“The spirit of arrogance most definitely makes you shine. It paints a bright red target on your own forehead.”
― Criss Jami, Killosophy
Undisclosed Hotel
Woodstock, VA
04.11.2006
11:37pm
With white knuckles paler than the vomit splattered porcelain of the sink, Amber’s fingers gripped tighter as she shuddered violently with another dry retch.
She’d managed to contain the worst of it within the confines of the sink, the dribble of water from the leaky tap cutting a swathe through the visceral remains of stomach bile, and the last remains of a cheeseburger not already thrown up when she’d stumbled back through her motel room door ten minutes prior. Acid and iron mingled harshly on her tongue- the back of her throat had been scraped raw while she forced herself not to swallow anymore blood for fear that it too might soon grace the already Jackson Pollock’d basin.
Another night, another fight. Maybe more than one… God it was really hard to tell. Every punch somehow chained together in a monologue of violence while the faces remained indeterminable and blurred. All of them were splattered red and partially mangled as her own. Glancing up to the mirror, between the smear marks where someone attempted to clean it and the flecks of rust and mold that caked on some of the edges, she could make out the multiple splits in her bottom lip and the darkening shiner that peeked out from beyond the tangled curtain of red that fell around her face.
Somewhere sick in her mind knew if she dared to smile that there might be a gap where she’d lost a tooth, but in truth she wasn't even sure she could because half of her face was blissfully numb.
Fumbling for the tap, the cool metal soothing beneath her aching hands, she had reason to be thankful- if only for the fact she hadn't fractured her nose again.
It was worth it though, somehow that repeated mantra kept her upright. Cash in her pocket weighed heavily whilst stained with someone else's blood, she knew in the morning she’d be able to sneak into Grizz’s trailer and leave her winnings where she always did- banking on the fact he’d be too proud to admit that he’d gotten help with a problem he dared not speak publicly about.
He’d just give her a warm paternal smile, a hug that threatened to snap her spine and whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ in her ear while trying to ignore the healing bruises poorly disguised under a layer of makeup.
Both of them knew what she was doing was wrong- that either of them could have put a stop to it at any time. Amber, deep in her heart, knew that if Grizz said the word- she’d quit fighting. There was always another way of making some quick cash- wallets mysteriously falling from bags and loose change liberated from pockets helped a little, but was nowhere near as lucrative… or sickeningly satisfying. Odd jobs in towns meant having to play nice with locals who’d perfected their side-eye and busking was more miss than hit cause art was considered subjective and many just threw coins in out of pity and a desire to make it stop.
Instead, he'd turn a blind eye in the same way she had to the suited businessmen casually coming and going from the motels and fairgrounds every few weeks while blatantly oblivious or simply uncaring as to the attention that their continued presence drew. Occasionally, the Del Gado’s themselves would stroll in, making small talk with whichever useless green help had been loitering nearby and quickly disappear into Grizz’s office- emerging later with self-satisfied smiles and a firm handshake.
More than once she’d shot him a look halfway across the lot, and every time he'd find a reason to break away and disappear amid the throng of collected humanity.
Although it was more recently that she’d come to the realization that every goddamn fight- it was never for her. In spite of all the risks and the growing knot of self-loathing that she’d been quietly cultivating beneath her sternum, the one that tightened a little more every time she spat blood into sand and felt sawdust run through her fingers- not once could she recall a fight where the reason had been for her own benefit. Not once was there a reward more than just another shot of feel-good straight into her nervous system.
Most of the time it was for Grizz, for the carnival to keep the sharks from nipping while they tread water. Other times she’d stepped up for Cassidy when Sticky thought it wise to get unnecessarily handsy, clenching his fist like he knew how to throw one before she changed her mind and took him back like nothing occurred.
Hell, even the hours spent training in a wrestling ring for a miniscule percentage opportunity at something that she wasn’t supposed to dream about- just another hole in her head demanding it's pound of flesh whilst unknowingly handing off two for the sheer audacity of believing she stood a chance.
No, Amber recalled with a certain fondness radiating through her skull and out her eyes, her ship had long since sailed, however her sacrifices might still mean something, might have made a difference to someone else.
Allowing her mind to wander anywhere but here, Amber splashed water on her face. Tepid, but otherwise inoffensive, it stung at the cuts in her lip before dripping away stained red into the miasma of swirling water and visceral bile. Perhaps if she were lucky at all, she might simply wash away…
*knock knock knock*
Stopping dead in her tracks, the echo of the knocking lingered long after the sound had dissipated. Only the running water of the tap filled the silence, her own shallow breaths too loud in her ears, as she waited in hopes that it was simply her paranoia triggering at random or that so many hits to the head had finally had more of an effect than just a really shitty migraine.
Seconds dragged like footsteps in molasses while trickling water never seemed so deafening, Amber couldn't even tell if she was holding her breath now as her pulse threatened to explode form the base of her throat and her ears rang with an echo that no longer existed.
*Knock knock* *knock knock knock*
Swallowing hard with a pained grimace, Amber vaguely managed to drag her hair from her face long enough to appear human- or at the very least half living. Leaving the tap running, the sound possibly the only thing keeping her from simply crumbling into a thousand red shards of spite and loathing, she quietly padded across the cold tiles until her soft footsteps found harsh carpet and her sneakers lying haphazardly near the edge of a half made bed.
Each step was the next to threaten her integrity while her mind raced at just who the fuck might be loitering at her door- the possibilities flashing and being eliminated as quickly a they might have appeared.
Cassidy was staying with Sticky, much to Amber’s chagrin, four rooms down and even through the walls she could make out the vague remnants of the screaming and crying that accompanied another night of domestic fury. She knew Cassidy wouldn’t come knocking until Sticky got physical, and even then Amber was more of a scare tactic, a threat used as freely as the parents might use the Boogeyman to corral restless children into sleep. Grizz had gone out in the mid afternoon for business, trying to sort permits or something bureaucratic that had prevented them from setting up earlier that day- by early evening he’d gotten back frustrated and aggrieved with paperwork, instead seeking the sanctuary and brief respite of the nearest casino to seek an easier fortune that wouldn’t come.
He’d be back by morning wearing an expression that words need not explain- and either he’d treat everyone to breakfast at a nearby diner or pretend he was fine while everyone split off in search of something to soak up alcohol and bad decisions before loading into vehicles scattered across an otherwise near empty parking lot.
She knew he’d still be in the throes of joy or sorrow by now, leaving afte in the hands of a short armed slot machine- or with the cards of a bored croupier desensitized to the way life savings were flaunted or quickly flushed night after night.
Opening the door with fist clenched to the point that her knuckles strained, Amber’s jaw tightened and a surge of adrenaline rushed through her system like an electric shock put through her spine. On her doorstep and looking supremely pleased with himself, Dominic Del Gado flashed her a smile that she supposed was intended to be million dollar, but felt far more cheap and immediately condescending. God, even in the low light his teeth glowed and complexion seemed to almost shimmer while the thick, heady aroma of his cologne brought the bile racing back into her throat.
“You clearly have the wrong room.”
Going to close the door, his reactions were faster than hers and his leather shoe jammed solidly between the door frame and the doors edge- although that didn’t stop Amber repeatedly trying to close the door on his foot multiple times... just to be sure.
“I’ll have you know these shoes cost more than you’d save in a year.”
“Fantastic, now take them somewhere else.”
With a murderous stare, Amber held her ground while keeping the pressure of the door on his foot- although if Del Gado noticed, he didn’t outwardly show it.
“I just came to talk.”
“... and yet you haven’t.”
Withdrawing his foot slightly, Amber increased the pressure while narrowing her gaze as though the swelling coming up around her eye wasn't already contributing.
“That’s a nice shiner you’ve got going. Look, can I at least come in- it's rather difficult to explain and doesn’t exactly look good, me hanging around your doorstep.”
“No.”
“Come on, you didn’t even think about it.”
“You’re absolutely right, I didn’t.”
Amber mustered all the sarcasm she could, channeling it through every fibre of her being. Dominic to his credit held fast, his patience very clearly well conditioned despite his age- perhaps being groomed from a young age had more than just a narcissitic effect after all.
“Yeah, still no.”
Beaten and battered, Amber found her willpower waning, however a further glimpse at the smug half smile worn by the tawny faced 17 year old gave her a renewed, but otherwise brief burst of strength. Withdrawing his foot so that only his toe box remained holding the door barely ajar, Dominic leaned in closer as though hoping his voice might not carry in the otherwise still night air.
“... I have a... how do I put this... a business proposal, shall we say, and I like to think that you’ll want to hear about it.”
******
“Long live the queen, huh?
That's how this goes, everyone bow down to Alicia fucking Lukas as she ascends her throne once more. Except the queen is without her crown and instead is just walking around swinging her sceptre like it's a pissing contest, and she’s making sure everyone in the company knows she’s participating- by all means keep marking your territory before it's claimed just don’t come to me afterwards complaining about your shoes smelling.
I’ll be brutally honest, I’ve waited for this match for a long time. Walking in the door, you were towards the top of my proverbial dance list- of course a girl has priorities and unfinished business with Roxi was destined to dictate my path… but it was supposed to be us tangling for the title, right?
You’d be the dominant champion taking down all those who dared breathe your rarefied air and I’d be the unstoppable challenger with eyes only for the top… You know, except things didn’t happen that way.
You were champion, until you weren’t.
It's not even that you lost, but the fact you went out with a fucking whimper and ran with tail tucked before anyone could comprehend how this happened… You went on this self righteous mission to ‘build yourself back up’ with the intent of making up for what you’d lost and started, well, you didn’t REALLY do all that much in the meantime.
I mean honestly, aside from becoming ‘queen’ what have you done to prove you’ve earned this more than any other woman with a few wins under their belt. Hell, I’m not saying I agree with Andrea and her mission to be a mobius curve of unlikeability, but you can't deny she’s got the wins to back it up.
Roxi might have lost to Myra, but she’s always a proverbial threat, Courtney Pierce arguably gets another shot due to an oblivious zebra- I mean the list really does go on.
To say that you’re the only woman who deserves this is quite outrageous though, when you’re more like fourth or fifth on the list depending on the whims of management and how many times people stick their feet in their mouths.
You’re getting this shot cause you won a match, not because you’re Alicia Lukas.
See, the name only gets you so far. A foot in the door if you will, but the thing is you lean so heavily into your own reputation sweetheart that you fail to see how toxic that's become. Everything you do is because of who you think you are.
Problem is, that name you lean on like a crutch is a little rickety these days- and I know you’ll wholeheartedly disagree, but I promise you that the greater perception is that Alicia Lukas just isn’t who she used to be.
You’re living in hindsight, that 20/20 vision only works in reverse. You’re so concerned that everyones going to forget what you’ve achieved, that you're consistently failing to add to it now. Fuck, I’m almost sad for you if only because I know what you’re trying to do- and I hate to be (okay, so I don’t) the bearer of bad news but the schtick is worn out and everyone can see the girl pulling leavers behind a curtain that's torn away.
You might be Alicia Lukas, but that name doesn’t mean nearly as much these days as you think it does.
Besides, I’m far from opposed to regicide and you wouldn’t be nearly the first queen I’ve forced from their throne. Let's face it though- I’m always going to be the usurper, the rain on everyone's pre-planned parade of triumph and achievement, I own the cliche of being the dragon that no one told was supposed to allow for the happy ending before razing the kingdom to the ground.
I’ve made my name by tearing down people like yours, all those colourful banners and flags flown over the wrestling landscape of notoriety have been left in tatters cause hurricanes really don’t get to choose what lay in their path.
I have no doubt that you’ll tell everyone who’ll listen that you’re ready for the storm, that I’m one of many you’ve endured over a career strung together with gold and reputation- and that maybe I’m not the worst you’ll ever see.
… and maybe you’ll be right.
Maybe you will endure and walk out the other side relatively unscathed, but it will be without the gold. See, just because you survive and you persist doesn’t automatically entitle you to anything except the knowledge of how close you came to losing everything else.
Plenty of people have walked through the forces of nature with nothing more to show than the clothes on their back and a new appreciation for their ability to walk- I’ll be honest though, I don’t expect you to understand.
One does not simply get this far in wrestling without an over-wrought sense of entitlement and owing.
Chance after chance, you put it down to the fact that you’re the best thing to happen to this place since turnbuckle pads. Truth is though, for a long time there wasn’t really anyone else- those who were good enough became quickly disillusioned and tired of the constant self-gradiosing diatribes and listening to how great you thought you were. Those who didn't thought themselves good enough just to shut your mouth for two seconds, and in turn only fed into the grander delusion that was your lengthy title reign.
You are good Alicia, that I simply cannot deny…
… But the bar has been raised and you think yourself too fucking good to elevate yourself with it.
At Climax Control, at your own behest, it comes down to ‘one of the best’ in Alicia Lukas vs the woman who knows better than anyone how to keep her head above water. You might just be the ‘strong style southern belle’, and you have been for a damn long time, but I can assure you that Mother Nature doesn’t look kindly on those who oppose evolution and adaptation.
I didn’t get to where I am by being the absolute best Alicia, and that's a fact I doubt you’ll ever quite comprehend as long as you stay in this industry with Wolfslair continually telling that you’re really still fucking great. I got to where I am cause I outlast everyone, I out play and I out grind.
I’m the last woman standing when everyone else has tapped out, the one with a little something always left in the tank, the one who can take the best of anyone in this roster and still ask if that's all they’ve got.
I am everything that you tell the world you are.
See, the difference between us Alicia is that you’ve built this house of cards career that relies on you winning all the damn time to stay relevant- the moment you lose a match, everything is thrown into doubt about your ability and whether you can still live up to a standard set way too high.
I just have to win when it matters, any other time is a fucking bonus- cause the sad truth is that no one expets me to hold this title long, they’re waiting for the inevitable self destruction that comes from caging a hurricane between my ribs. They’re waiting for a hero to take this belt off me- and I keep giving the universe the finger saying that I’m not fucking done with it yet.
Cause I’m not.
My record isn’t perfect, but neither is yours. I can come out here and lose a match, and still be considered one of the biggest threats this industry has to offer- you drop a match and your career is in jeopardy cause you aren’t supposed to lose. It ruins the mystique, the bullshit and bluster doesn’t stand up to scrutiny up close.
I just don't understand how anyone can continue to take you seriously when you, yourself, casually overlook the fact that you aren’t physically, emotionally and psychologically capable of living up to your own hype?
I mean the mention of your name used to scare people, now it sends a collective groan of disappointment through the roster cause everyone knows what to expect. Arrogance out the fuckign wazoo with repeated mentions of the past and how great you were- while blatantly ignoring that in the last six months or so, you’ve done so very little to back it up.
You got stale Alicia, and everyone tired of chewing on your propaganda except you.
Trite. Predictable. A match against you used to be satisfying like eating your favourite meal- but eat only that, subsist entirely on that memory for weeks on end of just how good it was and soon you grow to resent it.
You took something that was special and you drove it further and further into the ground cause deep down (pun very much intended) you know for a fact that you have little else to offer.
… So if you think you’re just gonna walk right on into the match at Climax Control and expect me to just relent, to just give up cause you’re Alicia Lukas and that's what I’m supposed to do, cause you’re this fucking legend who demands respect and opportunities for simply being there… cause you’re the queen and I’m warming your throne.
Yeah, nah.
I’m not letting this World Bombshells title fall back into being a prop for superiority complexes.
When it comes down to it Alicia, I’ve done everything in my power to make this title mean something again- at the expense of being liked and appreciated. I’m the biggest piece of shit in this company because I wasn’t going to just hand out title matches to everyone with a gripe, because I’m willing to accept whatever fate hands me rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth- week after week after bloody week, I’ve done everything you promised and failed to follow through on.
More than ever, this title is a prize… It's an achievement that worth it's proverbial weight, something that the best actually want to earn an opportunity to fight for and I’ll be damned if I let you take this belt and use it as a crutch for the Alicia Lukas show.
I’ve said this enough, but I’ll say it again mostly for the fact I don’t think you understand what it means- I’m a hurricane splattered in the red of everyone who stood where you were and told me the things you’re going to tell me. I have spent my career committing regicide, I have spent my career proving over and over again that I’m more than just what you choose to see in me.
Maybe sometimes I’m not good enough, maybe there are times I’m not what a champion should be- but you, you’re a reminder of where it was. You’re a neon sign advocating that I’ve done better. A memento that there's more to this place than a champion who wants to be on top for the fucking sake of it.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best person, hell it's arguable that I’m the worst- but I’m one of the few around here who cares about this title and what it represents and right now? You’re another stream of piss on the wind, only doubly abrasive.
You are a token of the past- and beating you will serve to prove that once and for all that you’re not the be all end, you aren’t the only thing that can be aspired to- and as tempting as it might be to follow in your footsteps, I’ve come to realize I’d just rather not downgrade.
At the end of the day, SCW is more than just Alicia Lukas, and it’d do you well to start realizing that.”
******
Oblivion Garage
Las Vegas, NV
31.05.2021
6:04pm
“Man, I’d hate to see the other guy”
“Hmmmm?”
Amber snapped out of her vague haze as the wizened early 50’s man across the desk from her gave a coy smile accented by a graying broken tooth. Pushing his glasses further back up his nose as he reexamined the paperwork, he gave her a quick offhanded gesture as the smile softened into something a little more passive.
“That nice shiner you got. I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like…”
No doubt it was an attempt at humour, and most other days Amber might have simply agreed to save the awkwardness of further conversation, or chuckled making her own amused albeit standoffish response. Usually Mac would deal with the customer side of things in the shop- both of them were quick to agree that he was far more affable, far more able and willing to connect with those outside of their industry specific bubble. He had a certain way with people that the redhead could only admire, sometimes she'd simply watch from the background as he put those around him at such an ease, forging bonds with like minded enthusiasts.
People really just didn’t make a lot of sense to her, she mused silently as Mac would attempt to bring her into the flow of conversation.
She’d watch the body language shift and adapt to her introduction, sometimes flickers of nerves would unknowingly cross their features given the idea of this 30-something year old girl in grease stained overalls- with the arms tied at her hips- and a black t-shirt would be working on their prized motors.
Many of them over-valued what they brought in, sentimentality fogging their rational and painting their possessions with a rose-tinted nostalgia that seeped into their attitudes. Those more logical found her introduction to be more fascinating- their probing questions about her experience and influences scraping at painful nerves while she loosely maintained an aura of polite distance.
No, she much preferred the back of house. Inanimate objects didn’t try to negotiate when Mac wasn’t in the shop, they didn’t give mischievous side eyes that she wished tightened the wedding rings on their fingers and they didn’t make inane small talk when all she’d rathered do was drown her misery in a bottle of something that would put her on her ass.
“Haha, yeah. Something like that…”
Trying to ignore the radiating pain just behind her right eye, Amber rubbed her temple slightly whilst trying to avoid the blooms of black and purple that had seeped just beyond her crimson hairline. Another show and another title defense in Reno hadn’t exactly gone as expected- foul play at hand, foolish people would have called it karma however it didn’t change the fact that the tag titles hadn’t come back to the garage with Mac and herself after that show.
One wrong step. One shitty fucking move. One broken croquet mallet head in a pillow, thrown into a ring by some minion and… well, Mac had told her when she’d gotten her bearings back about what had occurred.
It had become too easy recently to forget how fast one could fall. How a decision that she didn’t even make could somehow lead to her losing something she’d grown accustomed to having around- part of her wanted to just ignore it, to go around pretending like she wasn’t pissed out of her goddamn mind.
Life had to go on, the hours still rolled by and the days kept progressing whether she had gold laden shoulders or not…
Across the desk, the customer was staring bemusedly at her now- no doubt he’d said something and quickly came to realize that she’d blanked out once more. Mac had been concerned about it initially, something about potential concussion protocol- but this wasn’t one, she could feel that it wasn’t… It was that she was proven mortal and she fucking hated it.
“Are you alright, love?”
Tinged in uncertainty, the man moved to leave his seat, but Amber waved him off causally.
“Yeah sure, it's just… It's been a bit of a long week is all.”
Predominantly satisfied with the answer, he proceeded to rattle off some history about the 1983 Triumph Bonneville that he was leaving under their care- something about issues with downshifting, no doubt due to being dropped on it's left side multiple times as evidenced by the severity of scratches in paintwork and gravel dents in the metal.
Personally she wasn’t much a fan of the style- something about them seemed awkward, their propensity for battery drain and squeaky brake pads left her feeling as though they were higher maintenance than what they were worth.
A modern classic overvalued for what it brought to the table…
What a coincidence, huh?
Dawning abruptly, she hadn't even realized that she’d shifted to thinking about her match against Alicia Lukas- drawing parallels where business and personal seemed to kiss at the edges. Amber had always been the one to keep those things segregated and as separate entities- like oil and water being forced to combust.
An extended goodbye followed, taking far longer than it ever should have whilst dotted with unnecessary questioning in regards to her approximated quote and mechanical know-how until the last door closed with a metallic thud, leaving Amber with her relative silence and dull pounding headache.
Running her fingers half way back through her hair, she allowed her head to rest against her hands for a moment as though relief might wash over her if she really tried, but her face continued to ache and the chip on her shoulder seemed to weight that much heavier.
She knew she got careless- she got reckless and stupid. Allowing her emotions to overcome and so preoccupied with doing everything right- somehow she failed to notice the very obvious trap she stumbled into.
One that she had no doubt could have been prevented, even if she wasn’t quite sure how.
After all, fate could be changed. She’d spent her entire career proving that- and yet somehow her efforts still managed to give her little more than a bite in the ass some days. Coming up against the likes of Alicia Lukas though, for a belt that she’d put far more of herself into than she ever intended, Amber knew that there was no room for reliance on fate, no chance to fix if she fucked up.
If any match ever had to go perfectly- it had to be that one. It just had to be.
“Was that the guy about that Bonnie?”
Looming in the doorway, the frame of Mac Bane was a welcome sight. Part of her was thankful that she’d taken the brunt of damage rather than Mac, but somehow it also laid the blame for their misstep firmly on her shoulders.
She couldn’t allow another- if only cause she just didn’t know what else she’d do otherwise.
“Yeah, reckons he’s never dropped it and that everything's original. Never mind the fact that there's dents and scratches from being very obviously dropped and some homemade welds on the front fork that I reckon I could stomp on and break if I wanted to…”
Mac chuckled softly, taking up the seat across the desk with a warm half smile.
“You’re not doing a great job distracting yourself Red.”
“Who says I need distracting, honestly, I’m fine.”
“Not saying you aren’t, but you’re walking around pretending like you don’t care when you’re allowed to be angry.”
He was right, because he always was. Reaching across the table for her hand, his engulfed hers as his thumb stroked down the back of her wrist.
“I’m not even angry, that's the thing. I should be- but I’m more annoyed that I walked in as a champion and walked out looking like a goddamn idiot.”
“You weren’t alone. We both lost that match”
“We lost, but I’m the one who got pinned Mac. I’m the one who got knocked fucking stupid by whatever was in that stupid fucking pillow- hell, I’m still walking around trying to get my head straight and now I’m looking down the barrels of a shotgun hoping that I don’t make the same mistakes again.”
Reassuringly Mac squeezed her hand so tight it might have cracked a little, not that either of them really noticed. His warmth radiated across the space between them as though he were somehow able to hold her from afar as she allowed a sigh to fall from her lips quietly.
“This is a whole new world for me Mac. I’ve never held a world title for more than one defense, I’m out here blind and confused waiting for the walls to come crashing down on my head. I know Alicia isn’t dumb, if theres blood in the water then I’m in trouble and the fact is- right now I’m a bloody hot mess.
She wants this title as much as I wanna keep it- and I know that unlike Courtney, Alicia would be absolutely fine taking a tainted win if it meant she walked out with the belt.”
Amber paused contemplatively, taking a quick breath before Mac might interrupt with some much needed logic and reasoning. For now though, for the moment Amber just needed to get it out of her system- pressure releasing in hopes it wasn’t quite as toxic to her surroundings as it felt.
“Coming into this, I have to be at the top of my game and right now I don’t even know what game we’re playing.”
More silence, more contemplation. Mac cleared his throat as Amber shifted in her seat.
“Maybe, but I don’t think it matters. You’re treating this like an uphill battle when you’re really on even ground- and the only reason you should be putting her on a pedestal is to knock her straight off again. Don’t let the things that you can’t control fuck with the things that you can cause it's not a question of whether you can beat anyone- it's a matter of how long it takes.”
Another reassuring hand squeeze sent a surge through her arm. Mac had made a point, she’d been building up this idea of Alicia as this mountain when the reality would only ever disappoint in comparison. Main event after main event, Amber had proven herself with her actions rather than coasting off what once was- her rise to the top had been organic rather forced cause it was supposedly a status quo to be upheld.
“Besides, we’ve both worked too damn hard to get where we are, especially for fucking Wolfslair to take that away from us.”
Amber chuckled softly as his fingers traced over scars and skin alike wondering, hoping perhaps, that he’d always be right- if only for her.
******
“Contrary to popular belief, this match isn’t all about you.
Oh, don’t get me wrong though- you’re in this match just as much as I am and you could argue that's why we’d be the main event on any card whether you get to play queen or not. I mean that argument alone is a little skewed, a little off-kilter, but aren’t we all?
Seriously though- this match isn’t your fairytale revival or redemption arc to make up for mistakes previously made in arrogance or ignorance- maybe a little bit of both. Your triumphant return to the top of the proverbial mountain won’t be at my expense and this won’t become just another fable told to future generations about how Alicia Lukas once again managed to make herself the focal point of the universe.
I mean hell, it's even been weighing on my mind cause you’re Alicia Lukas and that's supposed to be important, and it's been bothering me cause I can’t wrap my head around just why that is…
You could be literally anyone else on this roster and I’d be approaching this match the exact same way- but because it's you, theres an expectation that everything is different. Everything is more.
And it's just… not.
When it comes down to it- you’re mortal, you fight and you bleed. You win and you lose just like anyone else- and I have no doubt that it shits you no end.
You aren’t a beast, you aren’t a queen and you certainly aren’t some kind of goddess that I need to prostrate myself in front of before I ask quiet permission to even step into the same ring as you. You stand across that ring as much of a broken toy as I am, holding the best pieces of yourself together in hopes it’ll be enough to get through another match without anyone seeing the cracks- but those cracks Alicia, those cracks keep getting deeper and your grip on those parts loosens cause your fingers start getting sore.
All of a sudden the facade starts slipping and you get desperate. You have to work that much harder to stay in the same spot- but you’ve been falling, and it's been a long way to go. Still you’d rather deny the fall in hopes that no one saw you hit every jagged outcrop on the way down, than start climbing and rebuilding into someone that isn’t immediately resented the moment they open their mouth to proclaim their greatness.
No, this match is about the World Bombshells title and about how it's worth more than you’ve ever given it, it's about a title that's been dragged through the mire for the sake of others personal vendettas and sullied to the point that it's value diminished and everyone argued their reason to avoid it.
It's about a title that main event by main event, match by goddamn match I have started to rebuild into the most coveted championship in our industry.
Keira Johnson never wanted this title to end up in my hands cause she knew she'd never see it again, Christina Rose couldn’t look past her own bullshit to see that I wanted the gold far more than I wanted to watch the life leave her eyes, Courtney Pierce got her overdue shot against me and it was a shot in the arm of proof why she’s as good as anyone on this roster. Ruby Steele got a shot and an opportunity to solidify that she was more than just some fresh faced upstart with a goofy smile and enthusiasm out the fucking wazoo.
Every time I have stepped in this ring with this gold on my shoulder, there's been nothing but elevation. Each match has made everyone mean more because of it, this title means more than ever- before I was champion Andrea Hernandez was more concerned with what Seleana ate for breakfast, Christina Rose was busy being a petty ass bitch instead of a real champion… and you, well you didn’t have much in the way of championship aspirations Alicia, you were using the time to rebuild cause you weren’t sure if it was worth dusting off your reputation for something so worthless.
See, I may be an asshole. Most of that roster might just hate my guts cause I’m a piece of shit- but I’m a piece of shit who has done nothing but work harder than anyone else to give prestige and exclusivity to something that had sorely lacked in it.
There are people on this roster that I have no doubt would love to see me lose this belt in a heartbeat, celebrations will go long into the night on the day this nameplate comes off it and is replaced with something far more wholesome and goody-goody- but the truth is, those same people wanna see you lose that much more.
It's a rock and a hard place. Diamond trying to cut diamond, and no one is getting anywhere fast.
I wanted to be champion because I wanted to face the best- I wanted to step into that ring night after night and create a platform for beautiful things to happen. Who knows, this very well could be my last go around and I want to make every time I walk through that curtain be something worth remembering and immortalizing. Everyone who opposes me walks away knowing they got the fight of their life, that they were a part of something significant- and that win or lose, they might be a little better off than they were before, even if it's hard to admit at the time.
Whereas you… You wanna be the champion cause it's all you know, or so you say at least. Really, you wanna be champion to say that you’re the champion, to stand atop that mountain and look down without a shadow looming over you, without there being anyone to defy whe you loudly say that you’re the best- regardless of whether it's true or not… and most of the time you’re just lying through your teeth.
You don’t believe it, you can’t possibly. Not after all this time, not after everything- it's easy to say, but harder to prove and impossible to buy into.
See, this World Bombshells title defines you- but you do nothing to define the title. You’re a main event parasite, walking around backstage with this gaping void on your shoulder completely lost on what to do without it.
Maybe there was a time that this title needed you. That you were the biggest and baddest entity swaggering about like an asshole- but times changed and you didn’t. Alicia Lukas was a mainstay, but became so for all the wrong reasons- and when you lost that title, the division didn’t crumble, it didn’t flounder and fail. Sure, there was a dark timeline of nothingness and ineptitude- to which you did absolutely nothing to rectify by the way, but that's a whole other argument to be had, however the division didn't just wither and die cause you weren’t heralding it.
Instead, it created the opportunity for growth… the opportunity to become more, to become better without being oppressed by the entitled need of a narcissistic former champion.
No, without you this division, and the title that's on my shoulder, is still the best in the industry and I’ll fight anyone who dares tell me otherwise.
See, without the title just who the fuck is Alicia Lukas exactly?
Every day without it diminishes you a little more, that sand keeps trickling through the hourglass and you can bring yourself to turn it over cause you know that means once again accepting you aren’t whole. Every passing day you get more reckless- cause that title makes you something, it keeps you relevant like a life jacket trying to keep your head above water while those concrete stilettos that are your reputation threaten to drag you under once more.
Without the belt- you’re just another hard hitting, stone faced bitch with a chip on her shoulder. You aren;t unique and you don’t matter.
Every day without this title is a blemish on your legacy and takes a little lustre off that longest title reign you so confidently boast about every chance you get. Your shine has been prominent so long it's no wonder it's starting to get a little tarnished- the longer you force yourself into the spotlight, the less people care. Just another name looking to make herself seem important at someone else's expense.
Small and insignificant, but with a damn big mouth.
Whereas me, if I lost that title- I'd still be everything I was before. Perception wouldn’t change and I’d walk around this damn place still talking like I was the best thing since sliced bread and everyone would begrudgingly believe it.
I don;t need a title to define me Alicia, but I make this title mean more because I have it.
It's me they’re all looking to fight, it's me they’re gunning for cause I make everything about the main event feel prestigious instead of stale and trite…
I’ve held this title a little over 70 days and I’ve made it feel more important than you ever did- you took the shine that this title gave, the pride and importance it bestows and you used it to wax poetic all over your fucking ego.
Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re still a ‘bad bitch’ but you’re also toxic and selfish and I can;t help but wonder, just what else is there left for you when you lose, how can you possibly move forward when I take the final leg you’ve got left to stand on?
Fact is Alicia, show after show has closed with me holding the belt up high and now it's become an expectation to the point that there is no other option, no suitable replacement… At this point, anything else is purely unacceptable.
Between the two of us, I know that there will one day come a time when I’ll lose, that I can’t hold onto this forever- but let me make this perfectly clear, there is no possible way that I’m prepared for it to be here and now.
I’ve worked too damn fucking hard to get here, liked or loathed, this Bombshells title means far more to me than you’ll ever recognize.
Climax Control.
Ryan vs Lukas.
Champion vs Queen.
Painted Hurricane vs Strong Style Southern Belle.
You were a good champion Alicia, don’t get me wrong, but you already had your fucking chance to do better…
And you didn’t.”
******
Oblivion Garage
Las Vegas, NV
04.06.2021
10:54am
An engine wasn’t all that dissimilar from a person, Amber contemplated thoughtfully as she snaked her arm up through the frame of the 1983 Honda Interceptor that had been dropped off at the garage that morning. Beside her lay the mostly complete engine and the fiberglass paneling that gave it's distinct, sleek sport bike visage, she knew Mac was deliberately prolonging the conversation he was so thoroughly engaged in when she caught him giving her a sly wink and half smile.
Cheeky bastard, he was an old school soul who preferred the growling, road rumbling American Classics over the streamlined performance based street bikes that Amber had expertise in… like the Hayabusa that she deliberately avoided acknowledging, laying in pieces while patiently awaiting it's much needed engine rebuild.
All she had to do was wait for her heart to heal, to accept that there was a chance it was beyond saving...
Amber turned her attention back to the task at hand- trying to find focus where focus seemed to elude her, once you understood an engine and it's components- similarly to a person- it could be thoroughly and decisively deconstructed on a whim.
If you knew how to create, you knew how to destroy. Simple in theory but in practice…
“Miss Ryan, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
As though her stomach had installed a trap door unknowingly, she felt the pit drop almost out of her body as her blood turned to ice in her veins. Like velvet with an accent that defined a certain worldliness, the voice addressed her like an old friend's embrace instead of like the stilted business tone she knew they’d learned from- no doubt Dominic Del Gado had intended this, to create a situation where she had no choice but to engage.
Thankfully, at least for her, Mac hadn’t noticed the arrival and instead was still preoccupied listening to a story about some riding on rims when tires busted or something of the like- abrupt and raucous laughter filled the space as Amber untangled from the bikes frame, quickly moving to usher the swarthy son of a businessman outside the garage, and just beyond earshot.
No longer was Dominic Del Gado the smarmy faced teenager she once knew, self-confident without having earned anything but the last name he was given. A faint touch of salt and pepper dotted his temples and smattering of facial hair, his cheekbones sat higher than she remembered and his eyes like deep onyx glistened as he watched her close the distance before ushering him quickly from sight.
Coming to a halt just beyond the garage threshold, Del Gado straightened his white linen shirt with one more button than necessary undone at the top.
Checking anxiously that she hadn’t drawn more attention than she already had, she turned on a dime coming as nearly face to face as she could with the 6’1 Del Gado.
“What in the actual fuck are you doing here?”
Barely able to contain her outrage, the whisper came out hoarse and crackling.
“Is our prior relations such a deeply held secret that we cannot hold civilized conversation in public.”
She hated the tone he addressed her with, any more smug and it’d be condescending and yet somehow he always managed to keep everything endearing enough not to cross that line.
“We don’t have prior relations, we don’t have partnerships, we don’t have whatever other word you wanna use- so I’ll repeat, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Inside she knew she was lying through her teeth, they had plenty of history although their perspectives wildly differed- and judging by the small chuckle that emanated from his lips, he knew it just as well as she did.
“You’ve always been so fiery. Something I greatly admire in those I do business with…”
“Business? Oh yeah, of course this is business. Sure.”
Del Gado’s smile curled at the edges slightly, his eyes narrowing.
“You know, for all the walls you put up Miss Ryan, you really should consider that sometimes people just want to use the door.”
“Firstly, it's Bane-Ryan and secondly why don’t use you use that door and fuck right back out of my life.”
With a casual nod, Del Gado regarded her with fondness.
“My apologies and congratulations on the recent nuptials…”
Before the sentence could reach completion, his stare moved from Amber to just beyond her and the curl in his smirk dissipating into something more civil.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced”
Amber didn’t need to turn around to know Mac was staring daggers, even with her back turned she could read that man's body language- although in herself couldn’t decide if she felt relief or just more nauseous.
“It appears not, Dominic Del Gado… It's quite the pleasure to meet you, I’ll admit I..."
“... was just about to leave. It’s been wonderful to see you Dominic.”
Cutting him off with all the venom she might muster without spitting it directly in the man's eye, she hoped she’d made her point before those velvet laced tones could entangle her further. Peeling away back into the garage, Amber hoped that she might disguise- at least long enough to get her bearings- how close she was to being violently sick all over the floor.
“So it seems. Mac, right? A pleasure. Oh, and do tell your wife that's quite the impressive shiner she’d got- I do hope it was worth it.”
With a confident saunter, Del Gado disappeared into the parking lot and only once he was out of sight did Mac relieve his guard position in the open roller door of the garage floor. With a deep breath, Amber’s racing pulse seemed to thunder in time with Mac’s heavy footsteps across the concrete floor, she braced herself for the hand that would surely clamp gently onto her shoulder.
Except it didn’t come. Mac’s footsteps fell short- leaving mere feet and yet what felt like oblivion between them.
“You wanna explain that one?”
“Not really.”
Mac raised an eyebrow questioningly, to which Amber could only shrug forcing a sheepish grin while hoping he couldn’t see the dread and revulsion in her eyes.
“Just a... business proposal he thought I’d like to hear about.”
