Post by Admin on Feb 9, 2017 20:03:50 GMT -5
LOCATION: Las Vegas, Nevada
DATE/TIME: December 23, 2015 || 10:45PM PST
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Originally Mikhail had planned to do this on New Year's Eve. He'd rented out a fine room and set up for catering and decorations; everything a woman might want for a romantic evening. Candles would burn, twinkling lights would decorate the walls, pristine and pretty. He'd bought all the white roses in Vegas, just for this - and now while he hadn't changed his plan to create that most perfect evening for his Princess? He had found that his vaunted patience was at an end when it came to this. It was going to be the key part of the evening, he had a little speech planned in case she showed a hint of hesitation... which he didn't think would happen, but just in case. He'd bought four rings as a matter of fact because each one spoke to him that 'she might like this one' and he'd yet to actually choose. But something told him, that even though January 1st was close? It wasn't close enough.
Mikhail Petrov had learned to listen to his gut, and so he made a few phone calls and arranged for things to be waiting when they returned from the Luxor. His Princess had defeated West McFadden, and while he felt that blond kid was 'nice enough' he hadn't cared for how the match had ended. It wasn't that he was jealous – he was better in every conceivable way as a man, than the blond brat. It was however that he felt her lips were for better things, and every time they'd stopped on the way back he'd shown her his conviction on that. Part of him wondered what she might have thought of that, but he had another more important question to ask.
He'd opened the car door for her, taken her gear bag and then held his other arm out to her the way a gentleman should. He couldn't take his eyes off her face, and only long practice let him open the door without glancing away. He held that for her too, and casually flipped on the light to let her see where she was going – and that the entry way was filled with bouquets of fresh cut white roses. He gently let her arm go and set her bag down, waiting for her to turn with a questioning look on her face before he took her hand and lightly kissed the knuckles before dropping to a knee. He reached into his jacket pocket, closing his eyes a moment. Just pick one. He pulled a velvet box out of his pocket, deftly opening it with his long clever fingers before he held it up and took a deep breath. "My Princess, my Kitty... beloved, will you consider doing me the honor to become my wife?"
It took Kitty a good twenty seconds to register that he'd dropped to his knees, still dazzled by the heavenly smell of all the roses. She'd been in a state of bliss ever since they'd left the Luxor, enjoying every kiss that he'd lavished on her and now... what was he doing? She'd assumed the roses were part of a celebration of her spectacular win over West McFadden, of the fact that she was still undefeated and then... did he just..? Her eyes went to his face, wide with shock. She couldn't even bring herself to look at the ring, frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. Was this really happening? "Mikhail... I..."
He gave her a slightly wry smile, though his gaze on her was focused and intense. Outwardly he seemed calm, inwardly his pulse had kicked up as had his heartbeat. His voice held a note of warmth, because he could tell he had completely surprised her. "You are awake, my Princess. This is happening..." the wryness of his smile faded until it was gentle affection. "...though I had meant to wait a little longer. Tell me, Kitty... will you?"
Her smile was so bright it was blinding, the joy in her eyes brimming over with tears. She swallowed hard, counting to ten and holding her breath because a small part of her insisted that she was still back in the ring, knocked out on the canvas and this was all a dream. "I... I'd be overjoyed... there's nothing in the world I want more, my love. Yes. A million times over!"
Mikhail let out a breath and gently took the ring from the box, no thoughts or hesitations even with the other three in his pocket still. With tenderness he slipped it on her finger, and for a moment he felt his heart squeeze just from the sheer joy of seeing his ring there. "One would have been enough, but I will never forget that you said this thing. This is...my Christmas miracle, you know. Everything I felt I would never be blessed to have, but with that yes? I do." He stood slowly, gracefully and drew her in close. "Will you at least look at it, and tell me you like it?"
She didn't want to tell him that the ring didn't matter. He could have given her a twisted piece of copper wire that would have turned her whole hand green and it wouldn't have bothered her in the slightest. Slowly, she looked down at the square-cut diamond, at the sparkle under the lights. "Oh." Her breath caught, tears falling as she blinked. "Oh......honey. It's so..." She couldn't even find the right word for it. Regal, her mind supplied a few seconds too late. It looked like something a Queen would wear.
"Good." He pressed his lips gently to her temple, letting himself feel her pulse there for a long moment. "I had a plan, you see. And yet despite that, here we are." He murmured against her skin. "This is much, much better than anything my mind provided." He drew back just a bit, lifting a hand to gently wipe her tears. "We will have whatever kind of wedding you wish. If you want one like a Disney movie, you will have it. If you would rather get married tonight on the strip by a man in a bad Elvis suit? We will do that. All you need to do..." His expression softened. "My beautiful Kaitlynn, all you need to do is tell me."
"I've done big... elaborate... expensive. I don't need a big show. I just need you." She took his hand, pulling him closer. "Tonight. Tomorrow. As soon as we can?"
Mikhail gave her a brilliant smile, one that he usually kept guarded but there it was. He lifted both hands to gently cup her face, searching her eyes. "If you wish, we will go now. I will get a better jacket, and we will." He stole a kiss, almost bouncing on his toes from excitement he wasn't doing so well in hiding. "My words... cannot give this enough, but my Princess, I do love you. Like I have never another."
"I know," she laughed with delight at his joy, "more than anything. You're the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. You know this, right? You've saved me."
His smile warmed even more as he stopped long enough to almost bask in her laughter. "No, my Princess. We have saved each other." He was already slipping out of his jacket as he went for the hall closet, he knew just which he wanted for this and he was holding down that feeling that Kitty often talked about. A dream though, could never be quite this way and it was enough for him to hang on to.
kittymacblog.wordpress.net posting
It's funny and maybe a little sad – nostalgia-inducing, most assuredly, that as the year draws to a close, I'm back to repeating familiar patterns. I'm wrestling on my first wedding anniversary, one day removed from the day my husband proposed last year. I wrestled that night. I remember I won but I don't recall who it was against. It doesn't matter to the narrative. What you need to know is that the year has come full circle and I'm back to walking a path I've been down before. Yet again facing down three other competitors. That last match in Uprising was the same story: myself and three others, hungry for a title. I won't bore you with details of that show that never aired. Our latest addition to the roster Chris Mosh was supposed to be in that match, strangely enough. The only difference then was that I already had the advantage of the championship belt already in my grasp. A few steps to the right mentality-wise (and I feel like I can truly be honest here with the lot of you) but it's still in the ballpark. I'm the only one of the four in this match who's been close to gold recently.
In a perfect world, I'd have been given a bye into the final on reputation alone and believe me, there actually was a time that my name held a certain weight. Ah, but we aren't living there and I need to adjust my perceptions to this reality. Consider, if you will, a blackout when you're in an unfamiliar place. Put yourself in that moment – feel the terror. You can't walk through the room blind because you have no idea where anything is. You could bump into something. You could trip and fall and hurt yourself. Maybe it's a tightrope stretched across a vast divide and one false step will send you falling. You'll fall forever and never touch bottom and that could be a blessing or a curse, really. All depends on your view. And the alternative, I suppose. Fall off, fall out and where are you left? Holding an empty bag, watching the rest of them gather their treasures in the form of cheers and accolades? We could all be Calvin Harris, the whining little passive aggressive bitch boy that he is. It could be worse. It can always be worse.
In a perfect world, I would face JT Midas solo for that belt – that would be a wonderful Christmas gift. Maybe Brooklyn Skye can get herself fired before then and bring us one step closer to giving me what I want. Ah, but JT has to win two matches, doesn't he?
Oh ye of little faith. I believe he will.
And this is where the timeline splinters, branches into a million infinite realities. There are four of us in this match. PerZag and I proved last week that we can (if forced to) work together for a common goal. Granted, I wasn't a fan of his work ethic, but we don't need to beat that particular deceased equine, do we? Aiden Morrow and Brooklyn Skye have already secured their spots by far easier means. Don't get me wrong. I'm not afraid of getting dirty – a little bloody. I'm just concerned that if I go out there ready to dash myself to pieces on the rocks for that siren song, I won't be able to complete the task. Cumbersome, these worries of mine. By all intents and purposes, this should be a cakewalk. I can sit back and watch Hyde and Ford tear each other to pieces. I can enjoy a cigarette, paint my nails, do whatever I can to pass the time and then capitalize – let's face it, I already made damn sure that PerZag won't be ready for this match. He's already walking wounded.
I can take out the broken trash with my eyes closed. Every little thing feels like it's part of some mass conspiracy designed to make me go off. Add more fuel to the fire and I'll sit back – roll my eyes. There have been way too many people like this in my life. Users. Takers. Greedy little trolls who want nothing more than to strip me of the things I've earned. Believe me, I've done the time. As much as JT Midas and Calvin Harris want to belittle and debase, that's a fact. Sure, I was inducted into the hall of fame in an all-female company, but my career began training WITH boys, alongside my brother. From there, I struggled to find a company where I could compete as an equal without being required to play the role of femme fatale or vapid arm candy.
Oh, and I did those too.
I had no choice.
So when you want to talk down about wins and losses and little bullshit baubles collected like any of that matters, you'd best believe I'm going to unleash every ounce of self-righteous fury I possess. I paid my dues a thousand times over so that brainless and talentless cunts like Tiami Erickson and Brooklyn Skye could find work outside of grinding on a pole Tuesday thru Thursday nights. Yeah, I went there and I sincerely meant it, too. The bitches on wheels are a dime a dozen today. So are the former fitness models-turned-wrestler. I'm sick of wading through a see of Playboy tryouts on my timeline every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Fuck you, Fujiko, for starting that goddamned trend. Seriously. Fuck. You.
Am I bitter? Yeah, maybe just a little and I suppose the onus is on me to explain that ticking that only I can hear. Hello time bomb, ready to go off. I'm sick to death of having to prove my worth again and again. Take a few minutes out of your life. Look me up – even Calvin Harris took the time to recite the biased facts he found on Wikipedia. I know you want me to talk about how I've got this in the bag and trot out all the analyses and theorems that go alongside it. You people live for that bullshit. So I won't disappoint: I'm going to win. I'm going to beat Mr. Hyde and PerZag and Jackson Ford. Furthermore, I'm going to win the Victory Championship too. Why? Because I can. Because I want it more than any of the rest of you. How? Allow me to explain.
I'm a ticking time bomb and all these dark holes like voids in the night have been filling me to the brim for years. There's no room for the anger, so it just spills over. Who's going to be the unlucky one? I nominate you, Jackson. Someone should have told you not to make things personal. Oh, but you did, didn't you? You had to bring my husband into your playground insults. Do you honestly think you can tear him down? Say what you want about me. I'll abide. I always do. But when you bring him into this... well then we have an issue.
So now what, Jackson? Are you going to come out to the ring, and pay for what you've done? You lament that it's no longer 2000 and I understand why. You were better then. I seem to remember a time when your name held a quiver when uttered in locker rooms. Now it's more a laugh – I can assure you nobody is laughing with you, sweetie. Guys like you call yourself a superstar. Guys like you believe it, too and the more you repeat it, the more it grows in your mind but we both know it's been years since you were able to intimidate. I know you're going to try though. I know how your mind works because I've beaten a thousand of you all over the world. Peter Pans who never grew up, little boys who still believe they're the greatest since sliced bread because mommy said they were speshul growing up.
Don't mistake my words. I admire your gung-ho attitude. You see something; you go for it. That's a good quality in this business. They call it tenacity and in certain measures it's wonderful. When you're throwing yourself into it over and over and failing worse than our esteemed general manager at controlling his temper, well then it's just sad. It's bordering on pathetic and I'm wont to throw you in the same carefully labelled box as Harris: TRASH.
You try too hard to be the tough guy but it's wooden and forced and it's almost like you're just saying the lines you know they want to hear. This isn't you, Jackson. I know that. You know that.
Don't be like Calvin.
You pretend to be something you're not.
He throws tantrums on social media after losing.
Which is worse?
Don't be a Harris. That's all I ask of you. When you lose – yes, I just typed WHEN – please own it. Please look me in the eye and admit you were wrong. Then I want you to shake Mr. Hyde's hand too. Admit you're a childish little shit – jealous. You're a coward, Jackson. Everyone can see that. You're too dumb to not telegraph it and that's what makes you weak. I'm going to make you bleed. I'm going to do my best to rearrange whatever wires have gotten scrambled in your head over the years. Perhaps you'll thank me for it. Maybe I'll make a new you. A better you?
I feel like kicking you in the face just to watch you nervously laugh and spout off some chickenshit line. I hate myself for the anger you've provoked so effortlessly. I used to be above this three ring circus.
Things change, I suppose.
People change.
It's up to us to determine if those changes are for the better or worse. That's what this is about. For me. For you. For our friend Mr. Hyde and for poor, unfortunate PerZag as well. The choices we make become part of the definition. We evolve and at the same time we're being eroded, leaving bits of ourselves behind. Sloughing off the dead skin like snakes – all the discarded ideals, the things that never worked for us falling to the wayside as we march all shiny and new into the future.
But you, Jackson, you have it draped over your shoulders like Macklemore with that thrift store coat, showing it off, crowing into the void like Peter Pan: "this is who I used to be! I don't ever want to lose that!"
I can read the fear in every word you post. I can hear it in your voice. You're terrified to let go. You don't want to freefall into nothing. I get it and it's okay, Jackson. I can help you move on.
I'll make you better.
I promise.
=^,,^=
LOCATION: Charlotte, North Carolina
DATE/TIME: December 20, 2016 || 05:45AM EST
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
While the coffee was brewing, Kaitlynn watched a chipmunk eating the seed scattered on the ground from the bird feeder that hung above the window. The house was small, almost as modest as the one they'd first shared in Las Vegas – a rental for now until things stabilized. She knew that even sure things didn't always pan out. The glass fogged with her breath and she drew a heart with her finger, putting K + M in the middle of it. Almost a year they'd been married. She'd be wrestling on their anniversary and it made her feel a strange sort of unease. She swallowed the tears back, flinching when the coffeemaker clicked and started running water through the grounds, the rich scent of cinnamon filling the tiny kitchen. For once, everything seemed to be on an even keel. She'd found a company to wrestle in that made her happy and required no travel. She'd come so close to finding her groove again. The last thing she wanted to do was borrow trouble.
Her fingers fussed with the papers, sorting them by size and then as she tapped the stack against the counter, a small index card fluttered to the floor. It was the size of a recipe card, reminding her of the ones she'd used to make talking points before going on camera back when she'd been as green as grass. She hadn't used those since 2003.
"What..?" She bent, picking it up and turning it over, only to see her husband's familiar handwriting on the other side.
'I can wait until you are ready, because for you I would wait forever. My Princess, it is time for you to have your part in happily ever after.'
She remembered finding it almost a year before in the pocket of his pants before washing them – a little cue card for his proposal and now reading it brought all those feelings full circle. She felt her heart swell, the doubts pushed back by the certainty that no matter what life brought their way, he would always be there to catch her when she fell. He knew her too well. He'd no doubt left it there among her scattered notes about her opponents as an anchor to keep her from drifting too far away. The dark waters still haunted her dreams, the depression of the holidays threatening to pull her under like it always did. At least this year she had a distraction. She had an anniversary to celebrate outside of that damned holiday and all the pressure that went with it. Chasing gold was at least a familiar ritual. She knew the steps by heart. She could do them without faltering because she'd learned from the best.
By the time she'd gotten his favourite mug out of the cupboard, the machine had clicked off. She set it down and added a little splash of cream and a spoonful of sugar before pouring the fragrant Christmas blend into the cup. It was so warm, so comforting against her hand as she stirred the brew a few times, making sure the sugar had dissolved before setting the spoon down. She cupped the mug between both, walking quickly towards the bedroom, never spilling a drop before it came to rest on the bedside table.
Leaning down, she kissed his cheek, whispering, "Good morning, my Prince," as she ran her fingers through his hair.
His sleepy chuckle let her know that he'd been at least partially awake as she'd entered the room, and his voice still held a touch of that roughness as he reached up one hand to carefully draw his fingertip down over the curve of her cheek. "My Princess," was all he said but she knew he meant more than that. Warm affection was there in his tone to match the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
She breathed in his scent, closing her eyes against more tears that threatened to fall, her voice coming out husky when she spoke. "I love you, Mik. Not just now. Always. Forever," her voice shook as she knelt beside the bed, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "People say that and they never mean it. They say all these pretty things and it's just manipulation, lip service and mindfuckery and everything in between but... I do. I mean it. Until the end of time. You're all I need. All I want. Everything."
He didn't say anything. He didn't tell her that he knew. He just cupped her face in his hands, kissing her gently on the forehead before swiping the tears from beneath her eyes with his thumbs. She could read everything he didn't say in his eyes and they spoke volumes before he kissed her again, this time on the lips. "ты мой," he whispered against her skin.
You are mine.
DATE/TIME: December 23, 2015 || 10:45PM PST
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Originally Mikhail had planned to do this on New Year's Eve. He'd rented out a fine room and set up for catering and decorations; everything a woman might want for a romantic evening. Candles would burn, twinkling lights would decorate the walls, pristine and pretty. He'd bought all the white roses in Vegas, just for this - and now while he hadn't changed his plan to create that most perfect evening for his Princess? He had found that his vaunted patience was at an end when it came to this. It was going to be the key part of the evening, he had a little speech planned in case she showed a hint of hesitation... which he didn't think would happen, but just in case. He'd bought four rings as a matter of fact because each one spoke to him that 'she might like this one' and he'd yet to actually choose. But something told him, that even though January 1st was close? It wasn't close enough.
Mikhail Petrov had learned to listen to his gut, and so he made a few phone calls and arranged for things to be waiting when they returned from the Luxor. His Princess had defeated West McFadden, and while he felt that blond kid was 'nice enough' he hadn't cared for how the match had ended. It wasn't that he was jealous – he was better in every conceivable way as a man, than the blond brat. It was however that he felt her lips were for better things, and every time they'd stopped on the way back he'd shown her his conviction on that. Part of him wondered what she might have thought of that, but he had another more important question to ask.
He'd opened the car door for her, taken her gear bag and then held his other arm out to her the way a gentleman should. He couldn't take his eyes off her face, and only long practice let him open the door without glancing away. He held that for her too, and casually flipped on the light to let her see where she was going – and that the entry way was filled with bouquets of fresh cut white roses. He gently let her arm go and set her bag down, waiting for her to turn with a questioning look on her face before he took her hand and lightly kissed the knuckles before dropping to a knee. He reached into his jacket pocket, closing his eyes a moment. Just pick one. He pulled a velvet box out of his pocket, deftly opening it with his long clever fingers before he held it up and took a deep breath. "My Princess, my Kitty... beloved, will you consider doing me the honor to become my wife?"
It took Kitty a good twenty seconds to register that he'd dropped to his knees, still dazzled by the heavenly smell of all the roses. She'd been in a state of bliss ever since they'd left the Luxor, enjoying every kiss that he'd lavished on her and now... what was he doing? She'd assumed the roses were part of a celebration of her spectacular win over West McFadden, of the fact that she was still undefeated and then... did he just..? Her eyes went to his face, wide with shock. She couldn't even bring herself to look at the ring, frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. Was this really happening? "Mikhail... I..."
He gave her a slightly wry smile, though his gaze on her was focused and intense. Outwardly he seemed calm, inwardly his pulse had kicked up as had his heartbeat. His voice held a note of warmth, because he could tell he had completely surprised her. "You are awake, my Princess. This is happening..." the wryness of his smile faded until it was gentle affection. "...though I had meant to wait a little longer. Tell me, Kitty... will you?"
Her smile was so bright it was blinding, the joy in her eyes brimming over with tears. She swallowed hard, counting to ten and holding her breath because a small part of her insisted that she was still back in the ring, knocked out on the canvas and this was all a dream. "I... I'd be overjoyed... there's nothing in the world I want more, my love. Yes. A million times over!"
Mikhail let out a breath and gently took the ring from the box, no thoughts or hesitations even with the other three in his pocket still. With tenderness he slipped it on her finger, and for a moment he felt his heart squeeze just from the sheer joy of seeing his ring there. "One would have been enough, but I will never forget that you said this thing. This is...my Christmas miracle, you know. Everything I felt I would never be blessed to have, but with that yes? I do." He stood slowly, gracefully and drew her in close. "Will you at least look at it, and tell me you like it?"
She didn't want to tell him that the ring didn't matter. He could have given her a twisted piece of copper wire that would have turned her whole hand green and it wouldn't have bothered her in the slightest. Slowly, she looked down at the square-cut diamond, at the sparkle under the lights. "Oh." Her breath caught, tears falling as she blinked. "Oh......honey. It's so..." She couldn't even find the right word for it. Regal, her mind supplied a few seconds too late. It looked like something a Queen would wear.
"Good." He pressed his lips gently to her temple, letting himself feel her pulse there for a long moment. "I had a plan, you see. And yet despite that, here we are." He murmured against her skin. "This is much, much better than anything my mind provided." He drew back just a bit, lifting a hand to gently wipe her tears. "We will have whatever kind of wedding you wish. If you want one like a Disney movie, you will have it. If you would rather get married tonight on the strip by a man in a bad Elvis suit? We will do that. All you need to do..." His expression softened. "My beautiful Kaitlynn, all you need to do is tell me."
"I've done big... elaborate... expensive. I don't need a big show. I just need you." She took his hand, pulling him closer. "Tonight. Tomorrow. As soon as we can?"
Mikhail gave her a brilliant smile, one that he usually kept guarded but there it was. He lifted both hands to gently cup her face, searching her eyes. "If you wish, we will go now. I will get a better jacket, and we will." He stole a kiss, almost bouncing on his toes from excitement he wasn't doing so well in hiding. "My words... cannot give this enough, but my Princess, I do love you. Like I have never another."
"I know," she laughed with delight at his joy, "more than anything. You're the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. You know this, right? You've saved me."
His smile warmed even more as he stopped long enough to almost bask in her laughter. "No, my Princess. We have saved each other." He was already slipping out of his jacket as he went for the hall closet, he knew just which he wanted for this and he was holding down that feeling that Kitty often talked about. A dream though, could never be quite this way and it was enough for him to hang on to.
kittymacblog.wordpress.net posting
It's funny and maybe a little sad – nostalgia-inducing, most assuredly, that as the year draws to a close, I'm back to repeating familiar patterns. I'm wrestling on my first wedding anniversary, one day removed from the day my husband proposed last year. I wrestled that night. I remember I won but I don't recall who it was against. It doesn't matter to the narrative. What you need to know is that the year has come full circle and I'm back to walking a path I've been down before. Yet again facing down three other competitors. That last match in Uprising was the same story: myself and three others, hungry for a title. I won't bore you with details of that show that never aired. Our latest addition to the roster Chris Mosh was supposed to be in that match, strangely enough. The only difference then was that I already had the advantage of the championship belt already in my grasp. A few steps to the right mentality-wise (and I feel like I can truly be honest here with the lot of you) but it's still in the ballpark. I'm the only one of the four in this match who's been close to gold recently.
In a perfect world, I'd have been given a bye into the final on reputation alone and believe me, there actually was a time that my name held a certain weight. Ah, but we aren't living there and I need to adjust my perceptions to this reality. Consider, if you will, a blackout when you're in an unfamiliar place. Put yourself in that moment – feel the terror. You can't walk through the room blind because you have no idea where anything is. You could bump into something. You could trip and fall and hurt yourself. Maybe it's a tightrope stretched across a vast divide and one false step will send you falling. You'll fall forever and never touch bottom and that could be a blessing or a curse, really. All depends on your view. And the alternative, I suppose. Fall off, fall out and where are you left? Holding an empty bag, watching the rest of them gather their treasures in the form of cheers and accolades? We could all be Calvin Harris, the whining little passive aggressive bitch boy that he is. It could be worse. It can always be worse.
In a perfect world, I would face JT Midas solo for that belt – that would be a wonderful Christmas gift. Maybe Brooklyn Skye can get herself fired before then and bring us one step closer to giving me what I want. Ah, but JT has to win two matches, doesn't he?
Oh ye of little faith. I believe he will.
And this is where the timeline splinters, branches into a million infinite realities. There are four of us in this match. PerZag and I proved last week that we can (if forced to) work together for a common goal. Granted, I wasn't a fan of his work ethic, but we don't need to beat that particular deceased equine, do we? Aiden Morrow and Brooklyn Skye have already secured their spots by far easier means. Don't get me wrong. I'm not afraid of getting dirty – a little bloody. I'm just concerned that if I go out there ready to dash myself to pieces on the rocks for that siren song, I won't be able to complete the task. Cumbersome, these worries of mine. By all intents and purposes, this should be a cakewalk. I can sit back and watch Hyde and Ford tear each other to pieces. I can enjoy a cigarette, paint my nails, do whatever I can to pass the time and then capitalize – let's face it, I already made damn sure that PerZag won't be ready for this match. He's already walking wounded.
I can take out the broken trash with my eyes closed. Every little thing feels like it's part of some mass conspiracy designed to make me go off. Add more fuel to the fire and I'll sit back – roll my eyes. There have been way too many people like this in my life. Users. Takers. Greedy little trolls who want nothing more than to strip me of the things I've earned. Believe me, I've done the time. As much as JT Midas and Calvin Harris want to belittle and debase, that's a fact. Sure, I was inducted into the hall of fame in an all-female company, but my career began training WITH boys, alongside my brother. From there, I struggled to find a company where I could compete as an equal without being required to play the role of femme fatale or vapid arm candy.
Oh, and I did those too.
I had no choice.
So when you want to talk down about wins and losses and little bullshit baubles collected like any of that matters, you'd best believe I'm going to unleash every ounce of self-righteous fury I possess. I paid my dues a thousand times over so that brainless and talentless cunts like Tiami Erickson and Brooklyn Skye could find work outside of grinding on a pole Tuesday thru Thursday nights. Yeah, I went there and I sincerely meant it, too. The bitches on wheels are a dime a dozen today. So are the former fitness models-turned-wrestler. I'm sick of wading through a see of Playboy tryouts on my timeline every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Fuck you, Fujiko, for starting that goddamned trend. Seriously. Fuck. You.
Am I bitter? Yeah, maybe just a little and I suppose the onus is on me to explain that ticking that only I can hear. Hello time bomb, ready to go off. I'm sick to death of having to prove my worth again and again. Take a few minutes out of your life. Look me up – even Calvin Harris took the time to recite the biased facts he found on Wikipedia. I know you want me to talk about how I've got this in the bag and trot out all the analyses and theorems that go alongside it. You people live for that bullshit. So I won't disappoint: I'm going to win. I'm going to beat Mr. Hyde and PerZag and Jackson Ford. Furthermore, I'm going to win the Victory Championship too. Why? Because I can. Because I want it more than any of the rest of you. How? Allow me to explain.
I'm a ticking time bomb and all these dark holes like voids in the night have been filling me to the brim for years. There's no room for the anger, so it just spills over. Who's going to be the unlucky one? I nominate you, Jackson. Someone should have told you not to make things personal. Oh, but you did, didn't you? You had to bring my husband into your playground insults. Do you honestly think you can tear him down? Say what you want about me. I'll abide. I always do. But when you bring him into this... well then we have an issue.
So now what, Jackson? Are you going to come out to the ring, and pay for what you've done? You lament that it's no longer 2000 and I understand why. You were better then. I seem to remember a time when your name held a quiver when uttered in locker rooms. Now it's more a laugh – I can assure you nobody is laughing with you, sweetie. Guys like you call yourself a superstar. Guys like you believe it, too and the more you repeat it, the more it grows in your mind but we both know it's been years since you were able to intimidate. I know you're going to try though. I know how your mind works because I've beaten a thousand of you all over the world. Peter Pans who never grew up, little boys who still believe they're the greatest since sliced bread because mommy said they were speshul growing up.
Don't mistake my words. I admire your gung-ho attitude. You see something; you go for it. That's a good quality in this business. They call it tenacity and in certain measures it's wonderful. When you're throwing yourself into it over and over and failing worse than our esteemed general manager at controlling his temper, well then it's just sad. It's bordering on pathetic and I'm wont to throw you in the same carefully labelled box as Harris: TRASH.
You try too hard to be the tough guy but it's wooden and forced and it's almost like you're just saying the lines you know they want to hear. This isn't you, Jackson. I know that. You know that.
Don't be like Calvin.
You pretend to be something you're not.
He throws tantrums on social media after losing.
Which is worse?
Don't be a Harris. That's all I ask of you. When you lose – yes, I just typed WHEN – please own it. Please look me in the eye and admit you were wrong. Then I want you to shake Mr. Hyde's hand too. Admit you're a childish little shit – jealous. You're a coward, Jackson. Everyone can see that. You're too dumb to not telegraph it and that's what makes you weak. I'm going to make you bleed. I'm going to do my best to rearrange whatever wires have gotten scrambled in your head over the years. Perhaps you'll thank me for it. Maybe I'll make a new you. A better you?
I feel like kicking you in the face just to watch you nervously laugh and spout off some chickenshit line. I hate myself for the anger you've provoked so effortlessly. I used to be above this three ring circus.
Things change, I suppose.
People change.
It's up to us to determine if those changes are for the better or worse. That's what this is about. For me. For you. For our friend Mr. Hyde and for poor, unfortunate PerZag as well. The choices we make become part of the definition. We evolve and at the same time we're being eroded, leaving bits of ourselves behind. Sloughing off the dead skin like snakes – all the discarded ideals, the things that never worked for us falling to the wayside as we march all shiny and new into the future.
But you, Jackson, you have it draped over your shoulders like Macklemore with that thrift store coat, showing it off, crowing into the void like Peter Pan: "this is who I used to be! I don't ever want to lose that!"
I can read the fear in every word you post. I can hear it in your voice. You're terrified to let go. You don't want to freefall into nothing. I get it and it's okay, Jackson. I can help you move on.
I'll make you better.
I promise.
=^,,^=
LOCATION: Charlotte, North Carolina
DATE/TIME: December 20, 2016 || 05:45AM EST
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
While the coffee was brewing, Kaitlynn watched a chipmunk eating the seed scattered on the ground from the bird feeder that hung above the window. The house was small, almost as modest as the one they'd first shared in Las Vegas – a rental for now until things stabilized. She knew that even sure things didn't always pan out. The glass fogged with her breath and she drew a heart with her finger, putting K + M in the middle of it. Almost a year they'd been married. She'd be wrestling on their anniversary and it made her feel a strange sort of unease. She swallowed the tears back, flinching when the coffeemaker clicked and started running water through the grounds, the rich scent of cinnamon filling the tiny kitchen. For once, everything seemed to be on an even keel. She'd found a company to wrestle in that made her happy and required no travel. She'd come so close to finding her groove again. The last thing she wanted to do was borrow trouble.
Her fingers fussed with the papers, sorting them by size and then as she tapped the stack against the counter, a small index card fluttered to the floor. It was the size of a recipe card, reminding her of the ones she'd used to make talking points before going on camera back when she'd been as green as grass. She hadn't used those since 2003.
"What..?" She bent, picking it up and turning it over, only to see her husband's familiar handwriting on the other side.
'I can wait until you are ready, because for you I would wait forever. My Princess, it is time for you to have your part in happily ever after.'
She remembered finding it almost a year before in the pocket of his pants before washing them – a little cue card for his proposal and now reading it brought all those feelings full circle. She felt her heart swell, the doubts pushed back by the certainty that no matter what life brought their way, he would always be there to catch her when she fell. He knew her too well. He'd no doubt left it there among her scattered notes about her opponents as an anchor to keep her from drifting too far away. The dark waters still haunted her dreams, the depression of the holidays threatening to pull her under like it always did. At least this year she had a distraction. She had an anniversary to celebrate outside of that damned holiday and all the pressure that went with it. Chasing gold was at least a familiar ritual. She knew the steps by heart. She could do them without faltering because she'd learned from the best.
By the time she'd gotten his favourite mug out of the cupboard, the machine had clicked off. She set it down and added a little splash of cream and a spoonful of sugar before pouring the fragrant Christmas blend into the cup. It was so warm, so comforting against her hand as she stirred the brew a few times, making sure the sugar had dissolved before setting the spoon down. She cupped the mug between both, walking quickly towards the bedroom, never spilling a drop before it came to rest on the bedside table.
Leaning down, she kissed his cheek, whispering, "Good morning, my Prince," as she ran her fingers through his hair.
His sleepy chuckle let her know that he'd been at least partially awake as she'd entered the room, and his voice still held a touch of that roughness as he reached up one hand to carefully draw his fingertip down over the curve of her cheek. "My Princess," was all he said but she knew he meant more than that. Warm affection was there in his tone to match the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
She breathed in his scent, closing her eyes against more tears that threatened to fall, her voice coming out husky when she spoke. "I love you, Mik. Not just now. Always. Forever," her voice shook as she knelt beside the bed, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "People say that and they never mean it. They say all these pretty things and it's just manipulation, lip service and mindfuckery and everything in between but... I do. I mean it. Until the end of time. You're all I need. All I want. Everything."
He didn't say anything. He didn't tell her that he knew. He just cupped her face in his hands, kissing her gently on the forehead before swiping the tears from beneath her eyes with his thumbs. She could read everything he didn't say in his eyes and they spoke volumes before he kissed her again, this time on the lips. "ты мой," he whispered against her skin.
You are mine.
