Post by Lissie Hope on Sept 11, 2019 13:12:21 GMT -5
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, tickling my senses.
My blood flows through my veins like a river of hot lava.
The air buzzes in my ears, and my skin tingles, and I’m losing control in all of my limbs.
The bitterness in my throat immediately dissipates.
The rush.
KNOCK.
Oh!
That rush is overwhelming.
Better than winning.
Better than sex.
Imagine all of your favorite holidays all rolled into one.
Birthdays, Christmas, New Years, anniversaries.
The first time feeling the burning sand under your toes.
The first time watching the snow dancing around you.
KNOCK.
I feel safe.
Protected.
Comforted.
Euphoric.
This is everywhere I’ve ever wanted to be.
And I didn’t know it until now.
KNOCK.
Robbie Hope was concerned. Lissie’s public appearances crawled towards non-existence. Fulfilling her contractual obligations, but nothing else. Her social media presence had flatlined. He had called her gym and she was no-showing sessions. Her phone would go to voicemail in the early afternoon.
He knew she was home. He could hear the music emanating from the crack under the door.
He wanted to let himself in.
He was scared of what he’d find.
LAST NIGHT.
I’m on the cusp of greatness.
The face of the franchise.
The top of the mountain.
The name scrolling on the marquee.
The headliner.
That’s what winning this briefcase means.
That’s what it means to be Miss All-In.
But instead of claiming what’s rightfully mine, I’ve got a few scores to settle in the meantime. I’ve got some unfinished business with one, Cecilia Loyola, who’s pretending like she doesn’t notice me, as if I’m beneath her. As if she’s too good to acknowledge what’s staring her right in the face.
But the clock’s ticking, C.C.
I’ll get your attention soon enough.
My friends, my partners, my stablemates… they’ve got a bit of a pain in their ass. They’ve been the targets of multiple attacks by a lackluster tag team that’s trying to stay relevant. And the worst part of it all is that my loyalties have been questioned. My ride-or-dies have genuine concerns if one alcohol-infused tryst in euphoric celebration is enough for me to turn my back on those who helped me arrive at the pinnacle in the first place.
Kennedy.
Estrella.
Geri.
My fans.
I’m sorry.
Nikki Vaughn?
Karlie Nash?
Fuck you.
The keys rattled in Robbie’s hands.
He slid the copper into the keyhole and turned, hearing the lock click. His sweaty palm gripped the handle and he turned, pushing the door inward. The curtains fluttered in the wind, and a haze of smoke billowed from an ashtray as a joint burned itself out. Remnants of drugs and alcohol littered the bar and the coffee table and Robbie grabbed the small trashcan, beginning to throw everything away.
The bedroom door was shut. Only heaven knows who’s in there with her; not a sight he’d ever dare to uncover.
“Goddammit, Lissie,” he said quietly, to himself. He marched over to the stereo system and turned it off. The silence was deafening. He could hear his feet clicking on the hardwood floors.
And then he heard the snap of a lighter out on the porch.
Seriously.
Fuck you, Karlie.
Yeah, we’ve been there already.
Har-har.
Good joke!
The only joke here is you.
Your flailing career.
Your genuine incompetence.
You’ve been one of the OG’s in Action. For that, I commend you. You’ve been around through the worst of times, back when this organization was still gaining traction, all the way until now, when it’s flourishing.
Blooming.
But it’s not thriving because of you, Karlie.
You’ve had many opportunities to cement your status as one of the best women to ever step in a ring. You’ve gotten title opportunities. You’ve won awards throughout your lifetime. You’re one of, if not the best, pure athletes to ever walk our halls.
But you’ve done nothing with it.
It’s kind of sad how inconsequential you truly are.
You could’ve been great, but instead, you squandered every opportunity presented to you. Your priorities are all out of wack, Karlie. Some might say we are a lot alike, and honestly there’s some truth to that if our mutual attraction was any indication, but you see? All those personal similarities we share?
They end the moment we show what we can do in the ring.
You?
You’re a wilted rose, dying at my feet.
Me?
I’m in bloom.
Robbie peaked out from behind the curtain, seeing her firey red hair matted and disheveled as she overlooked the New Orleans skyline. She released the smoke from her mouth and watched it float into the air. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, lipstick staining her wrist.
“You look like shit,” Robbie said, and Lissie allowed a smirk to form on the creases of her mouth.
“I’m home,” she let out. “I’m not tryin’ to impress anyone.”
“Well, you certainly aren’t,” he said, closing the sliding door behind him. He took a seat next to her and grabbed her pack of cigarettes, raising one to his lips. He noticed her pupils were dilated, her expressionless face nearly catatonic. “What the fuck are you on, Lis?”
Lissie’s half-open eyes glanced over and she rolled them upwards, grooving her arms and body in her seat, as if she was listening to non-existent music. Blooming like a rose.
“Everything,” she whispered, finally releasing a smile.
Robbie watched for what seemed like an eternity as Lissie wiggled around in her chair, processing what seemed like a vast array of thoughts and emotions in her head. Finally, she pulled her knees up and covered herself in a blanket, covering her mouth. Child-like.
“What’s wrong with you?” Robbie pleaded. “Tell me!”
She stayed silent for what seemed like an eternity. He could see her eyes moisten, but she fought hard to let them fall. She finally looked over at him, and he could see the pain creeping through her eyes.
“Everything.”
Tag team specialists?
Former champions?
Scissor-sisters?
I don’t give a fuck.
Kennedy Matthews and I don’t need to have a long, storied history of tagging with each other. We don’t need to have perfect chemistry, perfect camaraderie, to step into Execution and put you out of your fucking misery.
We’re better than that.
We’re better than you.
Individually, and collectively.
That’s what your most worried about, isn’t it? Because you know deep down, even if I were a deserter, that Kennedy could still kick both of your asses on her own. But I’m not going AWOL. I’m not wired that way.
You know deep down that even if Kennedy can never trust me again, that even if we have no method to our teamwork -- that it really doesn’t fucking matter, does it?
I’m better than you, Karlie.
And I’m especially better than you, Nikki.
Individually.
And collectively.
This match is a tune-up for what’s to come. For when I take my talents to the upper echelon of Action Wrestling. I feel a little sorry for you, Karlie, because you’ll never be more than a stepping stone.
You’ll never be more than a yield sign.
The one to crush before moving on to bigger and better things.
That’s your role here. That will always be your purpose.
You’ll never sniff a championship as long as I’m here.
You’ll never become a two-time tag team champion after we’re done exposing you.
Karlie, you’re a fraud.
A phony.
A stan.
I’ve done everything you could only dream of accomplishing, and in a fraction of the time that it could’ve ever taken you. While I’m riding high, you’re still at the same level you will ever be. Stagnant. Incapable of elevating.
You wish you were me.
That’s why you fucked me.
But I don’t fall in love.
Especially not with some tore-up dyke who will never be repeat business.
You were a one-time thing.
And you’ll always be a one-time champion.
You got one taste.
You felt one touch.
And for one night, you saw what it was like to see things through my eyes.
And that’s the closest you’ll ever come to being great.
To being Miss All-In.
To being me.
Lissie.
Motherfucking.
Hope.
“I’m so fucking worried about you.”
The aroma of coffee lingered in the kitchen as he poured her a cup. He watched as it burned her lips. Taking a seat across from her, he gently grabbed her hand but she instinctively pulled it away.
“I’m fine,” she said coldly.
“You’re not…” he said, but didn’t press. “Where’s Sage?”
“Sage who?”
That said it all.
“I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall, like you’re not even here. Like you’re AWOL.” Robbie admitted, beginning to rise from his seat. “If there’s anyth--”
“Do you know what it’s like having your entire life in the public eye?” she interrupted. Robbie sat back across from her. “You don’t, Robbie. You don’t know how it feels to have every move you make be captured on camera and shared for the world to see. How every mistake you make, every error in judgement, how it can all be used against you to tear you apart from the people you love the most.”
“I don’t know what that’s like,” he said. “You’re right.”
“I can’t do what I want without someone keeping tabs. I can’t fuck who I want without being called a slut. Ever since that briefcase,” she admitted. “It’s gotten worse.”
“That’s a lie,” he challenged. Her ears perked up, shocked at the strength in his voice. “Ever since you set foot in Action, you’ve been on a rollercoaster that would eventually derail. I’ve tried to warn you about this shit since day one --”
“--you want a fucking ‘thank you’?”
“Shut the fuck up and listen,” Robbie said, forcefully. “This isn’t about me. This is about you fucking killing yourself, and for what? Because you finally achieved what you set out to do? This is your self-fulfilling prophecy, Lissie. It’s always been this way. You have something great going for you, and you fuck it up. This time, I’m not going to let you.”
“I don’t even want this fucking briefcase.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “I know it, you know it, all those fans who’ve forgiven you and jumped back on your side… they all know it, too. Stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself. So you lost Sage -- it hurts. I know it hurts, I can see it in your eyes. But it’s time to grow up, sis. It’s time to take the next step,” he said, and the tears were finally starting to flow.
Sobered.
Humbled.
“I need you to leave,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“GET OUT!” she cried. “GET THE FUCK OUT!”
She peppered him with slaps and pushed him out the door. Robbie didn’t fight her; this was probably for the best. Let her figure this shit out on her own.
Or was it?
Robbie scrolled his contacts and landed on one he had called only a couple of times before. He’d gotten the number without her knowledge.
“Hey,” he said, when the receiver picked up. “I’m not getting through to her, but I think you might be able to,” a pause. “I need your help.”