“Honey, no offense, but sometimes I think I could shoot you and watch you kick.”
― Raymond Carver, Where I'm Calling From: New and Selected Stories
Undisclosed Arena
Atlanta, GA
21.07.2009
08:21pm
Just go out there and be yourself.
It was a tale as old as time, advice given with good intentions and an unspoken promise of better things to come. Be true, be real… No one can be a better version of you than you. Think about it- every god damn fucking cliche imaginable delivered with the kind of sincerity that could only be mass produced on a Hollywood set.
Somehow though, fidgeting nervously just beyond Gorilla position, the words only managed to slip back and forth in the forefront of her mind like a confused tide of well-meaning idioms. All Amber had ever wanted was an opportunity, a chance to prove that she was more than the facade she wore, more than the glacial armour and disheveled glamour that was akin to a porcelain doll abandoned by a dumpster.
Grizz had given her an opportunity.
Professional wrestling had given her an opportunity.
Now, under lights that shone far brighter than she could fathom- she was going to prove that all those chances, the seconds, the thirds, the fourths and the ones she should never have even been given hope for in the first place were culminating in this moment…
Admittedly it wasn’t the main event, it was the world title- but this moment… This chance to seize gold that was more than a shitty replica, more than a rush job by a harried amateur belt maker and most importantly it was more than Amber Ryan ever deserved.
She’d been a late substitution into a contendership match when flights had fallen through for someone far more ‘befitting’ of the image. An underdog in everything except actual talent- her name wasn’t as big, the neon's didn’t quite shine as brightly nor did the music ever sound quite as loud… but by fucking god almighty could the girl fight.
In mere moments, she’d step through that curtain and…
“Bambi, wait!”
Skin prickling in recognition, Amber’s head snapped around so fast that it was a wonder she remained standing. With cheeks flushed in scarlet and bedraggled blonde curls falling limply around her agonized expression, Cassidy Parker reached out in desperation towards Amber who instinctively- albeit confusedly- took the younger girl into her arms. Even from the brief glimpse before her face was buried beneath her clavicle, Amber could tell that Cassidy’s eyes were rimmed in dark red and streaks of tears had cut a swathe down each cheek.
Footfalls followed in close succession, an over-exerted member of the arena security personnel slowing to a halt, clearly torn and silently seething as his approach fell short of the pair.
“I’m so sorry Miss Ryan, I tried to stop---”
“Bambi, please I really need to talk to you…”
A small hiccup followed as the muffled voice permeated through her chest, tangling her fingers amid the tangle of curls Amber cradled the back of Cassidy’s head as she shuddered within her grasp.
“Can you just…”
Vaguely gesturing with her free hand, Amber couldn’t quite find the words to express the thought. Another producer nearby called out for a 30 second warning as Amber slowly drew Cassidy from the small wet spot her tears had created on the redheads t-shirt.
“I know you’re busy and *hic* I didn’t mean to but I didn’t know who else I could *hic* talk to…”
Heart in her throat, Amber gently brushed away a rolling tear with her thumb from Cassidy’s cheek. It had been almost two years perhaps since they’d last spoken without screaming obscenities and cheap insults- their last confrontation on her fathers front lawn had left them both disillusioned with the others perspective to say the least.
… and now, like kids again, Cassidy was looking for her ‘big sister’ to come and save the day.
Except she couldn’t.
Not tonight.
“Slow down Cass, I need you to take a deep breath and talk to me, yeah?”
“Miss Ryan, I have to insist---”
“No! You don't just 'insist'... What part of giving us a minute didn’t you understand, huh? Can’t you see the poor girl is fucking distraught… I mean, honestly.”
She didn’t mean to snap. Not like that. Amber could feel her face flush with fury, instincts kicking in that had lied dormant for a time too long. With eyes narrowed, she watched the security man flinch and resume his watchful glare- determined to not allow this unplanned breach affect his reputation or job security.
Exasperated, Amber turned her attention back to Cass who seemed to have gotten enough of her bearings to straighten up slightly, though her eyes still sparkled with tears yet to fall freely.
“20 seconds!”
Cussing softly under her breath, mostly in hopes that it might not be heard by the younger blonde, Amber gripped her hands tightly around each of Cassidy’s biceps.
“Listen Cass, I can't help you if you don’t tell me what's going on…”
Adamantly, Cassidy shook her head sending a small spray of water in all directions.
“I can’t… not *hic* here.”
More cussing. Louder this time. She didn’t fucking have time for this… not here. Not now. Although trying not to show it seemed far more difficult than juggling all the emotional chainsaws that she swore she could effectively handle.
God, she loved this girl- no matter how fiercely Cassidy had hated her for leaving. Maybe she wasn’t blood, but she was the closest thing she had to it. Amber knew, deep down where the cobwebs were spun thickest and the void in her chest sucked down anything of value, that she couldn’t walk out on Cassidy again… Not again.
What other choice did she have though?
Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d walked out on. This could be the fucking beginning of something special, the first chapter in a fairytale that hadn’t been meant for a girl like her. Amber had always been an all or nothing kinda girl, but this was never what she'd really had in mind…
“You’re up, Miss Ryan!”
Despite only being 15 feet away, the voice sounded as though it were screamed from a mile- like the light from a distant sun touching her skin after the source had long since died. Almost irrelevant and yet unmistakable. Those first chords of ‘Our Truth’ by Lacuna Coil are what brought the real world crashing back down around her again, harsh echoes lingering until the next sunk a little deeper before Christina Scabbi’s soaring vocals sent the familiar surge of adrenaline through her already worn through veins.
If her pulse could thunder through her system any quicker, she might have bled out internally with all the friction.
“Please- I just need one more minute…”
It was a plea that fell on deafened ears, met with a lukewarm shrug of inability to act- Amber could no longer contain the unintelligible torrent of obscenities quickly lost to the crowd's mixed reaction and thunderous music. Oh god, had it always been this loud?
With a heartrending smile, Amber gripped Cassidy’s arms a little tighter as though trying to be reassuring in spite of her own uncertainty before pulling the young girl closer so that they might come almost nose to nose.
“Cass, listen carefully, okay? There is a diner just down the street- we went there for ice cream once. You told me about the time your Mom forgot to get the ice-cream out of the trunk of her car and how it had melted everywhere... ”
She was procrastinating now, rambling in hopes of hiding her festering guilt.
“... I want you to meet me there in an hour. Hour and a half tops. We’ll talk for as long as you need, I promise”
Hurriedly, and with everything she could muster in that moment- Amber gently laid a kiss on Cassidy’s forehead as the younger girl began to plead that Amber not go… however her words were quickly lost amid the wall of sound, her grip failing to keep ahold of Amber’s long enough to matter.
Before stepping through the curtain, Amber shot back one last look at Cassidy- however she’d already turned her back as Amber’s heart fell pathetically from her chest out onto the stage at her feet...
Just be yourself, the world had told her.
Just be yourself, provided it's anyone else- but you.
******
“Have you ever fallen in love with something like a song…
You know the kind, it sticks in your brain for days, you put it on repeat wherever you go cause it speaks to you and you feel it in every fibre of your being. It's like it was made for you- like a warm, hand knitted sweater for the heart and soul. You devour everything about it, even if you’re not sure how you came across it or why- just that it's there and for at least the moment it feels as though it's yours…
Over time though, you grow distant. Repeats become fewer, it doesn't resonate the same way anymore- and soon it becomes just another track in the playlist that you’ll stumble across another time and briefly remember why you loved it to begin with.
That's you and me right now Jessie…
Tangled and twisted, I can’t seem to do a damn thing in this company without your name coming across it somehow. Hell, I’ve had more matches against you than literally anyone else in SCW Jessie- since I kicked the front door in, we’ve been all up in each other's faces to the point that I keep wondering if this match is a joke…
Honestly.
Did someone somehow manage to forget that April Fools is in the fucking name?
Did I miss a memo or something about how this week is ‘fuck with the champions’ week and I just forgot to bring a whoopie cushion and some silly string…
Or is someone back there such a sadist that they really just LOVE seeing me kick the ever-loving shit out of Jessie Salco- cause if that's the case chicky, I’m pretty sure you might need to reevaluate your karmic status and invest in some crystals to cleanse whatever you did in a past life to earn this incarnation as a hyped-up punching bag in bad drag makeup.
Don’t get me wrong sweetheart, this match isn’t a joke to me. Nothing about this title screams comedic qualities- however what you need to understand is that I’m a little towards the end of my proverbial tether with these jumped-up bullshit defenses that mean nothing.
I’m well aware that you didn’t ‘ask’ for this. Most people usually don’t… They’re earned after all- and yet there are god knows how many other women on this fucking roster who haven’t even got a sideways glance at this belt since I won it.
Yet here you are- again… on my doorstep. Confused and undeserving.
I’ll be honest here, Jessie, I’m well aware that none of this is your fault… but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna be cool with it and pretend like I’m not pacing around like a caged animal. I’d rather go out there and waste my goddamn time and energy against all the bottom dwellers than have to stand across from you already knowing how this match is going to go…
You’re gonna come out swinging. All fire and fury, passionate as the day is long. You’ll have everyone believing in you for those brief moments when you slip through my guard- cause lets face it… I’m far from infallible. Things may even go well for a little while and deep within the souls of a few- there will be this glimmer of hope that maybe you can do this… Maybe you could really upset me.
That right there though, that's where reality sinks in… That's where I start hammering home the harsh truths that keep me steps beyond where you can reasonably fathom going. That's where I start proving just why I’ve been champion for nearly 200 days now, and why that number will steadily keep growing until someone finds it within themselves to prove they want this more than I do.
You want it. You’ve been chasing this title as long as anyone…
It's just, you’ll never want it more than me.
It's nothing against you, far from it in fact. It's just, there comes a time in every young wrestler's life where they have to come to accept that the position they currently occupy in the food chain, might just be the best that they knowingly can achieve.
Of course there are always exceptions- those that defy the laws of nature just as easily as they might defy gravity and morality. Those willing to abandon ethics in favour of something a little more base… animalistic… their needs to be the best never satiated regardless of what destruction they might leave behind.
You have a beautiful little world around you Jessie. You’ve worked hard to break the chains that bound you to the bottom of this division, you’ve built this perfect life of happiness and love, friends who adore you and a partner who would no doubt do anything you’d ever ask.
Outside of the world bombshell's title- and a modicum of recent successes that actually mean something- you have everything that anyone could really want in this life.
Don’t go fucking all that up, just to try get on my level.
You want to be champion to fill out the gaping hole in your Sin City Wrestling resume darling. You want to be World Bombshells champion cause you wanna be respected and admired, you wanna be acknowledged and proven. Seen by all your peers as more than the perennial trier…
That's just the thing though. It's all want… It's all ifs, buts, maybes. It's convenient and it's superfluous.
There are women in this division that would give their left arm for a chance at what I’m holding, at what I have rebuilt from the ground up. Like me, hate me or feel entirely indifferent- but the fact is, I took a title that had been tossed around carelessly like a pass-the-parcel at a children's birthday and I polished it back up into the diamond of this company.
There is no title in any wrestling company right now that means more than mine… not because it's mine, but because I made it mine. I made it something to be proud of instead of an afterthought…
It's everything I work for, whereas it's just a side comment for you. It's the oxygen in my lungs and the pulse in my veins, while for you it's another line on an underwhelming resume and a bright spark in an otherwise dull gallery of achievements.
Maybe instead of being far too preoccupied with what everyone else is doing- you know, start focusing on what matters instead of why you’re standing still as the rest of the roster passes you by.
It's funny really, cause they say that third time's the charm…
When for you, third time lucky was that I didn’t just fucking end your career when I had the opportunity.
Fourth time though… no one usually really survives that long.”
******
Bane Household
Las Vegas, ND
27.10.2021
4:19am
It wasn’t as though she expected things to just be okay.
Smile. Pick your chin off the damn floor and brush the dirt off your shirt. Move on before the world kicks you while you’re down. Double quick- cause no one likes you when you’re miserable.
To say Mac was a prideful man could be considered a strong understatement, despite being the quieter spoken and far more logical thinker in their marriage- he was still a self-respecting man underneath, one fuelled by the knowledge that he had worked hard for everything he had. That every accolade and achievement written beneath his name had been the sum of ability and elbow grease.
Hell, it wasn't as though either of them had ever considered that a loss wasn’t a viable option- anyone could lose a match on any given night- perhaps that was part of the thrill that kept the struggling on an even keel with the effortless.
It was the circumstances to which it had occurred and how thoroughly underwhelming the lead up had been for the knife to slip between her husband's ribs, far deeper than anticipated. Stolen perhaps, seemed like an apt description for such an… no, it wasn’t an upset- Amber mused silently on the back porch. Upset implied a certain level of impossibility- no this was far more distasteful, lingering too long on the back of her tongue.
A mistake. An error in judgement.
Either way, Oblivion was down a world title and the cracks were starting to show.
Amber rubbed her forearm subconsciously, the stitches were out however the itching remained as the skin puckered in places where scars were settling. Many of the cuts further up seemed to prickle far deeper- like a fork scratching on bone, there was no satisfaction in them and so she could only grit her teeth a little harder as her husband had tried to actively avoid her gaze.
Along her forearm though, there was fulfilment there so long as she stayed left of where the blistered, angry burns from her hand crawled up around her wrist.
It wasn’t as though she made things easy either.
On the best of days she knew she was hard to deal with- with every passing defense the pressure was mounting, building in such a way that letting off a little steam could mean the difference between waking up one morning as champion and going to bed that night ten pounds lighter.
Mac had managed to prove as such unintentionally.
That famous chip on her shoulder seemed to pale in comparison now against the expectation of triumph that she’d seemed to have built around her- the house of cards steadily growing higher as the violent winds of her reputation threatened to tear it all down around her.
Still, it was difficult to excuse a fight being picked at fucking two am.
Mac had gone to bed barely more than half hour prior in the wake of their rising tension that had left them navigating a reflexive silence. Amber however, with knees drawn up as far as she could physically muster, knew that slumber was no longer an option- her tongue was slicked too bitter and her heart still beating way too fast for having sat so still.
Things had been rough for Mac, she quietly contemplated, watching a small four legged shadow in the near distant trees shift, between the funeral and losing his title in a match against an opponent that he had chosen of his own volition… Maybe she could stand to be a little more forgiving.
In the same breath though, it was easy to discount her own struggles for the sake of smoothing things over.
She hadn’t told Mac how close she’d come to not being cleared for this match with Jessie- granted a few well timed lies through gritted teeth and a trained ability to fake her way through fucking anything saw her scrape by with just narrow-eyed stares. Par for the course really, as she rolled her tongue through the side of her cheek lazily, just another goddamn beautiful Wednesday in the life of a World Champion.
Amber would never admit aloud that the headaches hadn’t quite ceased nor that her balance was a little more off kilter still than she felt comfortable expressing- at least the lights didn’t make her wanna scream so much, although loud noises still seemed to scrape every raw nerve in her body.
Hell, she had barely been by the garage since they’d gotten back to Vegas despite telling Mac she’d been there looking for some peace of mind among the metallic, gasoline soaked walls. After all, what he didn’t know couldn’t possibly do any more harm.
Instead, she’d been training. Trying to find some give in the skin that had tightened uncomfortably, trying to rebuild muscles that had been tattered and torn with wire and reckless strain. Trying to find the Amber Ryan that lay under the wreckage the painted hurricane had brought down upon herself…
While the gold was on her shoulder, the grind wouldn’t end.
No snarky remarks about champions duties, no cold shoulders when the title glinted on her shoulder as she walked back through the door- no growing resentment as one had achieved something the other had strived and worked just as hard for… could change that.
Even now she could feel her throat tighten at the thought, hands reflexively clasping a little tighter around a half cup of coffee gone cold in the chilling night air. It wasn’t as though he blamed her, far from it, however it didn’t stop the pang of guilt resonating in her chest every time that glint of jealousy and longing crossed his eyes.
No.
Fuck.
It wasn’t fair.
Life wasn’t fair.
Perhaps that explained Jessie Salco getting yet another opportunity to avenge the three prior, definitive losses she’d taken at Amber’s hands. Another surge of adrenaline, this one dissipated far more quickly though- like a ripple of electricity through a puddle of piss on the floor. All it gave her though were brief sparks then a lingering acridness that she couldn’t cleanse from her palate.
It wasn’t as though she wasn’t ‘confident’ coming in- with six defenses under her belt it was difficult to argue that she was another outside of a dominant favorite to retain- however knowing just how close she had come to not even being allowed to fight left a large, neon question mark dangling above her head.
Only now she hoped the roster were more blinded by fear and infamy to acknowledge the very real possibility of how vulnerable their World Champion potentially was…
It was unthinkable really, that this could be the opportunity that so many perpetual nearly-weres waited their whole fucking careers for. Never mind the how, all that mattered was that it could be done…
Maybe.
Amber knew she needed time, but she also needed to keep racking up those defenses…A week without a match left her rusty- it left her teetering on her heels, painfully and senselessly agitated. Quite the double edged sword of damaging proportions it seemed, only both sides were heavily pitted and so heavily caked with dried blood that she couldn’t confirm the origins of nor where one layer stopped and the next started.
… “Don’t you dare shut me out Mac.” …
Those were her last words to him before he brushed past, murmuring something about a promise that things would be better after they got some sleep. That they’d talk things through and everything would just go back to the way it was... Except she knew, and no doubt Mac did as well, that nothing would change. Not immediately at least.
Maybe his temper might cool a little and maybe she’d be able to swallow some of the venom still swishing under her tongue- maybe they’d find a happy compromise in the meantime and the world would keep on turning.
Shifting slightly, causing the chair to groan almost noiselessly beneath her, Amber unfurled slightly to allow the tips of her toes to gently brush along the cool wooden surface. Those same words echoed hollow in her skull soundlessly as the rustling in the trees grew a little closer now, warily as though unsure whether the crunch of twigs and leaves being disturbed drew the glance of uneasy eyes. Each fucking syllable repeated on her like a verbal heartburn while scalding bile built at the back of her throat to the point it could have splashed against the back of her tongue.
No, there was no fucking way she could lose now. She’d worked too damn hard for too fucking long to be robbed by good intentions and fantasy fulfilment.
Just smile- it's not that hard, Amber swallowed painfully, showing the world what this really meant to you as though she could express such idiosyncrasies with anything except unadulterated and gratuitous violence.
… and to think, not long ago the tables had been turned and that Mac had been the one to say those words to her… Sincere and genuine. Delivered with love and admiration then spiked with a healthy self-respect and self-interest.
Perhaps the only difference this time was that Mac had actually meant it.
******
“I won’t pretend like you don’t have some serious balls Jessie.
If I were being brutally honest I’d say the Bombshells roster has higher testosterone levels than then mens on any given day- which I think is a compliment considering the state to which each side is in. See, you look at the lineup of women this company has to offer…
Roxi Johnson, Alicia Lukas, Myra Rivers, Andrea Hernandez, Dani Weston… Crystal Zdunich, I suppose. Keira Johnson if we really have to start going there… Candy, when she cares more about her career than making others look stupid in pink and frilly bullshit.
It's a goddamn embarrassment of riches at worst…
Yet, you just keep poking your head up like a malfunctioning whack-a-mole Jessie. No show without punch so to speak, determined to be apart of *anything* even if it means the outcome is inevitable.
You might not have asked for a shot this time, but last time you did- cause you knew the Internet title tournament was just too against the odds and cause lets face it… I’m a real sucker for punishment.
I granted you that shot, the powers that be granted you that shot and saved you from the faux pas of falling flat before the finals- cause a one on one with me at least means you’ve got a chance, right?
Ehhhh.
Moving on.
I give you credit where credit is immediately due- you’re persistent. You work hard. It's just a shame that you’re in the best division of women this industry of mayhem and miscreants has to offer. Anywhere else I have no doubt you’d be a real star- you’d get all the accolades that your mantle could carry and maybe you might even be content for a while.
It wouldn’t be the same though. Would it?
You could go to any other company and kill it- but you won’t.
See, that's the thing about you that I don’t think people give you enough props for…
You’re so determined to prove yourself that you’d rather fail among the best, than succeed at any lower level. Losing against someone like me is somehow far more fulfilling than being a year long champion in some backwoods die bar promotion- you could have moved on years ago Jessie, you could have made your name anywhere else and instead you stay cause you truly believe that eventually… eventually something has to give.
Law of averages Jessie, and you’re the walking embodiment.
Challenge enough higher level fighters, and maybe you’ll win one. It's still one win in a hundred, but be damned if you don’t carry that achievement like a ratty safety blanket till eeryone else gets fucking sick of hearing about it.
That's the case with your win over Evie Jordan that time, isn’t it?
Yeah, let's face it- that one's gotten a little threadbare by now, a little stale even by wrestlings low standards and doesn’t quite carry the same weight when she hasn’t been around for the better part of a year or so.
So you go back to the well and challenge Myra Rivers to a Chamber Of Extreme.
I mean, honestly… may as well stick your hand in a bear trap and call it a day.
Brave? Sure. Stupid? Most definitely.
You just can’t help yourself though. You need to be seen… you need someone to remember you’re there cause the precipice of irrelevance and mediocrity is crumbling away at your heels. You can’t quite move fast enough to outrun it, so you keep the edge at bay with these ‘high profile’ matches in hopes that you’ll stave off the dreaded void of the pre-show just a little longer.
See, even the expectation of you winning by now is drowned out by the knowledge that someone out there is going to look at a supercard and see your name and say ‘who the fuck is Jessie Salco?’... and that you’ll be perfectly okay with that cause it means someone took the time to actually notice.
You won’t be the main event. Your match will only be remembered as a gratuitous filler between far more important things- and your opponent, usually on the up and up themselves, gets a freebie for their burgeoning records. Showing up has become the automatic saving grace of the desperate.
… and you’re okay with that.
Don’t get me wrong, you want better, you ‘deserve’ better except for the fact you don’t.
Hard work only ever got anyone so far. We all got into this industry with stars in our eyes, but the mountaintop is made for one- and you’ve got a little too much baggage to be dragged up this high. What you go out there and try to do is admirable, your sheer determination is wondrous in it's perpetuity- but it doesn’t make you anything more than cannon fodder for those with more potential.
You’re the gatekeeper to being just okay.
There's nothing wrong with that- and besides, someone has to be. After all, there will always be a place for you in this industry Jessie, it just happens to be exactly where you are now.
Not everyone is supposed to be a World Champion in their career.
Maybe that makes me sound like a real piece of shit- but I’m not gonna stand here and lie, claiming everyone should have all the sunshine and rainbows and that working hard really is the best way to get everything you ever wanted.
Let's be real, if we all got what we thought we deserve in life- there wouldn’t be anything left to work for. We’d be miserable in our euphoria, so delighted that we had everything we wanted that we’d lose our goddamn will to live in the process.
There are not enough titles in existence that could fulfil that greed of want… and I promise you that none of them would feel remotely special anymore. A worthless currency destined for the landfill.
No, these titles… every single one… represent a transaction of life and living.
It's not about who has the most, but who is willing to give the most in any match.
Are you willing to drive yourself into physical and emotional destitution to prove that it means more to you than the next asshole with a chip on their shoulder?
Maybe I am known for my misery. Maybe I’m the worst person on this roster- but I’m also the one who has forgone everything else for what I have. For what I have earned. I put my own happiness and wellness aside for something that I deemed more important to me- and I won’t pretend like I don’t question that choice every fucking day.
I don’t regret it though, and I’d never change it.
Dreams and good intentions don’t win titles Jessie. Making friends and playing nice doesn’t get you nearly as far as you think, bonds are as fragile as wet tissue paper and I promise you that the person on the other end is always far more willing to break it than you.
Being World Champion isn’t a popularity contest, and if you let anyone get close enough to knock you off that pedestal- then be assured they will.
When it comes down to it, I’m the Freddy Kruger of this goddamn fucking company, the wet blanket on everyone's fun and the rain on every fairytale parade. I am the reason that no one can have nice things around here- and while you can feel free to talk all the shit you want about me and the way I happen to conduct myself… Just know this- for every single inevitable loss you take at my hand Jessie, I make everyone around here better for it.
Climax Control stands to be no different- I make you better for losing so maybe don’t be so fucking ungrateful this time…
… and don’t ever say I don’t do anything nice for anyone.”
******
Amber’s Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
30.09.2021
5:31am
She’d told Mac she needed space. Or that he needed it…
Perhaps it didn’t really matter.
Words were kinda foggy by now, conversation continuing to flow despite the fact neither had control over it- just placating agreements and a mutual understanding that maybe they were both just a little too toxic right now.
She’d tried, slouching further into the crappy plastic chair, for the love of everything she’d honestly tried- however empathy didn’t come easily when apathy was the default setting on her emotions and somehow she’d only managed to make things worse in trying to relate.
Mac was hurting in ways that she couldn’t fix. People weren’t like engines, she couldn’t just take them apart and put them back together hoping the kinks would sort themselves out along the way… no, sometimes they were just wired a little wrong.
Maybe leaving was worse. Mac hadn’t really said much when she’d told him that she would spend a couple days at the apartment- like a rabbit disappearing down a well-worn burrow in the face of looming incomprehension. It's just… this place felt less and less like home every time she came by, the visits less frequent and the sanctuary's soothing balm on her soul had less effect. A skyline draped in neon no longer welcomed her back like the warm, dusty winds of deep orange sunsets she’d grown accustomed to.
Home was wherever Mac was, and right now… she just wasn’t really sure it was where she was meant to be.
Time. That would help.
… and hers was running out.
Dominic Del Gado hadn’t called her in almost two weeks- one of the few saving graces she had right now, she was sure she’d no doubt lose it completely the moment that greasy false bravado reached her ears. She’d briefly skimmed what he’d given her though, moreso a distraction tactic to the cracks forming in her marriage than a desire to participate in whatever bullshit business transactions he saw himself lording over.
Fucking ambitious prick, Amber found herself lamenting as she rested her heels atop the wrought iron balcony railing, so determined to be a big shot like his father that he was willing to kick a hornets nest just to brag about how many times he got stung.
No, his father was discrete and calculating. Success at any cost- fuck whoever got in the way of that. Dominic shared his ‘one above all’ mentality as antiquated as the concept was- however his approach was reckless, determinedly flashy and distracting from what really mattered.
Amber had met Del Gado Snr only a couple of times, the elder more aloof and detached than his boy. Polite in the same way a crocodile might smile before dragging it's prey beneath the surface in a viciously effective cloud of red. He had created the name that his son now leached off, familial parasitism in it's most blatant and gaudy form.
No, the further she could stay away from all of that mess- the safer she felt.
… and the further she could keep the Bombshells World title from literally everything?
Well… that was growing to be more and more of a challenge in itself.
Everything she had done, everything she was doing had been for that title, to keep that title. Hell, the fact that her marriage was coming apart at the veritable seams was because of her relentless pursuits to keep it… because, whether she’d ever admit it aloud or not… It came first.
While she was the champion, everything else had taken a back seat… There wasn’t time for anything else, Mac had understood that as his duties had taken him down the same track however now with the disparate change and unspoken distance between perspectives…
A loud sigh followed a heavier exhalation, the urge for a cigarette almost prickling under her skin. Something, anything to take the edge off, to dull that massive fucking neon target painted between her shoulder blades.
Wrestling was no better than whatever the Del Gado’s were mixed up in- there was suffering for every bloody success and no one got ahead without someone getting hurt in the process. Only discernible difference was that wrestling was considered socially acceptable cause it was glamorized for easier social consumption. Lit up in neon's and made relatable- the allowable despair and debauchery kept the crowds hungry for more.
… and she was the fucking head of the snake.
All fangs-bared and dripping venom.
Night after night she was choosing violence over all without even blinking an eye. Time after time after fucking time- she’d given up everything for wrestling… everyone for an opportunity… and it left her with little more than a bullseye to brandish in the face of the competition.
It was no secret the other Bombshells were eyeing her off- it wasn’t as though it were a secret that she was gunning for the most defenses record… as though any extra incentive was needed to dethrone the otherwise dominant champion.
Hell, she couldn’t walk anywhere backstage without wondering when someone might finally find their backbone and come for her beyond those ropes, that she was otherwise alone and exposed due to her deliberate indifference to those scrabbling at her heels… Eventually, she knew solemnly, she’d pick a fight she had no hope of winning.
Each passing day escalated that paranoia, the twitch under her eye a little more frenetic and the curl in her smile seemingly more akin to an animalistic snarl. Despite being the favorite in any match she walked into, Amber knew she was becoming the animal being backed into a corner- all time high expectations, a laundry list of challengers who could leave her bloodied and broken if they were only willing to flick that switch and the knowledge that she’d turned her otherwise happy marriage into a potential time bomb triggered by her own selfish arrogance…
Breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
It didn’t get any easier.
Six would soon become seven.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way though... She’d never meant to hurt anyone, never meant to leave anyone behind… Business had become personal though, and personal was just another factor of business- throwing off sparks in hopes that her flammable psyche might simply sever all meaningful connections before going up in flames.
She’d promised Mac, on her way out the door, that everything would be fine in time…
… And maybe one day she’d be able to stop lying to the ones she loved.
