vs Nora/Patrick (posted on March 26, 2017)
May 3, 2017 5:08:18 GMT -5
Post by Admin on May 3, 2017 5:08:18 GMT -5
Savannah, Georgia || Friday, March 17, 2017, 9:15 PM (OFF CAMERA)
The shower curtain rod made a decent baseball bat in a pinch – it also made a satisfying CRACK when it impacted with the TV for the third time, finally shattering the screen. LCD, the darkness bled across the glass, blotting out half of the repeated advertising for the hotel's 'all-you-can-eat continental breakfast'. A small part of her insisted this was idiotic, foolish when the accommodations here had been booked by Defiant Wrestling, but she couldn't rein in the anger. It was the same eruption that had spilled out during her match with Kelsey Spencer back in Pure Amusement. The same fury that had led to her completely losing her mind, pummeling Spencer until they'd had to drag her off.
"Stupid horsebeast ugly cow-faced Barbie slut!" The words came out all chained together, like some sort of religious chant as she turned and started smashing the metal rod into the noisy air conditioning unit. Every solid impact brought a new smile to her face until her teeth were bared in a snarl and when the aluminum rod finally snapped, she flung it aside and lunged at the bed, her outraged shrieks muffled by the pillows before she started tearing the linens off.
Her eyes were red, ringed with the liquefied remains of her eye makeup and she knew if anyone saw her right now, they'd want to have her committed. She didn't care and the more she broke, the more she needed to break until the entire room was trashed. Her head was throbbing, her nose running in time with the tears streaming from her eyes and she felt like she was going to be sick. That was the only thing that stopped her rampage and she sat down heavily on the mattress that was halfway off the frame. Beating on the air conditioner had left it stuck on, the fan on high and she shivered as the freezing cold air washed over her, turning the sweat on her skin to ice.
Twice now, in back-to-back matches in two different companies, she'd come up woefully short. It was so damned easy to blame others, to pretend they'd bested her but she knew the truth.
Whatever you used to have, you lost it when you botched that landing. Whatever talent used to be there, It leaked out a long time ago and now you're just fooling yourself in the worst way.
She wondered what Jackson would think if he knew what she was doing now. He'd probably laugh, scoff at her childishness. "Fuck him," she grumbled, swiping at the tears on her face with the back of her hand, "what the hell does he know about losing?"
Nothing, she thought, that's what! I'm so sick of this shit going around and around and around again. Victory closed the moment I found my footing. Pure Amusement did the same. I'm not gonna find it here. I moved on. I survived, and I came here because I wanted to cement a legacy. Fuck that. I failed. Of course I failed because that's what I do.
She snorted loudly, swallowing hard. Tears in her eyes, feeling sullen like a child as she reached for her phone, seeing a text message from Akragth.
How did it go?
Her hands were shaking when she typed out her reply: bad. I lost to Trixie and I kinda just did something epically stupid. Just did a whole Kasey Smash on the hotel room and…
She hit send, waiting a few seconds while a tear plopped down on the screen before typing another: well just call me when you can. I need to hear a friendly voice more than anything right now.
I'm gonna be honest right now. Like maybe the most honest I have ever been. Lies are beneath us. I mean, really, honesty is always the best policy because it requires far less creativity and I've got other things I'd rather waste my mental energy on.
So. Here goes.
I lost. Trixie won. That's the entire story there and I'm not going to waste my time or yours getting into greater detail because Patrick Carson and Nora Harris deserve better that me circling the drain over something as unimportant as losing a match to Bad Kitty Barbie. Since I'm being honest here, I can say that. I can tell you they're a better class of opponent – better class of loser even – I mean, as far as how we're approaching this. And the hardest question is the one that's left unspoken, isn't it? Have either of you thought to ask it? We're the losers. We didn't make it in Savannah – in fact, my partner is the only one who got that nifty extra cash bonus out of the four of us, so the hard questions are waiting in the wings and I bet you haven't even thought to ask them of yourself. What will you do if you lose again? When you lose again? Where will you go when the storm has passed, leaving your shelter in shambles? What then? Will you shake your fists at the heavens and curse the invisible ghost in the machine that damned you to this shitty fate?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Is that being bitchy? Maybe just a little, but I'm sure you'll allow it long enough so that you can roll your eyes and laugh at my skillful driving – and parallel parking – of the bitter bus. But I digress. What's important here is the fact that Nora and our favorite Starfish have been all chummy all week on Twitter, blabbering about training and teaming up and awwww… isn't it sweet that they're making new friends? I let Heidi crash on my couch for a few days. We trained, got on the same page. I played nice. Can I be canonized now?
Saint Kasey sounds pretty good, doesn't it?
Heidi might have beaten Nora, but she didn't win the whole thing.
So really, we're all losers here. If we're going to split hairs, let's do it right. Heidi seized the moment only to fail epically against Aiden. Sure, she didn't get chucked in the river, but she might as well have. There are wins and losses and nobody remembers the other ones who were just filler.
So the question is rhetorical at best: where are you going to go when the storm is over? What do you fall back on when the only thing you know how to do is keep pushing yourself until your body screams for you to stop but you keep on going? How do you cope when the world chews you up and spits you back out completely mangled up? What do you do when you look in the mirror and see a stranger looking back? I don't stop. I get back up and I find another summit to climb. I go on senselessly, relentlessly because this is ALL I know. Do you get it? Do you understand me?
This isn't a game to me. This is a big deal. This is the aftermath they talk about. That defining moment where you can either start to ascend again or go tumbling back to the bottom of the hill and while I'm not keen on the latter, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure it's you two – to make sure it's Patrick Carson and Nora Harris who pull off the ol' Jack & Jill out there. So maybe there's no pecking order on the line… maybe there's no shot at Aidan's title or anything but I'm not going to hold back.
I have things to prove.
I know you both do too.
And with Heidi on my side, I know we've got this. What are you going to do, Patrick? Are you going to bitch and moan and make Ethan want to kill you even worse? What about you, Nora? Are you going to lay down and let this be a mercy killing so you can finally face the truth that you're the most worthless of all of the Harris clan?
Sorry.
It's true.
Saffy is the best and everyone knows it.
What do you do when this sure thing becomes a clusterfuck all because you forgot to invest in the moment? When you've extended your threshold of pain to the point where it's all you know? Have either of you hit that plateau yet? Have you realized how fucking serious this is yet?
I don't think either of you do because while you've been ALL over social media with your ughhhhhhhh 'rah-rah teamwork' garbage, you haven't said a peep to me. To us. And that seriously bothers me.
You've got better things to do like posting 600 selfies? Like dropping little stars on all the ones posted for various days – hearts, they're hearts now. I can't keep up with this shit. Red hearts. Purple horseshoes. Whatever.
I care about wrestling.
I care about winning. Eventually you'll realize this is not the only reason I do the things I do. Eventually you'll come around to my way of thinking. There's no glory at the end of it all. There's nothing, really. You go out there and you cause as much shit as you can before someone ends you. That's the only way to fly. You have to risk everything or it's just empty bullshit in the end. Anything else is just waiting it out like the other shoe dropping is the end of it all.
It's not.
I won't be there when it drops because I'm always moving. On to the next one. To the next fight. The next name on the list. The next stop on the tour.
I can't stop.
I won't stop.
