🅷🅴🆁🅂🅃🄾🅁🅈 🅸🅸-🅸🅸: 🅃🄴🅃🅷🅴🆁🄴🄳
Nov 20, 2022 14:00:44 GMT -5
Karlie Nash, Alice Gemini, and 2 more like this
Post by Lissie Hope ♥ on Nov 20, 2022 14:00:44 GMT -5
Sitting in the midst of the bodies sprawled across the entirety of the room is Lissie Hope, her feet crossed under her thighs, warmed by the fabric of oversized sweatpants. In the middle of her legs rests an opened can of Diet Pepsi, and she holds her phone in one hand, while reaching over with her other to a tray of cookies. The crackle of the packaging causes one of the bodies to quiver, and Lissie takes notice quickly, silently pulling one out of the tray. She pauses the video on her phone - episode 14 of season three of Big Brother - surveying the sounds she’s making through her silenced Air Pods, hoping not to cause a stir within the tired houseguests who’re coming down from their bender of a night. “I'm 🅃🄴🅃🅷🅴🆁🄴🄳 to this,” she whispers to herself. A look of concern drips from her eyes, flipping the ten-month sobriety chip in her fingers. “This is what they expect.” Roman, you think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you? You think you can take one look at me, and what I’ve done in this ring - the legacy I’ve created, and carved out, and cemented in Action Wrestling 🅷🅴🆁🅂🅃🄾🅁🅈 and you think it’s all been handed to me with a silver spoon, on a silver platter. Unearned. Unappreciated. And you’d be dead fucking wrong. I hold this CBS Championship - the fourth different championship in my career - because I walked into that Big Brother Eliminator with the biggest target on my back. I knew that you, and Odin, and Savage… and fucking Tatiana – you all saw me as the big dog in the ring. You wanted to Michael Vick my ass by shackling my neck and tossing me over the top, begging and pleading for mercy as my legs kicked for solid ground. You wanted my restrict the air from my lungs. You all wanted me out - not just from the ring. Not just from contention. Not just from standing in your way of winning the CBS Championship. You wanted me out of Action Wrestling. You all want me to lie in the dirt, in the hole you’ve dug for me, because that’s been the expectation for me. Every year, around this time of the year - around this date of the year. 11- 11 comes and goes - and every time, you expect the story to come. The headline to hit. You pray for the day that the world says "no more Lissie Hope." You don’t want her in Action Wrestling. You can’t have her in Action Wrestling. But it’s not your choice, Roman. For years, I’ve been beholden to this destiny. I’ve stared this death in the face, and I’ve fought through it. Each time, I’ve survived it, even when I thought I couldn’t. Even when you thought I wouldn’t. But I'm breaking the curse for good. I'm tethered to Action Wrestling, Roman. Whether you fucking like it or not. 11-11-22 | I knew this was the day I had to make my announcements. I had toyed with Twitter for weeks, dropping hints and clues as to what I intended to do to expand my reach into all facets of the entertainment industry. And they were decisions that were being mocked by the wrestling purists, by those who feel that I’m seeking distractions from this business. That I need to rehabilitate a fledgling career filled with fuck-ups and failures - that I can’t shoulder the weight that my legacy carries. That I’ve shown time and time again that I’ve been passed by - and cast aside - and that the achievements I’ve etched in stone are beginning to wear down under the current. That my lungs are suffocating as the waves of doubt wash over me. This is their narrative. The one spun by people like Sam Kidsgrove and Roman Gunn and Tatiana Jolee. But they are failing to realize that I’m not seeking escape. I’m not just sitting around in sweatpants. Eating cookies. Watching Big Brother. I’m not complacent. I'm not comfortable. I want to test myself, and prove myself - and prove to myself, that I can still walk into competition - - and dominate. I want to put on the pads and hit someone in their chest so hard that their eyes glaze over. I want to see the snot running from their noses as they’re staring up at the sun. I want to step inside a game of social manipulation and strategy and win with my heart and my brain. I want to prove that I’ve not only perfected my body, but I’ve strengthened my mind. I’ve healed my soul. Because that means more to me than winning championships. Lissie Hope can mean more than Action Wrestling. I don’t have anything else to prove, Roman. Not to you. Not to these fans. Not to this industry. I didn’t get it done in Wrestler of the Year, and a lesser me would’ve collapsed under that weight. The one that couldn’t mitigate the disaster of my livelihood against James Nightingale two years ago would’ve succumbed to the vices and threats that have permeated by conscience. And these temptations have scarred my brain permanently, but I can sit here today and keep my head clear. My focus isn’t compromised. My goals are within reach. And that’s what makes me the most dangerous, Roman. That’s the Lissie Hope you should fear. My CBS Championship isn’t up for grabs this Monday night, but that doesn’t mean that I am taking this match for granted. Because there’s more at stake than just this belt that you aren’t fit to contend for. The curse of 11-11 - I’ve promised myself that I’ve moved past it. With the choices I’ve made. With the goals I’ve set for myself. With the love I’ve found, and with the heart I’ve repaired. I'm not a blackheart anymore, Roman. I'm no longer shrouded by the shadows. No longer damaged and fatigued. This is a new Lissie Hope. And you’re still the same, sad, sack of shit you’ve always been. “You don’t have to clean up!” Lissie could recognize her voice anywhere. She did watch her live life on a set-piece on her computer for three months after all. “This is your AirBNB and – obviously, things got a little wild last night,” Lissie said with a smirk, the crashing of beer bottles hitting the bottom of the trashcan caused a stir in one of the partygoers. “It’s like this every night now,” Taylor Hale responded, running her fingers through her silky hair. “Jesus,” Lissie thought to herself. “Even after a night of pounding bourbon, she still looks fucking perfect.” “I still haven’t gotten used to it.” “Do you even know these people?” Lissie asked, moving someone’s arm out of her way, watching it fall limply off the couch. “It’s easy to make friends,” Taylor responded. But her voice fell, almost to a point of disgust. “It was so different in the house,” Lissie whispered under her breath. When she noticed Taylor’s interest piquing, her voice got a little louder. “I was always so enamored with how you spoke about your friendships. How you choose them carefully. How much your friendships mean to you. That being an only child, you didn’t have a family to cling to, so those friendships become so much more.” “Are you an only child?” Lissie gripped at the pendant around her neck. “I am now.” “Where are your friends now?” Lissie looked out the window, and a memory flashed in her mind - watching the waves of the Atlantic crashing over the Miami shores. But she shook it free, remembering she was in Central Florida, a beautiful condo in downtown Orlando. This was her safe harbor. “They’re with me,” she said, patting her chest. “Here.” “I noticed you weren’t drinking,” Taylor said, and Lissie smiled at the intuitive observational skills she watched for months were in full demonstration. “But you didn’t see like you were at all uncomfortable. You were in total control of yourself.” “I have to be.” “You should be proud,” Taylor told her. “That's not easy.” Lissie stayed quiet, feeling the warmth wash over her. “I’m scared to go into the house without any friends...” “So was I, Lissie,” she said. “And I won.” Lissie turned to face her new friend. “And so will you.” |
