"Forever and a day, my sweet Vista Alditora.”
His sweet words wrapped around me as we laid shoulder to shoulder underneath the fall moon; a tangy orange ball of rock sitting high and mighty in the sky. It would seem to most that his actions and words were somewhat corny…and I’d agree. But they were the last words I remember chiming from between his sweet lips…
I remember it all. The recollection to stay fresh in my memory for eternity. I had spent months away from my newly crowned fiancé, Bronte Alidtora, in Rome to try and find my roots and come to peace with my life. But today…was my last day. I said goodbye to a friend I had made in a small village town outside of Rome. Reese. An Italian American who moved to Italy twelve years ago with the same intentions as mine. Though her plan originally was to only stay for two years, she had fallen in love with the culture and overall, the city itself. I must admit, the city and my stay in Rome captured my heart, soul, mind, and body…but my love strung across the ocean and I couldn’t bare to stay any longer away from him. Reese had dropped me off at the airport where I was almost late to my flight trying to battle my way through the thick crowd. The plane was a bit small and packed full of bodies of all colors. I shifted my long hair to one side, getting comfortable in my cramped window seat where two large men sat side by side, arguing in Italian about who knows what. With a small lick to my lips, I shoved the buds to my headphones into my ears, switching on my ipod and cranking it up. I never really heeded to the warning to turn all electronics off for takeoff. If the computers and their signals fucked up; oh well…just as long as we land somewhere close to Arizona, I’ll be satisfied. I relaxed the seat a bit before feeling two strong hits to the back of the seat. I turned to look over my shoulder only to face an old lady who shot me a glare that burned through my skin. I nodded and threw my hand up in an apologetic manner and in turn, lifted my seat forward a bit. I wasn’t completely comfortable, but how could you be with such tight spaces? Looking out the window, I drifted off; daydreaming as I watched the runway slowly disappear. I felt eased immediately; taking myself back to small glimpses of Bronte and I, laughing and smiling, simply enjoying each other’s company. He was the first man that ever made me feel so…comfortable…with just being myself. I could stand in the mirror with no makeup on and bags underneath my eyes from long nights of studying the Italian language and he’d still pull me away and onto the bed, telling me how beautiful I was, how blessed he is to have finally met his true fate. He’d twist his engagement ring he had bought me from his hard earned money, around and around on my finger, not saying a word but looking at me with a smile. Even when I wasn’t looking back at him…or aware of his presences, he’d always just…stare happily. I knew he was beyond blissful which made me feel complete with myself. I never fully understood the satisfaction you could receive from anything or anyone whom you made so joyful. I never fully understood the impact it could have, seeing that someone hardly ever frown around you. Sure, we had our small arguments, but we’d always find a middle ground. Sorry wasn’t in our vocabulary since we let our actions do the talking for us. No, not make up sex. Though that was sometimes the case, we would much rather let time pass then bring up the silly and useless word. I had only about three more hours to go till I was safely back home, in the warm arms of my fiancé. I suddenly felt a strong vibration against my butt and the seat. Someone’s actually texting me? Shocker. I leaned over a bit, pulling it out of my back pocket and gazed at the screen.
Bronte Altidora V, you’re just about home and I can’t wait till I’m able to see you again. My smile has been lost since you’ve been gone though I’m sure tonight, after I get off of work, I’ll finally have a reason to smile again. With this said, I won’t be able to pick you up from the airport. I’ve asked Cynthia to come pick you up, instead. She should already be there at the airport to meet you. I want to hear all about your time in Italy; I’ll bring home some of your favorite treats and we’ll have story time in front of the fire like we used to. Sound good? I miss you, mi amor, and will see you around midnight. I love you and be safe..
I didn’t bother to send a text back; I was overwhelmed with joy and looked like a damn fool with a smile spread like butter across my face. The man directly next to me was sound asleep, leaning towards me as if he may find a sweet spot upon my shoulder to rest his head on in a matter of minutes. My ipod had died hours ago, so I had found myself bored with nothing else to stimulate my mind but possibly a nap. And that sounded like a plan. I slowly drifted off to sleep, twisting my engagement ring slowly, exposing a bit of the tattoo I had gotten around my finger that symbolized the ring. I was clumsy and knew that there was a high possibility of me losing the ring, so while in Italy, I went out and got it tattooed on my skin permanently. I couldn’t wait to show Bronte. Home was calling my name…or more so screaming it, at this point.
Cynthia was a wild child and I swore she had A.D.D-always hyper and on a sugar rush without any sugar in sight. I had left the plane, gotten my bags and before I was even down the escalators, she attempted to bombard me, as well as others may I add, by trying to make her way up the down going escalators. I shook my head and laughed softly. She was a trip in itself. My drive back to my adobe house felt like I was sometime of wise man, sharing his wisdom with a small child who asked too many questions. I didn’t mind the questions…just the silly, broad ones like, “How was it? Were the people nice?” Since she wanted to know more, we ended up back at her place and shared glasses of wine till about one thirty in the morning. I hadn’t heard from Bronte, which is strange since I wasn’t home to greet him from work. But I figured since he worked such a long shift and overtime, he probably fell asleep on the couch or something. I felt bad, though, knowing he was most likely trying to stay up to wait on me, so I said my goodbyes to Cynthia who was still asking question upon question about my trip as I made my way out the door. It wasn’t a long walk back home and since Cynthia told me I could keep my baggage there until later on, I didn’t have to worry about dragging tons of luggage down the street. I messaged Bronte, telling him I was on my way back home, and hoped that the vibration of his phone would be enough to wake up him. Though with no response, I knew now that he was in deep sleep. Poor man; overworked and worn out. I grasped the handle to the front door to my lovely home. But for some reason, the handle was loose, as if someone had entered and didn’t shut the door all the way. ‘Maybe Bronte was so damn tired, he thought he closed the door all the way but didn’t.’ I simply shrugged it off, entering and setting the small items that I did take with me, down onto the small end table I had set up next to the entrance. While slipping my boots off, a disgusting odor flung straight at me. So strong, I gasped for clean, fresh air; holding my hand slightly against my mouth as I traced the smell to its destination. I entered the hallway and immediately felt something wet upon the balls of my feet. My eyebrows clenched together as I lifted my right foot to examine the bottom. A crimson hued liquid had smeared itself against my skin. Blood. My panic sensors were set off; someone was in this house that wasn’t supposed to be. My first instinct, though, was to find Bronte.
“Bronte? Babe? …What’s going on?”
No response. As I rounded the corner, I stumbled carelessly over the small step leading into the dining room. The odor was so strong; it was almost as if I was standing right…
And that’s when I looked up. Hanging from one of the beams above the middle of the staircase was Bronte. Or what was left of Bronte. His body was burnt to a crisp black, a rope tied tight around his neck…
...
I woke up to a cold sweat; one that I haven’t felt for years. The sweat on my face, however, wasn’t perspiration at all but more of something I haven’t felt for eternity…tears. A slow grumble arose from between my lips; even I hated seeing myself so weak. But I suppose there was a true purpose to these tears. Even through the deception Bronte put me through, he strung me out so far that I felt as if I was in deep love. Never once did I have suspicions on him cheating on me with our next door neighbor; he had always been the type to walk everywhere and the woman never came outside or acted any differently with me whenever we spoke. Such a shame. I gave him the world and it took it all for granted. Where did it all go wrong? I’ll never know. I wasn’t a burden; I never hounded him to do something, or asked where and why he was going someplace. I never blew up his phone when he wasn’t back at the time he said he would be. But he too never gave me any worries on him cheating. It wasn’t as if he was out until the crack ass of dawn…so what was I to worry about? I was always taught to be mindful of things; he was a hard business man. Running two restaurant of his own and sponsoring a local basketball team…he was busy; work never ceased his mind, day or night. And I was okay with that, even if it meant I saw him less then when we first started seeing each other. Though the more I think about it…yeah…the more I think about it now, I may have pin pointed the turning point. We had tried for several months to conceive but to no avail and it was become a huge weight on my shoulders. I wanted a kid desperately. We went through doctor after doctor and no one could tell us what was happening; why I couldn’t conceive. Bronte and I contemplated day in and day out for months whether or not we should partake in fertility treatments. Though we never got the chance to decide before he was murdered. My depression and stress rung loudly throughout those months and I think that drove him to the brink of not wanting to deal with me anymore and have an affair. On top of that, my past had came and bit me in the ass; old warrants had been brought back up, old addictions as well. It’s cool; though I miss him dearly, I suppose karma caught up with him and burned him…pun intended. However I will never understand why She let the system take me in and force blame on me. His body was burnt, no evidence left, and his mistress pled not guilty. They put me under a lie detectors test and a few questions came out as deceptive; leading the panel to call guilt under my name. Was I lying? Of course not. At the time, I had no reason to kill my fiancé. This whole sob story is nothing but shame. But it gives me more of a reason and more fuel than anyone in this contenders match…to win. Everyone has their horrid stories of their past, sure. Redemption has yet to come knocking at my door as it has others. Nevertheless, I feel a change in the air, a rightful honor belonging to me…finally able to be at peace with myself and know my place. Yeah, it’s about that time…
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Memoir Entry One
Debut match was beautiful. The result; grand. The match itself played out extremely well. Coming into this federation I figured it’d be the same; everyone would hate me and confess week by week on how much hatred they had towards me and how they’re going to prove that I’m worth nothing, yada, yada, yada. But this girl, this Brooklyn girl, she’s much different. She has respect that’s only given to those who are worth it. Such as myself. It’s a beautiful thing to see her speak, tweet, let alone compete in that ring. She put up a hell of a fight and for that, I commend her even more. Respect for individuals like B and I aren’t just handed out. We have little fucks to give and I think that’s why I’m so attracted, if you would say, to this female. Not in a sexual way but more so curiosity to see what she’d do next. Because honestly, I really have no time for these wanna be hardcore fuckers here in this industry or even SCW itself. Walking around with their nose in the air like they have no fucks to give when their bags are full of them and they enjoy every ounce of spotlight they can steal from true dedicated workers. If there was a handout, they’d all battle for the first spot. Hell, Brooklyn first gave me that impression when I signed the dotted line with SCW. But it’s no big deal; they’ll all have their final day some time down the road and it’s those who have put in pure blood, sweat, and tears that will rise above it all. The underdogs. A handout? I’d break your wrist. Those who mingle in the background, hunting their pray from the shadows, and laughing at all the ignorant things they see from those who bask in the spotlight; we’re the ultimate conquerors. I’d love to eat my words but I highly doubt I’ll be seeing that anytime soon.
This week will be much more successful. I don’t know much about the majority of my opponents, though. They’re probably all burnt waffle eating whores anyway. Le shrug. The gold is moaning my name.
Till next time, self.
