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Supercard Roleplays / Re: KAYLA RICHARDS v BELLA MADISON - HARDCORE MATCH
« Last post by Dreamkiller on January 06, 2026, 07:28:04 AM »Chapter 79: Proof of Life
I didn’t call him right away.
That was the compromise I made with myself. Not silence. Not refusal. Just distance, long enough for the noise to settle. Long enough to be sure that this wasn’t me reacting to Amber’s calm certainty or Tasmin’s hopeful softness. Long enough to know that if I opened this door, it would be because I chose to, not because I was being pulled through it by guilt or expectation. Because that was the fear, really. Not him.
Expectation.
The quiet pressure that came when everyone else had decided how healing should look. I tried to tell myself I was fine. That I didn’t need anything from him. That my life was stable now in ways it had never been before. I had built something solid out of years of instinctive self-destruction. I had learned how to stop running toward men who mirrored chaos because chaos felt like home. I had learned how to stay. How to trust. How to let myself be loved without bracing for the moment it would turn cruel or conditional.
That mattered. And it scared me. Because stability had made me reflective in ways survival never allowed. It gave my past room to breathe. To stretch. To speak. Amber’s words echoed whether I wanted them to or not. I chose myself. Tasmin’s voice followed close behind, gentler but just as persistent. You don’t have to forgive him to move forward. I hated how reasonable they sounded.
Anger had always been clean. Sharp. Protective. Anger didn’t ask questions. It didn’t second-guess. It kept me upright when everything else felt like it might cave in. But lately, anger felt… heavy. Like armor I no longer needed but didn’t know how to take off without exposing something raw underneath. Eventually, I sent the message. It was short. Controlled. Deliberately unemotional.
If you want to talk, we can meet. Public place. My terms.
I stared at the screen longer than I needed to before hitting send. The response came quickly.
Of course. Anywhere you’re comfortable. Thank you for even considering it.
Thank you.
The words made my stomach tighten. Gratitude felt misplaced. Premature. I didn’t respond. I chose the place instead, a small café far enough from familiarity to feel neutral, close enough to leave quickly if I needed to. Somewhere bright. Somewhere busy. Somewhere I wouldn’t feel trapped by memory. When I arrived, he was already there. He looked even older than before. Sadder than before. More pathetic.
Not weaker. Not smaller. Just… worn in places I didn’t remember. More gray than dark in his hair. Lines around his eyes that spoke of regret more than laughter. His shoulders curved forward slightly, as though years of carrying something unseen had finally begun to show. He stood when he saw me. That, too, surprised me. ”Kayla,” he said. My name sounded strange in his mouth. Familiar, but distant. Like a word I used to know how to answer to.
I didn’t hug him. I didn’t smile. I nodded once and sat down across from him, placing my bag carefully at my feet like an anchor. ”Before we start,” I said, my voice steady in a way that felt unreal, “you need to understand something.” He nodded immediately. Too quickly. Like someone bracing for impact. “This isn’t forgiveness, This isn’t reconciliation. This is a conversation. And I don’t owe you anything beyond that.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m not here to ask for anything.” I studied his face, searching for the old tells. The defensiveness. The tendency to fill silence with excuses. I found none. That didn’t comfort me. It only reminded me that people could change their masks without changing what they’d done.
“Good,” I said. “Then listen.” The waitress came by. I ordered coffee, black. I needed something bitter to keep me grounded. When she left, the space between us filled with the kind of silence that hummed instead of screamed. “You left, Not just the house. You left us. And you didn’t just pack up and leave a family that needed you, you packed up and left a family that you destroyed. Your drinking, the violence, Jax was broken, Amber was broken, I was broken, Mom too…Tasmin was too young… but when she got older, it was like a stab to the heart…”
“Yes,” he replied quietly.
“You didn’t protect us. You didn’t stay. You didn’t fight for us. You didn’t try to be better back then….”
“Yes. I know”
No justifications. No attempt to reframe it. My chest tightened despite my efforts to stay detached. “Do you understand what that did?” I asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “I understand some of it. I don’t pretend to understand all of it.”
“Good,” I said, leaning forward. “Because I’m not here to make this easier for you.” I took a breath. Slow. Deliberate. “Your absence didn’t just hurt. It shaped me. It taught me things that took years to unlearn. It taught me that love was unreliable. Those men left. That staying meant enduring damage. So I pushed people away before they could abandon me. I sabotaged relationships before they had the chance to matter. I chose men who were wrong for me because chaos felt familiar. Because part of me believed that if I could survive that, then it was normal.”
His jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on the table. He didn’t interrupt. “It took me a long time to realize I wasn’t broken,” I continued. “That I was coping. That every bad choice made sense when you traced it back far enough. But it also meant I hurt myself over and over again. Friendships ended. Relationships collapsed. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and didn’t know how to let that be safe.” I met his eyes then. “You didn’t just hurt my childhood. You shaped how I moved through the world as an adult.”
His voice was barely above a whisper. “I know I did.”
The sincerity in it made my throat burn. I hated that reaction. “I’ve met someone now,” I said, forcing myself to continue. “A man who loves me for who I am, not for who he can control, or fix, or outlast. Someone who doesn’t mistake endurance for devotion. And I’m not going to let your shadow take that from me. I won’t destroy something good just to stay loyal to my bullshit past.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said immediately. “You deserve better than that.”
“I know,” I replied. “That’s the difference.” The silence that followed wasn’t hostile. It was heavy. Honest. The kind that demanded accountability without theatrics. “I’m not ready to forgive you,” I said finally. “And I might never be. Forgiveness feels too final. Too neat. And what you did wasn’t.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“But I am willing,” I continued, choosing each word with care, “to give you a chance. Not trust. Not closeness. A chance to prove that you are who you say you are now.”
His breath caught. “Thank you.”
“This chance has boundaries,” I said firmly. “You don’t get access to my life. You don’t get opinions. You don’t get to rewrite the past or minimize it. If you disappear again, that’s it. No explanations. No second or third fucking chances.”
“I understand,” he said. And for the first time, I believed that he truly did.
“This isn’t for you……This is for me. I need to know that letting go of anger doesn’t mean letting go of myself.”
He looked at me then, not with entitlement or nostalgia, but with something like humility. “If that’s all I’m allowed,” he said, “then that’s enough.” That surprised me.
We finished our coffee without saying much else. When we stood, there was no embrace. No gesture toward closeness. Just space, intentional and necessary. As I walked away, I didn’t feel lighter. But I felt intact. I hadn’t forgiven him. I hadn’t absolved him. I hadn’t rewritten history. I had simply allowed myself to step out of the ruins without pretending they never existed. This wasn’t healing. It was proof of life.
Echo
”Is there an echo in here?”
Kayla shakes her head. She’s not wearing the elegant dress that she was last time, instead dressed closer to what we usually see. A black crop top with a leather jacket over that and black jeans.
”It’s almost like I called it, right? What you would say, the attitude that you would have. It’s because you’re predictable, Bella. You are incredibly predictable. You think this is some kind of game with me? Do you think this is something I just do for fun? This is my life. I have said it before and I will say it again: people think that I don’t love this business because I don’t say it very often. So when I do say something like this, you should listen. I love professional wrestling. Not everyone does. Some just look at it as a means to an end or a way to make money, but I love this business. I’ve loved this business since I took my first steps in it. And I wasn’t born into this. Not like you.”
“You were. And you are right, I don’t lie. In fact, there’s something that I’ve pointed out so many times. I don’t lie to my opponents. I don’t lie to fans. I don’t lie to management. When I stand here and I say something, I am always telling the truth. The truth from my perspective, anyway. Some think that that’s cruel and unusual. I just see myself as a realist. Something that you seem to agree with. In fact, you freely admitted that it pisses you off how right I am and how I don’t lie.”
“So tell me, Bella… how much of my truth did you actually listen to?”
“How much are you going to take to heart and actually use? You talk about respect, and you also talk about hating that same respect, and that is one of the first things I’ve heard out of your mouth that makes sense to me. Believe me, there are certain women in this business that I hate that I have respect for. I hate the fact that I had respect for Andrea Hernandez at one point. When she beat me, I applauded her, but my respect was misplaced. Same with Frankie Holiday when she beat me and took that Bombshells Championship from me. I had respect for her. Only for her to piss it all away. So why should I continue giving my respect to anybody when they don’t really earn shit and they constantly disappoint me?”
She pauses and shakes her head, trying to hide her frustration, anger, and disappointment.
”Much like you. You disappoint me, Bella. We are going into this hardcore match, a match with no rules, which will allow me to do whatever I want to your pretty little face, and you are focusing on all the things I’ve said about you in the past. You are talking me up, talking about my championships and what I’ve been able to accomplish, and the fact that I don’t quit. All the while comparing me to you and saying how you want to be that way. Listen, sweetheart, you and I aren’t the same. You were born into this business with a mother and a father who could show you the ropes. You have had every opportunity given to you because of that name, despite the fact that you tried to move away from it in the beginning.”
“But respect is something poisonous. You respect me because you’re too busy looking up at me, and people who look up never land the killing blow. People who are constantly looking up don’t see those standing behind them with daggers ready to stab them in the back. I have eyes on all sides, and you are currently below me, beneath me in talent and status. But I also know that if you had the balls, you would have a dagger at the ready to jab right into my back and take my spot.”
“And if you did that?… shit, I’d respect that…”
“Thing is, you won’t. You can’t. You have completely misunderstood what I’ve been trying to tell you. Yeah, you’re not a big enough bitch. You do care too much about what people think of you, all the while worrying too much about what I think of you. When I say to you that you are almost there, that you’ve almost made it, that you are on the cusp of getting to that next level, I’m not giving you a compliment. You have been ‘a moment away’ for years, which means all that has happened is you’ve gotten louder while standing in the same fucking place.”
She gets to her feet, moving around the room. It seems to be almost the opposite of how it was the first time. Instead of it being bright and Kayla looking like some kind of glamour model, now she is definitely more like herself. The room is dark. She reaches forward, grabbing a glass which is filled with some kind of amber liquid, taking a sip before placing it down and pushing out a deep breath.
”Your life, your entire career, has been built off the word ‘almost.’ Bella is almost a champion, almost ready to become a main event player, almost ready to become like her mother. Almost ready to become like Kayla fucking Richards. But almost is not a legacy. Almost is not what gets you in the record books. And almost isn’t what gets you where you need to be. Imagined crowns do not make you a real queen. Imagined championships don’t make you a champion, and imagined careers don’t make you a legend.”
“I said it, didn’t I? I told you that you were going to go down this route. You want so badly to be me, but you never will be. You are still figuring it out, by your own admission. I don’t figure anything out. I already know. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, if you haven’t finally gotten to the point where you know what it takes to become champion and to do everything that others have, then you never will. You have had every single advantage handed to you, and you haven’t been able to make it work.”
“So you never will.”
“And this match will go a long way to proving that. You can keep on playing the underdog who’s still learning all you want, but if you are still doing this after five years of being in some of the best companies this business has ever seen, then you are either so ignorant that you can’t learn anything that isn’t shoved directly in your face, or you just can’t figure it out and you’re nowhere near as good as you believe yourself to be, or as good as your mother believes you to be. At Inception, you are going to be stepping in the ring with the most dangerous woman on this roster, in a match where there are no rules. A match where I can do whatever I damn well please to you and get away with it. If you are an underdog, if you are still figuring it out, then when we get into the ring, I am going to eat you alive, Bella. You can spend all the time you want looking up to me, because I’ll be looking down at you, broken, ended, where you belong.”
I didn’t call him right away.
That was the compromise I made with myself. Not silence. Not refusal. Just distance, long enough for the noise to settle. Long enough to be sure that this wasn’t me reacting to Amber’s calm certainty or Tasmin’s hopeful softness. Long enough to know that if I opened this door, it would be because I chose to, not because I was being pulled through it by guilt or expectation. Because that was the fear, really. Not him.
Expectation.
The quiet pressure that came when everyone else had decided how healing should look. I tried to tell myself I was fine. That I didn’t need anything from him. That my life was stable now in ways it had never been before. I had built something solid out of years of instinctive self-destruction. I had learned how to stop running toward men who mirrored chaos because chaos felt like home. I had learned how to stay. How to trust. How to let myself be loved without bracing for the moment it would turn cruel or conditional.
That mattered. And it scared me. Because stability had made me reflective in ways survival never allowed. It gave my past room to breathe. To stretch. To speak. Amber’s words echoed whether I wanted them to or not. I chose myself. Tasmin’s voice followed close behind, gentler but just as persistent. You don’t have to forgive him to move forward. I hated how reasonable they sounded.
Anger had always been clean. Sharp. Protective. Anger didn’t ask questions. It didn’t second-guess. It kept me upright when everything else felt like it might cave in. But lately, anger felt… heavy. Like armor I no longer needed but didn’t know how to take off without exposing something raw underneath. Eventually, I sent the message. It was short. Controlled. Deliberately unemotional.
If you want to talk, we can meet. Public place. My terms.
I stared at the screen longer than I needed to before hitting send. The response came quickly.
Of course. Anywhere you’re comfortable. Thank you for even considering it.
Thank you.
The words made my stomach tighten. Gratitude felt misplaced. Premature. I didn’t respond. I chose the place instead, a small café far enough from familiarity to feel neutral, close enough to leave quickly if I needed to. Somewhere bright. Somewhere busy. Somewhere I wouldn’t feel trapped by memory. When I arrived, he was already there. He looked even older than before. Sadder than before. More pathetic.
Not weaker. Not smaller. Just… worn in places I didn’t remember. More gray than dark in his hair. Lines around his eyes that spoke of regret more than laughter. His shoulders curved forward slightly, as though years of carrying something unseen had finally begun to show. He stood when he saw me. That, too, surprised me. ”Kayla,” he said. My name sounded strange in his mouth. Familiar, but distant. Like a word I used to know how to answer to.
I didn’t hug him. I didn’t smile. I nodded once and sat down across from him, placing my bag carefully at my feet like an anchor. ”Before we start,” I said, my voice steady in a way that felt unreal, “you need to understand something.” He nodded immediately. Too quickly. Like someone bracing for impact. “This isn’t forgiveness, This isn’t reconciliation. This is a conversation. And I don’t owe you anything beyond that.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m not here to ask for anything.” I studied his face, searching for the old tells. The defensiveness. The tendency to fill silence with excuses. I found none. That didn’t comfort me. It only reminded me that people could change their masks without changing what they’d done.
“Good,” I said. “Then listen.” The waitress came by. I ordered coffee, black. I needed something bitter to keep me grounded. When she left, the space between us filled with the kind of silence that hummed instead of screamed. “You left, Not just the house. You left us. And you didn’t just pack up and leave a family that needed you, you packed up and left a family that you destroyed. Your drinking, the violence, Jax was broken, Amber was broken, I was broken, Mom too…Tasmin was too young… but when she got older, it was like a stab to the heart…”
“Yes,” he replied quietly.
“You didn’t protect us. You didn’t stay. You didn’t fight for us. You didn’t try to be better back then….”
“Yes. I know”
No justifications. No attempt to reframe it. My chest tightened despite my efforts to stay detached. “Do you understand what that did?” I asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “I understand some of it. I don’t pretend to understand all of it.”
“Good,” I said, leaning forward. “Because I’m not here to make this easier for you.” I took a breath. Slow. Deliberate. “Your absence didn’t just hurt. It shaped me. It taught me things that took years to unlearn. It taught me that love was unreliable. Those men left. That staying meant enduring damage. So I pushed people away before they could abandon me. I sabotaged relationships before they had the chance to matter. I chose men who were wrong for me because chaos felt familiar. Because part of me believed that if I could survive that, then it was normal.”
His jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on the table. He didn’t interrupt. “It took me a long time to realize I wasn’t broken,” I continued. “That I was coping. That every bad choice made sense when you traced it back far enough. But it also meant I hurt myself over and over again. Friendships ended. Relationships collapsed. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and didn’t know how to let that be safe.” I met his eyes then. “You didn’t just hurt my childhood. You shaped how I moved through the world as an adult.”
His voice was barely above a whisper. “I know I did.”
The sincerity in it made my throat burn. I hated that reaction. “I’ve met someone now,” I said, forcing myself to continue. “A man who loves me for who I am, not for who he can control, or fix, or outlast. Someone who doesn’t mistake endurance for devotion. And I’m not going to let your shadow take that from me. I won’t destroy something good just to stay loyal to my bullshit past.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said immediately. “You deserve better than that.”
“I know,” I replied. “That’s the difference.” The silence that followed wasn’t hostile. It was heavy. Honest. The kind that demanded accountability without theatrics. “I’m not ready to forgive you,” I said finally. “And I might never be. Forgiveness feels too final. Too neat. And what you did wasn’t.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“But I am willing,” I continued, choosing each word with care, “to give you a chance. Not trust. Not closeness. A chance to prove that you are who you say you are now.”
His breath caught. “Thank you.”
“This chance has boundaries,” I said firmly. “You don’t get access to my life. You don’t get opinions. You don’t get to rewrite the past or minimize it. If you disappear again, that’s it. No explanations. No second or third fucking chances.”
“I understand,” he said. And for the first time, I believed that he truly did.
“This isn’t for you……This is for me. I need to know that letting go of anger doesn’t mean letting go of myself.”
He looked at me then, not with entitlement or nostalgia, but with something like humility. “If that’s all I’m allowed,” he said, “then that’s enough.” That surprised me.
We finished our coffee without saying much else. When we stood, there was no embrace. No gesture toward closeness. Just space, intentional and necessary. As I walked away, I didn’t feel lighter. But I felt intact. I hadn’t forgiven him. I hadn’t absolved him. I hadn’t rewritten history. I had simply allowed myself to step out of the ruins without pretending they never existed. This wasn’t healing. It was proof of life.
Echo
”Is there an echo in here?”
Kayla shakes her head. She’s not wearing the elegant dress that she was last time, instead dressed closer to what we usually see. A black crop top with a leather jacket over that and black jeans.
”It’s almost like I called it, right? What you would say, the attitude that you would have. It’s because you’re predictable, Bella. You are incredibly predictable. You think this is some kind of game with me? Do you think this is something I just do for fun? This is my life. I have said it before and I will say it again: people think that I don’t love this business because I don’t say it very often. So when I do say something like this, you should listen. I love professional wrestling. Not everyone does. Some just look at it as a means to an end or a way to make money, but I love this business. I’ve loved this business since I took my first steps in it. And I wasn’t born into this. Not like you.”
“You were. And you are right, I don’t lie. In fact, there’s something that I’ve pointed out so many times. I don’t lie to my opponents. I don’t lie to fans. I don’t lie to management. When I stand here and I say something, I am always telling the truth. The truth from my perspective, anyway. Some think that that’s cruel and unusual. I just see myself as a realist. Something that you seem to agree with. In fact, you freely admitted that it pisses you off how right I am and how I don’t lie.”
“So tell me, Bella… how much of my truth did you actually listen to?”
“How much are you going to take to heart and actually use? You talk about respect, and you also talk about hating that same respect, and that is one of the first things I’ve heard out of your mouth that makes sense to me. Believe me, there are certain women in this business that I hate that I have respect for. I hate the fact that I had respect for Andrea Hernandez at one point. When she beat me, I applauded her, but my respect was misplaced. Same with Frankie Holiday when she beat me and took that Bombshells Championship from me. I had respect for her. Only for her to piss it all away. So why should I continue giving my respect to anybody when they don’t really earn shit and they constantly disappoint me?”
She pauses and shakes her head, trying to hide her frustration, anger, and disappointment.
”Much like you. You disappoint me, Bella. We are going into this hardcore match, a match with no rules, which will allow me to do whatever I want to your pretty little face, and you are focusing on all the things I’ve said about you in the past. You are talking me up, talking about my championships and what I’ve been able to accomplish, and the fact that I don’t quit. All the while comparing me to you and saying how you want to be that way. Listen, sweetheart, you and I aren’t the same. You were born into this business with a mother and a father who could show you the ropes. You have had every opportunity given to you because of that name, despite the fact that you tried to move away from it in the beginning.”
“But respect is something poisonous. You respect me because you’re too busy looking up at me, and people who look up never land the killing blow. People who are constantly looking up don’t see those standing behind them with daggers ready to stab them in the back. I have eyes on all sides, and you are currently below me, beneath me in talent and status. But I also know that if you had the balls, you would have a dagger at the ready to jab right into my back and take my spot.”
“And if you did that?… shit, I’d respect that…”
“Thing is, you won’t. You can’t. You have completely misunderstood what I’ve been trying to tell you. Yeah, you’re not a big enough bitch. You do care too much about what people think of you, all the while worrying too much about what I think of you. When I say to you that you are almost there, that you’ve almost made it, that you are on the cusp of getting to that next level, I’m not giving you a compliment. You have been ‘a moment away’ for years, which means all that has happened is you’ve gotten louder while standing in the same fucking place.”
She gets to her feet, moving around the room. It seems to be almost the opposite of how it was the first time. Instead of it being bright and Kayla looking like some kind of glamour model, now she is definitely more like herself. The room is dark. She reaches forward, grabbing a glass which is filled with some kind of amber liquid, taking a sip before placing it down and pushing out a deep breath.
”Your life, your entire career, has been built off the word ‘almost.’ Bella is almost a champion, almost ready to become a main event player, almost ready to become like her mother. Almost ready to become like Kayla fucking Richards. But almost is not a legacy. Almost is not what gets you in the record books. And almost isn’t what gets you where you need to be. Imagined crowns do not make you a real queen. Imagined championships don’t make you a champion, and imagined careers don’t make you a legend.”
“I said it, didn’t I? I told you that you were going to go down this route. You want so badly to be me, but you never will be. You are still figuring it out, by your own admission. I don’t figure anything out. I already know. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, if you haven’t finally gotten to the point where you know what it takes to become champion and to do everything that others have, then you never will. You have had every single advantage handed to you, and you haven’t been able to make it work.”
“So you never will.”
“And this match will go a long way to proving that. You can keep on playing the underdog who’s still learning all you want, but if you are still doing this after five years of being in some of the best companies this business has ever seen, then you are either so ignorant that you can’t learn anything that isn’t shoved directly in your face, or you just can’t figure it out and you’re nowhere near as good as you believe yourself to be, or as good as your mother believes you to be. At Inception, you are going to be stepping in the ring with the most dangerous woman on this roster, in a match where there are no rules. A match where I can do whatever I damn well please to you and get away with it. If you are an underdog, if you are still figuring it out, then when we get into the ring, I am going to eat you alive, Bella. You can spend all the time you want looking up to me, because I’ll be looking down at you, broken, ended, where you belong.”