Home and Ruin
Scene One | Off-Camera | October 22nd, 2023
“Fucking useless.”
It looked like a tornado had torn through her apartment. Smashed glasses, her coffee table was flipped over. Chairs thrown around; her couch cushions strewn across the room. Her bathroom mirror, smashed. The shards of glass strewn over the floor, with toilet paper pulled loose all over it. Luna was curled up in the corner of the floor. She’d asked Alex for alone time, they probably both needed it tonight. She’d lost the gold; he’d failed to capture it. They’d both had a rough night at the office. Whereas he would have gone home and drank himself into oblivion, she’d let her mind get the better of her.
Hours earlier
She’d tried to remain calm. Sat on the couch, tweeted happy little tweets of self-indulgence. Argued with Keira for the fiftieth time that month on Twitter. Called her out on her hypocrisy. Continued this façade of defending Ariana from the naysayers around her. Façade was probably the wrong word, but here she was. Still acting like they were going to be besties. It only took the slightest things to set her off. She looked at her phone, a message from Harrison. ’Made it home. Sullivan came to see me. I think he’s going to do something stupid. Dunno. Don’t really care. Be smart, Lulu. Be smart.’
Stupid.
She was never a smart person. She did things for the emotional release. The emotional burn. She wasn’t the master manipulator. She wasn’t the erratic, wild talking person like Alex. She wasn’t slick and slimy like Jimmy. She didn’t have the calm demeanour and foresight that Sullivan had. Hell, even Harrison was a little more logical when the time called for it. The rub from Sully had done wonders for him, it seemed. No, Luna was the emotional one. Quick to anger, and stupid.
Stupid, fucking stupid.
All she saw was red. She’d become good at that banshee wail. The scream, guttural and deep. Agonised and full of vitriol for the world. She gripped the cushion under her as she stood up, flinging it clear across the room. Her quaint little coffee table, her foot slamming into it upending it.
“I should still be the fucking champion. Not that uppity, little mongrel fucking bitch.”
She screamed, putting her fingers under the couch and lifting it, tipping it backwards. The other cushions in hand used like throwing stars across the apartment. Another chair planted with a foot sent skittering across the floor. If anyone else lived nearby she’d probably have the police knocking on the door any minute. Death cries of an agonised woman. Maybe if she showed this much emotion in her actual matches, she’d have some level of actual success.
Hours later
She was sitting among the carnage of her own making. Anger, momentary passion. Emotion scrawled in the carnage of everything she owned. Putting it all back together, that was going to be a fun little puzzle. A fun little game for her to get her head right. The pain in her ribs, however. That wasn’t going to be a simple little puzzle to put together. The pain in her ribs spoke of a deeper problem. The pain in her ribs told her one thing. She’d broken them. And that was a problem. That was a problem she knew the easy solution to.
It would be so easy to just float. To give in to the little demon in her mind screaming at her. Screaming to just find some of that happy powder, and drift away. To slip into that K-hole and just be numb. To not have to deal with the world around her. To not have to deal with the pain, the embarrassment, the emotions. She just wanted to escape it all. She pulled her phone out and scrolled. She looked at all the numbers, all the people. She didn’t even know who to talk to these days. She’d been sober so long that all her old dealers had long since been erased from her life. There was one person she could call though. One person who’d help ease her pain right now. She pressed on the name and called.
“Alex? Please come and get me.”
“On my way, Lu.”
So she waited.
Her legs wrapped up in her arms, sitting in that carnage. Her phone sitting in front of her. The message sent to Alex. Asking him to come and save her just one more time. So much for that alone time. The key rattled in the lock, and then the door swung open. He was a little battered, fatigued. Exhausted. But he was there. She watched as he surveyed the room, and then looked at her. Looked at her cowering in her own room. In a world full of her own making.
“Do you need anything?”
Warmth, love and care. No judgement. No accusations, no hatred. Even when he was hurting inside, he was there. She’d been pushing him away. Fighting with everyone. Falling in on herself, and even fallen back into absent-mindedly hurting herself.
“Just one thing.”
His mother’s necklace.
Religion, Murder and Wine
Scene Two | On-Camera
“I can hear the fucking bitching now. I can hear the arrogance; I can hear the sarcasm. Everyone has a fucking opinion on everything. Everyone thinks they are better because they don’t make mistakes. They don’t fuck it up like little sweet Luna Pasilno. So let me set the record straight for all of you. I’m not upset that I took another misstep. I’m a year into this bitch and I’m already racking up more success than most of you have seen in your god damn career. So before anybody gets on their god damn high horse, I need all of you to just take a moment. Take a second to really think about the horseshit that is about to leave all your mouths about this sweet little angel. About this foul-mouthed cunt who is going to be a three-time champion by the end of this year. About this uppity little bitch who is going to put every single bombshell on notice. I slipped, and I’ll slip again. But Luna Pasilno has no problem smashing faces into concrete and slapping people down for just looking at her wrong. So before anyone tries to mouth off about my second short stint as champion. Just take a moment to consider your own hypocrisies.”
“Now that the unpleasantness is out of the way, lets look at our resident Australian. Born and bred, the true-blue Aussie lady of the city of churches. Krystal Wolfe. The South Australian Slaya, the powerful woman who had all the world hating on her. Lover, let’s talk shop, shall we? I spent enough time in that sweet little land of murder spiders and punchy marsupials to know all I want about your home little city. Adelaide, the country bumpkin nowhere city. Full of alcoholics, murderers and religious nutjobs. Not much of a difference between the three, but the nuance is nice isn’t it, babygirl? Its probably the only nice thing to come out of your home city. Not that that is why we’re here, is it? No this is another opportunity for Krystal Wolfe to show that she’s a big-time player. Another opportunity for Krystal Wolfe to step up and play ball. Another opportunity for her to fall down the ranks once more to where she belongs. A bumbling nothing at the edge of notoriety. Screaming for attention from a world that doesn’t want to give it to her anymore. How’s this year treated you, sweetheart? Pushed away all your friends. Got a little crazy, had to be saved by Keira. Who coincidentally cannot stay out of my fucking affairs to save herself.”
“But oh no. That’s okay. Krystal Wolfe is back and ready to… ready to do what exactly? You joined the Saviours to pick yourself back up. You left them because you didn’t find the success you needed to, so you blamed the world. You turned everyone against you and lo and behold, you’ve come full circle back to fucking nothing, sweetheart. That’s okay though, another year around the sun and another year to piss off everyone. Another year to be one step shorter than me. I may have stepped short against my sweet baby girl, Ariana. But let me fucking remind you who all I stepped over to get there. I beat you down, I beat Ariana down. I beat every woman that was thrown our way to get that Bombshell Internet Championship. I’ve already proved that when it comes down to being a step ahead, I’m better than most. One year. That’s all I’ve had. One fucking year, and I’m already stepping up. One year and I’m already running for a third championship. The tippy top of it all. The crown to crown. To make me a clear queen amongst peasants. So who do they put in my way? The lady from down under. The SA Slaya. The digital woman from the city of Jesus, Wine and True Crime. Krystal fuckin’ Wolfe.”
Luna was sitting in a chair in a hospital room. The bed in front of her empty. Her eyes were all red and puffy, an anger etched onto her face. She was full vitriol. Full of emotion. Full of frustration. Sitting in a plain white tee, and slim fit blue jeans. Loose laced doc martens, and a pair of sunglasses sitting on top of her head. Large frames and large lenses. Her eyes focused on the empty bed.
Don’t Go Leaving Me
Scene Three | Off-Camera | October 29th, 2023
“I told him how I felt, Lulu. I thought in that moment, I was going to trot right off this mortal plane.”
Luna was curled up in a chair, right alongside her brother’s hospital bed. She’d done her best to try and be strong earlier. Watching Alex falling apart at the seams. Watching him lost in his own head. Watching the mist in his eyes, the fogginess of his brain. Listening to him fall apart inside of himself. James was her brother, but he might as well have been Alex’s as well. The one person to stay beside him his whole life. The one person that he knew he could count on. James was both of their brothers, and he was always strong for her.
Now it was her turn.
“You trying to steal my future husband, Jimmy?”
“Unfortunately, I’m lacking two bits, and own something he ain’t ever been interested in, hooker.”
A wry laugh, the strained words. Pained but still full of humour. She smiled, reaching a hand over and taking one of his in hers. She squeezed, but there was little response from him. It hurt her soul to see him like this. Jimmy was always full of life, energy and attitude. They’d had their rough times recently, but nothing would stop her from being here right now.
“What happened Jimmy?”
“Sometimes life kicks us in the nuts. Or… shoots us in the leg. In the guts. Take what you want outta that one, sugar. I don’t know the guy from a bar of soap. Don’t know, don’t care. Doesn’t matter. He came in, talked about being down on his luck. Fuck the system yadda yadda. Told him to settle and saddle. Pulled a gun and pop. Pop pop. Poppity fucking pop. Jesus Christ, Lulu.”
Rambling. Never a good sign from James. He could talk the clothes off a mountain climber on the peak of Everest. So rambling meant nothing good. Rambling meant Jimmy wasn’t doing great. He looked so pale, so fragile. He looked weak in that bed. Her heart ached.
“Don’t you go dying on me, Jimmy. Don’t you go dying on me. You’re going to hand me off one day. To that sweet, sweet boy. Who we both love.”
James turned a little, turning his face to her. The smile was faint, but it was there. His eyes heavy. He was so tired looking. He looked so weak.
“You trying to steal my best friend, Lulu?”
She smiled, her free hand absently going to her neckline. Fiddling with the necklace that Alex gave her. That day in those emerald waters. Back when life looked so much more promising for them. Back when she was queen, and he was soon to be king. Before this. Before the world threatened to crash down on them.
“I’ve made mistakes Jimmy. I watched him walk off with Lauren. I watched as I thought the one man I truly loved walked off, and I never thought I’d be here. The three of us, together again. Nobody but us three. Nobody but us, Jimmy. So I ain’t stealin’ nobody. I’m keeping him right here. I want to marry that boy.”
She shifted in her seat, her ribs hurting. The wince of pain, the slight tightening of his grip. And then it weakened. Then limp. Then it dropped.
“Jimmy?”
The heart rate machine stopped. Her body went cold. She screamed for help. The rushing of feet. Someone asked her to step back. Asked her to give them some space.
“Jimmy!
Flatlining.
Cut-throat Bitch
Scene Four | On Camera
Luna was standing next to the bed, a hand on side of it, the other wrapped up around her own throat. Her fingers not constricting. A comfort thing, protecting herself.
“Emotions are what drives me. It was love and it was hate. It was anger and it was sadness. Everything I do, is a reaction to my own emotions. Confidence led to arrogance, led to self-indulgence. Self-indulged led me to becoming a champion for the second time. On a journey to tear down all the women I saw as a problem. Relics of the past, veterans coming back to get paid one more time, or to flaunt over us young upstarts. The Jessie Salcos’ of the world flaunting their retirement like it means anything. The Keiras and Roxis Kimberly Pains and Kat Joneses of the world. Oh, I know them all quite well. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you Kat. Oh no, I’m just sorry my ribs were just a mite bit too sore to be cleared. Because just like Krystal this week, I would have shown you that week. I would have shown that you should have stayed home. Like I said to. Like I said when I was better than you for the Bombshell Internet Championship. Similarly to how I was better than our little Australian angel, Krystal Wolfe. Short memories around here, I’m sure. So it seems to me, that whilst my world is crumbling, I need to have a way to make it all better. And that better starts with you, lover.”
She sucks in a deep breath, and turns, pulling a chair forward. Pulling it up right next to the bed. She sits down in it. Leaning forward she pulls her hands together, almost looking like she was praying. Her head resting on top of her balled together hands.
“I kind of liked you at one point Krystal. A no nonsense bitch who was ready to trailblaze through anyone who stood in her way. You see, I thought the heartless one who was forsaking every friendship was the one who would eventually be across that ring from me for the World Championship. Instead, we’ve got the slowly maturing DiMaria, who. To her credit, hasn’t had a mental breakdown rant on Twitter in a couple months. Bravo, bravo to her. Bravo to the woman who now that she feels validated, sits above us with lofty pride and ambition. Doesn’t she look good up there, Krystal darling? Taunting and flaunting. It’s okay though. I got nothing else to lose right now. My ribs are busted up still. Good enough to get in there, just not good enough to stop hurting. My brother’s good enough to be breathing, but not good enough to be talking. Alex is good enough to love me, but I’m not good enough to be loved. I’ve got fucking nothing to lose, Krystal. I lose this match, so what? People already think I’m a loser. I lose this match, and it’s just another failure for Luna Pasilno. The mouthy little whore who just can’t back it up. Full of bravado, and emotion. But sweet sugar is she just a step too short.”
“The memories are what undoes us all. Hypocrisy, arrogance and a little too much attitude. This is placation. They give you a golden opportunity, I lose, nobody cares. I win, everyone shudders a little bit because I have this uncanny ability to win the championship. Just can’t seem to hold on to it. That’s okay though. We are just the sum of our fucking parts, right? I’m just another body to the flame. Another person to throw in the way of things and see how it sticks. Threw me at Crystal, and I ended her reign here. Put her out to pasture. Threw me as a body into a group of women to determine the Bombshell Internet Champion, and lo and behold. I walked out the winner. Throw Luna at something, and see she floats. I’m tired of floating. I’m sick and tired of floating, Krystal.”
“So we’ll just leave it at that. Luna Pasilno, no longer the vainglorious girl. Just an emotional little girl, who they throw at a problem. To see how it sticks.”
She lowered her hands, laying them flat. Resting her head on her fingers. Her eyes misty. Tears sitting in them.
“I don’t have religion, and I ain’t much for wine. Someone is going down at Climax Control, Krystal. And if I need to break you to have some happiness? Then sign me the fuck up. I’m tired of crying.”
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
