Post by Addy A on Feb 24, 2024 15:23:22 GMT -5
“What made you?”
“Jessie Lee.”
“Exactly what? That’s a question that only you can answer with any certainty. But it’s a question the world, including myself, can theorise on until the end of time. We can make up stories, we can twist your actions and your words in any narrative we want to transcribe.”
“War Stories.”
“If you want to call them that. Tales shrieked loudly from every soapbox in the land by the victorious, or the secret whispers uttered in hushed tones through pursed lips by the vindictive losers.”
“These are tales I can tell through my years in Action Wrestling. These are the tales I can scream from the top of my lungs about the Action Wrestling Television Title. The stories I can wail for eternity as AW’s Original Bad Bitch.”
“The Title I was never defeated for.”
“The crown that was never taken from my head.”
“Both of which you wear with distinct pride as I speak.”
“This is where our stories entangle.”
“This is where you are made.”
Her favourite places to forget about the toxicity that plagued her was the famed Muscle Beach gym on the boulevard of Venice Beach. Adelaide was working up a sweat on the chin up bar, her locks tied in a messy bun but still drenched to her scalp.
“Nineteen.” she mumbles through gritted teeth.
As she lowers herself ready for her twentieth rise she is confronted by a man in a neatly pressed grey suit. Ignoring him, she rises up.
“Twenty.” She exhales, dropping down to her feet in front of her visitor.
“Are you Adelaide Ainsworth?” he enquires in tones as serious as his suit.
“Who’s askin’” Adelaide spits in exhaustion.
Wordlessly, he presses a document into her bosom with a force that makes Adelaide grab it. With equally little hesitation he simply releases the palm of his hand, pivots and trots off. Adelaide pulls the sheet of paper from her chest and quickly glances at it. She sees enough, as her face is quickly awash with bemused rage.
“What made you?”
“Driller Jaworski.”
“Just tell me.”
“As Cruiserweight Champion you stand at somewhat of a pinnacle in this fine sport. You represent the best of something, but as Cruiserweight Champion the question you have to ask yourself is: ‘Is this the best I can be?’ And if your answer is ‘yes’ then this is the wrong business for you. Even a ‘maybe’ gives you something to strive for, because I can assure that this match at Payback - it will be the beginning of making you or breaking you.”
“That is the gravity I hold.”
“The real start of your story, the one that you lay bear for your children and grandchildren. The one that starts with Once upon a time. But while it be a classic meaty Brother Grimm story that withstands the test of time and language, or some watered down, washed up made for consumption Disney carton.”
“That’s your story to tell.”
While she sort the exhaustion of a physical combat against herself or others, the truth was Adelaide was most at peace when sitting on the sand staring at the stars. The dull roar of the waves washing onto shore, was the white noise she sought. For her it was a way to drown out the distractions of the world.
Adelaide sighed loudly as she saw two figures approach her out of the shadows.
She knew who they were.
“Adelaide.” In unison, they nodded curtly.
“Gentlemen.” she spoke calmly.
“You know why we’re here.” spoke the older one.
Pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of her jorts, she thrust her left hand towards them. “This!” she spat full of unfettered frustration.
They nodded. “We can’t hide you anymore.” said the older gentleman, taking the lead.
Looking down at the sand, she collects a pile in her palm, letting it run through her fingers and spill to the ground. “It what it is,” shrugging, “I’m a big girl.”
That was all they needed to hear, they left her in her solitude.
Looking up, as they walked away, “Neve - yeah.” she shouted in muted tones.
Adelaide watched them pause in their steps just long enough to see a nod of acknowledgement before they were consumed by the midnight blue of the Californian night.
“Two falls - two chances at victory.”
“It’s not often that these opportunities come our way, is it Jess, Drill?”
“At Payback - we’ve got the chance to write one hell of a story. At Payback - we can make history. That’s sort of ground shaking gravitational force that I bring to this match. That's a benefit for both of you being caught in my field. But, let me tell you something, pals. I’m coming in on Sunday Night to be some footnote in someone else’s story.”
“Not a chance in Hell.”
“While I’m not naive enough to think this ain’t going to be a wild fucking fight - I’ve got no intention of walking out Payback with the two titles draped over my shoulders. I will add to my one hundred and seventy-six and eight day reigns.”
“Jess, you and I are more alike than most would admit. It’s not just the Aussie thing either, babe. We’re scrappers, we’re fighters, we'll go as far as we must to get the job done - even to our own detriment. But while you're out here locked in your social media squabbles over real and fake - I’m here being real. Not to say you’re not knocking bitches down - but they ain’t me.”
“A champion’s anxiety is a real, Drill. Nothing you should ever be ashamed of. Be real for a minute, though. Playing lonely patty-cake to PornHub in Mom's basement? That headspace can only lead to your defeat like every fairytale’s antagonist. That mindset can only lead to defeat.”
“At Payback I will make you both.”
“At Payback. I will be…”
“Champion.”
“That is my story.”