[Celeste]

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Chapter One
Lonely Little Girl…

Once upon a time, in a land not all that far from yours, there lived a little girl, trapped inside of the body of a young woman.  She never wanted for naught, and the world was provided for her upon a silver platter.  The only price to pay for all of the riches provided in this world was to respect the Mother Earth and all of her creatures.  This was a price was one that she could not afford to pay, however.  For one thing not mentioned previously, was that she came from a practitioner of white magick, a woman who held favor in the eyes of Gaia herself.  Mother Moon smiled upon Crystalline North, and her bounty was bestowed upon her and her daughter.  However, Crystalline North’s purity was not enough to battle the blood of the demon of her life partner, Jared O’Keefe.  Everything that she stood for, he stood against.  Peace versus Chaos.  Virtue versus Vice.  Pacifism versus Violence.  The battled curse of their unholy union was passed down upon their daughter, Celeste.  One must give credit where credit is due, because Celeste fought the chaos, the vice, and the violence throughout her entire life, and the majority of the battles were won. However, a few key victories were won by the shadows.  The young girl found herself in constant war within herself, to the point that she was locked away as punishment for her daily torment, on more occasions that just once or twice.  Celeste was a miserable girl, but she tried her best to constantly war the demons to remain basking in the light with her mother.

However, one day, the shadows started to win.  Celeste fought harder, tooth and nail.  She found herself leaning on the friends who struggled to fight these same demons, and they banded together, through thick and thin.  The true saviors fought by one another’s side, through the darkest and the brightest of times.  The Nobodies would some day become the Somebodies.  It was the motto that they lived by.  Celeste, who had once given up hope of remaining in the light, had found her purpose.  The destiny that Gaia had intended for her was being carried out as not one, not two, and not three, but four of her teammates had fallen.  The one known as Kristopher Halich had abandoned their fight, despite desperate pleas to remain in the battle, by their side.  With sad eyes, The Nobodies let him go with the promise that should he ever want to fight at their side once more, he could.  This would never come to be, and shortly after, one Johnny Tsunami had decided that the vices outweighed his yearning for virtue, and he fall to this demon with no signs of turning back.  Celeste found herself growing stronger, fighting for her friends, tooth and nail.

This is where I come into play.  And old… acquaintance… if you will… had grown quite fond of the ginger fellow known as Timothy Staggs.  His innocence and purity of light had drawn Brother Grimm to him, and not only because the Hawkes boy all but fed him to Grimm, but because his determination to stay of such purity was so strong.  It was a cold and wintry December night, as I recall, the supposed birth of the greatest farce of mankind was drawing near.  Thankfully, the Staggs family had placed a wreath of fern and bindweed, which made it much easier to locate the young boy.  He struggled with this fight, but Grimm never loses sight of his prize, or his dinner.  He had the Staggs boy exactly where he wanted him, until Crystalline and Celeste showed up to aid him.  I was quite surprised, but the mud witches were able to banish Grimm temporarily, which is no easy feat for a mere mortal witch.  Of course, I brought him back, and we shared a few words about my not intervening.  The truth is, I wanted to see them do it.  I wanted to see Celeste do it.  I wanted to see what she was made of, and did I ever…

The Staggs boy fell to the same vices as Johnny, while Alexis fell to a much different demon.  I got in touch with Celeste by inviting her into my home so that she might see the fruits that Mother Yaga had to offer.  I toyed with her, tortured her, and watched her squirm as she continued to fight the righteous battle, but the demon blood within her had helped the small seeds I planted within her to grow.  Envy, rage, pride, gluttony, lust, sloth, and greed were tearing apart that righteousness inside of her, and I simply sat back and watched as it began to devour her.  A little whisper in her ear at the right time was like raindrops upon the wicked seeds.  One day, an opportunity arose, and it was one that I could not afford to pass up.  The Staggs boy, the one Celeste had dedicated her time to watching after, had found his way back to the vice that threatened to put him six feet under her feet, and he went a little too far.  The poison coursed through his veins rapidly as he shook on the ground.  Celeste was knelt by his side, tucking a pillow beneath his head as the white foam poured from his mouth.  She wept, because, having brushed with this demon herself, she knew that this was the goodbye.  She cried out for all that was holy...

“Oh, Goddess!  Goddess, please save him!  Please?  Somebody?!  HELP!!!”

I watched this go on, and I knew deep down inside that young Timothy would not make it.  I knew that the torture of Celeste would bring her within my very grasp, and that I might finally get what I wanted, all while that insufferable Grimm would get nothing.  If Timothy died on this night, there is a good chance that I would get everything that I had vested my time into getting.  Chance is not something Baba Yaga deals in.  I came when called, because I knew the Goddess wouldn’t appear to save Timothy.  I knew that no one would come and save this tainted child.  By all rights, he deserved to die.  However, I showed up, and Celeste looked up to me with the sweetest of tears in her eyes.  I run my finger across her cheek to scoop one up, bringing it to my lips to savor.  She reaches up to my rags, and she tugs lightly.

“Help him…?  Please?”

I don’t say a word to the young girl.  I stare down at Timothy as he prepares to take what could be his very last breath.  I smile wickedly at Celeste before looking back down to the boy.  He tried so hard to defile himself with the inane tattoos and the drugs, but he was still the most pure child in Sin City.  Brother Grimm still wanted him, and while I am not obliged to helping any being without something of my own to gain, I am going to save him.  What happens next, surprises me.

“I’ll owe you one, Baba Yaga.”

I chuckle softly, just loud enough for her to hear me.  She doesn’t know it, but she will owe much more than “one” when I am finished with her.  I lean down to the child, and I open his mouth.  I reach my wretched finger into his mouth as I mutter the words.  They get louder and louder as I summon all of the poison from his veins, and the foul black tar is vomited out of his mouth like a glorious fountain from the pits of hell.  I scoop a small amount of it into a vial for later.  Tim rolls over onto his side as he lets the remainder fall from his lips, and his body goes limp.  If not for the faint breaths, he would appear to be dead.  Celeste drags him from her room, as I disappear from the room, but not so far as to not be able to see what happened next.  She bathed the boy in the light potion that flows within her house, blessed by her mother, and by proxy, the Mother Moon.  The healing begins, but the real work was done by me, and Celeste knew it.

Our story doesn’t end there.  It doesn’t even quite begin there, either.  Celeste had fallen further away from me than she had ever been.  It clawed at me deeply, for Baba Yaga has only lost once, to those insufferably gluttonous children of the Black Forest.  I watched as she mothered the Staggs boy, and his soon to be wife.  I watched her dedicate herself, and finding the light magick within her growing stronger every day.  I watched the woman grow happier and happier.  Her professional life had grown to be something, as she won the Bombshell Roulette Championship.  Her love life had heated up too, as Daxton Oliver Beckett entered the picture.  Not to mention, her new friend, Delia, had taken her under her wing.  The mean, but God fearing woman, took Celeste to new heights.  I nearly vomited, until I watched as Delia dropped her from these new heights, and I watched her hit the ground, broken into a thousand pieces.  I smiled as she struggled.  I laughed as I watched her writhe on the ground, trying to put herself back together.  I savored every second of it… until I saw every single person in her life abandon her at her lowest point.  I watched her beg and plead for help, only to be turned away.  The poor girl fought so hard to maintain her righteousness, as each and every person left her lying on the ground.  The only person who stood by her was her lover.  But Celeste felt so dejected by all of this, that she found it hard to believe that he was sincere.  She pushed away the only person who was truly there for her.  While I found myself pitying her, I knew what this meant for me, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before she called out to me…

Celeste had found herself in the bathtub, naked and vulnerable.  In one hand, she held a straight razor, and in the other, she held onto a brittle twig.  Many thoughts crossed her mind as she sobbed in the water.  None of them were righteous.  She had demons whispering in her ears from both sides, and their voices were telling her only one thing...

”Do it… End it all… The pain will not compare to the pleasure of nothingness.”

The deception of it all… The pains of this world are but a fraction of what would await her.  However, I had to wait for her to make a choice.  Of course, it was the most obvious of choices, and was one of the few reasons that I was drawn to this little girl, who found loneliness in all of the bountiful pleasures given to her throughout life, as she always yearned for more.  Inside of the righteous shell, was a vile woman, born of the demon seed planted by her father, with all of the magickal power of her mother… a woman after my own heart.  She sat up in the bathtub, and she dropped the razor to the ground.  She clutched onto the twig, and she began to call out for me.

Celeste:  Baba Yaga… Baba Yaga!

“Yes, child?”

Celeste:  I’m ready…

“Come, child…”

I opened the door of her bathroom, and through it, are the gates surrounding my home.  The black wrought iron burns the hand of any intruder, but Celeste has the ability to open it without any harm done to herself.  She walks up to my home, staring up at the stilts of two chicken legs.

Celeste:  Baba Yaga… I’ve come to talk to you!

She speaks with such impatience, that of the spoiled child that she is.  Far be it from me to give in to such demands so quickly.  I wait a few moments, as she taps her foot, not phased by the desolate land of dead trees, seemingly scorched by the fire within the darkness of the dense woods.  Though, eventually, the legs lower down, bending at the knee, before resting in front of her.  It turns slightly, stirring up the dust, but Celeste again seems unphased.  She steps onto the porch of my humble abode, and goes to knock on the front door.  However, the door slowly creaks open before her.  She looks inside at the darkness.  The only thing she sees is my silhouette as I knit with the bones of past victims.  She reluctantly steps inside as she sits down in the chair directly across from me.  She props her wet feet on the table between us, and my eyes rise, squinting at her as the flare of a nostril sends her feet flying off of my table.

Me:  Your mother hath taught you many things, but manners doesn’t seem to be amongst them.

Celeste:  Holy fuck, B Y…

I continue to knit, waiting for her to say something of value to me, but conversation doesn’t seem to be her best suit.  I sigh as I knit a bit more furiously.

Me:  Your mother hath taught you many things, but manners doesn’t seem to be amongst them.  I’m assuming that you didn’t call for me to praise me for my foot off tables, otherwise known as manners, skills?

Celeste:  Oh… yeah.  You’re right.  Ummm...

She pauses, as she’s trying to figure out the best way to justify what she’s about to say, without coming across as untrue to the values her mother has taught her.  Throwing caution into the air, the young woman folds her hands in front of her as she looks right at me, and tries to demand my attention.

Celeste:  I’ve had a lot of time to consider your offer to teach me, and I’m ready to become your… acolyte, I guess?

Me:  And what makes you think that I’m still interested in teaching you a thing, child?

Again, she pauses, confused.  The girl is brighter than I had imagined, given her life choices.  She bites at her bottom lip, but not out of fear for me, but in a way that attempts to impress me.  I have to admit that it appeals to the humanity I once felt centuries ago, so I set my needles down on my lap and give her my undivided attention.

Celeste:  I’ve tried my entire life to be something that I am not.  I’ve tried to be liked, and I’ve constantly gotten shit on by friends, family, and life in general.  Damn it, I’m fucking sick of it already.  I’ve devoted so much time to trying to be the good guy, casting aside anything remotely selfish, and when I needed someone… anyone… to listen to me… to guide me… they couldn’t be fucked to help me.  It’s time to do what’s best for me.  I want to learn how to be the villain they so desperately want me to be.

Me:  Welcome to my world, dearie.  I can’t promise that I will keep you, because you’ve got so much to prove, but your bravery speaks volumes to me.  As long as you promise to be loyal to me, and me only… I can give you the world.

Celeste:  Before I pledge myself to you, I need to see some kind of gesture of good faith from you.  Forgive me if I have become a bit jaded by the world around me lately…

She crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at me, the foolish child actually making demands of me… the great Baba Yaga.  She’s lucky she doesn’t find herself locked in my oven for such a stunt, but like Grimm had found an unexplainable favor in the Staggs child, I’ve found favor in her.  I lean forward in my rocking chair and I stare at her with the fire reflecting in my eyes, or perhaps a fire I had created in them, but the girl refuses to back down.  My soiled hands and chipped nails grip onto the arms of my chair as I stare deep into her tormented soul that oh so resembled mine once upon a time.

Celeste:  I want to make Delia Darling pay.  I want to see her humiliated so badly that she doesn’t ever want to show her face again.  I want to take everything she’s ever held near and dear to her heart, and I want to steal it or destroy it.  I want my fucking moment to bask in the sunlight instead of having to constantly stand in other people’s shadows.

Me:  Oh… *chuckles*  child.  Here I thought you were going to ask me for something challenging, or something that you couldn’t do all on your own...

I stand up from my chair as I walk over to a cabinet of potions and elixirs, vast and too many to count.  I squint my eyes as I look through them, one at a time while Celeste grows impatient.  She scoffs as she crosses her legs, wagging her foot as if she were in a hurry.  This makes me take even more time to locate what I am looking for.  I finally pick up a bottle and I walk over toward Celeste.  She glares at it, and then to me.

Celeste:  Ummm, what the fuck is that?

Me:  Why, it is your wish, child.  You honestly think that you’re the first one to hunt me down to ask for something like this?  I haven’t got enough fingers or toes, human, newt, or otherwise, to count them all.

Celeste:  But...

I grip her jaw, and as she gasps from the slight pain, I pull her mouth open.  I pull the dropper from the bottle, but she willingly sticks her tongue out for me, making this much easier than I had anticipated.  I stare at her, taking a slight mercy on her as I let go of her jaw.  I give her time to take it back, for just like any magick… this one has a price.  She only further extends her tongue, blinking those sad, lonely eyes at me, knowing that she has nothing left of value to lose.  I gently squeeze, as the dropper allows but a single drop of the murky elixir to fall from it, and right down the center of her tongue.  She gasps, and nearly gags at the taste, as I close her mouth for her.  She fights it, but is unable to fight my power as I wrap my arms around her to stop her.  She whimpers as her eyes roll into the back of her head, and her body tightens up.  She flings herself to the ground as she begins to vomit a pile of neon green from deep within her, and the sound of a wicked beast roaring escapes her, as her body contorts in a manner that doesn’t seem physically possible for a human being.  I smile wickedly as I watch her endure the torture, and I cackle.

Me:  You can’t say that I didn’t warn you, dearie…

(((TBC)))


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Can We Hang On?
#NP "Can We Hang On?” by Cold War Kids
Taj Boston; Boston, Massachusetts


It’s been one fucking wild ride.  I’ve never felt so good in my entire life, and I used to be a heroine addict.  This new high is one that no one can take away from me.  It’s called not giving a single fuck.  Between my new friends, and my mom’s limitless credit card, life is good.  Drinks, clubs, shopping like daily… this is how the .01 percent really lives, and it’s my fucking birthright to live like this.  Not to mention the fucking beautiful man lying in bed next to me.  Now, now… I know what you’re thinking.  Wow, she moved on really fast.  Not exactly…

Dax:  Fuck, bombie… you’re so hot.

He paws at my clothes like a dog digging for a bone, and I’m his bitch in heat as I lean back, letting him practically rip the clothes off of me.  This new Bad Boys attitude has me all kinds of hot.  I have to bite back, so I wrap my arms around him as I pull him into me, the pangs of passion executed only by our lips, and the sweat pouring off of his body as he feels the heat between us.  His hazel eyes almost turn green as he begins kissing down my neck and toward my chest.  I groan as I toss my hair back to let him go wild and take what’s his.

Me:  I have to admit, Dax… I’ve never slept with a married man before.  I see why the bold homewrecking sluts do it now.  Maybe I should have broken off a piece for Timmy…

Suck on that, Lexi… His eyes look up at me like a sad puppy dog.  His bottom lip quivers as he raises up from my bosom.  He takes a deep breath and raises an eyebrow at me.

Dax:  Fuckin’ gross, bruh…

Me:  Oh yeah, because Mickey is so much better, right?

Dax doesn’t say anything with his words, but instead raises his hand, holding it about a foot apart.  I get confused for a second, until he shakes his head and keeps going, slowly, but giving me a directional map to his point.  I groan in disgust as I shake my head and push his head back between my breasts, as he attempts to unlatch it with his teeth.

Me:  Mickey smells like pub cheese and cigarettes, like has he ever heard of Preferred Stock, or you know… a shower?

Dax (Muffled by my bra between his teeth):  It’s not that bad.  He had to stop drinking because of that Taylor prick nosing around.  He even got a trendy new haircut.

I shake my head and wrap my leg behind him back to shove him back where he needs to be right now.  Though, a little lower would be a much better use of his tongue and mouth.  But, instead of spending our very limited private time together by doing what we do best together, he decides to be a bitch and want to talk, as I feel the vibration of words coming from him against my chest.  I scoff as I put my neatly manicured toes under his chin and gently lift him off, and then flick him like an ant.

Dax:  It’s so weird living like this.

Me:  Why?  It isn’t the first time you’ve been married to a guy, and apparently it’s not the first time you’ve been sexual with a guy…

Dax:  You don’t actually think that Mickey, Gi, and I are… Do you?  Gross, no.

Me:  Ugh, I’m not talking about them, though sometimes you even have me fooled.  Or maybe it’s just a freaky kind of wishful thinking.  I’m talking about that Almasy guy.  Posting old pictures of you guys hanging out naked and in bed and hugging and shit.

Dax looks confused, but what the fuck is new about that?  He shakes his head as he tries to explain it to me.  But the only thing that comes out is a bunch of incoherent groans and sputtering.  I roll my eyes as I lean over to grab a cigarette from the pack on the table.  I lean back on the fur pillow as I light it up, giving up on his “explanation”.

Me:  Yeah, you can’t come up with anything, because even you aren’t that stupid.  Look, I get it.  He’s fucking hot.  A little too hairless for my tastes, but I would pay to watch you two go at it.

Dax:  Look, I did a lot of shit back then that I’m not proud of.  Coming back to the US was supposed to be my fresh start to escape all of that.

Me:  Yet you find yourself running back to it… for a reason!  Only this time, one isn’t enough for you, and neither is two.  The way you smile when you’re texting Alexander is a dead giveaway to how you feel.  Have you ever thought that there is a reason you constantly find yourself in situations like this?

Dax:  Fuck you… No, seriously, fuck you for that.

Dax pushes himself off of the bed, and I have to admire that tight little ass of his in those new cover undies, like the ones that no straight man would ever wear, with mesh and baby blue tones that leave a clear opening right at the middle of the crack for the easiest of access.  He pulls his pants on over them, cutting me off from the little bit that is left for me to enjoy of him until this whole investigation is over.  He picks up his shirt, a tight white Madonna shirt, and he pulls it over his head as he slicks his greased hair back in one impressive swoop of his hands.  He tugs at his beard, because he knows it’s a shot right through my heart.

Me:  Dax, there’s no cameras around.  There’s no Twitter.  You can stop acting like a little bitch.

Dax:  FUCKING… drop it, C.  You’re the one who convinced me to do this in the first place.  If anything, all of this is your fault.  I’m under a GODDAMN microscope that I wasn’t expecting to be under.  I can’t take a shit without Nicky boy asking for proof that Mickey and Gi’s dick prints are in it!  The other day, I choked on a banana, and Taylor was in the cafe staring at me like I should be able to tame my fucking gag reflex!  No, I’m not being a smartass either.  That last one actually happened.  IT FUCKING ACTUALLY HAPPENED, C!!!  IT HAPPENED!!!

Because it wasn’t enough, he actually mumbled “It happened” under his breath as he searches for his socks and shoes, that he only wears because I taught him that nobody wears sandals all year around!  Me!  I did that!  I sit up as Dax pulls his sock on his left foot.

Me:  I’m sorry that this has turned into such an inconvenience for you.  Who knew that it would be so hard for a non-Arabic or non-Latino to get citizenship under the Trump Administration?  I didn’t.  But, you did get stupid involving Giani into this whole thing.  I didn’t tell you to do that.

Dax:  YES YOU DID!!!  Every last bit of this was your idea!

Me:  I was fucking hung over!  Give me a damn break here!

Dax:  Oh, you wanna ask for fucking breaks?  Awesome.  I’ll get right on that, C.  I’ll ask the universe to make life so much easier on the girl who has everything she could ever want, because her mom is fucking Crystalline NORTH!  Yeah…

Celeste:  Oh fuck you, too!  Mister I Want A New Life So I Go Back To Doing The Same Fucking Shit I Did Before And Bitch That Things Are Still The Same the third!  You’re an asshole, and you’re lucky that you’re such a good fuck, or else I would throw you to the side for all the shit that your bad decisions have laid at my feet!

Dax’s eyes fire up big time as he huffs and puffs, ready to just scream at me.  And, in a way, I wish he would have, because he’s so hot when he’s all aggro.  But, before he can, there is a knock at the door.  He stands up immediately and walks over to the door.  I pull my shirt back on and fluff my hair as I stand up.  As Dax opens the door, I am surprised to see who is there.

Nicholas:  Excuse me… Oh, hello Mr. Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca.  I’m surprised to see you here.

The immigration officer stares inside of the room, and immediately I began looking around for any kind of hint at what was about to take place.  However, nothing seems to catch his eye except for me.

Nicholas:  It’s late, and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I was going to kindly ask you as a neighbor, to keep it down.  But, now that I’m here… I’m thinking I can get a jump start on the work, if you’ll excuse my lack of formal clothing.

I stare at his almost comical suburban blue and white striped pajama set, and can’t help but think that the only thing he is missing is a Grandpa Joe nightcap.  He stands in the doorway as Dax groans and rolls his eyes, but Nick only focuses on me.

Nicholas:  Do you mind if I come inside for a short interview, Ms. North?

Me:  Uh, yeah I do… Dax was just leaving so that I could get some rest before I train tomorrow.

Nicholas:  Gold’s Gym?

Me:  Uh, yeah…?

I stare at him confused for a second, and he seems to completely understand where I’m coming from.  He laughs in a polite and formal kind of way that just pisses me off without him actually having to say a fucking word.

Nicholas:  Oh, my apologies.  I was just wondering where I might be able to present the subpoena to bring you down to the local precinct for questioning.  I have a local judge on speed dial, as he and I dated briefly.

Me:  Oh… Well, I just want you to know that I’m a huge fan of the song “Born This Way”.  It was my anthem through my senior year of high school when I was going through my kissing girls phase.  I’d be happy to do anything I can to assure you that my ex is madly in love with his husbands.

Nicholas:  Huh… Well, I’m sorry to intrude at this hour, but it seems we are all up and awake.  Now, law requires me to inform you that our conversation will be recorded for your safety and my own.  Do you consent?

I nod my head as he pulls a tape recorder off of a lanyard with his government badge, and it becomes obvious that Dax’s paranoia is kinda justified.  I rolls my eyes as I approach him.  However, he doesn’t move.  He just holds the recorder toward me.

Nicholas:  I’m afraid that you’re going to have to speak up for the recorder, Ms. North.

Me:  Yes… Come inside and let’s get this over with.  I have a match against Gothika this Sunday, and I need to pretend to give a shit about it, so I have to get one day of training in.

He shrugs to let me know that he doesn’t care about my predicament.  We walk in toward the couches in the center of the room.  He takes a seat and places the recorder in the middle of the table, facing me.  I curl up on the couch as Dax sits on the arm of the couch.  Nick looks at him and waves him away.

Nicholas:  Mr. Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca, you don’t actually have to be here for this.

Dax:  I’m not going to let you talk to my friend without being here, when you’re going to try to trick her into some shit.  I’m sitting right here.

Nicholas:  Right then… Ms. North, can you please state your name for the record?

Me:  Celeste Calliope North.

Nicholas looks at the roll of papers he pulls from inside of his jacket, and then shrugs his shoulders as Dax giggles at my middle name.  I lean over and kick him right in the ribs, just hard enough to make him wince in pain, groaning as he glares at me.  Nicholas clears his throat as he looks directly at me, eyes narrowed.

Nicholas:  Thank you, Ms. North.  I don’t want to waste your time, so I’m going to skip right to the heart of the questioning process.  What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca?

Me:  We dated for a few months.  He knew from the first time that we attempted sex that he was… not into women.  We were emotionally close, much like that of a pair of platonic friends would be.  I didn’t want to be responsible for forcing him to come out to everyone sooner than he was comfortable with.

Nicholas:  May I remind you that you are under oath?  Any false information given in this case constitutes as fraud, and could land you in jail?

Me:  I understand.  I had become aware of his first marriage, to a man, in the first month that we were dating.  I stood by him like a friend would.  On occasion, he tried to prove his heterosexuality by having sex with me, and I’d hoped that maybe it could help sway him in either direction, so that he could make up his mind.  His inability to maintain an erection due to alcohol was the first warning sign, but then the Viagra and the closed eyes sealed it for me, and I began to encourage him to follow his heart.

Dax:  Yeah, I needed Viagra to get up in that hot piece!  I’m obviously totally for the scrotally, bruh!

Me and Nicholas both look at Dax for a minute as he nods his head.  He stands up and he flips an end table to show off.  I sigh as I look over to Nicholas, who engages in a wicked kind of stare down with me.

Nicholas:  And you attest to these things under oath?

Me:  Did I not just say that I understand that I’m under oath, and the penalties for lying under oath?  I get it.

Nicholas:  So, you admit that you and Dax are sexually active together?

Me:  Yes… No… Not since his marriage was made official.  We’ve hung out on a number of occasions, but nothing sexual happened.

Nicholas chuckles as he pulls his phone out and pulls up a video taken by SCW cameras after the Climax Control in Philadelphia.  Dax and I are pawing at one another, and I can’t help but stare at it with a bit of contempt on my face.

Me:  As you can see, there is a Sin City Wrestling logo in the corner, meaning that it was taken at a show… which is exactly what that was.  A show.  The Mean Girls are supportive of our Bad Boys friends, and I knew Dax wasn’t ready to fully be seen as himself.  I offered him an easy out.  The nature of our friendship is at times quite affectionate, but sex is not part of it, as sad as I am to say.  As I stated before, our relationship ended once he got married, and if not being a bitter, vindictive ex makes him look bad, I’m sorry… But, as you’ve reminded me twice now, I am under oath.  I’m only telling the truth.

Nicholas:  From your perspective, do you believe Daxton is in a lawful marriage, meaning one built on love, affection, and abiding by the US Constitution?

Me:  Yes.

I narrow my eyes at him, right back.  This prick is on my last nerve, and I’m done trying to get him off my back.  If it’s a war he wants, then it’s a war he’s going to get.  I pour a small glass of water from the pitcher as I take a small sip, getting comfortable.

Nicholas:  During the course of your relationship, was Dax ever unfaithful to you?

Me:  Not to my knowledge.

Nicholas:  Do you think that Dax is safe in his home environment, not being threatened physically or sexually into participating in immigration fraud by Michael, and or Giani?

Me:  Yes, he is safe.  No, he is not being bullied into a marriage.

Nicholas:  Have you been threatened or bribed into withholding information from the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services?

Me:  â€¦ No…

Nicholas:  Do you know anything specifically about his previous marriage?

Me:  He was married to a Japanese citizen whose name I haven’t cared to memorize.  But I do know that he was a Pisces who enjoyed long walks down the aisle, and long cuddles with a drunken idiot on cold nights.  The marriage lasted for almost two years, I believe Dax said.  They had a Shitzu named Kasumi that Dax lost in the divorce, but he can visit on odd weekends of every third month should he be in Japan.  He also lost all of his underwear to his husband, who cries into them nightly and sends him Face Time videos of it, begging him to come back in Japanese.

Nicholas slams his fist down on the table, causing the recorder to bounce slightly.  I can’t help but giggle at this as Nicholas leans forward even more to try to intimidate me.

Me:  Mr. Taylor, was it?  You never gave me your name.  I’m afraid that I can’t answer any more questions, because I’m beginning to feel as if you are intimidating me in an effort to coerce false answers from me, while I am only trying to help the situation.

Nicholas:  Stop playing games, Ms. North!  I still need to ask about your knowledge of Dax’s past with Alexander Alm…

Me:  You are more than welcomed to have one of your colleagues continue this conversation with me at a later time, but I’m done talking to you, sir.  Your conduct is highly unprofessional, and I don’t feel comfortable with you in my personal space.  One more word from you that isn’t “Good” or “day” and I’ll contact your superiors…

Nicholas grits his teeth as he swoops up his recorder and his papers.  He stuffs them back into his pockets as he mutters “Good day, Ms. North…” under his breath.  He clicks the button and steps to the door while Dax gladly shows it to him.  But, before Dax slams the door, he has one last thing to say.

Nicholas:  Do me a favor and keep down the noise.  Not everyone stays up until 6am partying and engaging in sexual intercourse.

Dax:  Then you’re not living right, bruh…

Dax slams the door in Nicholas’ face and then turns around and laughs, clapping his hands together  He rushes over to me and wraps his arms around me as he plops down on the couch next to me, kissing at my cheek frantically.

Dax:  Shit, C!  You almost had me fooled.  You’re a great fuckin’ storyteller.  I mean, I didn’t realize how good you were at lying under pressure…

I lean away from Dax slightly as I look down at the ground in disappointment.  I take a deep, regretful sigh as I slowly turn back to facing him, shaking my head slightly.

Me:  I didn’t lie about anything, Dax… None of it.  I’m sorry if the truth hurts, but it’s about time that you faced it…

With that, I stood up from the seat and I walked over toward the bathroom.  I can’t be around him right now.  I really can’t.  I lock myself in the bathroom, and slide down the door as tears roll down my cheeks.  I place my hands on my face as I bury it all in my knees, for the first time since my meeting with Baba Yaga a couple months ago.  I just can’t right now… excuse me…



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<img src=https://media.giphy.com/media/OpiJPnULYDWwM/giphy.gif>


The Art of Giving A Shit
#NP "I Am Electric” by Heaven’s Basement
Undisclosed Location; Boston, Massachusetts


So much has been going on since I became a Mean Girl.  Well, not really.  I’ve just been learning how to truly be myself.  It’s a lot harder than I thought, but hey… I’m fucking beautiful.  However, today, I nervously await my cue to begin as I sit on this hard wooden throne on the opposite end of the studio.  In the background, I can hear the sound of phones ringing, as Veronica and Mercedes give their whole “Why does everyone hate us when we’re so nice” gag in front of the teleprompter.  I roll my eyes at their Delia Era Mean Girls routine as a stagehand comes by and touches up my make up, and looking over my hair to make sure not a single strand is out of place.  I look down at my lines as another stagehand walks up to me and whispers.

Stagehand:  Ms. North… You’re on in 5… 4… 3… 2…

He points at Mercedes who looks into the camera with that mean smile she gets when she’s being a complete and total bitch AKA the reason I love her so.  I set the papers down on a table nearby me as I look to Mercedes.

Mercedes:  Our entertainment for this evening comes in the form of a tutorial from an actual Mean Girl.  But, please don’t forget to keep the pledges coming, folks.  Now, let’s join Celeste North, as she teaches us how to pretend to give a shit.  Celeste?

Me:  Thank you, Mercedes…

The camera switches over to me, and I can see my face on the many large screens in the background.  I turn my head ever so slightly so that I can demand the attention of everyone watching.  I pause as I pretend to be preparing myself, even though I’m fucking flawless right now.  Finally, I bat my lashes and smile before continuing.

Me:  Have you ever been in the middle of a conversation, and you just totally checked out after the first few seconds?  Have you ever had to sit through the most boring, drawn out moments that make you wish you were having your fingernails pulled off slowly by an old Bulgarian woman?  Have you ever been up for a promotion, and you really don’t care what the boss is saying, plus he’s got rancid breath that leads you to believe he added sauerkraut, garlic, onion, and bleu cheese to the shit sandwich he ate earlier for lunch?

I pause and show off my lashes with a slight turn of the head from one side to the other, because they are totally on fleek.  I let the corner of my mouth curl up into a smile as I return my focus to the cameras.

Me:  Well I know I have!  Sorry for the damning revelation, Mr. Ward.  But the first two instances applied to the one time I tried to hold a conversation with Gothika.  It was like trying to talk to a female Blade, like gross…  But seriously, I checked out half way through.  However, I didn’t let it show, so she didn’t realize I was thinking about what kind of margarita sounded good that night, and whether to just eat the free salsa, or spring for queso?  No, seriously, there is an art to it.  You wouldn’t believe how easy it could be for you to learn to pretend to give a shit, too!  Here, let’s start with step one.

I adjust myself in my seat as I lift the corners of my lips slightly into a smile.  I hold my fingers up just above the creases of the corner of my mouth and turn slightly to give different perspectives of the first example.

Me:  The smile.  It’s probably the most essential part to a believable act of giving a shit.  I used this one when I was watching Mark Ward run his mouth about how Veronica Taylor doesn’t deserve a one on one title shot at… Sorry, just let me take a second to look at my teleprompter, because I can’t remember who has defiled the Bombshell Roulette title since me and Veronica were robbed of it…

The teleprompter reads “Jessie Salco” and I snap my fingers as my eyes light up.

Me:  Jessie Salco!  That’s right.  So, the smile was present on my face as Mark Ward went on about how Veronica doesn’t deserve a title shot, one on one against the heilobeast, when in fact, anyone who has an attention span larger than that of a brain damaged puppy could tell you that Veronica was never given her return match for the title, yet Amy and Jessie had a month and a half long war over it, passing it around more than, well, Amy Marshall.  I can take the fact that I’m not going to be awarded a title shot, but damn it!  Veronica has waited far too long for her shot at the title!  Okay, never mind that.  The point of it all is that the smile is the best way to fake giving a shit.  In some cases, it is enough to keep your secret of not giving a shit, safe.  However, if you’re going to commit to pretending to give a shit, then you need to learn these next few tips.

I slowly bring my neatly French manicured tipped nails back from my mouth, showing off my enter head as it nods very slightly, but very surely.  But wait, the smile is still there…

Me:  The head nod.  Now this part can be pretty tricky.  You don’t want to nod too quickly, or too far in either direction, because then?  It’s a total dead giveaway.  Now, if you go too slowly, or not far enough?  Then they don’t even realize your head is moving.  Then, what good does that do?  Fucking none.  Just follow my lead.  Pivot back, then tuck the chin slightly as you come down.

I give a momentary pause for observation before I walk people back through it.

Me:  Up… and down… Up… and down…  This came in handy when watching the voodoo queen, Diamond, trying to prepare some kind of potion in the women’s locker room sink with unicorn tears and cotton candy fart dust.  Girl, I’ve been a witch since birth.  Don’t try to school me on magick.  But, I am not a rude person, so the head nod came in handy.  It also came in handy when I heard people saying that Jeremiah Hardin deserves to be the World Heavyweight Champion after “all these years”.  Now, now, I’m not refuting or agreeing with the statement.  I just simply don’t give a shit, even if my close friends are sporting the “#RageGotScrewed” merch.  I don’t care, not even a little, if Magic Jerry has it, or if the angry cue ball has it.  If it’s not Dax, then hmph… I’m not interested.  But this nod though…?  You wouldn’t have any idea that I didn’t give a shit, when coupled with this half smirk.  But, if you have your doubts, allow me to give you the final touch to this whole pretending to give a shit ensemble.  I’m not going to tell you.  I’m going to invite the live audience members to try to guess it.  Come on, tell me your favorite moment about Gothika?

I watch as a stagehand brings a microphone over to a young woman, wearing a black and red corset, with fake vampire fangs in her mouth.  She sees herself on the screens and she nearly faints, thinking it is Gothika herself standing there.  I mean, this girl is ugly, but not that ugly.

Girl:  I… am Gothika’s biggest fan.

Me:  I’m sorry to hear that, but please, continue.

Girl:  If I had to pick one moment that really changed my life, was the time that she got away with biting into Misty’s neck at the Climax Control I attended way back when.  I mean, that’s practically attempted homicide, but she didn’t even get a slap on the wrist for it.  I’d been having some very internalized self harming thoughts, but it was only because society doesn’t deem it proper to hurt others.  I then realized that I could bite people’s necks if I wore all black clothes from L.L. Bean and Hot Topic combined, and wore sparkly body glitter when I go out into the sun, because then I look like a Twilight Vampire, and people practically stick their necks out for you to bite.

Me:  Hmm… So, in case the rest of the audience couldn’t tell, I was sitting up here, still not giving a shit, especially when it came to Gothika.  But, could I ask if you guys believed that I gave a shit?

Collective Audience:  YES!

Me:  Exactly!  And what was it that made you believe that I actually gave a shit about Gothika?

The audience murmurs different answers, but I do not hear one single correct one.  I continue to scan the audience as they all begin shouting even more loudly, which doesn’t make it any easier to distinguish, just louder than before.

Girls:  Your undying love for Gothika?!

Me:  Fuck no!  None of you are even remotely close.  See, not only was I smiling and nodding as Beefy the Vampire Slayer was going on and on about the most worthless piece of trash on the entire Bombshell Roster… next to Jessie Salco… and Amy Marshall… and Mikah… and Polly Playtime… and Chelsea Payne… yeah girl, I hear you lurking beneath me, trying to get my scraps, trying to throw shade my way.  I just don’t care.  But, I bet you thought I did!  It’s all because I knew where the light was, to give an interested twinkle in my eye.  You have to be able to curl the corners of your eyes slightly, because you have to be able to give off the impression that you’re actually listening.  To fool even the most hearty of attention payers, you must perfect this.  If you get too much light in your eyes, then you look like you are confused, which causes then to drag on even longer with their stories, or it forces you to say something related to the story they’re telling.  I have more tips for pretending to give a shit, but unfortunately, you’re going to have to buy my book.

I hold up a copy of a book with my face on it, and it looks as if I’ve just taken the cover photo second ago, because we have the same exact looks on our face.  I even gently force the book to nod in rhythm with me own nodding.  Un-fucking-canny!  Even the audience gasps!

Me:  For the low, low, low, low, low…. Hang on, I’m trying to get to a 10k word count here… low, low, low, low… Ahhh, I have about a hundred more to go, so, low, low, low price of only $59.99, you can learn all of my best kept secrets on how to fake giving a shit.  It’s fool proof, as I’ve also included ways of getting out of botched attempts at giving a shit, such as the “You’re forced to say something, so you just give a random, unrelated compliment, and they totally forget they asked you a question.” technique that is sure to work in any and all occasions.  In a room full of undeserved egos, such as the Bombshells and Fallen’s private locker rooms, it works like a motherfucking charm!

A dramatic re-enactment of me and Beefy Gothika girl talking plays, and then she speaks.

Beefy:  Hey, do you remember the time Gothika, I mean *I* bit Misty’s neck and didn’t get punished at all for it?  Or, how about the time I won the Bombshell Championship for almost five months.

Me:  No, and no does anyone else.

Beefy:  But…?

Me:  Has anyone told you that your corset really hides your second set of back rolls?  Like super well, girl…

Beefy:  No, they haven’t.  Oh my gosh, thank you so much.  So, anyway, I also won the Bombshell Tag titles a bunch of times, and…

The dramatic re-enactment ends and I nod my head at my performance.  I mean… I fucking nailed that shit.  Anyway, I turn back in my chair to face the cameras again, as my cherry red lips form another smile, only this time… nope, still not giving a shit.

Me:  See, the total package was used when I was informed that I would have a match this Sunday at Climax Control.  It doesn’t mean anything for me.  If I lose, nothing happens.  If I win, nothing happens still.  It’s super pointless, and I’ve already proven that I’m worth more than the shitty fucking treatment I’ve gotten since I got back here in Sin City Wrestling.  I mean, I have been flat out screwed over from both ends, like my ex Dax on a typical every night.

*Bada boom tsssssssssssssssssssss*

Me:  I’ve been shit on and spit on.  I’ve been cursed at, and I’ve been treated like a dog.  I’ve been ignored, and skipped over.I’ve beaten people who have gone on to become champions, or are in line for title shots.  I’ve beaten legends, I’ve beaten future legends.  I’ve beaten the cream of the crop, and I’ve beaten the trash of the heap.  I’ve proven myself time and time again, only to get skipped over, and booked in pointless FUCKING matches against people like Gothika, who is hardly a legend.  Couldn’t you at least give me Raynin?  Whose actually fucking done something?  No.  That’s too much to ask from the future of the Bombshell Division.  But, is it an earned title opportunity to the winner?  No… If Gothika wins, her friend or whatever, doesn’t get the hammer dropped on him.  If I win?  Nothing that I give a shit about.  So why should I even try?  Why should I give a shit?  Because a wind of change is coming around here, and I’m not going to be accused of half-assing a single fucking thing I do to get to the top.  Even if it means grinning it, baring it, and pretending to give a shit.  I’ve already proven once that I am above the Gothika’s and Chelsea’s of this company, yet here I go once again, going to prove that I’m just that damn good.  I even tried to lose to Chelsea, and I couldn’t do that.  Well, I’m done trying to lose.  I’m ready to continue my winning streak.

I speak with such conviction in my voice as I go on and on about why I’m as good as I am, and what makes me that good, even though I know everyone else is using my tips to pretend NOT to give a shit.  I shrug though, because…

Me:  No, I’m just kidding.  I still don’t give a shit.  Just like the world when it comes to anything Gothika is involved with, I don’t care.  But I put on a pretty convincing act.  That, was my free gift to the viewers of this telethon.  Speak with conviction and confidence, even if you are bored A. F. with it all.  I’m not angry that I’m not getting pushed, because people are still speaking my name, and the Mean Girls name.  They are still feeding the brand that I’m involved with by letting our name fall from their putrid lips every time I turn around.  Every time they speak of me, or us, I get a paycheck.  So, it’s actually less work to play the mid card bullshit game.  If I walk out there and deliver a sub-par performance, I make the same amount of money as I would if I went out there with one hundred and ten percent, because win or lose, I’m still not getting anywhere near a title because of all the politics.  I’m trapped as somebody’s punishment, and nothing more.  Basically, I’m the Twisted Sister of the mid card.  Even though I’ve beaten Polly Playtime, our World Bombshell Champion.  Beating Gothika does nothing for me, because I’ve fried much bigger and badder fish than her.  Why should I care about some vague threat written by a desk jockey at Sin City Headquarters?  Jeremiah Hardin doesn’t affect me.

I shrug my shoulders as the stagehand begins to run his fingers across his throat to tell me to wind down.  Instead, I pick up my book and I fling it right at his head, knocking him out cold as the audience gasps.  I stand up from my throne and I take two steps… just two… closer to the edge of the stage.  I stare out into the audience with such sour indifference, that it nearly sickens them.

Me:  Gothika is the most overrated piece of trash ever produced by Sin City Wrestling.  She’s a sour footnote in the history books of Sin City Wrestling.  She’s of little to no importance.  It’s not just me who thinks so.  It’s everyone.  Literally, nobody but my friend Beefy gives a shit about her.

Beefy:  GOTHIKA! I LOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!!!!

Me:  Damn it, I wish I had another book.  Anyway, Gothika is who people watch when they are up at 4am and can’t sleep, and they don’t have the energy to go to Walgreen’s and get a pack of Zzzquil.  I, on the other hand, am someone who draws heat, and gets attention.  Christian Underwood, or whoever signed this match, is shit out of luck if they expect me to give a shit about this match.  I’m putting Sin City Wrestling on notice, right here, and right fucking now.  I don’t give a shit, and I won’t give a shit, nor will I pretend to give a shit, until I’m given something worth giving a shit about.  If Gothika is your idea of that, then perhaps you need to re-evaluate your business structure and plans.  But, when you are ready to reward me, like you’ve been rewarding the half-ass hacks who bitch and moan all over the shows, promos, and social media to put pressure on you to gain undeserved title opportunities, then don’t count on me giving a single shit.  That includes giving a shit about the health and well-being of my fellow Bombshell competitors.  I will break Barbie’s arms.  I will snap Skipper’s neck.  I will snap Gothel’s spine.  I will dislocate Stacie’s shoulders.  I will knock Jazzie’s brain into a Liz Smalls style concussion, and I will even rack Ken’s nuts so hard, that they pop out of his mouth like a couple of Nerf balls.  And you can’t do a single fucking thing about any of it, because you’re too occupied with pleasing the masses.

I look over to the corner of the stage where Mercedes and Veronica are pleading with me to end this thing.  I glare at them and shake my head, because I’m not finished yet.  However, they begin to not-so-silently beg me to stop, and it’s ruining the whole vibe I got going on.  I roll my eyes and turn back to the crowd, giving the “I actually give a shit” look.  They all forget what I’d just said, and they cheer loudly, even going as far as to practice it on one another.  I have but one last piece of business.

Me:  Keep those pledges coming, ladies and gentlemen.  Now, for those in attendance today, I’ve placed a copy of my New York Times Bestseller under each of your seats.  And Gothika, I’m going to give you a copy in person on Sunday.  I’m going to smack you so hard with it, that you’re not even going to be able to see anything but bats flying around your head for weeks to come.  Then, once I’ve taken out all of my inner rage out on you, and make an example of why you’re STILL not on the same level as the Mean Girls, I might put my foot on your chest and cover you for the one, two, three instead of ripping those fake fucking fangs out of your mouth, and shoving them in your own neck just to show you how it feels… Nah, I’m starting to think that the second option is way better.  See you on Sunday, doll…

The fans begin to mutter about their missing books.  That’s when it hits me.  I never got around to putting them under the seats.  I hold up a finger as I walk behind the curtains, bringing out a cart full of them.  I begin chucking them one at a time, until they’ve reached every single audience member’s faces.  The onslaught of heavy books causes a panic as the cameras quickly fall back on Mercedes and Veronica, worried looks in their faces.

Veronica:  We’ll be right back after these sponsored messages...

[FaDE]



Word Count: 10,556… Including this explanation of my word count… But not this portion...