Post by Lissie Hope on Mar 20, 2022 13:24:13 GMT -5
“You have SEVEN unheard messages.” The ceiling fan purred, pirouetting violently like a dancer spinning on her toes, the dangling cord rhythmically thrashing against the blade. “First unheard message SENT…” It was half-past-three in the morning, and I could see the glowing moon hovering over the towering buildings, the points casting ominous shadows in the hotel room. “Bitch what’ya doin tonight? Come out wit’ me later, les’ find ‘ya somebody to get ‘ya mind off Blondie. Call me back.” The bass from the aftershow down the street pounded through the walls. I couldn’t sleep tonight, even if I wanted to. “Hey girl, it’s J. I know you ain’t feeling too hot and I’m here if ‘ya wanna chat. Let’s grab some coffee. Love ‘ya.” Half of my face was shrouded in the darkness of the night creeping in through the open curtains. “Good evening, Elisabeth, this is Dr. Setzler. You haven’t been back to see me and I would like to schedule another appointment.”
“Honey, it’s ‘ma. The place is lonely without you. Addy called, she said you’re not answering your phone. Are you okay?” I stood up and walked to the window. Jacksonville was still alive and breathing; my heart stood still, pacing like a metronome. “... *heavy sigh* … *faint sounds of crying* … *CLICK*” My breathing escalated, a pulsing staccato in my chest as my anxiety rose. The tension of a rubber band stretched to the limit. “I’m comin’ 'ova.” With a pull of the string, I drew the curtains shut. A third-place finish is not my standard. I feel like there’s a perpetual cruise missile soaring through the sky, a predator giving chase with my head in the crosshairs, engraved with the words “NOT GOOD ENOUGH”. It’s been a year since I’ve felt like I wasn’t being targeted. I’d like to turn the corner and find refuge; I feel like I’m right on the cusp, but there’s always a barrier I need to break through for safety. Maybe the #Battlebowl wasn’t what I had hoped it would be. Maybe it means something else. A lesser-me gives deep significance to signs and symbolism, but maybe that’s not the formula. Maybe I should learn to take each match as it comes, realize that there’s a purpose to every one we fight. Every match we compete in. Maybe the journey is one step at a time, and there aren’t any shortcuts. Addy and I are the Swallowing. We’re one of the greatest tag-teams to ever grace an Action Wrestling ring. But Action Wrestling has changed. It’s evolved beyond us. The Following. The Vanguard. Affluenza. Grindhouse. Whatever iteration of the Man Made Gods that Corey Black will assemble next. There’s no shortage of superstars hoping to cash-in on one of the most glorified divisions in this company. There’s lulls, make no mistake - sometimes the division is dead and buried and teams like The Heritage or Twin Gods or SFG can become the standard-bearers. But otherwise, it’s not entrusted to the weak. To the timid. Sometimes, it needs the legends. And that’s why we’re back. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re ready. I pulled the covers up to my neck, contorting my body underneath until I didn’t expose even an inch to the swirling draft circling the room from the fan overhead. My body’s surface reacted to the chilled night, but the sweat poured from my forehead - my eyes lasered onto the small, engraved jewelry box luminated by the single candle emanating an aroma of apple-cinnamon. I heard the knock at the door. Cherry Vega is the cute, unassuming ying to the demonstrative, inked-up yang of Alice Gemini. It strikes a balance, doesn’t it? I’m all-business, my eyes geared to the prize of victory, while Addy approaches with a no-fucks-given attitude and enjoys humiliating anyone who steps up to the plate. It’s a dichotomy that works with all the best tag-teams - Downfall the magician, Dionysus the clown. Kyle Kemp the leader, Dandy DiVito, the bitch - you get the idea. So Cherry has been standing idly by while Alice gets the notoriety. What does that say about you ladies, that AW is willing to invest resources into one but not the other? Now, Alice crumbled - just as we all expected. When the lights shine brighter, the weak-willed fail, like a comedian who doesn’t land the punchline. Like a singer - who can’t remember the words. She was more interested in being my rebound than winning #Battlebowl, and driving a wedge into my bond with Addy? That gets you nowhere - fast. Bitch racked her weapon, but brandishing without any intention of firing will only expose the cowardice. The spinelessness. You can’t hold back when you’ve got someone in the scope. That’s what she doesn’t understand. She’s playing it safe, SFG is playing it safe - but when you want to climb the ladder to compete against the best, you’ve gotta put everything you’ve got into every match you’re in. And she’s gonna learn. I don’t think she’s dead on arrival. But we’re not here to mentor. We’re not here to elevate. We’re here to win. In this ring. The only ring that matters. “It’s gon’ get better, babe.” I couldn’t verbalize what I was thinking. I felt her soft fingers wrap around my ankle. “‘Ya can’t keep ya’self holed up forever.” I could smell the vodka seeping through her pores. Even under the watchful candlelight, her bloodshot eyes fought the temptation to sleep. I scooted over and invited her under the covers. “‘Everythin's gon’ be alr–” Her voice trailed off mid-way and I wrapped my arms around her waist. “What’s in the b–” Her eyes closed. I leaned my head over hers to blow out the candle, praying I could do the same. It flickered, momentarily, before reigniting - maybe all hope wasn't lost, after all. |