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« Last post by BellaMadison on January 23, 2026, 11:56:18 PM »
~*~You Are Allowed to have Faults~*~
Trainer’s Room – Backstage, Inception
Minutes after the bell
The room smelled like antiseptic and iron. It was too bright, too loud. And there were far too many hands around her at the moment for her to remotely attempt to calm down.
Bella sat on the edge of the exam table, shoulders hunched forward, forearms resting on her thighs, breath still coming a little too shallow to be comfortable. Her back burned in dozens of sharp, specific points where the thumbtacks had kissed and bitten, the sensation somewhere between fire and electricity. Tape already crisscrossed her ribs, tight enough to remind her to breathe carefully. Someone had cleaned the blood, but the ache stayed.
A trainer dabbed at her shoulder with gauze and it caused her to flinch.
“Hey! Easy hun,” the trainer said automatically.
Bella’s head snapped up, “Don’t fucking ‘easy’ me.”
The room went quiet for half a second. Mal stood a few feet away, hands on his hips, jaw clenched, doing that thing where he wanted to be everywhere at once and nowhere at all. He’d already been told to sit down twice and ignored it both times.
The doctor cleared his throat, "Bella, we just need to...”
“No,” she cut in. Her voice was hoarse but sharp, edged with heat, "What you need to do is stop talking to me like I just wandered in here off the street and that I’m a fucking child.”
She winced as she shifted, a hiss slipping out before she could stop it. That just made her angrier.
“Goddammit,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
The doctor exchanged a look with one of the trainers, "You’ve got bruised ribs. Possibly a hairline fracture. We’re taping you for support, not for comfort.”
“I didn’t ask for comfort.”
“I know,” he said calmly, "That’s the problem. I would suggest that you are taken to the hospital for scans...”
Another trainer knelt in front of her, carefully checking her ankle. Bella watched his hands with narrowed eyes.
“If you twist that any harder,” she warned, “I’m gonna kick you.”
He didn’t even look up, "You’re welcome to try.”
She huffed a humorless laugh, then immediately regretted it when her ribs screamed. Her hand flew to her side instinctively, fingers digging into the tape.
Mal took a step forward, "Bells....”
She shot him a look that could’ve cut glass.
“Don’t,” she snapped, "Don’t do the face. Don’t do the voice. I don’t need it right now..”
His mouth opened, then closed again. He nodded once, jaw tight, but stayed where he was.
The doctor shined a light briefly near her eyes, "Any dizziness?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah,” she admitted, "From this whole interaction...Because I’m sitting here instead of being out there.”
The doctor didn’t rise to it, he know she was still flying on adrenaline alone, "You passed out due to pain and compression, not a knockout. That’s good news.”
Bella laughed again, sharp and bitter, "Fantastic. Put it on a fucking banner, maybe some fancy LEDs....”
Silence fell again, heavier this time because she was attempting hard to pick fights, which was unusual for Bella but considering what happened...they weren’t gonna think much of it for now. One of the trainers gently pulled a tack free from the back of her shoulder. Bella sucked in a breath through her teeth, muscles tensing.
“Jesus,” Mal muttered under his breath.
Bella heard him, "You don’t get to look like that,” she said flatly.
He blinked, "Like what?”
“Like this was someone else’s fault.”
Mal stepped closer despite himself, "Bella, you went through hell.”
She rounded on him then, eyes blazing, "AND I asked for it.” The room stilled again..especially when they all knew how Bella and Mal were together, she rarely if ever barked at him like this.
“I asked for Kayla Richards at full speed,” Bella went on, voice low, furious, controlled just enough not to crack, "I didn’t get jumped. I didn’t get screwed. I didn’t get unlucky. I walked straight into that match knowing exactly who she is.”
Her hands curled into fists on her knees. The movement pulled at her ribs and she barely reacted, like pain was just background noise now.
“And I still missed the timing,” she continued, "I still chased the moment instead of owning it. I still gave her one inch and she took a whole fucking mile and turned it into a fucking grave.”
Mal didn’t interrupt this time.
The doctor gestured subtly for the trainers to give her space. They backed off a step, but stayed close.
“I’m not mad at her,” Bella said, almost snarling now, "She did exactly what she said she would do. Exactly. No shortcuts. No bullshit. She ended my night because I let her.” Her jaw tightened, "That’s on me.”
Mal finally spoke, carefully, "You didn’t quit.”
She whipped her head toward him, "That’s not enough. IT’S STILL NOT ENOUGH!”
The words hit harder than any chair shot.
“I don’t want ‘she didn’t quit,’ Mal,” Bella said, "I don’t want ‘she survived.’ I don’t want to be the woman people respect for almost getting there.” Her voice dropped, raw now, "I want to be the one who finishes it.”
The doctor stepped in gently, "Bella, nobody in that locker room will look at this as a failure.”
She laughed again, this time hollow, "Maybe a few of them...and you know what? Good for them. There are going to be plenty fucking others who think differently.”
A trainer started wrapping her ankle and she let it happen, staring straight ahead now, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.
“I was right there,” she said quietly, "IT WAS RIGHT FUCKING THERE!.”
Mal moved closer, kneeling so they were eye level. He didn’t touch her this time. Just stayed.
“Love, you’re allowed to be pissed,” he said, "Just don’t let it eat you alive.”
She swallowed, chest rising carefully, “I won’t,” she said, "I’m gonna feed it.”
The doctor finally spoke again, "You’re not cleared to train for a bit. Light movement only. We’ll reassess.”
Bella’s eyes flicked to him, "How long?”
“If you are smart I would recommend a couple weeks.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, "We’ll see.”
Mal sighed softly, "Bella...”
She stood then, slow and deliberate, every movement calculated. Pain rippled through her, but she stayed upright, "Mal, I didn’t lose because I wasn’t tough enough,” she said, meeting Mal’s eyes, "I lost because I’m still learning how to end things.”
She grabbed her jacket from the chair, shrugging into it despite the protests of her ribs, "Having flaws doesn’t scare me,” Bella said quietly, "Staying unfinished does.”
“And that pisses me off more than anything.”
The trainers watched her go, bruised, taped, bleeding in places that would scar. She wasn’t broken and she wasn’t finished.
And she was just furious enough to evolve.
And that, more than anything, scared everyone who understood what Bella Madison really was becoming.
~*~Home Is Where the Fight Waits~*~
New York
One Week Later
The snow had melted unevenly across the property, leaving the ground half-mud, half-memory. The barn stood exactly where it always had, weathered and patient, like it understood waiting better than most people did.
Bella hadn’t gone near it for seven days. That alone felt like a lie she was telling herself.
The house was quiet in the late afternoon, that particular lull between naps and dinner where the world seemed to take a breath. Máire was down for the count, sprawled across her bed sideways like gravity was optional. Luka lay on the rug by the back door, tail thumping lazily every time Bella passed, hopeful for chaos.
Bella stood in the kitchen in leggings and an old SCW hoodie, ribs still taped under the fabric, ankle wrapped lighter now but not forgotten. She was stirring coffee she didn’t need, eyes fixed out the window at the tree line.
At the barn.
Mal watched her from the doorway. He hadn’t said anything yet. He’d learned when silence was a better opening move, but he also knew when letting it linger turned into permission.
“You promised yourself a week,” he said finally.
Bella didn’t look at him, "It’s been a week.”
“Seven days,” Mal corrected, "You’re not healed and you are certainly not rested. I also recall you not being cleared yet.”
She took a sip, winced, then set the mug down harder than necessary, "I didn’t say healed.”
He crossed the kitchen, stopping a few feet from her. Close enough to matter but not close enough to cage her.
“You’re already halfway back in your head,” he said, "I can see it.”
Bella exhaled through her nose, "Mal...”
“No,” he cut in, not sharp, just firm. That was new, "Bella you let me talk this time.”
She turned then, brows knitting, "Since when do you interrupt me?”
“Since you started treating pain like a calendar reminder instead of a warning.”
That landed with her and you could tell when Bella folded her arms in front of her, shoulders tight, "I’m not reckless.”
“No,” Mal agreed immediately, "You’re worse. You’re methodical.”
She blinked, "Excuse me?”
“You don’t think that I see it? You plan around damage. In fact you have come to normalizing it. You convince yourself that if you can still stand, you’re fine.” His voice dipped, softer but heavier, "Mo grah, that scares the hell out of me.”
Bella stared at him, jaw set, "I am not made of glass Mal and I’m not falling apart.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replied, "I said you’re pushing like someone who’s afraid if she stops moving, something catches up to her.”
The silence stretched between them. Outside, the wind rattled the barn door lightly, metal on metal.
Bella finally spoke, quieter, "I gave myself time.”
“You gave yourself permission,” Mal said, "That’s not the same thing.”
She laughed once, sharp, "You sound like my mother.”
“That’s not an insult, in fact if ANYONE would know about that it would be the woman that was damn near burned alive and came back 2 weeks later with a Phantom of the Opera-esque mask just to prove a fucking point.”
She rubbed at her ribs unconsciously, "Well, I don’t have the luxury of slowing down.”
Mal stepped closer now, "Yes the hell you do. You just don’t want it.”
Her eyes snapped up, "Because slowing down is how momentum dies.”
“No,” he countered, "Burning out is.”
That did it...Bella turned away, pacing once, then again, restless energy buzzing under her skin, "I lost because I wasn’t ready to end it,” she said, "Not because I wasn’t tough enough. Not because I didn’t want it bad enough. I need to fix that, Malachi.”
“And you will,” Mal said, "But you don’t fix that by grinding yourself into dust.”
She spun back to him, "You think I don’t know my limits?”
“I think,” he said carefully, “that your limits keep moving, and you keep chasing them instead of listening when they talk back.”
Her breath hitched, just a fraction.
“I love that you’re stubborn,” he went on, "I love that you don’t quit. I love that you walked into Kayla Richards at full speed and didn’t blink.” His voice softened, cracked just enough to be honest, "But I’m scared you’re going to wake up one morning and realize you’ve given everything to the fight and nothing to yourself.”
Bella swallowed.
“I’m still here,” she said.
“So am I,” Mal replied, "That’s the point.”
They stood there, inches apart, not arguing anymore, just standing in the truth of it.
Finally, Bella nodded once, "I’m going to the barn.” He didn’t stop her, but he reached out, catching her wrist gently, "Not to prove anything...”
She met his eyes.
“To listen to yourself,” he finished.
She exhaled slowly and nodded, “I can do that.”
Mal squeezed her hand once, "That’s all I’m asking.”
Bella zipped up her hoodie, laced her boots carefully, and stepped out into the cold air. The barn loomed ahead, familiar and waiting, not as an escape, but as a conversation she wasn’t ready to have, but needed to.
Mal watched from the porch as she crossed the yard, Luka trotting after her like a shadow.
“She’s going to be fine,” he murmured to no one in particular. Then, quieter, “She just doesn’t know how to stop fighting long enough to heal.”
And inside the barn, the lights clicked on, not for war.
~*~The Work Between Wars~*~
New York
The Barn
The lights hummed overhead, one row at a time, washing the barn in white and shadow. The ring sat at the center like it always had, canvas scuffed, ropes taut, corners taped and retaped from years of use and abuse before it came to them. It wasn’t pretty but it didn’t have to be for the use that they were doing.
Bella stepped inside slowly. There was no music and most certainly no rush.
Her ribs still pulled when she twisted too far. The ankle wasn’t painful so much as a reminder, a quiet, persistent note under everything else. She rolled her shoulders once, then again, feeling where her body answered cleanly and where it hesitated.
That was the difference now. She didn’t ignore it.
Bella started with footwork. Not speed or power. Instead it was taking it back to the basics just like when she started training with her dad...Just placement. Forward. Angle. Pivot. Reset. Over and over, boots whispering against the canvas. She shadowboxed lightly, hands up, not throwing to hurt, but throwing to see.
Her mind kept circling back to the same moment.
The ladder.
The leap.
The inch.
She stopped mid-step.
Her chest rose once and then twice.
“No,” she said quietly to herself.
She reset her stance, adjusted her base, and tried it again, this time slower and cleaner. When she threw the kick this time, she pulled it halfway through, catching the balance point instead of chasing the snap.
Better. Bella nodded to herself and moved on.
She worked the ropes next, running them not at full sprint but at rhythm. Catching the rebound with the timing of the turn. Where her body wanted to rush, she forced it to wait. Where instinct screamed now, she made herself count.
One.
Two.
Move.
Sweat beaded at her hairline long before her lungs burned. This wasn’t conditioning. This was a correction.
Half an hour in, she felt it, that subtle wrongness in her ribs when she twisted for a follow-through she shouldn’t have attempted yet. Bella hissed and stopped herself mid-motion, one hand bracing on the top rope.
For a moment, the old instinct flared.
Push through it.
Ignore it.
You’re fine.
She closed her eyes.
“No,” she said again. Firmer this time.
Bella stepped back, paced once, then shook out her arms. She swapped drills to ground work, transitions, and holds. She dropped to the mat and worked through grappling sequences solo, visualizing resistance, visualizing counters.
This was how she learned to end things.
Not louder.
Not faster.
Cleaner.
When she finally sat back on her heels, breath controlled, sweat cooling against her skin, the barn door creaked.
She didn’t turn and Mal didn’t announce himself either.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the way she rolled her shoulder before standing. The way she favored nothing, but respected everything.
“You stopped,” he said.
Bella glanced over, "I listened.”
That earned her a look, not relief or approval but respect.
He walked closer, stopping at ringside, "You didn’t used to.”
She shrugged, "Yeah well I ended up paying for it. I take it that mom came over?”
Mal studied her for a long second, "Yeah and her and the kid are working on dinner....But yet you’re still pushing, I can tell.”
“Yeah,” she said simply, "But not blindly...not anymore.”
He nodded, accepting that, then sat on the apron, "You wanna tell me what’s eating you, or you want me to guess wrong for a while?”
Bella leaned back against the ropes, eyes drifting to the far corner.
“Reno,” she said, "Was given a heads up that they believe after the scans we sent in when we got back that while I’m banged up, I’m not messed up enough to keep off the show.”
Mal exhaled slowly, "Yeah. That tracks.”
She turned her head, expression sharpening, not angry or reckless. But instead it’s focused.
“It’s against Victoria Lyons,” Bella continued, "It’s non-title. BUT it’s an Internet qualifier. If I lose, that’s it. There will be no ladder, no back door and no ‘almost.’ I’m gonna be pretty much done for the cycle unless I fucking win.”
Mal didn’t interrupt.
“She’s the champion,” Bella said, "Which means she’s not supposed to lose. Which means if I beat her, nobody gets to say it was a fluke. And if I don’t...”
She trailed off, jaw tightening and motions broadly at nothingness.
Mal spoke carefully, "You don’t have to erase what happened with Kayla with this match.”
Bella’s eyes flicked to him, "I am plenty aware of that.” Then, quieter, more dangerous, “But I do have to prove I learned from her.”
She stepped back into the ring, pacing now, words coming steadier the more she moved, "Victoria protects things,” Bella said, "Status. Position. Optics. She survives chaos and practically created it. She doesn’t live in it and relishes in it,” Her lip curled faintly, "That kind of thing really matters.”
She stopped center-ring.
“I don’t need to out-hardcore her. I don’t need to chase a moment.” Bella’s voice lowered, "I need to corner her. I need to make her choose between keeping her crown clean and keeping her crown at all.”
Mal watched her closely, "And you?”
Bella met his eyes.
“I can’t afford to be unfinished,” she said, "Not here and most certainly not now.”
There is a beat before she adds, honest and raw, “And I can’t afford to pretend that hurting doesn’t still matter.”
Mal nodded slowly, "That’s the line. Don’t cross it.”
She smirked faintly, "I won’t.”
He stood, stepped onto the apron, "You want a spotter?”
Bella considered it, Then nodded, "Yeah. I do.”
They worked together after that, Mal steadying ladders she didn’t climb yet, calling spacing, forcing her to reset when she rushed. When she stopped again, this time by choice, he didn’t comment.
That really mattered to her. As the lights dimmed later and the barn settled back into silence, Bella stood alone one last time, hands on the ropes, breathing even.
Reno wasn’t about redemption. It was about direction and for the first time since Inception, Bella Madison knew exactly where she was going, and exactly how she planned to get there.
Not unfinished.
Not this time.
~*~Rules of Engagement: Allow Quiet Before the Break~*~
The room was empty by design.
There were no banners, no posters, no mirrors angled to flatter. Just concrete walls, exposed beams, and a single overhead light that hummed softly like it had something to confess. The kind of place that didn’t care who you were, only what you did when no one was watching.
Bella Madison stood in the center of it, hands wrapped, jacket unzipped, ribs still taped beneath layers of black. She didn’t pace. She didn’t stretch. She didn’t shadowbox.
Instead she waited.
Somewhere behind the camera, a door clicked shut. The sound echoed longer than it should have.
A smirk appeared on her face as Bella lifted her head.
“Victoria.”
Her voice was calm. Not raised. Not performative. Just placed.
“I’m not here to pretend this is personal, and I’m not here to pretend it isn’t important.”
She took a step forward, boots scuffing the concrete.
“You and I respect each other, we came to that agreement a while ago. That’s true form to what this business should be. But don’t mistake respect for restraint, because I didn’t come into this match to protect your reputation, your reign, or the idea of you that SCW has gotten comfortable with.”
The overhead light cast a hard line across her face, shadowing one eye, leaving the other sharp and clear.
“You’re the Bombshell Internet Champion because you’re smart. Because you survive. Because you know how to keep your footing when the ground shifts under you. I’ve seen that. I’ve always seen that.”
There was a pause but it wasn’tt hesitation. Instead you could see the calculation churning in her head.
“But here’s the difference between us.”
She rolled her shoulders once, the movement tight, controlled.
“You protect what you have.”
Another step.
“I’m done protecting anything.”
Bella stopped just short of the camera now.
“I don’t have a title to cradle. I don’t have a safety net. I don’t have a legacy spot waiting for me if I stumble. I have one match, one opening, and no second chances...and that kind of pressure doesn’t make me reckless.”
Her jaw set.
“It makes me honest...BRUTALLY FUCKING HONEST.”
She exhaled through her nose, slowly.
“I already tried doing this the ‘right’ way. I tried being patient. I tried being the woman everyone could root for without feeling uncomfortable. I tried being the potential second-gen blah blah blah horseshit that I conned myself into being. I tried being close.”
Her eyes hardened.
“And all it did was teach me exactly how sharp the edge is when you stop apologizing for it.”
Bella leaned back against the concrete wall, arms crossing loosely.
“Kayla Richards didn’t beat me because I wasn’t tough enough. She beat me because I once again, hesitated.”
She pushed off the wall.
“I won’t make that mistake again. I CANNOT afford to do that again.”
Silence filled the space, thick and deliberate.
“So understand this, Victoria, when I stand across from you in Reno, I’m not coming for your crown out of envy. I got one of my own. I’m not chasing validation. I’m not playing underdog or hero or cautionary tale.”
Her voice didn’t rise.
“I’m coming because you’re standing where I need to step next.”
She took one final step forward, close enough that the camera caught the scuffs on her boots, the tape under her shirt, the marks she hadn’t bothered to hide.
“You survive storms.”
A faint, dangerous curve touched her mouth.
“I become them. You fight to keep order.”
Her gaze never wavered.
“I fight to end things.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“And I don’t need to hate you to do that. I don’t need to disrespect you. I don’t need to lie about what you are.”
Her voice dropped, steady and final.
“But I will test whether you can still stand when the match stops being about points and starts being about inevitability.”
Bella straightened fully now.
“Because this isn’t about who deserves it more. It’s about who refuses to stop. And Victoria?”
Her eyes burned, not angry but instead it’s deep resolve.
“I’ve already learned what happens when I let myself slow down. I won’t do it again. Not for you.”
A step back.
“Not for the title.”
Another.
“Not for anyone.”
She reached up and turned the overhead light off. Darkness swallowed the room. Her voice carried from it, clear and unshaken.
“So bring everything you’ve built. I’ll show you what happens when it runs headfirst into something that doesn’t care if it survives, only that it wins.”
A pause.
“And that’s not a promise.”
The door opened somewhere offscreen.
“That’s evolution.”
The door slams shut...and then silence.
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