“One to be a murderer, the other to be martyred, One to be a monarch, the other to go mad.”
― Marissa Meyer, Heartless
Sun Princess Cruise
Somewhere out at sea… probably.
12.07.2021
11:28am
Amber was certain everyone saw through the façade.
Smile. Flash. Another photo.
No, smile harder cause first impressions fucking matter.
She would have sworn up and down, as the enthusiastic fan rejoined the buzzing ballroom space, that everyone else in the room was humouring her poor attempts to fit in. Meet and greets were always a mixed bag, the raucous showed up in force, not caring who was slated- or in this case when- just that they needed to be remembered, acknowledged by those whose lives seemed to matter far more than theirs. Hell, she’d done this type of stuff plenty before- but mostly as a nobody, as a new face in a company trying to be recognized. Most of those who did were the rabid, the ones who paid their rent money to attend a show, skipped a doctor's visit for a new shirt, who cared so much about what they loved that they even remembered the ferocious little redhead in the opener that was just happy to have made the main card.
Those were small scale affairs though- maybe they thought she seemed kinda cool or simply banked on the fact that they were 80% sure she wasn’t just some backstage pleb shuffling people through robotically.
She’d never really done anything like this as a world champion though… Now everyone seemed to be glancing across the room as they moved between other more approachable stars trying to figure out if they could get a photo without losing too much of an important limb.
In truth though, she was far more terrified than they ever could be.
No, just put on the damn face Amber and pretend like your nervous system isn’t stuck in fast forward and you don’t wanna lose your breakfast all over this generic carpet. Internally she scolded herself, there really wasn't anything to fear but her own insecurity- but be damned in having a hundred or so eyes on you when you were actually paying attention to what they thought wasn’t just slightly intimidating.
Nearby, leaning on the edge of a table, she could hear Mac chuckle loudly. Desperately she wanted to give him a side glance, a sightline SOS cause it felt like she was drowning on dry land.
He knew she was putting it on, even without looking at her he could sense that she’d grown tense, that her smile hurt more than it should have.
God, since when did wrestling become the easiest part of being world champion?
Amber mused quietly as a small group of twenty-something year old fans approached, their cautious smiles offset with nervous chatter and overly polite questions. Even her tongue felt dry, almost swollen to the point she could barely close her lips- words tumbling out in a way that she hoped didn’t shift the power dynamic. They seemed satisfied although she doubted they had much other choice, or simply were overwhelmed by adrenaline and euphoria that the disappointment of Amber mumbling barely incoherently wouldn’t sink in till much later.
No, at least with wrestling there was a singular focus. One person, one goal, one belt. One achievement at the end of a misshapen rainbow with distinctly too much red. In that ring, she could be anyone else and receive no judgement- being good, bad or otherwise was simply part of the journey instead of a predetermined destination.
That was the thing, a thousand eyes might be on you, but you didn’t see them- for the time between those tolling bells, everything those eyes had to offer, had to resent and judge you for… they didn’t matter. They held no power, they had no sway as though their mouths no longer noise and their hearts stopped beating until they were given a three-count jumpstart.
Between those ropes, surrounded on six sides- she could be anyone else. Maybe she’d be the person she always wanted to be, the one she dreamed off late at night as a kid surrounded by posters nearly falling off the walls… or maybe she’d be everything she’d come to loathe internally, the person who’d do absolutely anything to anyone on the proviso that the end justifies the means.
Mostly though… Amber resigned herself to quietly admitting, trying to ignore the chatter of small talk and rising temperature in the room… Mostly she was both of those people because somehow, someway they ended up being one in the same.
She knew though, shooting Mac yet another sideways glance that seemed to bounce off his affable nature, that once it came down to the match… when it came down to what really mattered… when it just came down to what she could do inside a six-sided ring.
She knew she’d be fine.
So where the fuck was that Amber now?
“Miss Ryan?”
Like flicking a switch, Amber shifted into auto-pilot ‘professional mode’ as an older woman approached whilst flanked by a group of special needs teenagers and adults.
“Yeah, sorry was just… you know... ”
Amber actually didn’t know, however the lady nodded with a polite, almost matronly smile. No doubt just as confused, but shrugging it off cause these damn wrestlers and their daydreams.
“I hope you don’t mind if we---”
Straightening up as though being told off for slouching in her chair at school, Amber slipped the Bombshells World title off her shoulder- almost savouring its weight in her hands before passing it off to the older woman. Briefly Amber opened her mouth to warn her that the title was heavier than it looked, but after a moments realization the title was already being gently placed on the shoulder of a young lady in a wheelchair.
With a smile that Amber could only one day hope to successfully imitate and fluffy brunette hair that fell around her face, framing wire-rimmed glasses and hazel eyes glimmering with an untold excitement, the young lady gave- what Amber could only presume- was her best ‘Distorted Angel’ impression.
Determinedly distant and apathetic, although definitely tempered by a radiating excitement that simply couldn't be contained.
Watching amusedly, Amber leaned back against the table behind her for a moment, almost glad not to be the centre of attention for a minute or two before a soft touch on the arm drew her back to reality. A knowing, almost crooked smile met her as the older lady leaned in slightly.
“Perhaps you’d like to, oh I don’t know... join her? You are, after all, the champion I presume...”
Despite the inflection in her voice, Amber immediately realized that it wasn’t being framed as a question. For some reason, she’d always considered the title as the centre piece- the only reason that anyone came up to someone like her to begin with besides asking for money- the redhead was realistically just the vessel, like a direction to be pointed in.
“I mean I’d hate to ruin her---”
“Trust me. You won’t be ruining anything.”
Swallowing hard, Amber tried her damndest not to stumble over her own feet- she was merely a consequence of the privilege. That Bombshell's World title was a symbol of excellence, it was a statement above all others and a declaration of what could be achieved. In the eyes of many, no doubt, she was just the newest pretty-ish face to lug it around while explaining to airport security why her extra carry-on bag weighed so damn much.
Just lucky, and probably a little fucking cuckoo.
Mac caught her edging glance this time, his own gathering of special needs fans milling about whilst a slightly younger woman corralled them thoughtfully- with a knowing wink, he leaned down towards a particularly frail looking boy while helping support the hefty title belt resting on his small shoulder.
See, Mac understood this… he made it look so fucking easy that it was almost infuriating.
Given the option, she’d just as quickly have disappeared under the table as she would take another photo…
Do the right thing Red, she could practically hear Mac telling her now, take the damn picture. Go say something nice, thank them for not being complete assholes and move on to the next one…
Leaning into where she presumed the frame would be, as an obscene amount of mobile phones emerged from pockets, she could feel the smile almost tear at her cheeks while her dry lips cracked a little from the exertion.
Smile. Flash. Another photo.
She didn’t understand how it came so easily to everyone else- making small talk between photos, smiles plastered far and wide as though grimaces had been painted garishly into grins. It all felt like an inside joke that she’d only ever heard the build for, the punchline somehow elusive as everyone devolved into raucous laughter before she could learn their secret.
God, she wanted it to make sense… for all this to be as easy as breathing.
More photos and smiles, more pleasantries as the group moved off- satiated on everything she had to give, despite the well having run dry before she’d entered the room. As the group shifted off, stragglers gave a gentle nudge in the right direction while the more enthusiastic were shepherded back towards their troupe while gleefully muttering about what they’d been allowed to be a part of.
Before Amber could exhale the breath she’d been holding onto- the matronly woman, her name badge obscured by the thick plait that had crawled over her shoulder and down to her waist, placed another gentle hand on Amber’s forearm in the type of way that only grandmothers and the such like could.
“Thank you, I know it's probably a bit of an ask when everyone wants their moment…”
Amber stifled a scoff as best she could, obviously she wasn’t exactly familiar with who Amber was- only that she had a shiny belt and therefore that made her important.
If only that were remotely true.
Perspective was key- having the belt made her someone to be seen with, regardless of how she’d gotten there.
All the things she’d done along the way- previously shunned and scorned for the same violence that was now praised and widely regarded as a significant turning point. All the things she’d said- too harsh, too virulent and venomous, not appropriate and deliberately acerbic, now everyone hung from her every word and treated her opinions as though they were spun from gold.
No, because she had the belt… everything was somehow forgiven cause it was a means to an end.
“... but you made some very special people very happy today.”
Amber could only wonder if the same would be said once she went out there in front of the world and did heinous, possibly inhuman things to retain her Bombshell's world title…
Or if it really was just a matter of perspective.
******
“In the span of a year, you could do many great things.
Lives begin and end within mere days, change happening in but the blink of an eye. Everything you know, everything you’ve worked for- that you love and you sacrifice for moment after moment can turn to ash between your fingers as you try to hold onto absolutely anything before it's lost to the breeze.
Under ideal circumstances there is infinite potential- but our lives don't quite work like that, do they? This industry that we’ve committed our very existence to wouldn't dare allow us such a luxury and so with the rolling tides and the setting of the sun- we rise and we fall.
Some of us take flight, using those fallen around us as motivation to do better. To take stock of what left us grounded and we rebuild, hoping that the foundation holds long enough before the scavengers steal the legs out from underneath in an effort to elevate themselves. We do better cause we have the willingness to do so and the belief that for whatever reason- we might deserve it.
Of course, then there are others who fall and continue to do so cause they fail to realize that just because it's movement from a status quo, doesn’t make it a positive change where reality only sets in once they hit the fucking floor. They wallow, they make excuses and refuse to move from that place cause they want someone else to start building their foundation beneath them, they want to be elevated by what little of their reputation still carries weight and favour.
In the span of a year we can fall in love a thousand times over- maybe even more. Sometimes it's with someone else, unexpected perhaps or someone you chose to see everyday. Other times it's simply with a cup of coffee after a long night or a particularly lovely sunrise when you’re on your way to the gym… we attach ourselves to things and people cause we need to feel love, to reciprocate it.
We fall in love with our achievements and we mourn their losses cause we understand that they can't possibly be forever- and though we may admit as such, it's still a shock when you wake up without that extra weight on your chest.
We fight and we mourn for what we no longer have, for everything we’ve done and what used to represent our hard work. Celebration in the same breath as acceptance of an inevitable failure.
Lives change so drastically in the space of a year, that sometimes we forget it really only takes one night.
At Summer XXXTreme last year- you won that Internet title. Of course, I don’t need to recount the story or blow smoke cause you do just fine at embellishing details without my help. Fact is that for a year now you’ve kept a stranglehold on that title- you climbed that mountain and you made it mean something… sort of.
It's easy to talk about climbing mountains when you fail to see the bigger one just on the horizon, to talk about overcoming challenge after challenge when those chasing that title aren’t quite giving you their best cause they don’t think either you or the title are really worth that.
I’d never say you haven’t earned every single one of those nine defenses…
… however it's a little rich as well to make it sound like you’ve climbed Everest, when you’re standing on a plateau.
See, the issue here is that you pigeonholed yourself without really meaning to- you created this niche, and at first it seemed like a great little short term hang out on your way to greater things, but defense after defense went by and you got comfy. You started furnishing this niche, hanging wall posters etc you grew comfortable cause you knew that you had a safe place- you had a homeground advantage, a sanctuary and be damned if you’d be beaten on your own hallowed ground.
For a year there was no need to do better, you had no reason to look beyond what you had- cause it was yours.
A year is a long time though, and the challenge just isn’t there anymore. There’s only so many Char Kwans and Jessie Salco’s that you can beat before things get a little tedious, and that internet title doesn’t shine quite as bright when it's not in the main event.
I mean I honestly commend you for being willing to step beyond the threshold, taking that much needed step out of your comfort zone to find a much higher mountain with a far less comfortable summit- see, this isn’t a place that can be claimed, you can't settle down here cause the terrain simply won’t allow it. Rarefied air does funny things to the brain when deprived for too long, and the top of the mountain was never meant to be owned.
We rent this space, this air isn’t ours to claim, but we make it home while we can meanwhile trying to ignore the skeletons just below our feet from all the other poor suckers who just weren’t ready for the high life.
I have no allusions to think that my reign will last forever Myra, I’m not in such a state of denial to think I can’t be beaten just because I have the literal higher ground- after all, many a title has been lost when hubris is prioritised.
See, the thing is you look at me and you continually make assumptions. Maybe all that oxygen deprivation and head trauma has done quite a number on me- but you’re still talking at me like you have this inside information, like you’re saying anything that hasn't been regurgitated from almost every opponent I’ve ever faced.
You wanna say I’m a mystery, but then proceed to unwrap me like a kid at Christmas. I mean I hate to break it to you, but just cause it's in barbie wrapping paper and is shaped like a barbie doll box- doesn’t mean that it can't be yet another big ole middle finger from the universe. I’m very much not the one-dimensional edge lord that you’d like to make me out as, I might have my issues granted and I’ve spoken very openly about them- but I have the same ambitions as anyone else on this roster… oh, except for you of course.
Myra Rivers, paragon of virtue.
Hmmmm, poor choice of words maybe.
You’re the ‘manic pixie dream girl’ of the Bombshells division. You aren’t like everyone else, you pride yourself on integrity and honour- you just wanna go out there and do all the good things, and the fact you’ve gotten where you are is just cause of hard work and believing in yourself.
Don't you think I heard enough of that from Roxi- I mean I know you beat the woman, but to steal her schtick as well might be a little low for someone of your high moral standing. You act as though you’re above this match, above this division- while we’re all scraping away to be considered the best in an industry leading division, you’d much rather show everyone that you’re better than simply being champion. You surpass all expectations and socio-economic standards of wrestling.
Just like Mother fucking Theresa if she could do a mean headlock.
See, there's a reason things aren’t good enough for me- and it's got nothing to do with validation, I don’t have to look in a mirror and repeat mantras to get going in the morning. I work harder cause I know I can do better, I know I can be better- why should I settle when there's always a new mountain?
You’re content Myra, content with what you’ve built cause you have little reason left to be ambitious- you were just like me, and you did whatever it took to get what you wanted. You don’t win world titles without being a piece of shit, you don’t stay champion for 300 plus days cause you’re just really happy to be there- no, you had that hunger, that drive and now that you’ve done everything you wanted, you can sit back and rest on those precious laurels.
You get to take a step back and judge the rest of us assholes with something left to prove for all the things that you once did, shunning the same behaviours that made you exactly who you are.
God, it must be really easy to call people hypocrites when you’re so fucking oblivous to whats coming out of your mouth.
Maybe one day, if I ever get to that point of course, I’ll get to smell the proverbial roses before they wilt. I’ll stop and enjoy what I’ve done, I’ll be able to look back and marvel at the distance I’ve covered and every step that I took to achieve them- but the fact is Myra, I’m not there yet. I’m a work in progress and maybe I will be for sometime- I didn’t come up the same way as you, I didn’t just get opportunities and title shots cause I made a lot of noise…
It took me a damn long time to start speaking up for the things I wanted, the things I believe I had earned. Longer than I care to admit- and I haven’t done as many impressive things as you. I’ve won four world titles in almost 13 years- it's a laughable amount in retrospect, and makes it seem like I’m just a late bloomer.
Four world titles from less than ten attempts- really my batting average isn’t exactly terrible however it's not as many as I should have gotten- see I missed many chances cause I was told that I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn't ready. That it wasn’t for me.
So to hear you try and tell me that I need to validate myself is fucking laughable, I might be my own worst enemy Myra- but I know I deserve better. I’ve known for a long time and that's why this ‘all or nothing’ really is all or nothing for me. Why it means so damn much, cause the prospect of losing everything to someone who thinks that I’m just another self-destructive wannabe legendary twat is absolutely maddening.
You don’t get to tell me when enough is enough, when we both know that if you weren’t elbow deep into that Internet title reign you’d be frothing for my place just as much as I am.
Right and wrong, good and bad- maybe I’m a little unconventional and yeah, it’ll probably be my downfall- but that's my issue, that's my business and the fact is… There is no ‘right way’ to be champion, no… fuck ‘the right way’ Myra- there is being a champion and there isn’t.
Either you want it or you don’t.
Judging by your inability to admit so, it's easy to see that you don’t. You no longer have any investment in that internet title cause it can’t get you any further, but bearing your fangs for the world title proves you to be more of a hypocrite than your words betray.
You call me out for letting my ambition be my ruin, but not once have you made any claim to the world title other than that it's an extra piece of luggage you have to plan for. I made being world champion something to be proud of, I took it from those who say it as just another trophy for the mantle and I’ll be fucking damned if I let it go back to being a conversation piece on a coffee table.
Here’s the thing, you make being a walking timebomb sound like it’s a bad thing, that the idea that I’ll simply self-destruct under my own pressure is a surprise to anyone. Truth is, I’d rather be that claymore on legs threatening to detonate if looked at the wrong way- but wear the Bombshells world title with the pride and respect it deserves… I’d rather lose it all eventually to someone who can prove they want this title more than I do, rather than someone who walks around thinking that being comfortable in the wrestling industry is something to be proud of.
Look me in the eye and tell me you want this Bombshells world title more than I do Myra, tell me that and mean it- and I have no doubt you could beat me.
You can’t though, not honestly. I’d rather be left in that ring in bloody pieces than know you’re out there undermining all the hard work I’ve put into rebuilding this title's prestige. You sucked the Internet title dry and now you’re looking for new blood, well no dice here sweetheart cause I put more blood into this title than you have the capability to draw and I hope your personal hubris finally sees you turned to anti-matter at Summer XXXtreme.
A year, a year is a bloody long time Myra. For everything you’ve done, I commend you
… but what takes a year to build only takes all of three very long seconds to obliterate.”
******
Sun Princess Cruise
Somewhere still out at sea.
13.07.2021
08:03am
“Red, you can’t just stay in the cabin for the rest of the trip.”
Slightly exasperated, Mac Bane studied his wife for a moment as she sat awkwardly cross-legged at the end of the bed with a book sprawled across her lap. Without even looking up or missing a beat, Amber flicked the page over while the beginnings of a knowing smile tugged at the edge of her lips.
“Of course I can’t, I mean I still have to go out and wrestle…”
Sarcastic and a little smug, Amber’s gaze lazily wandered over the novel's pages- although she seemed far more interested in avoiding eye contact than what any of the pages before her said. She knew what Mac had meant though, outside of the prior meet and greet commitment that she’d been ‘strongly encouraged’ (and by strongly encouraged, they meant obligated by being the Bombshells World champion) to attend the day before- she’d had very little reason to leave the balcony cabin she shared with her Internet champion husband.
Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Mac, she’d contemplated asking to downgrade rooms before launching if only for her own sense of self- besides, being champion for her still didn’t quite go hand in hand with luxury and indulgence. Maybe she had earned it, a fact that Mac had been trying to drill through her thick skull since she won the belt, but it still didn’t excuse all the excess that seemed to automatically come with it.
It wasn't as though she didn’t appreciate all the niceties that the cabin had, nor the generosity of their employers in valuing both Mac and herself as headliners- it's just that… it all felt like too much. Too much in comparison to what she had to offer them as a person, too much for what she considered her worth to be, too much for someone who maybe didn’t have the capacity or taste to truly understand why these things were important.
If anything, she’d simply never had the chance to get used to niceties without strings attached.
Soft and plush, excessive purely for the sake of appearing so and materialistic in such a way that didn’t feel like it added any value outside of aesthetic, she couldn't help but wonder what kinds of people had stayed here before her… had they been wrapped up in the little details, overwhelmed by opportunity or had they grown so used to such rarities in life that such class and refinement had become mundane.
Beside her, as she adjusted slightly while trying not to sink further into the bed, the Bombshells world title sat gleaming happily and catching the morning sun that streamed in through the open balcony.
It was difficult not to linger on the fact that everything about this room was immediately connected to that belt- a fact she was more than intimately aware of and if anything, it made her almost resent the beauty of the space more. Maybe it was the whole reason she was here- but it's value came in what it had become to her, an extension of who she could be, a representation that good could come from anywhere and anyone under just the right lights… While she hadn't quite adjusted to the idea of accepting a more exquisite taste, she could more than appreciate what that belt had meant for her as a person.
… and how much she wasn’t prepared to lose it anytime soon.
Amber couldn’t help but smile a little as she considered how much she’d come to like this person she was becoming- maybe it was a bit lonely at the top, but the view was the best you could get. Assertive and a little more confident in who she was, she'd become accustomed to the nameplate on the belt- as foreign as it seemed at first- and the way people looked at her with a different point of view.
Fear and respect weren’t all that different- but finally she could find the thin line in the sand that separated them instead of obliterating it the moment she stepped in a room.
“You know what I meant darling- why don’t you use your time for good, I dunno run a class or a seminar… Go swimming. Learn to tap dance…”
Amber glanced up from her book with a ‘really?’ kinda stare, to which Mac could only shrug in response.
“Tap dance Mac… That's the best you have for me?”
Gently, yet deliberately Amber closed her book. Taking a moment to compose herself, she cleared her throat slightly and settled her hands on the edges of her knees expectantly.
“As for some class or seminar- what is it that you think I could teach anyone that wouldn’t get them arrested… What could I possibly stand in front of a group and speak on that doesn’t automatically presume that every problem could be solved by violence?
Shit I dunno, how to pickpocket 101… How to hotwire a car?”
“Amber…”
“What about- hot to start a brawl in any bar with five words or less. Yeah, that's a spot on life skill.”
“You’re being ridiculous now.”
“... or better yet- how to alienate everyone on your way to the top.”
Silence fell between them for a moment as Amber’s acerbic tone left a faintly bitter twang on the tip of her tongue. Regret perhaps, or something far simpler…
“Have you considered for a moment that you might be overreacting?”
Narrowing the gaze of her left eye, she cocked her head slightly forward' she regarded him curiously as though trying to study the level of seriousness in his voice.
“Oh, I absolutely have… and you’re entirely correct that I am. Here’s the thing though, and we both know this darling- the only real ‘skills’ I have, are the ones that got me onto this boat. They are the ones that got me to being a world champion- and if I’m brutally honest, I hope no one ever tries to follow my path cause I don’t think I could live with myself knowing someone wanted to be just like me.”
Placing her book to the side, Amber rubbed her forearm instinctively as though a reflexive nervous tic.
“Besides- there are people out there Mac…”
Trailing off her a moment, Amber briefly lost her train of thought- her tone softening in contemplation as the breath escaped her lips.
“... there are people, and I see them maybe once a week. We pass each other in the halls- sometimes they smile at me instead of hissing and scowling, but mostly we just avoid each other cause I don't understand them and they don’t wanna be anywhere near me… and you know what? We’re stuck with them for the next god knows how long… I’ll be honest with you now, I’d rather take a head first dive over that rail than get stuck in an elevator with half the people here.”
“... Come on Red, it's not that---”
Amber threw a hand up curtly, almost begging for Mac to hear her out.
“--- not that bad? Maybe not for them it's not- see they want to make small talk, they wanna forge connections cause they get this shit… Damn near anyone on this roster can walk into a room full of people and know they aren’t gonna offend anyone simply by looking in the wrong direction, they don’t feel like their chest is about to explode when someone starts a conversation about nothing.
I can accept the fact that most of them don’t hate me these days- but plenty sure as fuck don’t like me much either…”
Reaching to her other side without looking, Amber pawed for a moment trying to get a firm grip on the Bombshells world title before pulling it into her lap like a security blanket.
“... because of this. Because I’m me. I’m safe here Mac, they don’t have to pretend and I don’t feel like I’m gonna choke on a hello. So, why leave?”
Forcing a smile, Amber gripped tightly the edge of her world title. There was comfort from leather and metal as Mac watched her solemnly- measuring his words in hopes that the rising snark and frustration didn’t seep into his words too deeply.
“... You know, you haven’t exactly made much of an effort.”
Amber was sure he didn’t mean it to come across with such… haughtiness. As though the idea that she hadn’t been trying was something so averse and unapologetic that he couldn’t help the way the words seemed to fall. Both of them knew what he meant though- Amber had a distinct way of simply vanishing into thin air when sociably threatened- hell, she’d termed herself on more than one occasion as ‘socially claustrophobic’. Fact was, unless she happened to be wickedly hyped up on adrenaline or simply switched into what Mac had delightfully coined as her ‘hurricane mode’, then odds were that she’d actively avoid any potential civil situation not on her terms.
“Maybe so- and that's on me, however it doesn’t change the fact that we’re still gonna be stuck around each other and I don’t wanna be the reason anyone is miserable unless it's Myra fucking Rivers after our match cause I kept MY world title. It's just- I don’t get to wake up in the morning and everything just clicks, I don’t get how to suddenly read a room or make small talk that doesn’t feel like chewing aluminum foil.”
Pulling her title a little closer, Amber looked down into the golden surface somehow hoping it might distort the view of the person looking back at her.
“Besides, as much as I love being the world champion- and as hard as I’ve worked to get here… Having this belt just alienates me even further- you know, as if I had a fucking clue to begin with. Bombshells don’t see me as a friend, or even an ally… I’m a goddamn target and I wear that bullseye with pride, darling. I’m a walking challenge, and who the fuck would really wanna get caught up with that shitshow…”
Another pause, although neither of them dared to move. Instead the silence created more distance in a space that seemed to feel smaller by the moment.
“In that ring Mac, I’m someone else cause I learned how to be… cause I had to be, even though sometimes I hate that person more than anyone else. There was no choice, cause the girl that first walked into a professional ring wouldn’t have made it a year otherwise… When it comes to being in the ring, I don't have to make friends, I don’t have to be a conversationalist or a shoulder to cry on. I just have to be better than whoever is standing across from me…”
Relinquishing her stranglehold on the leather edges, Amber sighed softly. There was something almost distant in the way she regarded Mac, something desperately trying to reach out and connect but somehow unable to keep a hold of anything meaningful for more than a few fleeting moments at a time. Brushing her hair out of her face, Amber’s expression softened with a pensive smile- almost thoughtful.
“... outside of that ring though Mac? I’m just a girl who never really learned how to make friends.”
******
“You know, sometimes we just gotta put on our big girl pants and admit when we’re wrong.
It's a rare moment, I know, this is the point everyone gets our their dictaphones and such to take note of such an occasion- but you have a point Myra, and I have been wrong. I mean granted you had to do some serious digging and grudge holding to get there- but who the fuck am I to judge, right?
Blast From The Past was ugly. It brought out the worst in people and obviously I can tell you’ve been holding onto a little bit of resentment since- I said some shit, you said some shit. We both talked a lot and neither of us really listened until we thought we were being condescended to and subverted for the others gain- I can admit I said things that were wrong cause I was hurt, I was carrying alot of unresolved baggage and I was speaking from a place of emotion instead of logical thinking.
Here’s the thing that kinda gnaws at me a little though- in order to be so annoyed, so very irked by such things… there has to be an element of truth. In all the bullshit spewed whilst trying to keep my head above Christina’s drama, I stumbled across a very real nerve that you simply wouldn’t let me forget about.
You don’t hold onto an insult unless it hits home- although in truth it's all irrelevant now. I moved past that cause I realized that holding onto it gave Christina Rose an attachment to me that I really didn’t feel like dragging. I took everything that came with Blast From the Past and I let it slip from my shoulders- but for some reason, you can’t.
Despite the fact you got the better end of that deal, that you went on and- dare I say- got robbed in that final by someone who didn’t have the nerve to stand in the ring long enough to actually lose… and yet you still linger.
Once again though, you are right… I did try to diminish what you had done, I took all my pent up resentment and I fired all barrels in your direction in hopes that something might stick, that I might feel a little better about myself in the wake of breathing in all of that Zdunich detritus, that you might cleanse my palate from the muck and mire that I’d been swallowing.
I took your achievements and I drove them into the ground- and even though it did nothing, you still feel slighted.
Are you honestly that insecure Myra, that you have to scratch and claw for a reason to feel anything towards me and this match. Are you so deprived of literally anything to care about that you have to dig, you have to bury your hands in the muck despite not liking to get dirt under your nails- just so you might feel some kind of justification for the forced emotion you’re putting on.
Truth is, you’re impassive. You’re entirely indifferent- either you care so much about things I said back then that you’ve been waiting for a chance to come at me, which you’ve had plenty of opportunity to do… or you don’t give a fuck at all and are looking for something to mask your obvious apathy and disdain for having found yourself in this situation.
I’ll be honest, I’m more impressed that you’re trying so fucking hard to get a rise out of me with this shit than I am that you’ve held that belt for so long without your pretentiousness literally creating a black hole where you stand.
I was an asshole then, and I’m a slightly better asshole now. I’m a more clear headed asshole cause I don’t have that blue haired walking distraction tactic trying desperately for senpai to notice her, I’m not up to my eyeballs in empty threats and outdated cliches so maybe you’ll get something a little more original this time.
You’re a woman who takes great pride in her ability to remember, I find. You’re meticulous, noting anything even remotely detrimental that might be connected with your name- you scope and filter through everyone's words looking for a mention so that you might be able to complain about it between humblebragging about your achievements. Never forget anyone who might have wronged you Myra- not those minions cutting into the catering line, not that one guy who parked like a douchebag and bumped your car door trying to get out- not even the powers that be forcing you into as match that requires you to find something to get angry about.
I tend to find these things are more rooted in perspective and the way it warps to what we seek… We view ourselves through such a narrow scope, forcing ourselves to believe that we’re the only ones allowed to operate in shades of grey. Everyone else has to comply with the way we view the world, or they’re wrong.
Everyone has the right, and many flex this to an unhealthy degree, to believe that they are the good guy in their own fairytale- that all the dragons are lined up for them to slay, the riches for them to attain and the princesses hanging out of windows are just begging to be saved by them and them alone.
Few are willing to admit that maybe instead of the lead, that they may just be a supporting character- that their efforts, as well meaning and impressive as they may seem in isolation, are not in fact, actually significant in a greater narrative.
Let's be honest though, if you actually cared about the outcome of this match Myra- you’d be arguing that you’re a noble protagonist instead of some bit-player making up the numbers. You’re like Nightwing trying to pretend like you aren’t feeling a little pissed that you don’t get to be Batman, that your promise and potential doesn’t leave you in quite the position you previously imagined.
Obviously you’ll call me a liar cause that's the obvious course of action- you’ll be very offended, but that you understand and it's all just a part of my psychological need to throw myself off a tall building.
You just seem to have me all figured out, just like everyone else.
I’m just a confused girl who can’t appreciate what she has. I’m too reckless, I’m too ambitious, I’m too whatever the fuck else virtue or attribute can be contorted into a backhanded compliment. I’m too much of me and that's just a problem… I represent the best of this company, and you can’t quite get through your skull that being champion for longer doesn’t automatically make you better. The very fact that you’ve beaten me- does not make you better.
What does then- cause obviously something has to, right?
You can’t possibly be walking into this match with any other outcome than winning, you have it all planned out down to the last frame- cause you’ve done it before. Funny how that's your hang up, like I don't have the mental capacity to… I dunno, move on? Accept that I fucked up the first time, that I approached a match in the worst way and paid for it.
You paint me like an idiot rookie in all honesty, you have this tendency to talk down like it's my first day in wrestling school and I managed to mess up running the ropes cause I fell through them instead. You treat me like I’m this child that needs to be educated Myra, that I somehow don't understand what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into- like I fluked my stupid ass into being a world champion and this whole thing has just been a lazy attempt at ironic comedy that people lost interest in months ago.
I came into this company and I aimed for the top- you found your way to a comfy place and settled. Yeah, that is called complacency and it's also called accepting your position. Instead of working my way up the ladder, I literally went all or nothing to get here and now you look down upon me instead of up at me- I sidestepped your petty bullshit to get where I am, I didn’t need to ‘get my win back’ to do better Myra- it's just a happy bonus if it happens.
And it will, although I know you’re struggling with that concept right now.
I guess the thing is- you don’t like the fact that I didn’t ‘go through you’ to get where I am. I didn’t need to step through the ‘gatekeeper’ title to find my way into the main event scene- a win or loss against you did nothing to affect my trajectory, it didn’t affect my ability to win when it mattered.
I could very easily have never had that first match against you last year, and I’d still be where I am now… you though, you needed to win against me, you got catapulted because of my name Myra, not the other way around. I came in like a bull in a damn china shop and you were steadily making your way through the lower-midcard- you got elevated by doing something that everyone said you shouldn’t have and frankly you did a good job of capitalizing.
I shot for the top on day one, and I earned every step I took towards it. I chose to put my name out there and I suffered the consequences when I overstepped my boundaries- I faltered and I failed at times but I stuck to my guns instead of allowing myself to believe that second best was what I deserved.
Time after bloody time, even before I won the World title, I was representing this company at the highest levels- I stood for more than even the World Champions quarrelling about who was getting more TV time- and since I’ve won, I’ve dragged opponents up to my level who might not have been there otherwise Myra. Courtney Pierce got to prove her worth, that it wasn’t just a fluke that got her noticed, Ruby Stelle- despite being woefully outmatched- still had the best match of her career cause she found a reason to step up, Alicia Lukas proved to everyone she could still be the world champion if I wasn’t already tightening my grip on the belt… and lets be honest here, I got the fucking best match out of Christina Rose that this company has seen in years.
I elevate those around me, Myra. I take what I’m handed and I make everything better.
Let's be honest here- the only reason you ACTUALLY want the Bombshells world title is because it means something. Before, it was a hot potato dancing between hands like everyone was worried it might leave a black mark on their career, that it might be cursed cause no one could successfully defend it without becoming an absolute cunt in the process. You sat back, cosy with your little consolation prize and you waited… You waited until I gave this title meaning, I gave it reason to be respected and in time I made your title appear obsolete despite the fact you’d been breaking and setting unprecedented records.
You waited until the World Bombshells title was once again the most coveted title that women in our industry could hope to compete for- and then you made your move, you decided that now it was suddenly your aspiration and your dream to represent this company.
No, you fucking had plenty of opportunity to step up and do more. You watched this title get bastardized week after fucking week and you chose to simply stand back and let it happen-you racked up the days cause you knew that the worse the World title looked, the better the Internet title looked.
Lets face it Myra, I might be a little dumb- but I’m sure as fuck not stupid.
You’re a predator playing priestess, you preach love and strength from the rooftops like a goddamn sermon for the masses while gently raising your pedestal, looking for that next new platform to be pretentious from.
Trust me Myra- love truly can get you a lot of things in life, hell it can give you life cause I learned that one from experience… but it doesn’t break through walls, it doesn’t tear down ivory towers and cut down tall poppies. People do those things, and try as best as you can to deny it- but you’re just as much a selfish piece of shit as I am cause otherwise you’d never have accepted this match.
Love might have gotten you this far, but it doesn’t get you through me. I’m not just gonna bow out of the way cause you’ve got a personal reason to win- that's not being insensitive, that's looking out for my own interest, which you’d do in the same situation.
I’ve been through enough adversity to know what it does to your brain- colours taste different and sound always seems just a little too loud for comfort, I’ve watched those I care about fall around me like dominoes and plenty of those I care about have watched me do the same.
Fact is though- you’re walking into this be all, end all trying to win for someone else. You don’t wanna win the title to be champion, you wanna do it to prove you can, to make up for whatever guilt you might be feeling- like the black hole inside your chest might somehow be satiated by some more achievement. Just keep shoving gold in there Myra, I can promise you nothing will change...
Granted, your motives seem noble, but that doesn’t make me view this match any differently- at the end of the day, you’re coming to take something from me that I’m absolutely not prepared to give up just cause you think your purpose is more worthwhile.
Come Summer XXXtreme though- you won’t lose cause you brought your best, cause you didn't have enough love and support at your back from everyone who thinks you’re gods gift to humanity…
It's cause your best, your love, your support and everything you have to offer…
It’ll never be enough.
… cause lets face it, I should know all about that.”
******
Sun Princess Cruise
Somewhere still out at sea.
13.07.2021
02:17pm
“I must admit Ms Ryan, I never did pick you for the cruise type.”
Leaning gently against the balcony, the horizon stretching beyond sight in crystalline blue-green, Amber rolled her eyes whilst resisting the urge to simply dump her phone off the edge.
“Personally I find them rather abhorrent. Normal, everyday people becoming google-eyed miscreants indulging in cheap excesses- they think it gives them status, there’s a certain elitism that I struggle to look past. No one goes on a cruise cause they enjoy the ocean, they go on cruises cause they have mindlessly self indulgent lifestyle dreams they wish to live out without the threat of anyone they know judging them for their choices.”
Dominic Del Gado chuckled on the other side of the phone, grating on the redheads already frayed nerves.
“It’s simply the worst of Vegas put on a boat and sent to sea with all those attracted to neon buffets and poor impulse control.”
Despite the fact she knew Mac was busy, no doubt being a social butterfly or some such, she couldn't help but continually glance back over her shoulder as though she expected him to be standing in the cabin watching… judging … It was hard enough to disguise the fact she’d had to ignore three of Del Gado’s calls while Mac tried to convince her to come rock climbing.
As tempting as it may have been, she knew she’d regret it the moment she stepped onto the deck- well, that and the fact she knew that Dominic wouldn't stop calling until she picked up.
“If I’d known you had such an aversion, then I might have indulged more previously.”
A derisive laugh echoed down the line as Amber’s attempt to show contempt was thrown back at her in seconds.
“Ah, Amber… We both know you’d never do such a thing. You can barely stomach a change in routine, let alone throwing it out the window for a self-indulgent jaunt.”
Swallowing hard, she knew the gentle motion of the ship was more what left her stomach feeling a little off kilter and the faint taste of bile on the edge of her throat- although she’d have been more than happy to blame it on Dominic’s ever-present condescending sneer. A few more seasickness tablets and she’d probably be fine…
“It's one of the many things I admire about you, and why I believe that you can help me.”
“You need far more help than I can give you.”
Amber spat noisily off the balcony in hopes that maybe she might cleanse her palate, but instead found looking down only made her lightheadedness worse.
“For such a beautiful young woman, you hold onto a lot of spite. If it weren’t such a defining trait of yours, it’d almost be a shame…”
Trying to distract herself, Amber shifted her sunglasses on her face and focused on the broadening horizon- she’d never really spent much time on the water, as a child she never had access to people who owned boats and in the carnival the closest she ever got was the occasional autumnal beach trip between towns when the water was far too cold- but she knew she’d splash around in it anyway cause that's just what was expected. Reflexively she rubbed her forearm, the skin already reddened and slightly angry from what was becoming an increasingly frequent twitch.
“I trust you’ve had the opportunity to consider my offer.”
To call it an offer was generous, an implication of business more likely and even then she’d had no idea what she was supposed to be agreeing to- like selling her soul for an IOU on a coffee stained napkin from IHOP. It wasn’t as though she didn’t want to see Cassidy, to try and mend bridges that had long been ash and cinder in the back of her head- just one opportunity to make good, or at least fucking try… Fulfil a dead man's promise, maybe ease a little bit of her own guilt.
“I can’t really say I have- I’ve been teaching seniors how to do sick backflips and orchestrating toddler fight clubs. Gotta get them started early, you know?”
Sarcasm was an automatic defense mechanism- in truth she hadn't really considered much of anything outside her upcoming match with Myra Rivers. It was hard not to, in all honesty, she had far too much on the line for it to be anything less than priority one.
Amber knew she’d worked too hard to build this house of cards to simply watch it fall cause she couldn’t get her head out of the past, to allow her personal life to interrupt what was arguably the best year of her career to date.
She’d gotten better- maybe not so much as a person, but as a professional… as though after 12 years in the industry, she was finally starting to get how this shit worked. Why being champion was so… addictive. There was a thrill, a rush of seeing her name on that plate and knowing that she had earned it off ehr own back, that everything bloody and broken felt like it was worth something.
She’d been recognized as someone worth believing in- and now, part of her was starting to believe it too.
“Ah of course, I suppose the health insurance would be top notch for all those broken hips and gouged eyes. I’m surprised you weren’t out there having cocktail nights with the girls and wild, raunchy or---”
“If you’re quite done.”
“Not so fun when it isn’t you, is it? Come on now, Ms Ryan we both know you’ve done little more than ruminate on every possible way things can go wrong…”
“You know, it's a little hard to wanna agree to anything when you haven't given me any more details than that you want me to do you a favour. Generally how that works is that you actually give me some idea what the hell I’m actually supposed to do…”
“I’m aware of the nuances of agreements, I’m also aware that you generally aren't one for the cautious approach. Normally an ‘act now and ask questions later’ type of gal.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint.”
“Mmmmm, I doubt that.”
“Have you considered for even just a moment, that I might have changed?”
Flashbacks, nostalgia flooded in just behind her eyes. It all felt very deja vu, only with more than a decade life experience telling her otherwise.
“I had, but you haven’t and that's why you’re useful. See, it would have been very easy for me to just accept a monetary donation and walk away- but I have a far more pressing issue, a far greater financial hold up if you will. One that makes everything Mr Parker would seem like chump change- but things have stalled and someone needs to give a little… push.”
A push could be a kind word or it could be a boot to the chest sending someone flying off a cliff. Amber said nothing to begin with, trying to find a way to verbalize her frustrations that Del Gado wouldn't simply belittle the moment it left her mouth.
“I’m not just some fucking hired goon.”
Another laugh, one filled with merriment and ridicule alike.
“I wouldn’t dream of such a debasement of your abilities. Besides Ms Ryan, contrary to popular belief- not every argument can be won with violence. Your expectations always lead down such dark pathways, although I’d be remiss to expect anything different from you- if anything it reminds me of before when---”
“You and I have very different perspectives on that time.”
“Why must you harbour such resentments from what was such a profitable arrangement.”
“Cause it's you.”
It was more than that, she could feel her skin prickle as salt seemed to collect like a thin veneer on her skin. She’d spent her life and career making toxic decisions, desperate to just be accepted by someone for what she was and what she could do. Back then, anyone would do…
Now, her sentimentality could no longer spread so thin.
“Before I agree to anything- promise me one thing.”
Another swallow, although this did nothing to ease the knot tightening in her throat.
“... that I don’t have to hurt anyone this time.”
An uproarious laughter erupted and died in moments, the red mark on her forearm now deepening into a purple bruise.
“Such a noble and distinctly black and white perspective to have on all of this- and coming from you of all people. No, see that is the very nature of business and you, you have made a career of ruining other peoples livelihoods for the sake of your own. You take hopes and dreams and you shatter them for bragging rights and title belts- so forgive me, but you aren't exactly in any position to be debating the ethics of progress."
In a voice sounding far smaller than it did in her head, she could only hiss out a response.
“That's a whole different thing.”
Another chuckle, although this one seeped of venom and harsh absolutes.
“No, it's not… You sit there wanting to try and find a way to justify in your pretty little head that you can do something harmful for your own perceived good and still be reassured that you aren’t a bad person. Truth is Ms Ryan, whether you like it or not… Doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person Amber, enjoying them does.”