“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
Undisclosed Fairgrounds
Somewhere in Maine
21.07.2004
11:27pm
Few things in life were more captivating than the crackle of an open fire.
Fire was a cleansing force, one commanding respect and fear in equal measures, worshipped for centuries for its ability to raze and renew. Even in modern times, fire was still a commodity that seemed to draw in the lost, those seeking and craving something that could only be fulfilled with warmth and light.
Despite the smothering summer humidity, a sixteen year old redhead strayed closer to the flames, resting her heels against the stones laid out for safe ‘clearance’ as though the crackling fire were a sentient being to be contained.
Adventure, Grizz had called it, as many of the other long time carnival workers set up their tents in the dying light of day. A way to convince the girls that this was something he’d chosen deliberately instead of a cost-saving measure cause hotels were expensive when the crowds didn’t seem to spend like they used to. Too many lots were being burned by half-assed professionals, pulling the rug out from anyone who might crossover with their wake.
In truth though, Amber didn’t really mind. Something about the expanse of the night sky created a swell in her chest, while the winking of stars above always led her to believe they were simply waiting to share a tentative little secret.
Cast in the low orange glow, Amber didn’t need to turn as the soft padding footsteps came up behind her. Dainty in spite of the softness of the ground, a shadow that betrayed its presence with a stifled yawn. Cassidy Parker dropped in beside Amber, an old blanket draped over her shoulders sleepily as she rested her head on the older redhead's shoulder.
Despite the three year age difference and their vastly different appearances, they’d grown to become like sisters… stubbornly determined and mischievous to a fault. Amber had dutifully taken Cassidy under her wing- for better and occasional worse in hopes that maybe she could change what was otherwise a futile trajectory.
Cassidy could do so much better than any of this, if only she could be convinced of it.
“I thought you were asleep.”
Amber mused quietly as Cassidy nuzzled in a little closer, blonde curls falling around her face as she glanced up at the older girl. Maybe they both could do better- but Amber was convinced that only Cassidy really had that chance.
Bridges kissed by kerosene still seemed to burn for an age wherever she went, even now there were places and people who would never give Amber the time of day regardless what retribution and redemption she might promise. So many more would lie in her future, perhaps that was what the fates had written for her- a lifetime of making everyone else miserable, or so she had joked on more than one occasion with Cassidy on the rides between towns.
… “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”...
Cassidy would ask with all the innocence a thirteen year old might muster in regards to a loaded question. Of course, the answer never really changed- if anything only growing in levels of sarcasm layered throughout.
… “Same thing as I am now- a professional pain in everyones ass… and judging by the look on your face Cass, seems like I’m already halfway there” ...
It was an answer that never seemed to satiate the blonde though, her deep brown eyes determinedly set in pale skin dotted with freckles. She’d crinkle her nose in frustration of not being taken seriously, only serving to fuel the fires of Amber’s shit stirring further.
Truth was, Amber hadn’t given up her dreams of pro-wrestling but they had started to take a backseat to more primitive forms of combat for money. She didn’t tell Cassidy that the black eyes she failed to cover up and the split lips she blamed on being clumsy were from the money that helped put fuel in their tanks or a bed that wasn’t misplaced on rocks embedded in the sun-scorched grounds.
“I was, but then I woke up and you weren’t there so…”
It was a reality that had plagued them both, this idea trapped in the back of their minds that eventually- one day- Amber would leave. Outwardly, Cassidy encouraged it however it didn’t take a trained therapist to see that underneath the girl was terrified of an inevitable that might never come- to the point that at times of peace… she’d go to instigate war.
“Thought you might have… You know...”
Cassidy trailed off quietly, as though embarrassed that the thought had slipped from her lips. Amber draped an arm around her thoughtfully, pulling her in a little closer.
“Oh yeah, just upped and left you know… Didn’t even bother to pack cause I had no idea where I was going.”
Staring through the flames as Cassidy nudged her hard in the ribs, Amber’s train of thought was broken by her own accidental yelp.
“Ow Cass. Jesus… you’d think you were the one training with an elbow like that.”
Deflection was far easier than argument and Amber had been an expert for longer than she should have.
“I was being serious!”
“Yeah, and so was I… that really hurt.”
Amber laughed it off, trying to inject a little levity as the silence consumed them both once again between the crackles and occasional pops that emanated from the fire.
“I’m not gonna just up and leave if that's what you’re worried about Cass… and if I was- heaven forbid- then you’d be the first person to know.”
Truthfully, albeit pensively, Amber rested her head on top of Cassidy’s. It wasn’t as though she lied, she really didn’t have anywhere else to go right now- however the looming thought was one not to be easily dissuaded. If she really wanted this as badly as she’d fought for it… then eventually she’d have to…
“See, I reckon I’d go and open an ice cream shop or something…”
Another nudge, this one softer and more jovial. A realization that Amber’s humour was genuine- if not, infuriating. In turn, the redhead simply chuckled off the sheer unrealistic nature of everything being suggested.
“Seriously though, why would I wanna leave… I’ve got everything I need right here.”
Not a lie, Amber had to remind herself, not quite anyway. Grizz and Cassidy were family, as close as blood without things getting weird and they’d given her a place among them with little more than a promise to be ‘helpful’. No doubt Grizz had taken pity on her all those years ago, she’d seen the same generosity extended to other ‘strays’ over time but few ever really stuck around long- most just disappearing on a whim one day like ash on a breeze.
Family, friends… within reason. Travel. An opportunity to learn from someone who’d built their adult life in the business, only for the pressures and politics to bring it all down around him. Despite being reluctant at first, Grizz caved over time when it came to his mentorship… something he was regularly reminded of when Amber went a little wayward and rogue during sparring matches.
What more could a girl ask for other than diamonds, a seven figure bank account and a delightfully open minded partner to warm her bed and engage in online shopping sprees at 3am. Just the little things…
“Besides, it doesn’t matter what happens Cass- no matter how stupidly famous I might get...”
Another reassuring squeeze followed as Amber’s gaze trailed upwards into the inky abyss above them, her small laugh radiating like a shock wave through the otherwise still grounds. There was a certain fascination that came with the stars though, one that knowing a day would come beyond her lifetime that those heavens full of diamonds would come raining down upon those still daring to walk this place like it wasn’t just on loan. In the meantime, they just sat up there… watching, waiting for them to destroy each other and save them all the hassle.
Another pause followed as Cassidy nuzzled closer to her chest, gaze somewhere in the midst of the flames dancing and twirling in the humidities stillness.
“If you’re so happy where you are… why do find it so hard to smile?”
Amber didn’t respond, not immediately at least. Caught off guard by the candor and perhaps the hole now left gaping in her armour. It wasn't as though she intended on misery, that her resting bitch face and reflective sarcasm was anything more than a defensive mechanism set on a hair trigger.
Curling at the edges of her lips, Amber lifted her head to look down at Cassidy, as though to prove she was at least capable of something resembling sincerity.
“Didn't realize I wasn't, I suppose... You think I should?”
Levelling out her surprise with humour, Amber gave Cassidy a little eyebrow raise as if querying her intention- a smile in the low light capturing the moment for prosperity. Cassidy returned the gesture with a giggle that resonated through Amber's soul.
“Yeah… smile more Bambi. Even if it's just for me.”
******
“Are you fundamentally aware of what retribution means?
I’m well aware that it's like asking a grapefruit how it feels about being cut and consumed, but at least I can expect the grapefruit to actually put up some semblance of a fight about it…
Honestly though, I think what you’re trying too hard to refer to is actually revenge- granted many would argue that such things are interchangeable, that only the intent to harm seems to vary however that's the very simple way of looking at it.
What retribution suggests is that what is given and taken is received by both sides equally. Actions have consequences, right for wrongs leaving us all with this novel concept that everyone gets to leave feeling as though they achieved something.
Realistically though, some people are standing around holding their dicks in their hands while everyone else gets on with their lives and no one seems the wiser.
In terms of what you think you want from me in all of this Bea, I think- like most occasions- you seem to have those wires crossed with the ones that control your self-preservation instincts. As though somehow suggesting a match with me is going to give you any form of satisfaction that doesn’t come with a masochism fetish… I mean no shame or anything, but there are far easier ways to get your rocks off in this day and age than attempted death via force of nature.
Seriously though, I have to commend the powers that be for the absolute travesty of a world title challenge they’re presenting as a legitimate competition. Granted, I do commend your guts in taking this fight Bea as though you forget that mere months ago I put you down like the little yapping mange ridden mutt you parade around as… I commend them so much that I’m planning on leaving them splattered across the canvas as a warning sign to everyone else trying to seek righteous vengeance for basically nothing, right after I’m done showing your husband what the spine he seems to be missing is supposed to look like.
Let's be honest though… you really should be thanking us. Oblivion took what was otherwise a nothing state, mere bodies making up the numbers and put them on a fucking platform they sought, that they didn’t deserve- right before putting them through it for the sheer nerve of speaking out of turn.
… and so then you, in all of your infinite wisdom and righteous determined spousal wisdom, come seeking out the baddest dog in the yard and start pissing on my doorstep.
To think that it's you coming and defending their ‘honour’... Great call guys, really smart fucking idea- I mean that life insurance you took out on your wife, Bill, must be mighty fine if you’re so eager for her to step into the midst of a roaring inferno to save a half cut pack of cards.
If it were me? I think I’d rather just throw the whole fucking lot in the bin and start again.
I can’t say I don’t get it though- if my husband made his career out of being a crash test dummy, I’d probably consider career suicide as well. I’d be a little pissed if someone came for my husband, but the truth is- they wouldn’t. Not if they had their wits about them at least...
See, what you need to understand and fast is that this match isn’t about our husbands having a pissing match, this isn't about measuring them up against each other before discussing what kind of inadequacies you might reasonably use to file for divorce…
No, this is about you… it's about me… and it's about the fact that this fucking company loves a good car crash.
What Mac does, is his own business… He’s a big boy and I like to think he can handle his own shit pretty well. What I do though, what I do is on a whole other level than you’re physically capable of comprehending- see I can picture it already, you’ll come in with a blistering promo spitting venom like you somehow earned the right cause you put on your big girl pants this morning and your velcroed your shoes on the right feet- on the second try. You’ll try your damndest to twist this all up like I’m going to need anyones help to leave you in a messier pile than you walked in being… as though I haven’t won match after bloody match without assistance.
By all means though Bea, you go out there and you talk that big game that you have no respectable talent to back it up with- come out swinging and maybe I’ll even make this worth everyone's time.
I mean, I’ll humour you for a little while cause everyone knows I’m a sucker for a puppet on a string- and maybe you’ll even be stupid enough to claim that you’ve been toe to toe with me despite the fact the closest you came to such a claim was my sneaker being jammed into the worst part of your face.
Truth is, for me, this isn’t about some pissant grudge nonsense, this isn’t about you trying to step up in any meaningful way. You wanna come for a pound of flesh, but brought a childs bucket and pail instead of a fucking shovel. You’re showing up to a knife fight with a gun that you forgot to load thinking I might somehow be intimidated despite the fact the chamber is hanging out and is covered in cobwebs…
By all means take your best shot at me Bea, if anything I’m encouraging it… free swing, I’ll even pretend that I’m rattled by it just for kicks if it means that you’ll actually try and do better than whatever the fuck this is supposed to be.
See, I don’t base my entire professional existence around picking the splinters out of someone elses ass nor do I intend to. No, I go out to that ring every godforsaken match, just like I have done for the last bit over a year I’ve been with this company, whether it's against the likes of you… whether it's against Jessie, whether it's against Myra, whether it's against Alicia- hell whether it's against fucking Roxi cause you know she’s not gonna let this die till she figures out what my favourite brand of kryptonite is… and I raise the standard around me.
You wanna know the reason Roxi and Crystal ended up in that main event- it's not cause they were the best contenders- it's cause they wanted a shot at me the worst. Not the title… at me. I’m the reason people are getting better, getting badder like I’ve poisoned the collective well.
It seems the fact I’m the World Champion just sweetens the deal now…
… and it's exactly the reason they haven’t beaten me yet.
At the end of the day though, sweetheart… There's a damn good reason why I’ve been champion for the past near 250 days,while you’ve spent all of that time trying to figure out which end you’re dribbling more shit from.
I don’t come to fuck around, I don’t resign myself to being the companies worst cheerleader and I sure as fuck don’t accept anything less than what I feel as though I’ve earned…
You wanna come to Climax Control for revenge, just remember to bring your own shovel… cause I’m pretty sure mine might still be stuck in Roxi’s World Bombshells championship aspirations…”
******
Bane Household
Las Vegas, ND
21.11.2021
8:37am
She’d been telling herself for months now that this was what she’d always wanted.
Even from the otherside of the house, Amber could hear Mac come through the back door- from the faint scratching and scrabbling as Couyon practically tripped over himself to slobber mindlessly all over her husband's jeans, to the familiarly heavy cadence of his boots on the floorboards gradually getting louder before they paused in the doorway just beyond her.
He always stopped there, regardless of what she was doing, perhaps a reassurance that none of this was a dream to him too...
Despite living together and working together, their paths rarely seemed to cross for more than hours at a time- disparate places in their existences as Amber scrambled to keep hold of a title that seemed to be pulled in every direction while Mac sought the return of his own.
Outside the spotlights, they’d shared even less… Amber’s poor attempts to cover the cuts and bruises from her drunken brawl down towards the docks after High Stakes only seemed to be mirrored by Mac’s caginess and frequent visits too and from Texas despite the fact he’d admitted that he’d sold his family's land out there already.
Business, that's what they both claimed as though they expected the other to believe it.
In public they kept up the facade as professionals, after all relationships in wrestling came with expectations that devolved into rumour should they not be appropriately lived up to. Everything was fine, when the camera were on and when anyone was looking- absolutely fucking golden- if they were asked. A picture perfect romance in a world that took relationships and picked them apart at the seams just to keep things interesting.
Privately, things were… fine. They were just fine, Amber mused as she sipped from the mug, allowing the steam to cloud up in her vision briefly. Masculine like the sheen of sweat and a certain cologne that she could never quite pinpoint, his smell struck her before the arm that gently slipped around her waist followed closely by a rough kiss on the cheek.
“Hey you…”
“... Hey”
Cursory and polite, both of them willingly stepped into the zero gravity minefield that was their recent private life, as Mac’s freehand seemingly swallowed the mug in one foul swoop. Amber hadn’t bothered to step away from the bench yet, not nearly caffeinated enough to navigate this exchange of nothings safely as the faint thump of his pulse from behind her seemingly fell into rhythm with her own.
Fast, yet manageable.
Both of them knew the other was keeping far more skeletons than the closet could handle- but in their typical shared stubbornness and protective natures, neither wanted to be the first to broach the topic for fear that an over-exposure to the light might make their chosen atrocities far more difficult to swallow than the bite sized pieces they might ration otherwise.
“How was your trip?”
Amber didn't need to ask much more than that, she didn’t dare delve into details for fear that she would revile in what she might find- with a coy smile, she feigned curiosity in it's most generic form. Just smile, everything was far easier that way.
She’d been choosing that path more since just before High Stakes, smiling in the face of all the shittiness the world might just throw in her lap on any given day- if only cause she’d started to run low on her famous misery and intolerance. In all honesty, it didn't make her feel much better about anything, but it sure fooled most people…
“Typical real estate business really.”
Curt and about as honest as she might expect, Mac gave her a kiss on the top of the head this time before breaking the embrace for the sake of taking a seat at the kitchen table, despite his frame towering over hers- their destructive personalities seemed to match closely enough in size and vulgarity to make up the difference. Amber nodded politely, knowing full well that the dirt stains on his jeans and god knows what else on the cuffs of his shirt told a different story.
She wouldn’t delve though, if only for the fact that he’d been polite enough to accept her bullshit story of being clumsy down at the dockyards in Atlantic City- knowing full well she was probably more dexterous when half cut, than sober to the point that the only thing stopping her wrestling intoxicated all the time was the blood thinning effect.
Amber sipped deeply, allowing the mug to obscure the worst of the smile she wore. Sincere if only in intention.
“So, you have a fun match this week…”
Deflection was easier than confrontation on the ebay of days, just side step the hard parts and focus on what you were good at. Mac nodded, almost half way draining his mug with a knowing grin. A smile that had made her weak at the knees more than once, only now serving to bolster her efforts to shield from the inevitable fallout.
“Yeah, something like that…”
Speaking of fallout it seemed. Not that she minded, if anything it was inevitable that they’d bring this back around- something about no good deed going unpunished and all that other good stuff. Oblivion had made their statement, albeit not as anticipated initially… it was no surprise that Amber would catch a little of the shrapnel.
“What is this defense number---”
Mac started however Amber quickly stepped in to finish the thought with a nod of confirmation.
“Nine.”
She didn’t need to say more than that, this was the record tying match and even against a lowlife mange-ridden raccoon facsimile like Bea Barnhart, it was still to be considered a momentous occasion. One that had stuck in her mind since the idea that it might become a reality first flickered to life between some faulty synapses. All of a sudden, this shot in the dark had been forced into the spotlight- under the expectation that with every win, the pressure went up exponentially.
Nine defenses. What the fuck even was she doing…
It was supposed to make sense by now, surely.
By now even Amber had to admit it was a pretty incredible feat, as her own worst critic she knew she’d held onto it by her fingernails more times than she cared to admit openly- match after match scraping by as though it meant any less to still walk away with the title.
Many had told her that they’d be the one to remove it from her death grip, as though trying to take it from her cold, dead hands was a fucking insult or a challenge now… Rigor mortis had long since cinched in her hands on the belt and it’d take a fate far worse than death to release it from her now.
Challenger after challenger had sworn that they'd held the key, that they could untie this Gordian knot of a champion despite being presented with a blade sharp enough to tear it asunder. No, they wanted to do things the ‘right’ way, the honourable way as though the belt promised any semblance of that in return for an undying loyalty.
Amber was always the first person to tell anyone who dared ask that she wasn't the best wrestler, that being champion didn't change the person who you were coming into a reign- that you didn’t suddenly get better cause the belt was imbued with something unseen.
No, what won her the belt was the same thing that kept it in her death grip… and now it seemed to be one of the few things left holding her together as the stitches seemed to fall away under the simplest touch. Being champion kept her grounded, kept her focused instead of pinballing amid the cacophony of noise that seemed to permeate her every sense- heaven forbid the day she lost the title be the day that she finally succumbed to the grief, the regret and nightmares she could no longer swallow, that she’d locked away for a rainy day.
Another silence, deafening in it's acceptance as the norm. Cause this was love… right? Or at the very least, one of the many parts of being in love. Stilted and awkward, the conversation lapsed again although neither found much wherewithal or urgency to pick it up off the ground and dust it off to send on its merry way once again.
For now, it seemed they were perfectly content with lying to each other in blissful silence.
Of course, someone had once told them both, dressed in their white and charcoal best, that love was honest… that they should feel as though they could tell the other everything that bore down on their souls. That open and honest communication was the key to happiness- except that person no doubt didn’t care to listen for the rattle of bones buried beneath the piles of sentimental bullshit.
If love meant lying, meant making them think you were a different person… a better person… then Amber would have gleefully accepted being a liar over anything else- if only it meant that Mac might not look at her any other way than he did right now.
With an untold affection and unconditional adoration.
… Even though he knew, and deserved far better.
Fact was, love wasn’t really honest, not in the way it was foretold in wedded vows…
No, love was knowing that what you could say in truth would hurt them far worse than any of the secrets they thought you were keeping… and allowing them to believe it when you told them otherwise.
******
“I always find that generosity is taken the wrong way.
Particularly by those who don’t understand that the gesture is by all means good intentioned to start with. For example, I came out last Climax Control from the goodness deep down in my heart and I offer up this opportunity for any basement dweller or contented middle of the roader in the Bombshells division to step up and prove that- given the right moment- they can do better.
Now I’ll be honest, I was going to cut the line of contention off right above ‘scraping the bottom of the barrel’ but I quickly realized it might open me up to claims of discrimination against moronic, empty-headed bimbos who try to explain why everyoneis stupid when they themselves can’t win a fucking match.
It's a really specific niche, but I’m also a company girl at heart…
Many would stand to argue that this match is based purely out of pity and a bit of underlying sadism from our delightful bosses cause honestly, betting on a Bea Barnhart match should qualify as a symptom of schizophrenia. Oh, the voices made you do it? Well shit, sucks to be you then…
Others tend to believe that I’m somehow the problem like the fact Bea Barnhart is getting a World title match for being woefully useless isn’t automatically a red flag. Nope it's definitely me putting out a clearly defined challenge that half the intended audience needs a fucking dictonary and some parental supervision to understand…
It's astonishing really, when you think about it, with how little expectations I’m willing to put on you and you still manage to disappoint me before opening your fucking mouth. Wanna know why Bea?
Cause you’re predictable to the point it's actually painful to hear you speak, I can almost verbatim tell you all the ‘horrible’ things you’ll try to say about me when in fact all you’re doing is making a complete fool of yourself with how wrong you are.
I’m not pulling some Nostradamus bullshit though sweetheart, it's just, it happens to be literally the same absolute cack that you say to literally everyone else- like you aren’t their warm down confidence booster after a long few nights.
Seriously though, who the fuck needs a valium when you’re providing the same service for free.
Let's be real here, and this is life advice you might wanna start considering… The whole ‘you’re really dumb, and I’m smart’ argument you seem to make with everyone, including me… it only actually has merit when you successfully win matches. This isn’t comparing apples and oranges anymore Bea, this is comparing apples and fucking trash.
Hell, the last time we met- when you were so convinced you were going to beat me to get a shot at the belt I still happen to be holding- you were more concerned with my life choices and ability to take this title seriously and how little my IQ equated to like I wasn’t about to tear your arm off and thoroughly beat you to death with it.
Thing is Bea, I really do wanna like you… all that pugnaciousness, all that determination. I wanna wring it from your shitty little body, bottle it then sell it for a profit. I wanna see you do more than jump up and down on command cause your husband didn’t trip over his laces on the way to the ring…
I made the challenge because I wanted to raise everyone up around me, yet here I am feeling like I shouldn’t have to stoop so heavily just to punch this low...
When it comes down to it, this is SCW and I’ll be damned if I haven’t spent the last 8 months busting my ass at the top of the mountain just to look down and watch you stroll around pathetically as though your next match is gonna be your breakout moment… just like every other time before.
In the past 245 days I’ve made it my mission to restore some prestige to this title, to make it worth challenging for- and yet once again all you want to do is swing low, sweet chariot.
Lets face it Bea, you’re afraid to punch outside your pay grade despite the sheer amount of garbage you spew… or at the very least, you really should be. You should be terrified of what I could potentially do, how many ways I could legitimately end your career without even blinking…
You should reconsider every word you’ve ever spoken and decisions you’ve ever made irrationally in this business when you see my name…
You won’t, of course. But you should.
See, in the past 240 days Bea, I’ve made it a point to go out there and leave this company better off for having been there- even if it meant razing everything in my path. Time after time I have gone out there to the ring and fixed whatever damage you caused by alienating an audience looking for blood with comedy at you trying to be taken seriously…
To this day, I still walk out there with the belt on my shoulder making promises that only I seem to be able to keep.
That's the thing though, I didn’t just stumble into being World Champion. I didn’t just wake up one morning and find the belt on my side table, next to a couple of aspirin and a glass of water that actually turned out to be vodka cause drunk Amber is a fucking asshole.
It’s not some mistake of the universe, I didn’t just fluke my way through every defense against the biggest names this company has had to throw at me- and to even posture blindly otherwise just serves to discredit what little people were willing to give you to begin with.
Truth is Bea, and this is something I never expect you to understand- you sure as fuck can’t manage to successfully defend any title eight times if you’re an idiot.
That doesn’t exactly change when you get to nine either…
Of course, that's the magic number- isn’t it?
Alicia Lukas in her ‘reign of terror and domination’ did it nine times before succumbing to the pressures of the universe, see diamonds might be made under pressure but too much leaves even the hardest eventually in dust… it's not about being indestructible, it's about holding for as long as you can before you physically can’t hold on anymore.
This is the point, probably Bea, that you’d say that my time is coming now… that eight is a grand old number and that I’ve done little to warrant such achievement and celebration. Thankfully though, no one listens to a fucking word out of your mouth cause dumpster fires aren’t known to be fonts of wisdom and rationality.
No, I’ve worked too hard for too fucking long to allow you to come along like some fairytale bulllshit thinking that just cause you feel entitled by righteous indignance, that you get to simply swoop in and take the foundation of what I’ve built from under me.
If anything, I don’t need to dominate this match Bea, but I will. I don't need to go out and make some grand gesture or statement at your expense- but I will. I don’t need to put you on the shelf and destroy what little remains of a livelihood better left to rot- but I sure as fuck will if it gets my message heard.
Some lessons can only be learned the hard way, and you know what? Hubris isn’t even so bad after awhile, humility stings for awhile but I promise it’ll make the emotional wounds heal a little quicker.
You’ll be pissed. Bill will probably feel a certain way besides underwhelming- but I don’t expect you to understand, considering your career has been a testament to everything I’ve worked against as the World Bombshells Champion.
Fact is, I made the promise to set the bar higher in this division- and if it means cutting some of the dead weight, if it means trimming some of the gratuitous fat and gristle, if it means otherwise committing heinous acts of unspeakable violence between those ropes to ensure a better future for this division…
Well, you shouldn’t even need to ask anymore…
It’s ‘get better or get fucked’.
You had your chance to decide though, and now I’m coming to fix it.
Don’t worry though Bea, I’m merciful if nothing else… and you’ll live. You won’t have much of a career or quality of life, just plenty of time to miserably ruminate on how you ended up so far wrong- but you’ll be alive… I’ll let you live in spite of your crimes of mediocrity against this place.
...
Probably.
******
Bane House
Las Vegas, ND
25.11.2021
5:12am
Grief was situational.
Everyone seemed to swallow it differently, their ability to handle such things dependent on so many factors that there was no longer a default setting in the human mind to process such things. Amber, as with many things, had simply bottled it up inside as though it had no place running freely in her veins. A creeping numbness had become the norm, a slight haze falling over everything like walking through a constant dream state, only one that had an underlying sense of pessimism and loss.
Even now curled up on her favourite chair on the front porch with knees to her chest, shielding from the morning chill that seemed to permeate everything she touched, she couldn’t quite fathom how she missed it. God, in hindsight it almost seemed obvious…
Flicking through the pages, the information never seemed to change regardless how much she tried to imagine it did, that each re-read seemed to cut a little deeper than the last, fresh wounds now where old scars had laid dormant.
Cassidy had changed her name, mere months after coming to look for help… looking for her ‘big sister’ to do what she’d always promised she would. Amber had failed though, her burgeoning career taking a tunnel visioned priority when instead she should have… Yeah, she should have done something, anything, other than let her walk away alone that night.
Except she didn’t and now the consequences had been laid out in plainly typed black and white, the yellow sticky note betraying condolences she couldn’t help but feel were patronising at best and insincere at worst. She’d left those papers in Atlantic City though, unable to bear the weight of them in her duffel bag…
Vegas was for business, and such miseries had no place here.
Amber pulled her knees in a little tighter against the drifting breeze that rustled through, Mac was still asleep inside- no doubt soon he’d be up and about with the sun rise as though his body were attuned to such natural phenomena. More than ever, Amber had struggled with sleep… if she managed four hours in a night, it was to be considered a good day. If she didn’t sleep at all, she’d tell Mac that she’d just been preoccupied with work- with wrestling and being a world champion in an age where that was considered less of an honour and more of a job descriptor.
She couldn’t tell him all the ways she saw how she’d continually let people down everytime she closed her eyes, how his disappointment in her would always be underlying and intensely overwhelming. Still, it was Cassidy’s pleading eyes that always seemed to end her slumber- watching, waiting for Amber to do better and never finding the solace that should have followed.
Dominic Del Gado, of course, had been dodging her calls since they’d last spoken- as though it could even be described as a conversation. He’d known, he’d known since he’d resurfaced in Amber’s life over a year before and chose never to say a word- leaving Cassidy’s fate like an anvil of insurance above her head. Recoiling slightly, Amber shook the thought free. Word travelled fast, even without a syllable being spoken- and he’d have known, perhaps even before she did that the truth had come out, that should he pop his head out… she’d come to take it clean off.
Give it time, she contemplated, while trying to ignore the pressure building up in her knees and the cold that bit at her toes through her socks. A man like Dominic couldn’t fucking help himself, after all.
It wasn’t healthy, Amber knew, all this dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed. Chasing shadows as though they might lead to something tangible. Swallowing poison and misery didn’t somehow make you immune to it over time- however saying that you did it cause you liked the taste somehow made it more socially agreeable. She hadn’t bothered drinking to numb the pain, she’d spent enough time in a previous life drawing in the bottom of bottles searching for something real. Cigarettes did little to take the edge off and weren;t able to kill her nearly fast enough to be worthwhile… Drugs had never really been her scene, and anything fun left her fighting an allergic reaction. Therapy had been briefly an option, expressing everything in a controlled atmosphere only to be told she was crazy for far too much money an hour to justify the obvious.
No, instead she’d simply swallow it with a grin. Forcing a smile in the face of unnecessary cruelty became her choice of coping mechanism.
Cassidy had always said that she should smile more, after all.
A derivative of optimism and hope desperately trying to placate an all-consuming void. Be happy, then you won’t be so fucking sad. You know, as though that ever helped anyone not hate everything out of spite...
Yeah, just smile more Amber…
It doesn’t hurt quite that bad.
