Lissie | Full Hearts (2/2)
Jul 23, 2020 5:16:26 GMT -5
Bonnie Blue, Shadowlove, and 6 more like this
Post by The Swallowing on Jul 23, 2020 5:16:26 GMT -5
2019|DECEMBER
There’s nothing you’re incapable of, Lissie. You’ve proven it, despite everyone who’s ever stood in your way.
You won the briefcase. You won the World Championship. Whenever you’re in doubt, and you don’t think you can leap that hurdle, tattoo these words in your mind.
You won the briefcase. You won the World Championship. Whenever you’re in doubt, and you don’t think you can leap that hurdle, tattoo these words in your mind.
Keep fighting.
Lissie Hope buries herself in the comfort of a hoodie, peering out the window of the CTA BlueLine as the neverending cityscape of Chicago zooms by. It’s a beautiful city, one she hopes she’ll one day explore, but for now, she rubs her boarding pass to Houston in her sweaty palms. Her anxious knees shake, her heels tapping the aluminum below. At a busy stop, dozens of natives climb onboard, the walls closing in. She felt trapped.
I’ll be there soon Addy.
Can you pick me up at the airport? I land around 10:30 tonight.
Yeh girl for sure
Your moms here too, she is happy your comin home.
To keep her mind preoccupied, absent of the emotional torture of Robbie fighting for life, Lissie had been competing in the GCWA Warriors of the Ring tournament. It served several purposes: one, it got her the hell out of the cold hospital. Two, it kept her fresh in the ring as she awaited Chaos. And three, it was an attainable achievement, despite not having much to be proud about lately.
Call me if anything changes.
The train ride was long and congested, but as people filtered out of the cab, she was relieved when she could feel her lungs expanding, as if she was breathing fresh air again. When she stepped off the train and into the O'Hare Airport terminal, she felt her phone buzzing. Closing her eyes, she prepared for the worst when she saw Adelaide’s name on the screen.
It took everything to press “accept”, and she couldn’t say a word when she heard Adelaide crying on the other end.
Lissie, she managed to choke out. Lissie’s knees buckled as she dropped her carry-on luggage to the floor and braced herself. She slithered down to her bottom. Lissie, she repeated. Ya there?
Yes, she replied, nodding her head, burying her face in her hands.
He’s awake, Lissie, Addy said. It took a moment to process.
What??
Robbie, she clarified. Robbie’s awake.
What do you fight for?
What inspires you to reach for the stars? Is it jealousy of those walking on clouds with a stranglehold of the spot you desperately need to attain? Or is it hunger, having merely tasted excellence, enough to satiate your appetite, albeit briefly? What do you when it’s robbed of you?
Some may call upon the action of their dutiful underlings, inflicting irreparable damage, creating chaos; rising to the top is an afterthought, they only seek to crush the immense dreams of others.
Who do you fight for?
Is it someone you share an identity with? Someone you'll spill blood for? Is it your mothers and fathers, your brothers and sisters? Your dearest friends? Or is it an army of men you control? Do you speak for the disillusioned and the downtrodden, championing an edict, commanding a brigade and infecting minds with paranoia?
Who do you inspire, Kyle?
Have you ever evaluated your methods? Are you proud of ‘em? You don't train them; you beat them into submission. You crush their will and their spirits until they haven't no other choice but to follow you to hell itself. What the fuck happened to you, Kyle? You call yourself a leader?
What truly makes a leader?
There are only a few people in this business who step in the ring against potential, and bring out the best in them. Creating stars; making the ordinary… extraordinary. It's a shortlist, an elite company of few who can capture the love in the souls and minds of everyone in that audience, nameless faces in the crowd with stars in their eyes and dreams in their hearts, knowing one day they might be able to achieve them.
You used to mean something, Kemp. You used to inspire people.
You’re not a creator, Kemp. You aren’t a molder of men, no matter how much you want to live by the mantra. You aren’t making anyone a better version of themselves, because we all see right through you. Your motivations are transparent. You dispatch your little nerd herd in every match ‘cause you can’t win any yourselves, but you step on their throats, and they’ll grow to resent you. And when the guise recedes into the ether, and your minions have turned the cyanide cocktail onto your lanky-ass flexin’ that baby-potato in your bicep, we’ll end up right back where we were six-months-ago: a breathing, thriving Action Wrestling devoid of boring-ass Kyle Kemp.
How do you crush an army?
You kill the captain.
But what about the second-in-command? The perpetual number-two? Y’know, for someone with your longevity, it’s irreconcilable that you’ve become the placated protector. You’ve allowed a never-was like Kemp to neuter you, holding you in the same regard as Hot Shot and Chase Jackson, and from the outside, it’s difficult identifying where things went south for you, Odin.
Wait, that’s not true.
I know exactly where it all began.
Keep being dismissive of Addy’s role in this partnership, but never forget the first shovel of dirt dropped on your burial site began when she challenged you for number one contendership to the World Championship. You overlooked her then, and you found yourself staring into the steel barrel when I helped ensure that your old, raggedy ass would never have a chance to regain the gold you never deserved to hold in the first place. And you’re still disregarding her now, even though she holds a notch on her belt that I haven’t got yet.
A victory over the one who once cried WAR BALFORE, and who now pads Kyle Kemp’s dirty jockstrap.
But y’see, it goes even further than that for me. Even though I tossed your ass from Havoc, it wasn’t enough, Odin. You still haven’t atoned for crushing my spirit on the night I became a World Champion for the first time. You attacked me, for no goddamned reason, planting me on the steel stage just minutes after my crowning moment. You hardened me that night, because no longer could I be naive and wide-eyed. I learned who the real Odin Balfore was.
And you immunized me. The target on my head grew that night, and you were the impetus. With every secret attack that followed, I’ve gotten stronger. I’ve gotten more fearless. You’ve driven me to a point of no return.
The Iron Soul created the Blackheart… and you better make-damn-sure you don’t regret it.
I don’t ever want you to settle, Lissie. I need to know that the lights will never be too bright for you; that you’ll never turtle up and bury your head in the sand.
Only one person can ever stand in your way of achieving those big moments you were born for; you. Don’t allow it.
Only one person can ever stand in your way of achieving those big moments you were born for; you. Don’t allow it.
Keep dreaming.
I was once made of glass.
Your words once penetrated my defenses, Crow, and you poisoned my conscience. But now, I train my eyes to see through my delicate flesh, and the crimson deluge flowing below from organ to organ; it keeps me alive. You can’t hurt me anymore.
I now wear a suit of armor, a head-to-toe cocoon that deflects your deep cuts, dulling every sharp-edged blade you swing. You can’t shatter a stone heart, Crow. I am impervious to you now. And that should fucking terrify you.
Adelaide has touched this once failing heart and revitalized it. She keeps me beating, even on nights where there ain’t any reason to. There are times when we’ve both lost hope in Action Wrestling, as con-artists like Kemp and a menace like Balfore are rewarded despite zero wins to their credit; and in humanity, where we hear and feel stories of stolen innocence and injustice - and then there’s you. And there’s Spencer Adams.
The hierarchy.
The unblemished.
The Tag Team Champions.
I can’t quite figure out why you have such hatred for me, Crow. Is it because I’m emotional? Because I wear my blackheart on my slashed wrists? Do you think I’m weak? You remind me every monster who’s ever tried to beat me into submission, because they thought they could. The Bull’s, the Bishop’s - you think I’m easily brutalized. I’m easily manipulated. But you’re dead-fuckin’-wrong.
Lissie the Killer refuses to be tormented. Refuses to be afraid. I’ve used every single one of them to springboard to Action Wrestling championships; what makes you and Spencer think you’ll be any different?
You might have my number lately, sitting in the company of Frank Venable and Walter as men I’ve yet to master. But I’m more like you than even your partner is, Spencer. I know hurt, I know pain, and I know loss - just like you do. And I know that it drives you forward, and it makes those dreams attainable.
But here’s the thing; so does Adelaide. She and I are in this together. We’ve got one goal in sight. We’ve got nothin’ standing in our way, no matter how much either of you pricks want to claim we’re untrustworthy and dysfunctional.
You four, though? Kemp’ll realize that Odie won’t do anythin’ for him. And how does your recent connection with Crow McMorris overshadow the years you’ve spent at Kyle Kemp’s side? Seems to me like y’all have a little more to think about than we do.
The clock is ticking. The writing's on the wall. We're prepared to push further and harder than you’d ever expect, because winning this match - and these straps - means more to us than you'll ever know. We're fighting for our name, for our identity…
We’re fighting for hope.
This week on Clash, we stood tall in the center of the ring holding those belts over our heads.
Next week at Chaos, we’ll be strapping them around our waists.
The plane landed on the tarmac at half-past-ten.
Adelaide wanted to pick her up at the airport, but Lissie asked her to stay at Robbie's bedside. She wanted Robbie to see a familiar face as he recovered, because if Lissie had learned anything this past month, it's that those precious moments were fleeting.
Lissie's Uber arrived at the hospital entrance at five-after-eleven.
She stopped at the gift shop and quickly scanned the inventory. Balloons, bears, floral arrangements, and overpriced chocolate - none of the selection spoke to her. At the cashier’s side was a vase of blooming red roses. She picked one that had just began to blossom, symbolic of this regeneration.
The transaction processed at eleven-after.
She felt a sharp pain shoot into her heart.
Lissie arrived at the nurse’s desk and was told to wait. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adelaide get off the elevator. She waved, and Addy turned to Robbie’s doctor who followed her out. They walked straight to Lissie, and as they approached, Addy’s cheeks were flushed red.
“Miss Hope,” he began. “Robert’s vitals had stabilized to the point where we felt comfortable beginning the process of recovery. He regained consciousness, was alert, and was responding to verbal commands. Adelaide and your mother were speaking to him, and we were very satisfied with how things were progressing.”
“That’s fantastic! Can I see him?”
“Miss Hope.”
“Lissie, please.”
“Lissie…” a pause. “There were complications. Please sit.”
Lissie stood.
“Unfortunately, an undetected blood clot formed in his brain, and before we had a chance to determine a course of action, it ruptured.”
“I don’t understand. You said he was fine.”
“At 11:11 this evening, Robert died, Lissie, from an intracerebral hemmorhage. I’m so sorry.”
Addy’s eyes burst into tears as she wrapped her arms around Lissie’s neck. Lissie felt nothing at all.
My heart beats for you, Lissie. Forever.
- Robbie Hope
- Robbie Hope
