BECAUSE OF YOU [Trinity 2.0 #3]

Ego isn't permissible in professional wrestling. At least not for long, and never for someone like me. A spring in the step, a smile on the face – oh fuck no! That's not allowed. A moment to hold one's head high and feel a sense of accomplishment is all the trolls need to pounce like sharks at the first red drop in the water. Heaven forbid you have a thing that you're proud of, a thing that you fought really long and hard to achieve. You think you found love. You think you've finally weathered that storm and made it to the crystal-clear waters of paradise and then like seagulls they're here to dig through your trash, shit in your hair and your sails, and ruin it all.

STAY IN YOUR LANE.

I was overjoyed that Trinity came back. I thought maybe I could wake up, roll over and finally let the covers fall off my head because the monsters had been gone for so long. The nightmare could finally fade.

I got cocky; I admit it. I tried to leave the little corner I allowed myself to be painted into – and let's be fair, here. I allowed it because it was easier and the whole time it was happening was so gradual, I managed to tell myself that I liked the colour and the fumes didn't give me a headache almost daily.

It was quiet there. I forgot what it was like to dread looking at my phone screen in the morning because there may be double digits of missed notifications from absolute strangers. Tossing non-sequiturs out into cyberspace made me feel like I still had purpose when I was high and was waiting for sleep to come.

The isolation was better on me mentally than putting my head in the sand and avoiding digital interactions along with the human ones. I was doing quarantine before it was a government mandate. I have to stay in my lane. Keep my head down and mind my p's and q's or someone is gonna post some zoomed in shot of my face from a photo that was actually taken eight years ago. Heaven forbid I love it, that having it in my Twitter bio made me happy even though it wasn't the best quality. I liked the way he was looking at me. I liked the way we looked together and I didn't post it out there for anyone to critique. It wasn't a brag or a boast. It was just a little thing that made me smile in this fucked up world and you had to ruin that. Had to remind me that I'm not a supermodel, that I'm getting a little longer in the tooth than some out here.

WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!

Hand slapped.

I recoil, whimper and slink back to my shadows. Chastised.

The funny thing is, they've been doing it for months. They've been at it, laughing behind my back and I was absolutely oblivious because mute and muffle and the other steps I've taken on various social media applications have given me the ostrich sand, my delicate oblivion. I never asked for your opinion. I take the long way home because it's safer.

I never stray too far from the sidewalk. I stay on the same side so I don't get hurt.

Because of you.

I fell down a rabbit hole and it was nothing like Alice's tumble to Wonderland. It was full of sharp things. You can't walk off an infection.

How is that fair?

Who appointed you the authority? Was there a democratic vote? Was a large enough sample size taken for this to be an unbiased survey?

DON'T STEP ON THE MOME RATHS.

There aren't just foxes in the hen-house anymore. They're everywhere and I'm sick of jumping every time I see a flash of copper.

—K


She heard his phone chime and she got up from the kitchen table, walking out the back door. The grass was long, tickling her calves. Something crawled on her arm and she slapped absently, freezing in horror when she saw the smear of glowing chartreuse on her palm.

A lightning bug.

She hadn't seen any in the yard this year and she immediately lifted her head, blinking away the sudden prickle of tears in the vain attempt to see if there were others. The grass ripples like ocean waves but she saw no flickers. She saw no sparks. She just saw undulating darkness.

"I'm sorry little one," the words came out choked. "Didn't know. I thought..." the irony wasn't lost on her for a moment as the words dried up, hitting the lump of a sob in her throat. She'd thought it was a gnat, a mosquito, a June bug. Something annoying and unwanted.

She heard the creak of the screen door and she sank to her knees, feeling the dew soak the hem of the dress she had on.

A wordless prayer was on her lips for a moment and then she wiped the phosphorescent smear off her palm. She didn't look up, putting a lock of hair between her lips and sucking on the ends.

"You're rattling their cages?"

She didn't answer. It was rhetorical at best and she couldn't find the energy to explain the manic impulse that had possessed her to type that blog and post it without even bothering to read. "Am I still your charm," the lyrics slipped out, her voice barely above a whisper, "or am I just bad luck?"

Hunter let out a soft huff that reminded her so much of the horses that it broke her heart and she felt his warmth as he lowered himself to the overgrown lawn. She wasn't worried about ticks or mosquitoes or anything else – she knew they were safe here in their little slice of paradise. This felt too easy, too much like another orchestrated movement and she couldn't tell if it was riding the storm out or free-falling off into the rabbit hole of mental illness. The vertigo was the same.

"Talk to me." His tone held a note of confusion, pleading and she was drawn to that like a moth to the flame, leaning back against him as his arms encircled her.

"Touched in the head," she said, finally breaking the silence as she blew a puff of air, pushing the damp hair from her lips. "Grammy was from New Brunswick. She said that all the time and I always wondered if that was good or bad. Touched by whom? By what?" Her eyes were closed, a shiver crawling over her skin. "It was like the Southern 'bless your heart', really. 'Don't mind the girl...she's a little touched in the head'. A little bit unstable. Eccentric. I heard her say that about me once, to someone else. She didn't know I was listening; I don't think."

"I'm not sure that's really an insult." She felt his lips touch the top of her head, feeling a rush of something that she couldn't really identify. Her heart ached for him and she wondered how long it was going to be before he grew to resent her too.

"I don't know. She worked with special needs kids. Never that I remember when I was growing up. My mom told me that. Kids with Downs... stuff like that. This would have been back in the 50's and 60's — they called them TR's then... I'm sure you can guess what that stood for." She plucked a handful of grass, letting the freed blades blow through her fingers.

"My mom was terrified of them. Those 'special' kids. I guess she had to wait in the car, picking Grammy up at work and they would be there, gathering around and drooling or whatever and the way she told it was like she was the victim, like those poor kids who didn't know any better wanted to hurt her. Irrational fear that she tried to poison me with, like anyone not deemed 'normal' was cringe-worthy... potentially dangerous. The things she'd say...in restaurants and public spaces when she'd see someone who wasn't... someone who was... you know? And she'd remind me of those times when she was a kid as if that was an excuse and I just..." she faltered, trying to rationalize this track her mind had gone off on. "Sometimes you wonder how the apple manages to fall away from the tree and roll down the hill, you know? And I can't stop thinking about the idea of being touched in the head like that's..." she shuddered, ducking her head as though she wanted to turtle away from that poison in her head.

"Like that's...?"

"Is that what I am?"

"Touched? Special?" He gave her a squeeze for emphasis. "Right now? Yeah."

"No." She laughed bitterly, "not like that. Am I defective?"

His chuckle was more a rumble she felt since her ear was against his chest.

"I'm serious. Am I the reason Trinity failed the first time? Am I the reason Victory closed its doors the moment gold landed around my waist?"

"Are you the reason that toxic cesspool OCW scattered like roaches and re-branded elsewhere?" He was quick to counter her lament, "I don't know why you give them free real estate in your head. It's always going to drain you... and for what? Why do you care what they think?"

"Touched in the head," she repeated, "my only recourse now is to drown myself like Ophelia. Shift the comedy to tragedy."

"I thought cats were hydrophobic?" He was teasing, knowing she wasn't serious. No matter what came down the pipe, she would never take the same route her twin brother did. She was talking broader terms, metaphors.  

"Blood's thicker. Less objectionable."

She could feel his smile in the kiss to her temple, in the tightening of his arms around her. "Oh, so it's like that, huh?"

She felt that cold smirk crossing her lips as she closed her eyes, feeling the chaos start to quiet as the wind blew over them, as the night grew darker. Past the point of no return, she realized she didn't care. Thomas Snow was out of the tournament. She'd expected to end up facing Oliver Last instead of the glorified Girl Scout Cookie.

Who calls themselves Ginger Snaps and hopes to be taken seriously? Probably the same type who doesn't get that Kitty is the name that was given to you by the one who understood your soul, the one that always seemed to fit when the one you were given at birth always seemed too much of a burden. Using it now is an homage, a return to the comfort zone, if nothing more. 

"Safety net," she murmured. Things never panned out the way they were supposed to and she'd been rolling with the changes for years. "Rivers of blood," she returned to her original track, thinking about how magical it would be to face Sarah Lacklan in the finals. Give that idiot something to write about on her Princess Unicorn Sparkly blog. Of course, she'd have to make it past a fired-up Christina first.

Good fucking luck, bitchcakes.

That thought brought a rueful laugh from her lips.

"You okay?"

"Mmhmm." She tilted her head back, looking into that face she loved so much. "Not yet," her voice came out soft, ringing with conviction, "but I will be soon."

"That's my girl."