Post by Lissie Hope ♥ on Aug 14, 2022 13:28:58 GMT -5
Lissie Hope sat in bed, curled up in the warmth of a bathrobe and a Twizzler dangling from her teeth. The quad-cam of Big Brother streamed from her laptop monitor to the hotel television. Her eyes welled up, the emotional hell her on-screen favorite had endured for thirty-five days weighed on her mind and her heart. The faint, healed scars peaked out from under her long sleeves as she reached for the pause button on computer - she closed her eyes and exhaled, a coping, meditative mechanism as the weight of that interaction washed over her. Johnny, his legs kicked up on the ottoman as he sunk in the comfort of the oversized lounge chair, diverting his eyes from the book he was reading to the pain in Lissie’s face. “Everything good?” Johnny asked. Lissie hadn’t realized it, but Johnny’s attention had been on her. He knew when the energy in the room shifted, when Lissie was lost in thought and in confusion. Lissie faked a smile, nodded, and scooted over in bed, inviting Johnny to join. “Come here,” Lissie said, and Johnny placed the book down and sat next to her. She opened her lap and guided him to lean back onto her. She gently tugged at the bandage on his head, creating a bit of space with her finger. He hissed with discomfort as the cloth tugged at the stitches on his forehead. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, running his fingers through strands of his hair. “It’s all good - they’ll be out soon,” he assured her. “Does it hurt?” she asked. “Not anymore.” As Johnny readjusted himself and laid on his side, Lissie stretched on her stomach and came face to face with him. Johnny gave her a cute, reassuring smile, running his finger along her ear, and Lissie’s eyes dropped. “I got so carried away last week,” she admitted, and Johnny tilted his head in confusion. “I was in the back - talking to Addy, talking to production. I took my eyes off your match for just a little bit, I didn’t know he had it in him to do this to you.” Her voice quivered in anger and regret. “I’m so sorry I was more preoccupied with myself than with what happened to you.” “Tiger,” he said with a chuckle. Her eyes started to well up again. “It’s okay. We’re good.” “It’s not okay, Jay,” she countered. “You’ve always had my back, even when you didn’t need to. You’ve always made sure I was protected, that I’ve had someone to lean on. And I just drop the ball - every time. And you don’t deserve it.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” “You deserve more. You deserve better.” Lissie looked up at the television screen - the different angles of Joseph and Taylor’s budding romance, the look of painful isolation in her and genuine concern and protection in him. “They still haven’t kissed yet?” Johnny sat up, pulling Lissie in close. She appreciated when he would feign interest. “It’s a slow burn,” she said, placing her head in his shoulder. “They’re just getting to know each other. He’s been her safe haven - when she doesn’t have anyone else to talk to, he knows when he’s needed.” “He sounds really sweet for her.” “He is -” Lissie said, sighing. “- but then I have to remember that they’re playing a game. One of deception and manipulation. And there’s still a part of me that can’t get over how long she’s been ostracized. How she’s been misunderstood by everyone, including him, until she became loyal to him. And you wonder how much he’s gaslighting her, and–” her voice trails off. “That’s really cynical, Liss.” “It’s the reality of the world they’re living in. They’re living on a set - they’re real people, but to the viewers, they’re just characters on a screen. Chesspieces on a board. You wonder how much of it is honest. How much of it is an act. It’s their own dream land, and I don’t want them to wake up. I’m so invested in it with them, and it’s scary. And it reminds me of us.” “What do you mean?” “The world knows us as characters on a television show. We have our alliances, and we have our enemies. But the fans that watch us don’t know what’s going on beyond that. They don’t know the whole story - they only see what’s on the surface. But all of us in the locker room - we’re all intertwined. It’s a web of deceit, spinning until we’re trapped. Thoughts of doubt and paranoia creeping on us - all the whispers, all the side-eyed glances. And people - our colleagues, our friends, our enemies - they will use whatever they can to get in our head. To get under our skin. To find any angle and any avenue to create that doubt. To separate us from the people we love, the people we’re loyal to. And it’s terrifying.” “That’s what we signed up for -” he said, squeezing her hand. “- our own gameshow, but instead of 750-grand on the line, we’ve got championships to win. And you can’t lose sight of that, Lissie,” he assured her. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.” Lissie’s eyes lit up with hopefulness. “You’re right,” she said, cuddling up next to him. “As much as I want to–” she started, biting her lip, nuzzling into his neck. “I’m glad we’re taking it slow.” “You make it hard,” he admitted. “It?” she teased. “Eyes on the prize, Tiger,” he said with a gentle smile. “Yeah,” she conceded. “Some days – it just sinks in that I’m more traumatized by my experiences in Action Wrestling than I thought I was.” “I can tell,” Johnny answered. “And I feel bad.” “I know -” she said, leaning over to press play on the live feed. And in that moment, despite his prideful denial, she knew that he was listening. Every match means something, TJ. I really like you - really like you - but sometimes there’s some shit that comes out of your mouth - and some bad actors you tether yourself to - that makes me shake my head and wonder why. And I understand my hypocrisy. For fuck’s sake, I’ve spent a year trying to correct my wrongdoings, and forgive myself, and find absolution before I can attempt a resolution. But it’s been a game of manipulation - I’ve been perpetually wounded, bandages on my body, temporary relief for my soul, begging for acceptance and purpose. I’ve had to endure the worst - things you couldn’t even imagine - public humiliation and degradation, without a single care of how it would affect me up here - Lissie points to her temple. And in here. She points to her heart. It’s easy to see myself in other people. I know your lack of confidence, because I’ve lived your lack of confidence. You are so self-deprecating, coming into this company with a chip on your shoulder - a little older than most of us, more wear-and-tear on your body than the rest of us. And people beat you down for it. I don’t know if you intended to be more Odin Balfore than Alex Calaway, but it seems you’ve accepted it. You lean into it. And you’re far too pretty and far too kind to be the grizzled veteran telling the future of this industry to get off your lawn. I don’t know if this is your end game, Teej. I really hope it isn’t. I don’t want you to surrender in acquiescence to the dwindling remaining years of your career by relying on a bunch of maple-syrup drinking caricatures who terrorize Action Wrestling on our own fucking soil. It just seems like disillusionment to me, girl. Like you’re putting all your eggs in their basket while they launch your eggs into the goal like target practice. You’re going to end up in too deep with them and, like I said - been there, babe. Done that. I want to believe you’re better than that. And I do - and that’s what makes this so hard for me. I don’t want to beat you down when you’re already broken - it’s been done to me. I don’t ever want to pile on, and be one of the perpetrators in your descent into inadequacy. It’s so self-imposed - as the losses pile on, you spiral more and more. And I get it. That’s what makes this so heartbreaking, Teej. Earlier this week, I was interrupted from live-tweeting my Big Brother reactions to find you saying that this match with me is pointless. That you “wouldn’t gain anything with a win” over me - a two-time World Champion - and that “you can’t get knocked down any further if you lose”. Of course, my old friend Cypher decided to stick his nose in and try to antagonize me, but I finally have learned some self control. He was my sign to hit the exit - until now. As promised. “So what’s their ship-name?” Johnny asked. “I’m all aboard the #Jaylor train. But she hasn’t really accepted how easily it rolls off the tongue.” “You only like it cause half of it is what you call me.” “You know me too well, Jay,” she said, giggling. He offered a kiss. “What do you like?” "Our names are too hard to combine." "No, you dork! Them!" “Oh, I'm the dork?” he asked with a smile. “I dunno. #Joeler, maybe. What about #JoeTay?” “Seriously?” “#TayJoe? #Tayseph? #Toeler? #Toeseph? Or my personal favorite…” he paused. “#Toe.” “You can’t be serious.” “It’s quick. Efficient. Easy. It’s perfect.” “She likes simple. She likes #TJ.” “#TJ sucks.” With a giggle, she agreed. “Yeah… she does.” You fucking suck, TJ. The audacity - the fucking disrespect - to not only entertain - but to publicly admit this notion that coming face-to-face with me in the main-event, only two weeks before my Evolution - where all the eyes are on me as I gear up to fight for the championship I’ve waited patiently for two years to get another shot at - you have the fucking nerve to think it’s pointless? For real? Fuck you. This means everything to me. And it did take me a long time to finally understand that in every heroic story, there’s an arc. That the protagonists have to feel that bit of failure because the stakes become bigger - and more rewarding - when you cross back over the threshold. But you? You’re already defeated before we step into the fucking ring. I don’t play that game, TJ. Not anymore. I had to learn - I had to be patient - I had to look within so I could own my culpability. I found someone to hold me accountable - to ask me the tough questions - to challenge me and not bend down to my every whim. Consider this a fucking courtesy. I don’t appreciate you disregarding what a match like this means - for me, and for you. You’ve been handed opportunity after opportunity because Action Wrestling sees something in you that you fail to see yourself. You’re too busy fantasizing about my #NotBoyfriend riding your manager in a mop closet. It’s a shame, really, because I thought we were friends. I figured we could open up to each other, share our traumas and our experiences, find some common ground and understanding. We could’ve related to one another, in different eras of our careers. Our budding friendship could’ve been a slow burn, but you’ve torched that possibility to the fucking ground. Back when I was begging for acceptance - this would’ve hurt. Not anymore. Because - as you probably agree - What’s the fucking point? |
