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North of Hell
Welcome Home (The Failed Pilot Episode)
Reality TV is the best way to get otherwise unnotable people... noticed. People who look at least moderately attractive just seem to sizzle under the spotlight. I should know, because I photograph moderately attractive people for a living. A little dab of make up, the right lighting, and hours of editing can take any Schmoe and make them look like an A-Lister. For me? I'm already damn good looking, so half the work is done for them. Some guy in Vegas was in talks with Crystalline about a reality show, but she didn't want her chicken bone voodoo displayed on television. She declined, but I wasn't so easy to break.
Anyway, they decided to shoot things from the perspective of the outsider, and I wasn't about to turn down a promise of millions of dollars and millions of viewers. If this is done right, I could be on VH1 like Flava Freaking Flav or Bret Michaels. How rock star would that be?
The cameras are showing up, because they want to see a beautiful reunion between me and Celeste. The bitch hasn't talked to me for like a month at this point, so I'm god dang struggling to find a way to secure my meal ticket... Alright, I actually love this crazy woman, but if you tell anyone, I'll beat you like a fool. So, I'm for real with this, and I'm arranging roses by the driveway. Full on bouquets shaped like hearts, with arrows through them and everything. They have gay messages and stuff written on them too, so I'm gonna look like a real sweetheart on television.
Everything is coming along nicely as I stand there, waiting for things to get started. That's when it hits me. The fountain in the middle of the circular driveway in front of the house needs some rose pedals. Money shot, baby. I walk around, gathering up rose pedals from the bouquets as Crystalline comes rushing outside with a smile on her face. The cameras aim right at her as she comes toward me.
Crystalline: The limousine is just around the corner. I can't wait to see the look on her face when she sees all this razzle and dazzle.
She hugs me. This woman and the hugs. Everything gets a hug. One time when I came out of a bout of constipation... she hugged me. I'm not even joking. This time, I guess I can understand, so I pat her on the back. The cameras aim at the gate, and Crystalline steps to the back, letting me stand there all alone. I look around, and that's when the lump in my throat forms. Fuck! She always takes me back, and I always take her back... but what if that doesn't happen this time? The doubts in my head become my worst enemy as I take a hard gulp, trying to work through it. The limousine creeps up in what feels like slow motion. The driver opens the door and steps out, walking like he's got a stick up his ass as he rounds the limo and opens the passanger door. There it is. Her hand. The one with the black iron skull with ruby hearts for eyes. I take a deep breath, waiting to see the love of my life's face for the first time since she left on the World Tour. "Pleather and Frills" by Crystalline and some old guy nobody cares about anymore begins playing, or maybe that's just in my head. I smile weakly, because she is my kryptonite. The driver helps her out of the car slowly as Crystalline leans in to whisper to me.
Crystalline: Go get the girl, son.
I take a few steps toward the limo as she turns around. The wind flutters through her soft wavy locks, and I'm expecting to see that killer smile my girl wears when she looks at me, but...
Me: Holy FUCK! What the hell happened to your face, Peaches?
Celeste's face! It's bruised and cut up like she received a real ass kicking. But what's worse is that she has that ugly angry look on her face. The one that makes you sleep with an electric chastity belt at night so that she doesn't castrate you like she did her last boyfriend. Yeah, that really happened I found out.
Celeste: What happened to my face?! Why are you wearing make up like a WeHo prosti-dude?
Me: You look like shit, babe. I thought chick wrestlers just ripped each other's clothes off and pulled chunks of hair. You look like a dude wrestler.
Celeste: Hey, fuck you, Chad! What are you even doing here still? I broke up with you like a month ago.
Me: No, I broke up with you, but...
Celeste shoves her bag into the driver's chest, and I know I'm going to look like a total pussy whipped bitch on TV, but I'm not about to feel her kick me in the nuggets. I cover them and shrink back like a coward. She points at me as she follows quickly.
Celeste: Then, you came back at me like "Oh, I screwed some girl while you were away, but I still love you." and I told you to get fucked! So, maybe you're right, but I denied you, so it's actually worse.
She picks up one of the bouquets and begins bashing me with it. It's flowers, so it's not that bad, and I smash through it and back pedal a little, but she follows and picks up another one. Why did I have to get so many of these queer things?!
Celeste: I want you to go up to MY room, and get YOUR shit and be out of here in an hour!
Me: Have you seen your house lately? It will take an hour just to walk to the room. Can I borrow the golf cart or something?
Celeste: Hmmm... no!
She knocks me on the ground as I crawl over toward the front door as Crystalline follows after Celeste, talking all calm and sweet like that's going to get through this Banshee's thick skull.
Crystalline: Now, Peaches... he went through all kinds of trouble to set this up for you. The flowers, the television show...
Celeste: Television show?!
Her tone changes completely as she drops the golden colored frame of one of the bouquets, now bare because she's beaten all of the flowers off of it, using my body to do so. I've got little trickles of blood from the thorns of the roses, but it stings at best. Celeste catches her breath as a smile comes over her face. She gently leans down next to me and wraps her arms around me. This is the point where I feel like I'm the chick in the relationship. Not cool.
Celeste: I have low blood sugar. I'm sorry for overreating, sweetie.
She pulls a tissue from her shirt and begins gently dabbing at the blood on my right cheekbone. That smile though... I've seen it before, and she's got some serious hell in store for me. But, as long as we can keep the cameras on us for a while, I might live to see tomorrow.
Crystalline: Let me go make you bruschetta. We don't need you tearing up the house because of low blood sugar.
Me: Normal people don't do that, Crys! She's...
Before I can go any further, Celeste kisses me so hard that I choke on my words. Her tongue shoots into my mouth, holding mine down so that I have no chance in communicating at all. With Crystalline headed inside, and the action hungry cameras surrounding us, I just stop fighting it. Once she sees I've stopped resisting, she pulls that Slyvester Stallone from Rocky looking face away from mine, and I shudder a little. She leans in with what the viewers will see as a sweet nothing, but it was a harsh something.
Celeste: You're going to be bitch du jour, Chadsies. I say jump, and you don't even ask how high, because you'd better damn well know how high. Unless you want to go back to your apartment in the projects, of course...
The thing about Celeste is that, once she has even an ounce of power over you, you stand no chance. And when she makes threats like that, they are anything but empty. As a matter of fact, there's about fifty thousand unspoken meanings behind that. She hugs me and gives a girlish squeal before kissing the side of my face as the cameras fade out.
[*Fade*]
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Nobodies and Somebodies
#NP "Never Never" by Korn
Location Undisclosed
So, after spending three weeks with Chad as my own personal bitch, and using lots of mother's witch hazel skin concoctions, I think I look pretty normal again, at least where it's visible. My back still looks a bit like a motorcyclist tragic accident, but considering the shit I went through at December 2 Dismember last month, I have been doing pretty fucking good. The hardest part of it all, was going through it without painkillers... like, the good kind I mean. For a former opiate addict, I figured I should probably stick to over the counter stuff, as sparingly as possible, except the alcohol. There was plenty of that to get me by.
Things have been so crazy lately, between my injuries, this Brother Grimm bullshit with Tim, and getting humiliated last week on Climax Control by those two brainless twats, Delia and Mercedes. I would rather have dealt with twice as many injuries, than to deal with the other two. First off, I've made it no secret that I am Wiccan. I'm a child of the Earth and moon. Yes, I cast spells, and dance with other witches in celebration of the different moon cycles, and I believe in Gaia, amongst many other gods and goddesses. What I have not done up until two weeks ago, is deal with banishing dark forces. I didn't even think I could do it. Mama and I came together, and we both did something we never thought possible. But, with the gift comes responsibility, and even if it didn't, I'll be damned if I'm going to tell Timmy, "Sorry kid, you're on your own." That's not what friends do. Hint, hint, Lexi-boo.
The least of my worries, and yet somehow the most angering at the same time, was putting everything I had on the line at December 2 Dismember, being out on a minor leave to be cleared just after Yule... only to not be booked. I was outraged. Sure, Lexi was pissing and moaning, but what's new there? She acts like she's the only one who didn't get any recognition for winning at December 2 Dismember. Hello, bitch! I didn't either. So, I went to Mercedes like a civilized human being... well, mostly. I told her she should put me in a match, because I was ready. She couldn't use my injuries as an excuse, because Little Orphan Salco was booked. She couldn't say that I'm not an established name, because there were others like Sam Marlowe, Traci Patterson, Veronica Taylor, Kate Steele, and Zuri Chastain were all booked, and all five of those examples have done jack shit when you think about it. Two of them held tag titles, but pft... no one gives a shit about them in either division. Ask Tim.
So, that left me with one option. Be forceful. Yeah, that didn't work either. I was literally used as a coat rack by a pompous French bitch. Then, when I tried to fight her, she refused. I was going to prove that I'm ready to be taken seriously by challenging Delia, but she couldn't be bothered to take me seriously. I admit, that pissed me off a great deal, and I lost my head. Every time I tried to attack her out of pure anger, she turned it around on me, slapping me, tripping me through the ropes, and just when I was about to go full on bat shit on her, Mercedes came out and had me escorted from the venue. It's bullshit. If I were some other Bombshell, any other Bombshell, I would have been cheered for, admired and praised, not ejected from the arena like a loser. So, it's safe to say that the past month or so has sucked for me.
But, we're not looking at the past any longer. None of the Nobodies are. It's all about the future, baby! We're sitting in this hotel suite my mom sprung for as a little moral booster, and it's pretty nice. There's a hot tub with a flat screen television built into the wall, so many couches, like why would anyone need so many? The softest carpet I've ever walked bare footed on away from home, and not to mention lots of Cristal from room service. We're having a little party here tonight, with so many masked Nobodies running around. Lexi was here, but she's probably off in a corner looking up how to be a better Suicide Girl or something. Connor and Tessa are in the hot tub, with drinks in their hands, yeah, two each... and Tim is sitting on the edge of the hot tub in his swimming trunks, staring out of the window, over the city of Reno. He just looks so dead inside. Like, I'm not even joking. His blue eyes are empty, and I'm not sure if it's from being stalked by fear itself, or if he's too doped up on anxiety meds. He's always been more observant than he is talkative, but he doesn't seem to be doing either lately. I walk up to him with a glass of Cristal in my hand, and I gesture toward him to take it. He does, but he just rests his hands in his lap, holding the glass against his thigh as he nods his head in thanks. I pull out a pack of cigarettes, and push one out toward him, but he just shakes his head once. I mouth "Okay?" as I start to turn away, but you know what? Fuck that. There is a party going on here, and I'm not going to let my good friend sit there and be miserable while everyone shy of Lexi is having fun around him. I shed my robe, revealing a black bikini top and torn jean short shorts. I sit down next to Tim as I take a sip of my own glass, and stare out of the window as I press my shoulder in to Tim's.
Me: Great party, Celeste. Oh, thanks, I worked really hard on it. Yeah, I can tell. Aww, you're so sweet, T-Bone.
Tim: Hm? Yeah, it's... fun. Loads.
Me: No smart ass comment back? I'm offended, Timothy.
Tim shrugs his shoulders as he takes in a deep breath, slowly leaning his head against my shoulder. He reaches up with one hand and rubs the celtic cross around his neck that he'd gotten from his mother. Even if he hates the bitch, that necklace makes him feel safe. I lean my head down and rest it on top of his head, ignoring the fact that his hair is kind of going into my mouth. I try to softly sputter it out, without letting him realize it. It kind of tastes like coconut... weird.
Tim: I feel like I'm trapped in a loop, C. It feels like, just when I think I'm going to be okay, I have a dream, or I feel a cold tickle on the back of my neck, or I hear a deathly whisper, and it all goes back to the beginning. I don't like these pills, but it's the only thing keeping me from totally losing it.
I want to tell him, in a nice way, to stand up and fight back, but I'm not so good with nice words. I just nod my head a little as I nuzzle him. We have a weird chemistry like that, but whatever. I whisper to him "I know"... and he just closes his eyes, feeling safe for a moment. My eyes go over to Chad, who is staring daggers at Tim. Guys are so cute when they get territorial, but it only makes me play it up more, grabbing onto Tim's hand and holding it close to my body.
Tim: You shouldn't be focusing on me. You should be having fun at the party. I'm fine.
Celeste: Well, I'm not going to just sit there and watch you going through this shit. You need to get used to having A REAL FRIEND...
I look around as I shout the last part, trying to make sure Alexis heard it. I'm not even confident that she's in the suite anymore, and many others are looking at me like I'm just a big bitch. Whatever, if they feel that way, then they must know they're guilty.
Celeste: Plus, between you and me? I've been a bit bummed lately, myself. I don't think I'm going to be table dancing to "Hypnotize" by Biggie Smalls tonight. I just need to relax for a bit.
Tim: If you insist... But, maybe clue your boyfriend in on the fact that we're not screwing, because he either really wants to kill me, or he really wants to fuck me...
LOL! Hey, it is an intense stare, and I've been confused by it in the same way before. Though, to be fair, there were times I wasn't sure which one was happening. I nudge Tim, who softly laughs for the first time in a long time. This is when I hear a knock at the door. I look at Chad, but he's too focused on wanting to rip Tim's head off to notice either event. I scoff as I get up and walk toward the door. On the way, I lean down and softly speak into Chad's ear.
Me: If you're not going to get the fucking door, then you're going to go console my friend with cuddle.
Chad: What the...? No!
Me: Bitch, did I stuh-stuh-stuh-stuhhh-s-s-stutter? Go hold my friend close to your body, and if I don't believe that you're not enjoying it, then you better learn to suck a good dick if you want to get back to Beverly Hills before I burn your shit on my lawn...
I say it so soft and sweet, but he knows I mean every word of it. He growls as he gets up and walks over toward the hot tub. He pulls off his black tank top so not to get it wet, like it's a fancy shirt or something. I watch as he awkardly tries to cuddle Tim, and it's right then that I feel like my bad mood is gone forever. Then, someone knocks at the door again. I turn around and fling the door open.
Me: The music is NOT too loud, because...
Never mind, it's Mz. Holly Wood. Great... Now, all I need is to bump into Liz Smalls randomly, and then I'll know that the universe is playing a big cosmic joke on me.
Me: What?
Holly rolls her eyes and pushes past me as she walks right inside. She sheds her fur trench coat, and flings it over the back of the chair near the door.
Holly: Hell, if I'm gonna have to deal with this interview, I'm gonna need about three of thooooose, kay?
She points right at the glass in my hand as she walks over toward the ice bucket. Rather than taking a glass, she just takes the whole bottle. She wraps her lips around it and tilts her head back as I glare at her almost as wickedly as Chad was staring at Tim. I'm pretty sure I snarled, because Holly nearly chokes on the champagne. She leans over, trying to collect herself as she swallows. She stands back up and wiggles a finger at me.
Holly: That face, though... Sorry 'bout it.
Me: I specifically asked for the skeeviest interviewer under employment by SCW.
Holly: I'm sorry, but Pussy Willow was all booked up.
Holly winks at me, knowing I meant "Stoner" Scott Oliver. Why... me? I shake my head as the room seems to come to a stand still, all except for Chad, who is stroking Tim's head, while Tim looks petrified. It's good for both of them, so I return to the matter at hand.
Me: No, I probably should have asked for Scott myself, because now I see the error in my words. Well, I can't get mad at them for actually listening to me for once, now can I?
Holly: Once? No, twice. You bitched about not being booked last week, and King Despy has heard your grievences and shit, and he put you in a big match. And what you got the nerve to do, hunty? Cry about it on Twitter, while shaming your sister for doing the exact same thing.
Me: Oh, bitch... No matter what everyone says about you... you were never the "Nice" Mean Girl, and I'm glad those bitches turned on your fake ass and knocked your front teeth out. You have got some nerve coming in here, acting like you've ever known a damn thing about me, instead of... oh, I don't know... doing your fucking job? That's why I wanted the simpleton, because at least he knows to just stand there and hold a microphone in your face while going duhhhhhherrrrrr......
I make the most fucked up, funny retard face I can manage to put on, and it must look pretty ridiculous, because the entire room busts out laughing.
Holly: Good GAWD girl, getta grip. No, better yet, let go of the past. None of us is sweating you, so why are you so obsessed with ripping our heads off?
Me: Now THERE'S a question I can respect.
I say this very sarcastically, even though I actually kind of mean it. I pull the bottle out of Holly's hand, and top off my glass before handing it back to her. I slowly walk off toward a less crowded portion of the room, and sit down on the couch. I motion for Holly to join me, and she's reluctant. I can't blame her, of course, because I wouldn't trust me either. She sits down, keeping a small amount of distance between us as she takes a small sip from the bottle.
Me: When you ladies denied me joining Mean Girls. I realized just how shallow and narrow minded you guys really were. I used that negativity to build myself into something. I found a cause that actually gives me something to care about. You were all rude to me, and I hate rude people, so I dedicated myself to being everything that you guys are not, while destroying everything that reminds me of you. That's at the heart of everything for us Nobodies. To be honest, you bitches inspired us. You gave us a reason to come together.
Holly: It's what we do, baby. Mean Girls, still bringing friends together, almost a year after our implosion.
Me: Yeah, it's a real shame that you didn't stick around a little bit longer. You would have had a perfect fit in Mikah. See, you guys might have inspired us by showing us everything wrong in this company, but it's people like Mikah and Drake Green who keep us going.
Holly starts to say something when she suddenly understands where I'm going with this. She doesn't like it much, but she at least gives me the courtesy of letting me continue uninterrupted.
Me: Now, Alexis didn't seem to get that memo when she started being besties with her. You can't account for intelligence in every member, but we do try to make up for it in violence and bloodshed that somehow always seems to go unnoticed. I get tired of sounding like a broken fucking record, but I bet we could literally air lift the ring out of the building while blasting "Fuck You" by Cee Lo Green over the speakers, and no one would notice until someone tried to come out to the ring for a match. Hmmm, I'll have to share that idea with Tim later...
Holly: You must have a lot of money to take care of those kinds of fines. How does that make you any different than, say, Mikah or Drake Green?
Me: Because I don't pull up in fancy cars, wearing fancy clothes, and smelling like fancy baby prostitutes, rubbing my money in everyone's faces. Truth be told, I'm an heiress to a fortune greater than most of the roster combined, including Drake and Mikah. But, that doesn't matter in this sport. At least it shouldn't. Who cares if you can buy the best trainers and the best bodyguards, and surround yourself with protection. That only goes to prove how assinine you are. Have your fame and fortune, but leave it at the curtains, because it doesn't matter inside of the ring.
Holly nods her head, trying to be respectful, but I can tell she wants to ask me something so badly that it's eating her from the inside. I sigh and nod my head.
Holly: Mikah has proven to be more than just fame and fortune. She even beat Delia's longest reign as the World Bombshell Champion.
Me: That title became worthless when it landed around Delia's waist, regardless of the talent she may or may not have had. She took a prestigious belt worn by the likes of Misty, Kittie, Raynin, and Vixen, and she wiped her ass with their accomplishments. She told them exactly how she felt about them, right to their faces. She paraded around like some kind of celebrity, who just happened to be able to work the ring. It was never about the title, or the ability. It was about being famous, and Mikah is a less interesting version of Delia, and yes, somehow that is possible... So, really, this match is pointless to me. Ever since Vixen lost the title to Delia, the title has been shit. No one was worthy of what it was meant to be. They only try to carry on the legacy of greed and corruption that Delia and the Mean Girls brought to SCW.
Holly: According to Alexis, you're scared of fighting Mikah. Is this all just a cover up for that?
Me: Uh, fuck you. No, it's not. Alexis stopped me from bashing Mikah's brains in after costing her a match they had in the bag. She obviously wanted some sort of immunity for Mikah, so I tried to force her to do it in the Going For the Gold tournament. She chickened out, because she's afraid of fighting Mikah. Do I want to fight Mikah? Hell yes, I do. I want to bash her face in with any and all blunt objects in existence. I want to take her down a notch. Make her fucking choke on a slice of humble pie. I really want to smother her to death, but my psychiatrist says that's not an option, so I have to do a better job of making it look like an accident. You see, this whole time, in avoiding facing her, the title has always been in the picture. For some reason, SCW has a hard on for handing out title shots like Oprah hands out magazine subscriptions and kitchen gadgets. Seriously, they give them to anyone. I don't deserve it, and I don't want it. I have half a mind to throw her over the top rope, and then eliminate myself.
Holly raises her eyesbrows at me in surprise, like she has to ask me if I'm being for real. She snaps her fingers.
Holly: You are telling me that you would throw away a chance at the World Bombshell Championship, just like that?
Me: You're damn straight, I would. Until that title is around the waist of a real wrestler, I want nothing to do with it. I'm here to kick asses, and championships are meaningless to me. So, thanks King Despy. Thanks for throwing me in the middle of a hen house of bitches crawling from all crevices of the world to get their hands on the Bombshell Championship. Who knows who will be participating, but according to Twitter, we will be seeing Jessie Salco. Ha! It's her funeral "hunty".
Holly: Natalie McKinley also mentioned on Twitter, that she will be taking the opportunity to step over Christian Underwood's ban to participate.
Me: Yeah... This bitch is going to come in just like the rest of these opportunistic wenches, She is just another obstacle inside of that ring. But, don't worry... I think I've got a plan to get through this.
Holly goes to ask what that might be, but I take the bottle of Cristal from her hand, and I put it to my lips, taking the last few gulps down before handing the empty bottle back. I smile like the true bitch I am, and I walk away from her, mouthing "Enjoy the party..." I walk back over toward the hot tub, and Tim looks at me desperately.
Tim: Help me?
I smirk and nod as I crawl along the edge of the enormous hot tub, showing off what I've got in the process. I snuggle up close to Chad as I slither up his body. I lean against his ear, and whisper something to him that horrifies him. I move away, and wrap my hand around a pretend penis, as I jolt the air penis at my mouth, reminding him that he's going to have to get very comfortable with that move unless he obeys every word I say. He shakes his head before leaning Tim back and kissing him right on the lips. Everyone in the room cheers and laughs as I take a gracious bow. Now the party has really started, but you don't want to see how Celeste North and Co party, so...
[*Fade*]
