“Anytime I fall for a dame like you I hope that somebody will take me outside an' cut my head off quick because I would rather be tied up to a coupla wild alligators than get myself hitched on to you.”
― Peter Cheyney, Your Deal, My Lovely
Undisclosed Motel
Somewhere in Georgia
18.12.2005
10:03pm
Another fight.
They’d become far too common recently and even with the chill of Christmas dusting snow lightly across the gravel and the faint illuminations of gaudy Christmas decorations in the reception window weren’t enough to lighten the mood.
Most carnivals stopped before the holidays citing a need for family and rest, however Grizz- as with most things of this nature- saw it as an opportunity to go begging. Many of the crew kept their families on the road with them, those that didn’t either had none to speak of or had become estranged and the subtle cruelties of Christmas only salted those wounds further.
As such the schedule had ramped up, the travel albeit not as extensive had become far more common- a night anywhere and then gone by noon the next day. After all, novelty created demand and it turned out that even just throwing some cheap Santa hats on grumpy carnies seemed to do wonders for the holiday cheer- the tightness of pockets easing a little in the name of amusement.
Poorly placed mistletoes and some frayed tinsel wreath on the door didn’t slow down Cassidy Parker as she stormed in the motel door, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her eyes seething and watery with indignance. She’d tried to slam the door in her wake, only for it to be caught by an equally flustered and faintly snow dusted redhead, Amber managing to catch the door before she had to try and casually explain away another broken nose to some wary nurses.
Another fight in as many days. Christmas was on the horizon and yet the pair of siblings- by everything but blood- once again seemed to stand at an impasse.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!?”
To that, Amber could have thought of a thousand answers although none of them seemed appropriate- most of them off-handed and smart ass in nature which she was sure only served to fuel the younger girls angst ridden rage further. Stopping, with the door still firmly in hand, Amber watched as Cassidy paced in frustration as though unable to further articulate without a prompt.
“You know, I keep asking myself the same thing.”
Wrong answer.
Amber knew it long before the fourteen year old closed the distance, and even well before a hard slap crossed her face. The crack of sound caught Amber more off guard than the shot did, her cold skin amplifying what had amounted to little more than an insult and yet, if she weren’t momentarily stunned by the searing jolt through her cheekbone and the physical turn things had abruptly taken- she might have been proud of Cassidy.
“You know, you really should be thanking me instead of, well instead of this…”
It was difficult to not return fire, to not allow things to devolve. Cassidy might have been brazen, but she was also fourteen… She hadn’t taken a day in her life of training in any martial discipline despite her fathers background in pro-wrestling, hell Amber had barely ever seen her get physical with anyone- even the weird creeps who thought carny girls were just… well.
No, Cassidy Parker was a pacifist by nature. A pacifist with a damn good slap.
She’d never stand a chance against Amber.
And both of them knew it.
“Thanking you?! You broke his cheekbone--”
“Allegedly”
“-- and three of his fingers”
“Okay that I’ll admit to.”
“I might not get to see him before Christmas now!”
There was a whine in her voice that struck home, like flicking a switch in the redheads brain. She shook her head vehemently as though realizing the trap she was walking into only after the snare had wrapped around her ankle.
“... I don't see the issue.”
Him. He was the one they’d always seemed to argue about these days, the only reason in the past four years that they’d butted heads over something that couldn’t be settled with a good nights sleep and a half-hearted apology insisting the other was still wrong. Brendan ‘Sticky Fingers’ Griffiths. ‘Sticky’ for short- by name and nature it seemed and Cassidy had found herself hopelessly entangled in this cycle of outwardly misogynistic attitudes and less than subtle hints at a desire to ‘open’ their relationship, she’d of course decline and he’d claim to respect her decision right before finding said fingers in any honeypot that might offer itself to his ‘charms’ without any clue how they might have gotten there. A fight and a break up. Cassidy would swear off his bullshit and Amber would do her best to believe, right up until he'd come around with crude and rudimentary attempts to win her back as though it took more than a ‘I love you’ to get her wrapped around his finger once more.
As far as Amber was concerned- he was lucky to be breathing. Yet somehow in spite of it all, she was the one who ended up with the lecture…
“You don’t understaaaannnnnnd”
Amber murmured something under her breath expectantly as though a script were being followed, trying to distract herself with the seventies wallpaper stained with cigarette smoke in a non-smoking room. She’d almost forgotten to close the door as she realized her fingers were numb and flushed white with the cold, dutifully doing so as though the next three rooms weren’t already privy to the argument.
“... Bambi, I loooooovvvveeeee him”
There it was, the age old nickname pulled out in desperation for approval and sympathy. Anger hadn't done anything to sway the older girl, now the sympathy ‘woe is me’ card was on the table and Amber found herself less than impressed.
“Yeah, just like every other time before right?”
Dropping down onto the bed with a heavy sigh, Amber ignored the less than even spring of the coils in the mattress and the stray one she was sure was trying to poke into the back of her thigh.
“How can I possibly understand what an absolute dirt bag he is when I’ve only seen him trying to suck another chick's tonsils out 15 times and stick his fingers somewhere they absolutely shouldn't be going in public. I mean honestly Cass, what did you want me to do- give him a pat on the back and congratulate him on the improvement of his technique?”
There had been plenty of other ways to deal with it, no doubt. Violence was never supposed to be the first point of call- but when she’d seen his hand start creeping down her…Amber shook her head, she didn’t need Cass knowing all the gory details. Save her at least a little bit of the humiliation she was sure lay somewhere underneath the layers of disgust, betrayal and heartbreak that would soon surface.
In the morning, they’d likely joke about what a good job Amber did and how stupid he looked in the moment- like this argument had never happened.
“How can you possibly understand what it's like to love someone.”
Cassidy’s tone was cold, even more so than the breeze that slipped through the closed window and beneath the door, deliberately venomous with the intention to hurt.
“Now, that’s not fair--”
“No, what’s not fair is that you have to insist that everyone is as fucking miserable as you are!”
There was the rage again, tears were streaming hard and fast now down the younger girls otherwise pretty features. Sobs wracking between attempts to demoralize and deride, her fists so tightly clenched it was as though she’d taken everything she had and balled them into her small fists as though prepared for a throwdown that wouldn’t happen. She could hit Amber a hundred times, and the redhead would never raise a hand… Not against Cass.
“You know what- I bet that's it's not even that you don’t want to…”
“Cass… Please.”
“It's that you can’t. You couldn’t love anyone, even if you tried…”
With that, as Amber sat shell shocked on the edge of a mattress that listed slightly to the right, Cassidy stormed into the dingy bathroom and slammed the door with all the might she could muster before the sound of her heartbroken sobbing seemed to echo loudly once more.
Those words delicately balancing on the edge of her mind- Amber knew that Cassidy didn’t mean it, hell she might not even remember saying it in a couple hours after she cried herself to sleep, but somehow… as Amber buried her face in her hands resignedly… it didn’t make it feel any less true.
******
“I’ve been told more than once in my life that I’m hard to love.
It's not like it's news or anything, I’ve never exactly made it easy on anyone who found themselves caring more than they should have- and I won’t deny that I find it hard to relate to most people.
Maybe it's the way I view the world, my acerbic personality and general reluctance to relate on any terms that aren’t my own- you can ask anyone who has spent any kind of time around me.
I’m really tough to be around.
This is the point where I get told that I need to try harder, you know?
Make more friends, it's not so hard.
Smile more, it won’t kill you.
Don’t be so aggressive all the time, not everyone is out to get you.
You just need to put yourself out there more.
Don’t be such an asshole.
Don’t be such a miserable bitch.
Do anything, but be yourself- cause no one likes you when you’re you.
Hell maybe if I did half those things, I wouldn’t be hearing in the show previews that how I prefer being lonely at the top of the mountain. How I wouldn't have it any other way- I mean, it isn't wrong cause no one can stab you in the back if they aren't already behind you… but man, it hit home more than just a little and got me thinking.
What if?
What if I had done everything differently.
It's no secret I have a reputation for basically being a piece of shit, but what if I wasn’t- what if I was more like Roxi Johnson and basically everyone she encounters immediately getting added to the BFF list, or Christina with her paid posse of disingenuous sycophants or even like Alicia backed by the ever growing army that is Wolfslair…
Could I still have gotten to where I am, could I have been even marginally liked and been successful- could I have looked myself in the mirror and told myself that I wasn’t pretending to be someone else for the sake of popularity and filling a void I’d happily left gaping between my ribs.
And if I’m honest- I’m not sure.
I like to think there's a reason the top of the mountain is for the few- it's never because you don’t want everyone there with you, that those around you don’t deserve to be recognized and elevated for their own achievements.
I’m gonna sound like an asshole when I say this, but in honestly Jessie I’m not gonna expect you to understand, not everyone deserves to be champion. Not everyone should get a shot to hold the belt, to stand as a symbol of excellence and set a standard for everyone else to try and follow.
How would you expect the Bombshells to be recognized if fucking Apple Coren got a run with the belt just cause she’s been around for awhile, theres a reason for hierarchy and it's not just so people can chase another ‘conquest’ in the Grand Slam.
Fact is, last Climax Control I went out there and I laid it all on the line- maybe I rustled a few feathers, maybe no one gave a fuck. I stood out there and told everyone the way things are going to be- the way things should have been all along.
A return to form if you will cause with diminishing quality comes disinterest. There should be a line out the door of women who want to join this division, to fight for the belt that I wear proudly on my shoulder and instead it gets a solid ‘eh’ or a vague shrug.
No one is ever going to want this title if the title doesn’t have the respect of those who fight for it- it's within our best interest that the best holds the belt.
Maybe the argument can be made that I'm not in fact ‘the best’ and I’ll be first in line to argue that maybe I’m not... but I’m the best right now- I’m the best person who challenged for this title, who has wanted- nah, NEEDED to be champion, the best person who came along and decided that this fucking company deserved better.
So maybe I’m not the best- but you know what? I plan on fighting like I am until someone comes along and proves otherwise.
Now you’re coming along, the first of many I’m sure, determined to ‘earn’ your spot and force me to look at you as though you’re a real contender.
Tell me though Jessie, sweet vanilla girl, do you think you can beat me- I mean honestly. Not the bullshit you spew on camera cause you need to sound like a badass stepping up to the plate- but deep down inside you at this moment, or the moment you walk into the backstage with a spring in your step, or the moment before you walk out from behind the curtain with your hopes and dreams woven onto your sleeves.
Do you, right here and right now, think you can beat me…
I’ll be honest, and I say this purely out of respect although I have no doubt you’ll take great offence, but I don’t think you can.
Unfortunately for you, it's not something you can fix or change in the span of a couple of days, it's got little to nothing to do with your talent and you’ve come to prove yourself more capable than most gave you credit for… it's just…
Jessie, you just… you care way too much.
I’ll admit though I admire your empathy and the way you so easily connect with so many people- but you invest in them quickly and deeply, your focus far more focused on whether they like you than where your next title shots are coming from.
You have a prime opportunity and instead you’re chasing the nostalgia hit from a tag match on a milestone show yet to come- I get it though, it's probably real easy for you to shrug off the idea of a shot at me. Maybe it's ‘not in your current sights’ or you’re ‘working towards it’ but you spread yourself way too thin… Trying so badly to be admired and appreciated, you seem to forget that the only way to secure that in this industry is by cracking skulls, not fucking kissing them.
All this time, all you’ve wanted to do is prove everyone wrong- yet when the opportunity arises… where are you?
Match after match, you get a chance. Don’t think I forgot about that little gifted title shot you got cause you exceeded expectations- the chance you were handed on a silver platter against Christina when she was too busy focusing on how to be an absolute cunt instead of the goddamn champion.
A chance that arguably you shouldn't have gotten- especially ahead of me.
I get it though, my shot was for the Supercard, for Blaze Of Glory- but the singular idea that somewhere along the way, after all the shit she tried to stir, that she might have lost that fucking title twice…
Yeah, okay. Maybe I’m a little fucking bitter.
A little old school if you will…
I believe that a champion and their contender fight for the title, if you earn your shot then you’re next… None of this ‘hey, you did a thing… have a title shot’ bullshit.
Oh yeah, you did good… but one good thing in a sea of disappointments doesn’t necessitate an opportunity and yet once again- here we find ourselves in a similar situation and believe me Jessie, if the title was on the line I’d not be extending you nearly as many courtesies.
You’d be dead four times before I ever laid a fucking hand on you.
Here’s the thing… and I don’t expect you to understand cause you don’t quite have the experience to speak from…
Until you’ve taken someone you love and respect- and you’ve pushed them back down the mountain for the sake of your own legacy. Until you’ve sacrificed everything about yourself that you always believed you’d never falter on, for the chance to be champion a day longer. Until you’ve done horrendous things to people who didn’t deserve them and worse to those who did- just for some leather and metal etched with your name and soaked with your blood.
Until you’ve become everything you hate, and embraced it for the sake of something better than you…
You won’t beat me."
******
The Bane Property
Outside Las Vegas, ND
13.04.2021
5:37pm
Adrenaline. Serotonin. Dopamine.
God, Amber hadn’t felt this fucking exhilarated in a long time.
Perhaps some of it could be attributed to the way she raced the old dirt bike between the gnarled and sun worn tree trunks as they bristled in the afternoon breeze, their leaves fluttering to the ground in a carpet of oranges and browns that obscured the dirt track. Maybe it was the glowing sun on her back, trying to make the most of the little free time she’d found between winning titles in two companies and planning a wedding.
Four days.
My, how time had flown.
Or perhaps, it's simply because she’d deliberately left her helmet back at the house.
Thin branches reached out and snapped against her, scraping down the edges of the dirt bikes already faded and scratched paint work. A bandana wrapped around the bottom of her face did just enough to stop the excess of sand and dust from caking in the back of her throat and her sunglasses did just enough to slow down the watering of her eyes from the wind and kicked up detritus.
She knew the old barn was little more than half a mile from the house, but instead she’d taken the longest possible route- circling the wooden structure more than once while allowing the wind to whip through her open jacket as she slipped between a pair of trees reaching out for the others embrace.
To think, in four days, she’d be getting married here.
Rattling over some rough ground, Amber was quickly reminded that the suspensions best days were long behind it and the handling was a little less sensitive than she previously and inaccurately recalled- and yet still, it turned over first time every time, even in spite of an engine rattle that for the life of her she couldn't quite diagnose.
Admittedly, as much as she loved this old thing, it wasn't nearly the same as her Hayabusa.
Swallowing hard, Amber slowed the dirtbike to a halt as the brushed past some low hanging branches as the looming structure of the barn dominated the clearing. It's rough exterior was weather beaten fromMother Nature's year round glare and yet still held a certain old world charm, the shock of oranges sprinkled with yellows and reds of surrounding trees combined with a growing chill in the breeze made this little corner of her world feel so secluded, feel like it was somewhere else…
Somewhere that was… hers.
That felt weird to say, at least to herself. Pulling her bandana down around her neck, Amber pulled her sunglasses atop her the shock of crimson she’d pulled into a messy bun- a faint ring of dust imprinted on her skin around where her sunglasses and bandana had shielded. Heavy riding boots crunched across the fallen leaves as she slowly made her way towards the barn, the door left ajar from all the recent coming and going that came with preparing for something so… momentous.
Somehow it still hadn’t quite sunk in yet, everything so surface level still like it wasn’t real. Yet it was, it absolutely was- just as the two title belts sitting on the kitchen counter back at the house.
A couple of weeks earlier, she’d become Uprising Tag team champion with Mac under the combined pseudonym Oblivion- and then less than two weeks ago… the ultimate goal.
SCW Bombshells Champion. Less than a year from first blood to finale.
Everything she’d worked for since walking through the SCW doors, every moment of ridicule and derision she’d brought upon herself with every unpopular decision she’d made. Every drop of sweat soaked into a canvas and blood splattered for a rival's revenge at being slighted- it had finally meant something, been quantified and justified, everything she'd done had gone towards this and now… Well, now was the hard part.
It was one thing to win a title, it was always another to keep it.
Slightly musty, a few faint streaks of light crept through the roof and illuminated spots on the dusty wooden floor, creaking slightly beneath her boots.
In about four days time, this place would be filled with a small crowd of their favourite faces- all of them seeking the fulfillment of love, the beginning of a new journey that all of them had been invested in perhaps before even Amber and Mac themselves had quite realized. In five, she’d be squaring up in her first match since winning the title- and against the same person she had her first SCW match against.
Amber breathed deep, adjusting her jacket against the breeze that crept through the building- she knew no one else would be here and yet she felt the weight, the presence that all of them were already watching on her back.
Although she couldn’t quite determine if the wedding or the match made her more nervous.
“I came up here just the other day.”
She hadn’t heard Mac enter, her own distance from reality seemingly deafening.
“Thought it might- I dunno- make things feel more real.”
His arms snaked around her waist as he leaned over her slightly, the height deficit still leaving him towering over as her hands traced over the back of his softly.
“You aren’t having second thoughts are you- cause if you are… well, now is probably the time to run.”
She intended her tone as joking, but couldn’t hide the very real concern that she’d held all along- that he deserved better, that one day he’d realize and that he’d one day walk out the door, that she’d never be able to live up to--
“Not a chance. You?”
Mac’s voice didn’t share the same tone of concern- somehow every syllable made her feel warm from the inside out, his confidence radiating through them both and filling the expanse with ease. She’d always wished she could share in it, somehow believe in hers enough that it might one day resemble the same- that day would be a long way off, and in the meantime she found herself more than content to bathe in the glow of her soon-to be husbands.
“Oddly enough, I’m far more nervous about a match I’ve already won before than I am about this.”
Mac peeked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow and small smile that made her heart swell inside her chest.
“Not sure if I should be offended that you’re more concerned about work, or pleased that you’re not considering leaving me standing up there like an asshole.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna leave you standing there- girls gotta make an entrance and all that.”
Deflecting, she slipped from his grip- wandering slowly further down the middle where the fated aisle would run. She grazed her fingers across each chair, the ones soon to be occupied by their friends and family alike- she could already see their smiles, the glint in their eyes and the way their smiles seemed to reach deep between their ribs.
“... the match, you’re worried about--”
“Don’t say it out loud.”
“Why?”
“Cause I feel like it sounds real stupid and superstitious.”
Mac paused thoughtfully, dropping into one of the seats and ignoring the faint cloud of dust that rose from the sudden movement. As the chair scraped across the floor noisily under his size, he beckoned her back closer with arms outstretched and hands waiting for their smaller counterparts.
“I mean it does, I won’t deny that--”
“You’re not supposed to agree with me.”
Mac chuckled as their hands embraced, hers almost lost amid his. Safe and secure in his grasp.
“I feel like I should have gotten a recording of that. Might come in handy…”
Amber pouted slightly, knowing she was being openly mocked for something even she knew was absurd.
“I’m serious Mac.”
“So am I, and I also think it's ridiculous.”
Mac pulled her closer as she reluctantly moved in. He was right, as per usual, though she dared not admit that for fear he would actually record it- she was being over superstitious and completely out of her mind. Her title history, for those willing to dig, would have noticed a distinct pattern- that of her five world titles, SCW Bombshells included in that total, only one had ever been successfully defended, and all of those matches had been her first following the title victory.
Superstition, perhaps. Coincidence, probably. Unnerving for a new champion- without a doubt.
Every title win came with this little voice in the back of her head- after all, in a little over 15 years she’d only been a world champion five times. Five titles in probably eight or nine opportunities total- her paths had always been long and winding, everyone reluctant to let her get near the gold for fear she might actually win.
Only to win and either lose in the first defense or the company to shut down days after- only one had been defended successfully and it was by the skin of her teeth, only to be lost in the defense that followed. Maybe she wasn’t normally the superstitious type- but a match following a title win always seemed to have her a little more than just rattled.
“I mean, you said it yourself- you’ve won this same match before.”
“... and this time is different.”
“Why- cause they know you now?
You aren’t just some reputation on legs forcing everyone to wake up and realize that shit just got real anymore sweetheart… You’re a force of nature. My force of nature.”
Amber scoffed slightly, cocking an eyebrow at the level of persuasion coming into play.
“I’m a fucking jinx Mac. Maybe it's karma or some bad juju but I dunno, until I get this match out of my system I feel like I’m not gonna be able to sit still.”
With a cocky smile, the kind that she’d fallen in love with a hundred times over, Mac pulled her in and interlocked his hands at the small of her back.
“Well, it's a good thing we’re gonna be standing then.”
Shaking her head, Amber settled slightly under Mac’s grip, trying to shake off the doubt that seemed to settle in her pores amid the dust and autumnal chill.
“God, you’re such an ass sometimes.”
Planting a momentary kiss, Amber touched her nose against Mac’s as their eyes met like raging infernos coming together in a drought ridden grassland, she allowed herself a whisper tinged with sarcasm, a small chuckle and the faint scent of cinnamon.
“... and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
******
“A year tends to be a really long time in our industry.
There are whole careers that span less time than that, promise fulfilled and potential lost within months- I mean how many people have you seen come through these doors full of piss and vinegar with the intention of setting the world in fire only to fizzle out when they realized there was no cake walk to be had. That they actually had to WORK to be successful here.
Needless to say, it feels strange that it's nearly been a year since we faced off- since a very infamous promo where you spent no less than half an hour screaming obscenities cause I unearthed this strange vendetta you have against ice-cream.
Yeah, I remember it well.
I also remember how the match went.
I’m not gonna be an arrogant bitch though and try to tell you that things will be exactly the same second time around- I’m aware enough of the passage of time and not nearly full enough of myself to expect a repeat that follows the script so carefully laid out before us. If I’m honest I’ve never much been one for following directions at all…
I know as well as you do Jessie, that we aren’t necessarily the same people who squared up with the unknown stretching covering the distance between us. We aren’t carbon copies of the past trying to correct our mistakes and change an already written destiny…
Things changed.
People changed.
I rose to the top of the mountain, and you… well, at least you won some matches.
I promise you that I’m not trying to undermine your successes, but the way you speak about them gives them the sense of far more grandeur than what I feel as though they are actually due. You said it yourself on Climax Control- that you haven’t just beaten the likes of Apple Coren or Twisted Sister, that you’ve been beating a higher level of opponents at Supercards.
I mean, admirable and congrats sure… You can’t hear my applause of course cause that would just fuck with the audio so maybe I’ll wait till we’re in person and I’ll even slow the clap down just so you can keep up.
Y0u went through a list naming names like some goddamn campaign of war victories- but I took a second look at those names, without the benefit of your enthusiasm to make everything sound bigger and badder than it already was and I gotta say… I’m a little more underwhelmed than I expected.
Allow me to explain- if you’re gonna talk about who you’ve beaten, maybe starting by saying you’ve done better than the literal worst is a bad choice, although for you there really isn't any other choice considering most of those names are basically just a step higher than the bottom.
First up is Maki, don't get me wrong I think she’s great and she’s finally started really finding her feet around here- but when you faced her, she was still a little… lost. Couldn’t quite start stringing wins together, crazy undead girl was dropping more matches than she could feasible hold onto- so while beating her might have been impressive for now, back then it was barely an upset.
Violet Amelia Holt- I mean honestly. Quite literally a step off the bottom and that's only because the bottom of the barrel is already fucking occupied.
Now here's where things get interesting though, right?
Evie fucking Jordan.
Now if that isn’t a trophy to take, then I don’t know what it… just a real shame she was already halfway out the door when it happened. Maybe she lost physically that night, but mentally I don’t even think she showed up to the building so I guess that's congratulations for scraping by the husk of one of the best?
I dunno, maybe if she ever comes back we can see how that match would have gone if she actually had a shred of her heart in it…
Finally… Char Kwan. Yeah, her… You know, the uh… Hmmmmm. We’re back in hovering over absolute zero, aren’t we?
Another case of this shouldn't be an upset and yet we’re gonna frame it like it is- get all the mileage you can from this one Jessie cause there isn’t much gas left in that tank.
Here’s the thing, you beat them all on Supercards but… well, what about all those shows in between. Funny how that doesn't get brought up, how you went to try swing at Christina cause everyone just wanted to see what would happen.
Tell me though, did you lose cause she was even remotely better or because you knew if you won you’d have me breathing down your neck?
Actually, don’t answer that.
Let me break this down for you Jessie- you can’t possibly expect to come out on a show talking up a storm and not expect someone to come along and basically pick everything you say apart when it's proven to be little more than bluster and bullshit.
If you wanna talk up wins and losses, maybe start winning more than you lose. Superards are a great showcase but if you can’t rack up wins week in and week out, how are you ever going to expect someone like me to take you seriously?
Don’t get me wrong darl, you’ve come a damn long way in a year.
… But you’re punching well above your arms reach while talking like you took a swing at fucking God himself and didn’t get smited for the sheer indignance of it.
In the space of just under a year Jessie I have won three times as many matches as I’ve lost- I beat Roxi Johnson twice, I beat Seleana Zdunich twice, I beat Christina Rose when she threw her whole fucking universe and everyone in it at me- most importantly sweetheart, I made a promise that I’d come in and I’d become champion.
I might not be well liked, but you damn sure know I’ve earned most of the respect I’m given and all of it I’ve not. I’m not greatly admired but everyone knows that I’m not here to fuck around either- you had a chance before Jessie and you squandered it when it shouldn't have been yours.
Now, opportunity presents itself again but this time I’ve got some advice… Don’t show up. Take this as one of those signs from the universe, a glowing neon billboard saying to save your breath cause this isn’t your fight…
You’re looking for your chance in all the wrong places, and if you stick your hand down enough dark holes then eventually someones going to bite it off- and you’re going to stand there fucking bewildered wondering how it happened.
Do yourself a favour, keep focusing on that big Climax Control 300 match with Team Hero. That big reunion of Metal and Punk should mean something- at least to you guys- so just keep your eyes on that prize cause that one isn’t gonna leave a mark.
Pick your goddamn battles, just stay in your lane Jessie and punch within your reach instead of falling out of your spot just for a wild swing at the clouds- and maybe then if you stop taking for granted that opportunities seem to keep presenting themselves to you then perhaps you’ll finally understand what it takes to be champion.
To be… well, me.
Granted you’ll still be the Dollar Store version of the worst angel equivalent in wrestling- but at least then it might be worth the attempt.
Of course, you still won't beat me… but at least I won't be so bitter about you trying."
******
Amber's Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
15.04.2021
11:28am
It’d been almost a month since she’d last seen Grizz at the hospice.
Since she’d said a heart wrenching goodbye.
They’d given him a week or two and still he’d kept persisting, in this case hearing nothing was the best thing if only to stave off the inevitable a little longer. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised- he’d always been the one to exceed all her expectations, from the moment they met he’d always been unpredictable in the best possible ways.
Always kept her guessing in a world that wanted to be so sure of itself.
She’d told herself that she had come back here to give herself some space before the wedding, some time that she might breathe and allow herself the chance to pull her proverbial shit together before allowing all of this to sink through her glacial armour.
Some time before allowing herself this… happiness.
Staring at her phone screen, the stupid selfie taken with Mac smiled bleakly back at her- tongues out, eyes squinting stupidly backstage at a show. She’d taken it barely a couple weeks earlier and yet the memory seemed so much more distant like the passage of time had changed and no one thought to tell her about it. In the photo, she was wearing his hat and they both looked so fucking happy.
… God, why did it feel so weird? ...
Flickering the screen off again, Amber gazed out expectantly across Atlantic City as though waiting for some garish billboard to light up with some kind of answer to a problem she couldn’t articulate- instead only finding neon advertisements for girls and liquor, vice flaunted openly before midday as though trying to persuade the masses that sin was okay when it was so openly embraced.
In truth though, she needed the space for a different reason. One she couldn't look Mac in the eye and explain for fear that he’d want to help… Not that she was opposed to it, but somehow she’d taken this weight on her shoulders and was determined that she wouldn’t buckle. On the kitchen counter the envelope from Grizz still remained sealed- plain white, nothing special about it except the seal of a dead man's dying wish.
He’d asked her to give this to Cassidy, his daughter. The closest thing Amber had ever come to a sister- estranged by years and pride, trying to follow a trail of breadcrumbs left in the midst of a fucking hurricane.
… “Burn it. Put it through a shredder. Unless it's her eyes, it never sees the light of day.” …
His words still echoed fiercely in the silence, his tone still strong despite his words coming out weak and crackling. She’d made a promise that perhaps she had no hope of keeping, yet still found herself determined to chase if only for the fact she could still say she tried…
Of course, she only had one lead, the same lead that kept her staring at her phone screen simultaneously talking herself into it and out of it- the same lead that left her skin tingling uncomfortably and a layer of bile coating the back of her throat.
‘Sticky’ was still in prison, at least she could count on that. Didn’t make it any easier to talk to him though, his leering eyes always cutting straight through whatever façade she could muster and his crude innuendos and offers of sexualised nostalgia left her feeling nauseous . Hell, even the thought of conversation with him left her feeling prickly and restless.
Still, he was the only one who likely knew where Cassidy was- between their sordid history and his insistence that he still had her wrapped around his little finger meant there was little option she had. There was always the fact she could just ignore it, after all she was getting married in two fucking days and she could have just told all of this and everyone involved to simply go to hell… She could carry on her life, shrug the weight off her shoulders and leave the past firmly embedded there.
Flicking the phone screen back on, the wallpaper sent another wave of warmth through her weary body, dissipating the faint queasiness lurking in her stomach.
She could break the promise that she made, but then what… For years she prided herself on keeping promises, for the longest time her word was all she really had and was all she could offer- she’d made it mean something and those around her had that expectation.
Grizz knew what it meant. Cassidy knew what it meant… and ‘Sticky’ knew what it meant, and he was banking on it.
Yeah, no doubt he was an ass. She hated him with every fucking fiber of her being… but this was closure, not only for her, but for someone no longer able to attain it for themselves. Scrolling through her contacts, she found the number she sought and pressed the call button on her screen reflexively, allowing autopilot to perhaps ease some of her nerves in hopes that maybe if she could force herself to care less- all of this would be easier.
To this day Amber never understood why Cassidy loved him- he stayed when Amber left, the vicious cycle of their relationship carrying on unchecked and unrestricted- she'd no doubt have come to rely on him the way she used to rely on the redhead.
It was Amber’s fault- for everything and she could no longer simply ignore that.
Just suck it up. Grit your fucking teeth.
The professionally polite voice on the other end of the phone left Amber briefly disarmed, sounding far more at home as a hotel receptionist or secretary at a car dealership instead of the first point of call in an Arizona prison complex. Breathing deeply, she knew she must have sounded nervous as hell however she also didn't have it left in her to pretend like this was even a remotely enjoyable experience.
“Hi, yeah… I was wondering if I could arrange a visit with an inmate sometime in the next week?”
Trying to remain professional herself, Amber could hear the breaks in her own voice and hoped that the phone didn’t further amplify it. Overly polite, Amber guessed the responding voice to be middle aged- she pictured a woman of smaller stature yet with a commanding presence behind a desk. Feminine against the oppressive nature of the place- her roaming imagination soothed her nerves slightly, focusing on something unrelated as though that might change literally anything while the clacking of a keyboard interspersed the smoothness of her voice as she asked for a name.
“St-- uh, sorry. Brendan Griffiths.”
She’s grown so accustomed to using the nickname for so long, she'd almost forgotten that it wasn’t his legal one- although she had little doubt that if given the opportunity he absolutely would. More opportunity to make sexulised innuendos and advances on women when the conversation was struck, no doubt. More clacking filled the dead air between them as Amber watched the sun trace across the midday skyline- Atlantic City during the day masquerading as something far more respectable than the interwoven burrows of neon fluorescence and carnal driven debasement.
“I’m terribly sorry, but according to my records Brendan Griffiths was released almost three ago on parole. I’m sure you could---”
Amber tuned out as her blood stopped in her veins, the world shuddering to halt for half a second as even her heart seemed to skip a beat. Those winter chills in the autumn breeze suddenly felt colder, cutting to the bone instead of skimming across the skin and the harsh midday sun became brighter and more overbearing as though reflecting off every surface straight towards her balcony.
That couldn’t possibly be… he can’t have been due yet… It didn’t make any…
God, it must have nearly been months since she last saw him by now- her pride and personal feelings had left her to put off the inevitable for as long as she could, she’d told him she'd be back in a week or two and then things… well, things got hectic. She got injured, then there was the wedding planning and all of the stuff that happened with Christina.
Was it really that long ago?
Had she really fucked up this badly?
Amber hadn't even realized she was still on the phone until the voice spoke up once more, inquiring if there was anything else she could help with- an undercurrent of impatience seeping through the otherwise efficient approach. Distractedly, Amber managed to say no and signed off amid a jumble of syllables that she hoped sounded like competent sentences before the call disconnected and the background noise of the city penetrated her bubble once more.
She’d been so fucking sure…
How could she…
God, Amber sighed aggravatedly as she buried her face in her hands, this really was a fucking mess.
