thing keeping her in line”...
“No sarcastic comeback? Must be serious then…”
Amber scoffed slightly, trying to find the words. Perhaps there was part of her that wanted it all to just be easy- that Cassidy had settled down, found herself a good man and a little place in the suburbs complete with a minivan, semi-well behaved children because of karma and a white picket fence. Part of her wanted what it was presumed she was supposed to want, that when her wrestling career finally came to a close- that perhaps an option like that might exist for Amber too.
“I feel like I’m overthinking it. Like there's a reasonable explanation and I’m just too…”
“Stubborn”
“Determined”
Amber corrected him with a smirk.
“… to see the worst in everything. I think for once in my life Mac…”
Maybe the city was winking at her or maybe she was starting to hallucinate, Amber couldn’t quite decipher it either way- all she knew was that she’d never been quite so unsure of her own instincts in her life. So little made sense at the moment and only the illogical held any reason.
“... I actually hope I’m completely wrong about all of this.”
******
“Fewer things in the world are more insincere than gas station roses.
A staple of the guilty, the lazy and the essentially oblivious- they could be considered the closest thing one could get to making a concerted effort while still managing to be downright offensive. You know the type, right?
A day or two past their best, sure they might look alright from 10 feet away especially through some beer goggles but take a closer look and their leaves are yellowed and sickly on the edges, the stems cracked and slowly starting to bend sullenly and the petals- despite their vibrancy- have started to crumble and fall away under the crushing weight of the disillusionary connotation they carry.
How fitting really, that disappointment never looked so tacky and worthless.
I mean don’t get me wrong, I know all about letting people down- hell there are plenty of people on the roster already shitting themselves cause my name is on the card, wishing I might suddenly just drop dead so that they don’t have to deal with me once I wash the best parts of you off my hands. I’ve spent my career letting people down, not living up to expectation- however the difference here is that I set the bar so high to begin with that it's a wonder my feet ever touch the ground while you, darling, you’re still trying not to trip over yourself in front of a foot high hurdle.
Christina, I get the idea beyond pseudonyms but I think you’re taking the piss now. I mean Roxi is a supposed hero and even shes got a limit of how many names she goes by, fuck I’m worried if I start talking about obscure pop culture or name a new organism that I might actually stumble on another identity.
Dissociative identities is a real issue- you’re just being fucking painful, I mean every time you take a major loss some poor bastard is stuck in the SCW offices under a ton of paperwork trying to white out over the ten previous versions of your name.
It's a lot of pressure being the least successful part of an already uninspired marriage though, isn’t it? I mean at least Seleana tries, you know?
I mean she's still only a step above someone like Ice-cream sammich Salco in terms of the requirement for a personality transplant, but you know what your wife owns that shit and if that isn’t worth commending then I don’t know what is.
You though, Christina, never cease to amaze me… How someone can come across so outwardly desperate for a shred of attention and yet so determined that she doesn’t need it when it's offered is really something else.
Is it supposed to be calculated?
Sucking up to the perceived good guys for just long enough that you get a bit of a rub off their shine- I mean you can’t honestly tell me you run in the same circles as Roxi and Keira when you barely make awkward conversation with them over social media, trying to be ‘supportive’ in matters that literally do not concern you.
I have no doubt you’ve known them long enough to make the case, but I bet you’ve also tried turning on them more times than a thirst trap on Twitter posts scantily clad nothings with irrelevant captions. I get it though, I mean lingering on the outskirts of someone else's 15 minutes will only keep you warm for so long, and once your fingers start turning blue you have to think there's a problem.
How long has it been since that spotlight was yours though? After all, nostalgia is a cruel mistress who can’t help but rear her head when all you want is to bury the past. Too long maybe, going from a division headlined by those willing to stick around cause loyalty will get you only so far- to being almost a joke and a side note in one of the most stacked rosters this industry might have ever seen.
Funny really, you never notice how far the fall is until you can’t see the top anymore…
Each step down, each bump in the road and that summit grows a little further away. You can see people start passing you on their way up and maybe some of them fall back down just as quickly- but you… You don’t seem to ascend. You just make space for those with forward momentum and hope to stay out of the path of those proven not enough and hope you don’t end up being cleaned up on their way through.
It's thin air at the top here Christina, so it's no wonder you get a little speechless when people start to question why you aren’t making up any ground.
I’m sure you can just tell them it's a phase, after all there ain’t no harm in slumming it for awhile is there?
Peaks and valleys, you can tell them. Every career has them- we dip and fly like a roller coaster but it's easy to forget the lack of viability in such things when they’re only aimed 140 feet straight down. Perhaps the worst part is that isn’t even ‘go to hell’ numbers, you can’t even manage to fail hard enough to be sent into the inferno, lingering in purgatory in hopes someone might remember one of your sixteen names cause if you have enough someone might utter it accidentally in conversation.
That's alright though, stick around long enough and someone will throw you a bone, seems to be the pattern around here. Show up and hold your hand out, maybe a complain a little for good measure or just big note the best of the pathetic accomplishments you’ve recently made and the head honchos might take a little pity.
Bit sad really when you think about it, that being recognized for a title shot these days isn’t about what you’ve done or where you’re headed... but the fact they literally feel guilty watching how far you’ve fallen.
I mean if fucking Jessie Salco can get a goddamn title shot, if Violet Holt can get a fucking title shot- one has to think theres a sliver of hope for you yet.
Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not saying you aren’t ‘good’... It's just that when the best you’re bringing to the table is slightl;y below average, it's difficult to then complain that you’re spinning your wheels.
See there are so many women on this roster now… Women like Alicia, like Evie, like Andrea, like Johanna, like Myra- the list absolutely goes on… Fuck it, even someone like Roxi who makes me wanna swallow a cactus rather than give her a shred of credit…
None of them settle, they don’t wait to be given an opportunity cause they think their name still holds value with terminally ill children who can relate to the status of your career...
Someone like me Christina, who would rather be the most hated person on this fucking roster than smile and wave, pretending like I’m happy for every silly bitch who thinks they deserve a chance over me.
Making friends will only get you so far- either commit to being a decent person or don’t cause frankly I think you’re one of the most disingenuous people on this roster and you can be assured I’ll be standing by with an ‘I told you so’ when you get fed up of being ‘overlooked’ again. Stab them in the back and take what you think is yours, or just keep playing goody-two shoes third choice sidekick and fade further into irrelevance.
Maybe you think there's an advantage to teaming with Roxi, that she might offer you up some salvation cause she always seems to have some to spare for every wrestling charity case she comes across- truth is, it just paints a nice target on your back, makes you more noticeable than you’ve been in months really… Until I decide to take everything that makes you special, crumple it between my hands and throw it back in Roxi’s face.
You’re as valuable to her as I am, she’ll toss you aside in a heartbeat if I even mention I might be thinking about laying hands on literally anyone else- so before you think about getting all super-uppity cause Roxi is so great and she's gonna carry you back to a brief spotlight…
I promise you, not all attention is good attention- when push comes to shove, she will leave you laying just as quickly and easily as I would.
You can try to save her, to be the precocious little wanna be hero role model that children settle for when no other action figure is available…
I guess that's the issue with people like you though, people like Roxi with their goody-two shoes tied together- you think everything is worth saving, that everyone is redeemable and just need a chance… But you’re wrong.
Roxi. Christina.
You can’t save everything.
Especially gas station roses.”
******
Undisclosed Fight Gym
Atlantic City, NJ
17.10.2020
8:41am
Jab. Jab. Cross. Right feint. Left hook.
Amber’s left arm jarred as the hook didn’t quite land flush on the bag, she knew her balance was slightly off leaving the usually vivacious strike grazing ripstop when it should have rippled through the surface.
Everything professional had felt off recently, it was no secret that the loss at Violent Conduct had stung more than she’d anticipated, swallowing a little bit of pride with a razorblade and lemon juice cocktail chaser it seemed.
Sweat traced down the edge of her face and down the side of her neck, a glistening trail over fading bruises and wounded ego. Perhaps it wasn’t the loss that hurt the most, but the fact she’d ignored the warning signs that Roxi would accept help, that she’d allow for anyone else to get swept up in their chaotic maelstrom. After all, Roxi should have known better… Amber had banked on her knowing better and instead found herself covered in fucking glitter on a Las Vegas footpath trying to figure out where everything went so awry.
It was supposed to be between them, their fight alone struggling for control over the others perception of the world- and Roxi had betrayed their unspoken promise. Even now, weeks removed Amber could still feel her blood simmering in her veins at the thought of it- most would mock and laugh, the ‘evil’ villain losing in almost comical fashion.
They’d buy further into Roxi’s precious skewed narrative, feeding the delusion that she was morally superior simply cause she kept her demons behind lock and key long enough to sucker everyone into thinking they didn’t exist.
With a loud creak, the heavy bag stopped swaying as though begging for another combination to be launched, taunting that she couldn’t possibly continue living up to the standard she’d set so high from the get go. If anyone else were there, they’d likely stare and whisper… her reputation starting to fray and tatter at the edges, the promises made somehow not quite as potent and vitriolic as they’d previously been.
Thankfully the gym had been closed for a few weeks and Amber had come to an arrangement with the owner- she could wallow and loathe in as much silence as she would allow, and all for a reasonable price as thud after angry thud echoed in a space so used to the clanging of sound and chatter of humanity, it now languished in it's disuse.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Right feint. Left hook.
Something had to give.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Right feint. Left hook.
Something had to change.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Right feint. Left hook.
… and if Roxi were indeed choosing to play her hand like this, well then consequences be damned. With a visceral grunt Amber threw a hard kick into the side of the heavy bag, forcing it to rock back and forth on it's straining chain, a dent in it's side where her shin and foot had made connection with the rough, heavily beaten surface. It was easy, at least during times like this, to forget what brought you to the dance, the reason you’d gotten as far as you had.
A striker first and foremost, devastating in accuracy in spite of her size- years she’d spent putting down opponents far greater, surprising people with the sheer tenacity she brought and the unrelenting spite that had kept her alive in the face of a world who’d considered her better off dead.
… ‘You hit to end the fight in one shot, every shot needs to be potentially the one to finish it- anything less in an opportunity to get beaten.’ ...
Caught up in the whirlwind of fury and disappointment, those words had become secondary- the idea of finishing a fight almost supplementary to sending a message. A message people refused to heed, a statement falling amid the ignorant and deluded- somehow the idea of being the best became an afterthought to showing that moral superiority was little more than snake oil for the determinedly dull and willfully vacant.
… ‘Take all that hate, all that self-loathing, all that anger and all that evil you’re so determined to hold onto- ball it up tight in your fist and throw it at someone else’ …
Amber had been holding onto it, all of it, for most of her career. She doubted she’d ever made it nearly this far without hate driving her forward and her body might have shut down a decade earlier if it weren’t primarily fuelled by a distinct rage that burned like an white hot ember somewhere between her ribs.
Those like Roxi, like Christina, like those who’d followed them so fucking blindly it's a wonder Darwinism hadn’t taken them off our hands…
They were the reason Amber couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest, couldn't sleep without waking up in a cold sweat cause reality seemed just a little less harsh than the demons crawling under her skin. They were the reason spite ran thicker than blood, viscous and heavy in her system like she was constantly under the threat of drowning in her own contempt.
While people like them spread their misinformation and tainted gaslit positive reinforcements- Amber fought to keep her head above the rising waters of false support, trying to kick off the cinderblock boots of expectation and ill-informed opinion.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Right feint. Left hook.
One match. One week. They’d never get it, but it could be a start… A moment of clarity in the haze of disillusionment. A loss was always far more eye-opening than a win, a learning experience and a place to start sowing the seeds of doubt, seeds that would eventually bloom into a beautiful bouquet of ‘I fucking told you so’.
Losses meant you had something to prove and Amber already had that in spades, momentum was key but a single match could do little to derail when the light at the end of the tunnel was closing in on them so very fast.
Amber took a deep breath, the musty air clinging in the back of her throat as she watched the heavy bag teeter to a halt once more. Silence deafening in a space designed to amplify, a ripstop bag of sawdust was little to be an analog of flesh and bone nor did it convey the malevolence of someone perhaps fighting for their existence- it would do for now though, standing foolishly in defiance of an ill-intentioned redhead with a broken moral compass.
Inhale.
Exhale.
It never got any easier.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Right feint. Rising knee. Left hook.
Just more well practiced.
******
“You know, you’d think I’d be more pissed about Violent Conduct.
Promises made and broken, wins and losses exchanged. Roxi and I are one for one now- a little too perfect for a universe that feeds of chaos and violence like it were college girls and cheap shots at a sleazy bar. There would be those that argue that I should have done better, I should have done more… that now I’m on the back foot coming into the main event of Climax Control.
How do we ever find ourselves so mistaken so often?
Do you finally get it yet Roxi?
Has it sunk in yet, soaked through layers upon layers of arrogance and determination that your black and white moral compass somehow makes you better than literally anyone else, cause you see from where I’m standing you’re playing coy and telling everyone that you do… That there's a method to madness and you’ve got me all figured out.
Except, as has become the norm around these parts- you’re dead wrong.
Hilariously so, I might add.
You think this is just about violence, about who can be ‘badder’ and who is simply better. Trust a hero to over simplify for the sake of their followers, it's really quite cute but the deadened masses do love to cling to basic understandable concepts. Gotta keep all those heroic monologues to two syllables per word otherwise you’re gonna lose them first paragraph in…
You have this preconceived notion that I’m playing with you, and perhaps you were right- to start with it was a game… I wanted you to see the world from my perspective, to give in to all those dark shadows on your soul and show everyone you were far more capable than you allowed yourself to be.
I tried to better you, but because you’re determined to be a paragon of ultimate virtue- you can’t possibly put a foot wrong, even if it leaves you in a better place.
So you resist, which I expected.
What I didn’t expect was how much you’d allow me to get under your skin before you try and dig my influence back out. See, I’m septic by nature, fucking toxic if you’ll allow me.
I have a way and it's not the nicest but you can;t argue it's effectiveness, I bring out the very worst in people and leave them a better person than when they started- but you Roxi, you already think you’re better.
Better than me, better than your friends. Better than your family, your loved ones… You think you’re doing them all a favour and ‘lowering yourself to their level’ to be relatable but really you were on par all along.
Your entitlement is so ingrained you can’t even see it, your dullard wife is so easily manipulated she let fucking demons run amok and only decided it might be an issue when it started targeting you. You have her wrapped so tight around your little finger it's a wonder you have circulation- and she has no idea…
Friends, they flock to you in hopes that you might raise their worth purely by proximity, brushing by greatness even if greatness pretends it's simply humble.
I won’t sit here and shit on everything you’ve done- I have no doubt you earned your place. However you’ve done so by gaming the system, by gaslighting literally everyone around you into thinking you’re somehow a distant relation to Mother Theresas thresh of pubic hair.
At first I thought maybe I was doing you a favour… but I’ve come to realize that's not the case. Now this is for everyone else's sake, to show that your demons are just as prominent as mine. That you stand as a different side of the same coin, a facsimile of the Distorted Angel, a dime store angel of death masquerading in a dollar store super hero cape.
So no, Roxi.
This isn’t a game, not anymore. You brought others into this, you let them step into my crosshairs… I want you to remember that when I start systematically putting down everyone you ever manipulated, all those you ever made to feel they were only bettered by you.
Everyone you love, you care about… fucking family, friends, casual aquaintances- that random guy at the grocery store whose name you can’t remember.
They are all targets now.
Twice now, you had the opportunity to stop me Roxi. Twice you’ve disappointed me beyond recognition- first time you decided to play dead, but I don’t stop hitting till the blood stops running, till theres no pulse thundering under my fists. Second time you thought you were simply ‘playing the game’ and now you’ve dragged civilians in the path of a raging hurricane and expect them to simply withstand it on your behalf.
See, the difference between us Roxi is that I change… I adapt. I’m willing to admit when I’m not good enough, when I need to switch things up to remain effective- but you’re addicted to the same old song and dance, gotta keep everyone onboard that bandwagon right?
Hate to fucking let anyone see theres anything behind the mask, that you might be anything less than the charade you commit to vitriolically to.
You can’t please everyone Roxi, but don’t you worry cause by the time that I’m done… You won’t have to worry about any of them, there will be no cheer squad roaring your name, no virulent social media wanna be lovers vying for your momentary adoration and predictable hashtags.
By the time I’m done with you Roxi, I want you to understand what you’ve done. I want you to understand that you could have avoided all of this, that all the blood I plan on spilling is squarely splattered across your psyche.
You had your chance to stop me… twice now and you fucked up. That's your choice and your consequence.
Come Climax Control though- I can trust Andrea to take care of business, I don’t have to look over my shoulder wondering if shes gonna stab me for the shits and giggs, I don’t have to concern myself with fangirling and fawning for attention in hopes of being reminded what infamy actually looks like...
Cause she’s not a sycophant. Not a fangirl. Not an arrogant wannabe. Not a proclaimed hero.
Just another woman really fucking good at her job...”
******
