Entente VII - House of Flies pt. 2
Jul 26, 2019 0:02:27 GMT -5
Shadowlove, Wade Moor, and 3 more like this
Post by Lissie Hope on Jul 26, 2019 0:02:27 GMT -5
i watched you CHANGE into a fly i looked away you were on FIRE
23 July | 8PM.
I could smell the aroma of fresh peaches from the orchard as I drove up that gravel driveway.
I shut the door of my rental behind me, the loud thud chasing the birds from the low-hanging branches. Flies buzzed around the waste of a rotten core that had been casually discarded near the root of the tree. There wasn't a person in sight, only the sounds of nearby livestock and the whistle blowing through the trees from the harsh, South Carolina wind. The modernized plantation, it's ivory-painted exterior and the bay windows; they were extravagant, like ones you'd see on a cinematic screen. It was an environment I could envision myself in. A scenery I could get used to.
But I unlatched the door of the restored picket fence, I found myself in his front yard. There, I hesitated.
What the fuck am I doing here?
But like a moth to a flame, I continued to walk closer. My feet felt like anchors with every step I took, and I found solace in the swinging bench hanging on his front porch. I thought about waiting there for him. He would surely arrive soon, and this was a conversation that needed to be had. Months in the making.
I stared as the seconds ticked by on my Gucci watch, one of my most recent purchases. A gift to myself; but it seemed like time stood still. Each second passed slower than before, and I mustn't been there ten minutes before I began to get anxious. The knots in my stomach seemed to bulge from my sternum, the sweat seeping down my back. This was an inevitable confrontation, yet it still gave me pause.
But I didn't leave.
Perhaps I should have.
I tried the doorknob first. Locked. The curtains on the window were drawn and the living room glowed from the sunlight. The shadows through the darkened hallways were ominous, but inviting. I accidentally kicked over a potted plant as I leaned over, and the spare key glittered in the sunlight.
Fate.
Sliding the key in, I took an indecisive step and called out to him, my voice echoing throughout the quiet home. I locked the door behind me and glanced around the living room, and the framed pictures beckoned. There she was.
Susie.
I held her in the palm of my hand and ran a finger down her face, from the bridge of her nose down to her soft, red lips. She was a stunning sight, to be sure. This was the moment where I could see why he saw her in me; finally, after all this time.
i took you HOME set you on the glass TORE OFF YOUR WINGS then i LAUGHED
23 July | 3pm
You're not my friend.
Big, bad Cecilia Loyola -- I gave you an inch, and you took a mile. I told you that we could do it together, that we would run over everyone in that four-by-four clusterfuck, and you took the bait like the sad, pathetic, miserable piece of shit that you are. The one you're proving minute-by-fucking-minute that you hide underneath that confident and brash exterior. It ain't cute, homegirl. By my side, you wanted to 'knock 'em dead', and instead, you found yourself frozen out by the one person on that team that actually mattered. If you could only see the anger that radiated from your eyes from a different lens, a different perspective, you'd realize just how pathetic you actually looked.
But you've got your entourage that tells you what you want to hear. They tell you that you're great, that you're a rising star, that nobody else compares -- but they only assure you of those things because nobody else, with a straight face, can tell you the same. Because how can anyone expect greatness from you, Cecilia, when you don't even expect it from yourself?
One big win --one that you couldn't achieve by yourself, mind you -- and you're at 'a loss for words'? That's the confidence you're harnessing? No, honey. It doesn't work that way here in Action Wrestling. I'm going to give you a little tip; again, not because we're friends, or even reluctant allies. I'm telling it like it is, because in a male-dominated sport like professional wrestling, you're going to need every corner you can cut. You never, and I mean ever, doubt yourself and your achievements. You wear them around your neck like a fucking badge of honor, and if you show any sign of weakness, somebody else will rip it from your vice grip and assure you never see them again.
And that's what I'm doing at Carnage.
I'm going All-In.
Casey Holliday's long and illustrious record wasn't a bridge I ever found myself incapable of crossing. I knew what to do when I set my sights on her months ago, when it started becoming evident that my destiny was to destroy the fiber of her identity, the only claim she had over anyone else in Action. And then you, fresh off the fucking boat, were inserted into the match I had been building up to for months. You tried to steal my fucking shine.
Who's dick did you suck to get such a nice deal? What did you have to do to skip all of the buildup and head straight into the role I've been carving out for myself, win after-fucking-win?
I won't let you take it from me, Cecilia.
Not now.
Not ever.
I'm getting the chance to send you spiraling back to earth, because you're flying high up in the clouds without putting in the work. And I don't take too kindly to that shit. I've had to climb the ladder, knocking off nearly everyone they put in front of me, and you think you can just waltz in here and jump the fucking line? Not on my watch, bitch.
I don't take you seriously. Not yet. You haven't proven yourself to me, to Casey Holliday, to Ryan Lockhart, to Torture and Gravedigger -- anyone that matters in this god-damned place. You're taking shortcuts, and I won't be satisfied until I kick your fucking feet out from under you.
I have an entourage too, but they aren't needed to prop me up. They aren't around merely to validate my existence; to speak for me when I order them to; to cushion the fall if I happen to stumble. They aren't my protectors, or my voices, or my hitmen. We all have our own goals in sight, and that's why we work so fucking well together. This is an arrangement that you, and everybody else who has us in their scope, have fucking dreamed of. But that's where you think I have a weakness, one you can target to put me out of my misery. But it's not going to work. It hasn't worked for anyone before you, and it won't work for anyone after you.
You just need to bring yourself, and whatever you've got to offer. The comparisons are already being made, aren't they? I was the next Casey Holliday, and now you are the next Lissie Hope? Give me a fucking break. I don't see what other's see, C.C., 'cause frankly... you haven't earned it. I don't see you taking my place. I don't see you in me.
I only see a punching bag. Someone who needs to be humbled; crippled; and left for fucking dead. Your rotten carcass, covered in the urine of strays and fed to the hordes of flies. I gave you status. I allowed you in my ring, my sanctuary, and I accepted your help in disposing of Casey Holliday. I rewarded you with an opportunity to go All-In. But you're nothing, homegirl. So get on your fucking knees and bow at my feet, because without my help, there would be no C.C. Loyal.
There's only room for one person to take a victory over the unbeatable and propel to heights only imagined in dreams.
Only one.
Only Lissie... motherfucking... Hope.
23 July | 6PM.
"I need to see Ryan. Tonight."
Lissie Hope adjusted her sunglasses as the sun creeped down towards the horizon line, reflecting off the windows of every pickup truck in the parking lot in the dingy South Carolina dive bar. She sat on the deck, smoking a cigarette and cooling off with an ice-cold margarita. It was seriously one of the worst she had ever been served.
"It'll be a couple of hours; that's the pattern I noticed. He always seems to retreat back to the orchard the day after Clash," he said. "And Lissie... there's a spare key."
Albert Kenney was the private investigator Lissie had hired almost a month ago to follow Ryan Elias around; to saturate himself in Ryan's inner-circle, and to provide information that she could ultimately use against him. The public guise was that she felt Elias and Jakob Lister were deviants who embodied unsafe working conditions, a narrative expelled from the rallying cries of the #metoo movement. In reality, she just wanted all the dirt she could get on Ryan in an effort to penetrate the recesses of his mind and spirit, and beat him down from the inside, only to build him back up.
What a victory she could claim: destroying a perfect being's autonomy, only to recreate him in her own direction, dictating the terms.
But when forced to team together at Clash, she didn't expect them to have an undeniable chemistry.
"What's the address?" Lissie asked, and Albert handed over a notecard. There were addresses, phone numbers, dates and times scribbled on each line. She thanked him graciously and took another sip of the drink. Albert had been responsible for buddying up with Tomai for a job as the videographer, and in addition to filming his promos, he had captured Ryan's sexual exploits of the last month; all of the different redheads that Ryan had bedded, only because he couldn't have Lissie herself. Unbeknownst to even her, Albert had even orchestrated the 'random' meet-up with Eliza Casteridge. He was fully engulfed; definitely beyond his paygrade.
"Things are about to get interesting," Lissie said, quietly, finishing up her cocktail. She shook Albert's hand and walked into the bar, passed a line of hungry, anxious southern charmers who spit tobacco and drank Miller Lite. Lissie's confidence grew as she sauntered passed all of their lustful eyes and she arrived at the bar, ordered a tequila shot, and downed it without hesitation. The burn in her throat caused her to wince, but she knew she needed a little liquid courage before she came to his door. Finally: a meeting of the minds, on equal footing and on common ground.
Ryan Elias and Lissie Hope.
Wouldn't you have liked to be a fly on the wall?
i watched a CHANGE in you like you never had WINGS
23 July | 3pm
I see you so much differently now, Ryan.
I see a fire in your eyes, a confidence radiating from your soul. What's changed?
Do you see the light at the end of the tunnel? Are you ready to close this chapter and begin anew? For that, I say, you're welcome.
It's been quite the journey, hasn't it? Dating back from when we fought across the ring that first time, where you thought you had the upper hand. When you thought you were getting under my skin; a brief foray into the underbelly, befriending hopeless vagrants and drugged-out streetwalkers, painting my name across the dumpster as they scavenged for food. It made you feel good about yourself, didn't it? You set blaze to the trash, the smoke floating through the air, choking their throats, corroding their lungs more effectively than the crack pipes they shoved in their mouths.
You called me a dumpster fire.
You thought that inferno would have burned flesh from my bones, and my soul would crush under the weight of your perfection.
But that fire wasn't hot enough. There is no burning pit of hell, no scorched earth that I've ever faced that I can't extinguish. You learned it first. And you should've warned Casey Holliday.
Instead of damaging me beyond repair, you found yourself in a holding cell due to your own fucking stupidity. And then, even after the embarrassment of being taken away in cuffs and resorting to buying your freedom, you didn't stop there. You thought you had me dead to rights when we met again just a few short weeks later, with Blister's big dumb ass as the third wheel. You had me where you wanted me... my head meeting ground.
And you stalled.
You hesitated.
You froze, right when you could've taken control.
Do you actually think Carnage will be any different? Even this last week, when we found ourselves as an unlikely tandem, we worked together. We commanded that match, with Cecilia begging to be tagged in, and we brought down the fucking house. It was your stupid friend Johnny Stylez who thought he could do it better, and he ended up eating the pin from his own personal demon.
Even when you have the chance to take me out for good, Ryan... you don't have it in you. It's not in your blood, and it's not in your soul. You would rather have me as an ally, as a partner... as a lover... than see me as an enemy. You've proven it time and time again. You watch everything I do. You keep tabs on every victory I achieve. You fuck bitches that remind you of the woman you can't have, and the woman you will never have again.
And you think you're going to beat me?
The demon within you will always have control. Johnny showed his ass this last week, proving my assertion correct. Every Clash sees someone unable to escape what has possessed them for so long. A personal puppet-master, pulling on their strings. You? Your moves are dictated by the one you allowed to die.
You're responsible for your own demon, Ryan.
I was only here to show you the way.
But your demon isn't your's alone. Not anymore. You've projected her onto the one person who's bested you... twice... and it's about time you realize that you've gotta find another way. When you find yourself on the losing end to Lissie... motherfucking... Hope... it just reminds you of everything you've done wrong until this point, doesn't it? That's why you'll never be able to shake me, Ryan.
I see it in your eyes.
I see the malice whenever you see me on the other side of the ring. I see the redemption you hope that one day you'll be man enough to achieve. You wanna do it different, Ryan. I see that you think you're capable of ridding yourself of the shackles that keep you rooted to the ground. But the truth is this, Ryan. You are no different than anyone else who has ever let those demons steer them on a leash, digging their nose into the earth. You've been imposed a lifetime of servitude to the woman you cannot let go, and the woman you see every time you imagine her. But we differ, Ryan. Susie is not like me.
Unlike her, I won't let you drown me.
Not under the unforgiving tides.
Not under the weight of perfection.
You're hoping that all I am is bark with no bite. But the last time you assumed that about me, I ended up pinning your ass to the mat. Ending any shot, and any hope, of you living up to the moniker you built for yourself. I have shown you repeatedly; all of your deficiencies, all of your inadequacies, all of your fucking weaknesses.
I'm not weak, Ryan.
You wished I were. You hoped I was. You claimed I am. But just as I've done two times before, and just as I'll do when we're across the ring from each other at Carnage... you'll be proven wrong.
Again.
Your eyes glow differently now, Ryan.
I've seen you change.
Unfortunately for you?
You haven't grown heart.
We end this at Carnage.
Once and for all.
I see a fire in your eyes, a confidence radiating from your soul. What's changed?
Do you see the light at the end of the tunnel? Are you ready to close this chapter and begin anew? For that, I say, you're welcome.
It's been quite the journey, hasn't it? Dating back from when we fought across the ring that first time, where you thought you had the upper hand. When you thought you were getting under my skin; a brief foray into the underbelly, befriending hopeless vagrants and drugged-out streetwalkers, painting my name across the dumpster as they scavenged for food. It made you feel good about yourself, didn't it? You set blaze to the trash, the smoke floating through the air, choking their throats, corroding their lungs more effectively than the crack pipes they shoved in their mouths.
You called me a dumpster fire.
You thought that inferno would have burned flesh from my bones, and my soul would crush under the weight of your perfection.
But that fire wasn't hot enough. There is no burning pit of hell, no scorched earth that I've ever faced that I can't extinguish. You learned it first. And you should've warned Casey Holliday.
Instead of damaging me beyond repair, you found yourself in a holding cell due to your own fucking stupidity. And then, even after the embarrassment of being taken away in cuffs and resorting to buying your freedom, you didn't stop there. You thought you had me dead to rights when we met again just a few short weeks later, with Blister's big dumb ass as the third wheel. You had me where you wanted me... my head meeting ground.
And you stalled.
You hesitated.
You froze, right when you could've taken control.
Do you actually think Carnage will be any different? Even this last week, when we found ourselves as an unlikely tandem, we worked together. We commanded that match, with Cecilia begging to be tagged in, and we brought down the fucking house. It was your stupid friend Johnny Stylez who thought he could do it better, and he ended up eating the pin from his own personal demon.
Even when you have the chance to take me out for good, Ryan... you don't have it in you. It's not in your blood, and it's not in your soul. You would rather have me as an ally, as a partner... as a lover... than see me as an enemy. You've proven it time and time again. You watch everything I do. You keep tabs on every victory I achieve. You fuck bitches that remind you of the woman you can't have, and the woman you will never have again.
And you think you're going to beat me?
The demon within you will always have control. Johnny showed his ass this last week, proving my assertion correct. Every Clash sees someone unable to escape what has possessed them for so long. A personal puppet-master, pulling on their strings. You? Your moves are dictated by the one you allowed to die.
You're responsible for your own demon, Ryan.
I was only here to show you the way.
But your demon isn't your's alone. Not anymore. You've projected her onto the one person who's bested you... twice... and it's about time you realize that you've gotta find another way. When you find yourself on the losing end to Lissie... motherfucking... Hope... it just reminds you of everything you've done wrong until this point, doesn't it? That's why you'll never be able to shake me, Ryan.
I see it in your eyes.
I see the malice whenever you see me on the other side of the ring. I see the redemption you hope that one day you'll be man enough to achieve. You wanna do it different, Ryan. I see that you think you're capable of ridding yourself of the shackles that keep you rooted to the ground. But the truth is this, Ryan. You are no different than anyone else who has ever let those demons steer them on a leash, digging their nose into the earth. You've been imposed a lifetime of servitude to the woman you cannot let go, and the woman you see every time you imagine her. But we differ, Ryan. Susie is not like me.
Unlike her, I won't let you drown me.
Not under the unforgiving tides.
Not under the weight of perfection.
You're hoping that all I am is bark with no bite. But the last time you assumed that about me, I ended up pinning your ass to the mat. Ending any shot, and any hope, of you living up to the moniker you built for yourself. I have shown you repeatedly; all of your deficiencies, all of your inadequacies, all of your fucking weaknesses.
I'm not weak, Ryan.
You wished I were. You hoped I was. You claimed I am. But just as I've done two times before, and just as I'll do when we're across the ring from each other at Carnage... you'll be proven wrong.
Again.
Your eyes glow differently now, Ryan.
I've seen you change.
Unfortunately for you?
You haven't grown heart.
We end this at Carnage.
Once and for all.
i look at the CROSS then i look away give you the gun BLOW ME AWAY
Back at the orchard.
I heard the roar of the engine and watched as the truck rumbled over the gravel entrance, coming to a stop next to mine. He didn't even seem to notice another car in the driveway. I took a seat in the safe harbor of the oversized chair, the soft fabric enveloping me like a coccoon. He stepped through the entryway, his eyes red and tired, unable to acknowledge my presence. He mumbled something under his breath, but I couldn't quite hear what he had muttered through the fatigue. I could read his lips however; something about 'haunting'. Something about in 'his own home.'
I smirked and braced myself to stand and he walked straight to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of ice water. I stood there, cross-armed and eyes darting at my nemesis as he walked to the entry of the kitchen and stared straight through me, as if I wasn't even there.
He tried to convince himself that I would never dare to show up at his home. He took another swig of the ice water and that's when his conscience seemed to clear. He yelled at me --or more accurately, the distorted, imagined version of me-- for reminding him of Susie, for distracting him during matches, for corrupting his career, and now for haunting his home. But I'm nobody's ghost.
He threw the glass at my head; I ducked with cat-like reflexes as the contents sprawled across the floor and the glass shattered against the wall. He told me to go fuck myself, and darted towards his bedroom, but I followed. The floorboards creaked under my feet, and finally, he knew I was real all along. I threw a punch but he blocked it with ease.
I asked him why.
Why did he hate me?
I didn't expect for it to sound so desperate. Perhaps I actually wanted acceptance. To be treated as an equal. It was not something I would admit to him, but it was certainly something I needed to prove to both Ryan and to myself. I didn't even realize that I was circling him like a lion stalking my prey, and though I knew that I would get my hands on him at Carnage, it would be so fucking cathartic to do it now.
I asked him if he thought I was so weak that he couldn't see the bigger picture. His silence spoke volumes.
I swung another hand at his face, but he was instinctual. Strong. He dodged most of my offensive attacks, and he ended up pinning me against the wall after I landed a backhand to his cheekbone. But his grip was powerful, his fingernails digging into my wrist. I wanted to drive a knee into his groin, but he pressed his body against mine. I could feel him through his trousers, and when I wrapped my leg around his, all the venom I had felt all this time started to feel like something else entirely. Especially when he admitted what I'd been craving all along...
...I wasn't weak at all.
That I was strong.
Stronger than he had ever confessed before now.
That was it. He had penetrated my defenses. My guard had been exposed. Our embrace was full of reckless abandon, an undeniable fervor. His lips were violent, but passionate. His movements swift, but mutually arousing. He was in control...
...and I let him.
I never thought we would end up like this, fucking each other into oblivion. But I can't say that I didn't like it. When I saw the flash outside of the window, I could have sworn my soul had left my body and I was watching us myself, tangled up on his living room couch. I could never look at Ryan the same again; as if he grew wings and took flight, soaring through the sky and escaping from the shackles and the prisons of his own mind. He was changing, right before my eyes.
And so was I.
I smirked and braced myself to stand and he walked straight to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of ice water. I stood there, cross-armed and eyes darting at my nemesis as he walked to the entry of the kitchen and stared straight through me, as if I wasn't even there.
He tried to convince himself that I would never dare to show up at his home. He took another swig of the ice water and that's when his conscience seemed to clear. He yelled at me --or more accurately, the distorted, imagined version of me-- for reminding him of Susie, for distracting him during matches, for corrupting his career, and now for haunting his home. But I'm nobody's ghost.
He threw the glass at my head; I ducked with cat-like reflexes as the contents sprawled across the floor and the glass shattered against the wall. He told me to go fuck myself, and darted towards his bedroom, but I followed. The floorboards creaked under my feet, and finally, he knew I was real all along. I threw a punch but he blocked it with ease.
I asked him why.
Why did he hate me?
I didn't expect for it to sound so desperate. Perhaps I actually wanted acceptance. To be treated as an equal. It was not something I would admit to him, but it was certainly something I needed to prove to both Ryan and to myself. I didn't even realize that I was circling him like a lion stalking my prey, and though I knew that I would get my hands on him at Carnage, it would be so fucking cathartic to do it now.
I asked him if he thought I was so weak that he couldn't see the bigger picture. His silence spoke volumes.
I swung another hand at his face, but he was instinctual. Strong. He dodged most of my offensive attacks, and he ended up pinning me against the wall after I landed a backhand to his cheekbone. But his grip was powerful, his fingernails digging into my wrist. I wanted to drive a knee into his groin, but he pressed his body against mine. I could feel him through his trousers, and when I wrapped my leg around his, all the venom I had felt all this time started to feel like something else entirely. Especially when he admitted what I'd been craving all along...
...I wasn't weak at all.
That I was strong.
Stronger than he had ever confessed before now.
That was it. He had penetrated my defenses. My guard had been exposed. Our embrace was full of reckless abandon, an undeniable fervor. His lips were violent, but passionate. His movements swift, but mutually arousing. He was in control...
...and I let him.
I never thought we would end up like this, fucking each other into oblivion. But I can't say that I didn't like it. When I saw the flash outside of the window, I could have sworn my soul had left my body and I was watching us myself, tangled up on his living room couch. I could never look at Ryan the same again; as if he grew wings and took flight, soaring through the sky and escaping from the shackles and the prisons of his own mind. He was changing, right before my eyes.
And so was I.
now you feel so ALIVE i watched you CHANGE
23 July | 6PM.
Lissie Hope was conflicted.The sex was amazing. There's no denying that. And now that she had gotten Ryan to admit something he never would've admitted otherwise, she felt a sense of relief; as if she had gotten the upperhand. She achieved everything she sought at the beginning of this rivalry, breaking Ryan Elias down to a fragment of what he thought he was, and that she was responsible for building him back together. The only exception was that she had yet to win the final battle, but Carnage was going to be the exclamation point that made it all worth it.
At the same time, if this tryst ever reached Sage's ears, Lissie would be responsible for yet another broken heart. Another failed relationship, all due to her own mistakes. But for all intents and purposes, she would keep that from her. She would keep it from the public. There was no reason anyone should know that Ryan Elias fucked her brains out, and she was powerless to stop it. She didn't even want him to.
Her phone buzzed, interrupting her introspection.
That last number on the notecard. Dr. Diana Johnson. Call her. - Albert
"I'm trying to reach Dr. Johnson," Lissie said after the phone picked up. "I was asked to call you."
"Is this regarding Ryan Elias?" Dr. Johnson reluctantly answered. Her sinister conversation with him earlier that morning had left her paralyzed. "Are you Lissie?" Lissie answered affirmatively. "I'm Ryan's psychologist. I've been working with him to get to the root of his personal traumas; some demons that you helped bring to the surface."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, how many doctors does this fucking dude have?" Lissie answered rudely.
"Susie... she was my niece as well," Diana answered solemnly.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Lissie said, now realizing that she was pointing her dismissiveness at the wrong person.
"It was a long time ago," Diana said, and the silence by both spoke volumes. "But I found something out today that I think you should know."
Dr. Johnson retold the meeting with Ryan from earlier that day, and with every new detail, Lissie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped from the sheer horror. All this time, Ryan had held onto an unforgivable secret, and Lissie's knowledge of Susie's death had proved to be a farce. In hindsight, it was a demon that she never should have allowed to escape.
"Oh my God," Lissie muttered at the end of the story. "What did I do?"
But time was running out. They had been building towards this climax for months, from the first day that they found each other on the opposite ends of the ring. And unfortunately for C.C. Loyal, she had entered into the fray at a time when everything was coming to fruition. The added reward of qualification for the All-In match had certainly added another element to this showdown, but would Lissie and Ryan be so fixated on each other that they would allow C.C. to seize control? It was a dynamic match with a lot of moving parts, and a lot at stake, but now that Lissie knew the truth?
Above all else, she had to bury the demon for good.
C.C. Loyal, the Mortal.
Lissie Hope, the Goddess.
Ryan Elias, the Devil.
And at Carnage, it was time to dance.
One more thing. If you want all this to go away
An image of Ryan and Lissie, sprawled on the couch. Received.
You better pay up.
Evidently, there was a fly on the wall after all.