001: Hey Rabbit, I Came To Win
Aug 26, 2016 21:43:07 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Aug 26, 2016 21:43:07 GMT -5
LOCATION: THE PAST: Los Angeles, California
DATE/TIME: June 14, 2002 || 08:47AM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Brad Jackson's bare feet slapped against the hardwood as he sat up, silencing the alarm. Dragging in a deep breath, the intended yawn became more a sigh as the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled his lungs. Padding silently across the loft, he cocked his head, listening to the silence before he felt a reverberation through the floor. He filled his cup and made his way through the doorway, leaning on the railing. Kitty was already down below in nothing but a hot pink sports bra and the tiniest shorts he'd ever seen – barefoot.
"Hey," he called down, watching her ponytail swing as she pounded on the heavy bag.
"Hey yourself," she called back, "got sick of waiting so I decided to warm up a little."
"Waiting?" He lifted the cup to his lips, draining half of the black coffee in one long swallow. "For what?"
"Hilarious, really." She stopped, pivoted and glared at him, "you said last night that you'd help me train. Remember? That was your way of apologizing for almost bashing my brains in with that Louisville slugger of yours."
Jackson stared at her, brain still foggy, "I did? Doesn't sound like me – you sure? Was I awake when I said it? Was I sober? Pretty sure I'd remember something like–"
"JAX!" The scream was one of outrage, and he waved it off with a chuckle.
"Okay, Jesus Christ. Don't get your panties in a wad. I'm coming." Ten seconds later they were facing each other across the cushioned mats. He still had the cup of coffee in hand. "Not in Kansas anymore, baby. You ready to tango with a real wrestler?"
She smiled, brushing the errant strands of hair off her face. "Yeah, I'm ready, Bradley. Promise you won't hurt me," she crooned as she moved in closer, reaching up to kiss him softly on the lips.
He chuckled, a sound of contentment as he pulled her close, hugging her tight. The clean scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, accompanied by the sickeningly sweet scent of her cotton candy perfume. "I won't hurt you, Kitty." His words were sincere, his eyes fixed on her as she pulled back from his embrace. "How about we start with—"
Her palm smashed into his solar plexus and then she dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him. He was on his back, gasping for air even as she caught the coffee cup, lifting it to her lips with a triumphant smile. "How about you start without the patronizing tone, hmm?"
"Touché," he wheezed.
LOCATION: THE PAST: REDACTED
DATE/TIME: March 18, 2013 || 11:03PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
There were no windows in the bunker.
They'd stripped the room while she'd been sedated, completely scrubbing it other than the damned camera still mounted in the corner and she spent a good hour flipping it off in a disconsolate silence. The computer was gone. So was the little USB-powered radio. All the books that they'd brought from her hotel room – Sabra's favourites, lovingly dog-eared with pages marked over passages that she knew Kitty would like best. They were all gone and she felt like a teenager, moping around her room on some sort of ludicrous time out.
The door opened and closed and she didn't bother to look up past the tangle of her hair, continuing to hang over the edge of the military cot that served as her bed.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room before the chair creaked under his weight. She smelled cheap cologne, knew who it was without looking up. "Here to tell me why I'm a bad, bad girl?"
The psychiatrist cleared his throat, "Kaitlynn," that cultured accent always made her feel small.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"Are you?"
She snorted derisively. "Sure. I'm just a little tired, considering. I mean, they did shoot me full of all the tranquilizers they had," Kitty lifted her hand, letting it flop back against the mattress. "See? Steady as a rock. Don't worry. I'm not losing my shit. That's why they sent you in here, isn't it?"
"Can we talk about the letter?"
"No."
"I'm not your enemy, Kaitlynn."
She sighed. Loudly. "Right. And they're not my jailers. And this isn't the seventh level of hell. And it will all be over soon when Anthony motherfuckin' Gambini is in custody. Except we both know that's never going to happen and I'm just this loose end that's never going to be tied – best you can do is keep me hidden away until they decide to make me disappear."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Of course you don't," she rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "You're my friend, right? That's what you want me to believe. Except we both know that's a load of shit. I don't have friends. I don't even have a husband anymore. Did all of this for him... to save his sorry ass and..." she trailed off, making a frustrated noise. "It's been almost six months. I just want to go home. God, I'd give anything right now to be on the road, to be bunking down in some tour bus or a random hotel or even sleeping in the back of a car like I did when Robby and I started out."
"What will you do when you get to go back?"
She made an exasperated sound, shaking her head, "I had to delete Twitter... my email... I had to get rid of Instagram and everything social media – I don't even know. Look for closure, I guess. Spit on Gambini's grave. I'd say give Alex that divorce, but that's moot now, isn't it? I mean, I'm dead. Legally, speaking. I don't exist. So... he's free to do whatever in the hell he wants. With whomever. And the media vultures will clamour if they catch wind of the reason I disappeared... if anyone tells them the shit Gambini did to me, that two-bit wannabe Michael Corleone. I'm a wrestler. I'm not some stupid wise-gal. I'm not some mafia groupie. I'm... I'm... I'm just a girl from Hamilton who wanted to be famous." She laughed bitterly, "there's something worthy of an epitaph. Here lies Kitty: she just wanted to be famous. She just wanted to be loved."
"Did you?"
"Of course. I wanted to be the best. I saw the way they looked up to Brad, the way they hung on every word, the way the talentless turds went out of their way to copy him. I wanted that for myself."
"We all want to make our mark on the world. We all want to leave something behind. That's why so many women you age have families."
She pointed a finger, scowling, "don't you even start on that bullshit. I don't," her voice faltered, "I don't want that. This world is too fucked up to bring a child into... so whatever you're going to say about me going with the flow, about how I just need to ride the storm out or whatever... get on with it. We'll pretend I'm in some fucking halfway house... like I'm just 'exhasuted', like I need a good nap and everything'll go back to peachy-keen." The anger was there in her voice as she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She took a few deep breaths, flinching when his hand rested on her shoulder.
"Being angry is natural, Kaitlynn," he said softly, "the man tried to rape you."
"All due respect," she rolled over, glaring at him, "I'm going to be hard-pressed not to punch you in the face if you don't get the hell out of here. Now."
"Tell me about this letter. Tell me about this... Mikhail, was it?"
"No." She bit her lip, stubbornly closing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest. "Absolutely not. He's..." special died on her lips as she bit the bottom one hard enough to taste blood.
"Do you love him?"
"Love is a joke," she scoffed, rolling her eyes through the tears, "it's a chemical reaction that makes you high, isn't that what they say? That true love isn't real?" Kitty sighed, "being alone is what I deserve. I twisted so many guys around my fingers over the years... I lied... I manipulated. This... t-this is karma, right?"
"Karma doesn't exist." The doctor said, patting her shoulder, "and every mistake is meant to be a learning opportunity. You've already come so far, Kaitlynn. Maybe you can't see the progress for the pain, but I can. You have to trust, child. Trust and believe."
"In what?"
"Things happen for a reason, in their own time. Have a little faith, Kaitlynn. It's brought you this far, hasn't it?"
"Faith? Fuck that."
LOCATION: THE PRESENT: somewhere in California
DATE/TIME: July 19, 2016 || sunrise
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Dawn was nothing more than a pinkish hue on the horizon and she'd already been up for an hour. Barefoot in yoga pants and that old standby pink sports bra, Kaitlynn stood on the hill overlooking the paddock, the soft sounds of the horses nickering to each other almost as soothing as the gentle breeze. Breathing in slowly, she moved from the half-moon pose into a standing split, holding her breath until her lungs started to burn. Switching stance, she moved through the same two exercises with the opposite side, feeling the burning in her hamstring.
Mikhail knew when she'd gotten up, he never put it into words of course but he was always possessed of a sort of awareness when it came to his beloved wife. It would likely make little sense to someone that wasn't Russian, but it was still something he felt and experienced. He was far slower to rise, to give her time to do what she must before he stepped out on the porch of their farmhouse in sleep pants and unlaced heavy work boots, a thermos of very hot tea in his hands. By the time he felt that it was right to go up and join her, the tea would be tolerable. For now though, he was content to watch her form, even in the lowest of light and waiting for the dawn.
Fluidly, she moved through a few more poses, her eyes closed against the brightening sky, ignoring the twinges in her muscles. She bent and twisted, proving to herself that she was still as flexible as she'd always been, still as strong as ever even though her arms were shaking when she knelt, resting her forehead against her knees. That pose she held longer than the others, feeling her spine crackle as she stretched her arms out, fingers sliding through the dew-soaked grass.
Watching her, an idea hit him and Mikhail ducked back into the house for a few minutes. He came back out on the porch, boots thumping as he finally headed down the steps and walked toward his wife. He still had the thermos of course, but now he had a dryer-warmed towel flipped over one shoulder as he approached his wife, his voice holding a tone as warm as the cloth as he crouched down near her. "Kaitlynn. There you are," spoken as if he hadn't already known.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she straightened up slowly, turning her head to look at him as her eyes opened. Seeing his face in the first light of dawn was the most wonderful thing, that tenderness that always shone in his eyes nearly overwhelming today. "I couldn't sleep so I thought..." she let the words trail off, knowing he would understand without her fumbling for an explanation.
"Sometimes, we move. It is all we can do." It might sound cryptic to anyone but Kaitlynn but he had that assurance that she would understand him; she always did. "Here." He handed her the warm towel first, the weather had been unseasonable this year, fluctuating warm to cold and he wondered if it might rain later in the day. A shake of his head to clear his thoughts before he offered her the thermos, "when you are ready. I will listen as well, when you tell me who it is chasing you from our bed so early."
"You know me too well." She wrapped the towel around her shoulders like a shawl, feeling the warmth against her damp, chilled skin like an embrace. Cupping her hands around the thermos, she sighed. "The ghosts are loud, Mik," her voice came out hoarse, strained, "thinking too much about corpses I should have left buried, mistakes I've made. The usual, I suppose." There was a significant pause, "and it's driving me up the damned wall because I still don't understand what I did wrong... why they wanted me gone. To terminate my contract while I was still recovering from that shoulder strain..." she frowned, fell silent for a few seconds, "it was shady. And you know why I didn't fight it."
Mikhail inclined his head, his dark eyes filled with that warmth that had always been there for her. He didn't respond. They both knew why she'd found it easier to walk away.
"I'm afraid. For the first time... I'm terrified. Not of Nick Perry – I've seen enough to know I can handle him. I'm just... what if this goes the same way that SCW did? What if Brytain was right? What if I've done the worst damage possible... what if I've tainted your sister's legacy, and destroyed the Queen of Sin name for good?"
A hint of a smile curled his lips before he spoke, his tone gentle, that soft Russian accent comforting. "This is why, no matter what or who may stand in your way, you will find a way to win. Perhaps not one battle, but the war? That, my Princess, that is already yours. This I believe."
"I'll win." She nodded, leaning against him, "I've come too far to quit now and there's no damn way I'm going to let them... no." She shook her head, "no. They're not going to take this away from me. I'm a goddamned Queen. I earned that. And they are going to BOW before me whether they like it or not."
"I have no doubts, my Princess." Mikhail kissed the top of her head, drawing her in close enough that he could feel her vibrating with that pent-up anger. His voice was firm, ice in the words as he promised, "they will pay."
DATE/TIME: June 14, 2002 || 08:47AM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Brad Jackson's bare feet slapped against the hardwood as he sat up, silencing the alarm. Dragging in a deep breath, the intended yawn became more a sigh as the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled his lungs. Padding silently across the loft, he cocked his head, listening to the silence before he felt a reverberation through the floor. He filled his cup and made his way through the doorway, leaning on the railing. Kitty was already down below in nothing but a hot pink sports bra and the tiniest shorts he'd ever seen – barefoot.
"Hey," he called down, watching her ponytail swing as she pounded on the heavy bag.
"Hey yourself," she called back, "got sick of waiting so I decided to warm up a little."
"Waiting?" He lifted the cup to his lips, draining half of the black coffee in one long swallow. "For what?"
"Hilarious, really." She stopped, pivoted and glared at him, "you said last night that you'd help me train. Remember? That was your way of apologizing for almost bashing my brains in with that Louisville slugger of yours."
Jackson stared at her, brain still foggy, "I did? Doesn't sound like me – you sure? Was I awake when I said it? Was I sober? Pretty sure I'd remember something like–"
"JAX!" The scream was one of outrage, and he waved it off with a chuckle.
"Okay, Jesus Christ. Don't get your panties in a wad. I'm coming." Ten seconds later they were facing each other across the cushioned mats. He still had the cup of coffee in hand. "Not in Kansas anymore, baby. You ready to tango with a real wrestler?"
She smiled, brushing the errant strands of hair off her face. "Yeah, I'm ready, Bradley. Promise you won't hurt me," she crooned as she moved in closer, reaching up to kiss him softly on the lips.
He chuckled, a sound of contentment as he pulled her close, hugging her tight. The clean scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, accompanied by the sickeningly sweet scent of her cotton candy perfume. "I won't hurt you, Kitty." His words were sincere, his eyes fixed on her as she pulled back from his embrace. "How about we start with—"
Her palm smashed into his solar plexus and then she dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him. He was on his back, gasping for air even as she caught the coffee cup, lifting it to her lips with a triumphant smile. "How about you start without the patronizing tone, hmm?"
"Touché," he wheezed.
LOCATION: THE PAST: REDACTED
DATE/TIME: March 18, 2013 || 11:03PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
There were no windows in the bunker.
They'd stripped the room while she'd been sedated, completely scrubbing it other than the damned camera still mounted in the corner and she spent a good hour flipping it off in a disconsolate silence. The computer was gone. So was the little USB-powered radio. All the books that they'd brought from her hotel room – Sabra's favourites, lovingly dog-eared with pages marked over passages that she knew Kitty would like best. They were all gone and she felt like a teenager, moping around her room on some sort of ludicrous time out.
The door opened and closed and she didn't bother to look up past the tangle of her hair, continuing to hang over the edge of the military cot that served as her bed.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room before the chair creaked under his weight. She smelled cheap cologne, knew who it was without looking up. "Here to tell me why I'm a bad, bad girl?"
The psychiatrist cleared his throat, "Kaitlynn," that cultured accent always made her feel small.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"Are you?"
She snorted derisively. "Sure. I'm just a little tired, considering. I mean, they did shoot me full of all the tranquilizers they had," Kitty lifted her hand, letting it flop back against the mattress. "See? Steady as a rock. Don't worry. I'm not losing my shit. That's why they sent you in here, isn't it?"
"Can we talk about the letter?"
"No."
"I'm not your enemy, Kaitlynn."
She sighed. Loudly. "Right. And they're not my jailers. And this isn't the seventh level of hell. And it will all be over soon when Anthony motherfuckin' Gambini is in custody. Except we both know that's never going to happen and I'm just this loose end that's never going to be tied – best you can do is keep me hidden away until they decide to make me disappear."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Of course you don't," she rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "You're my friend, right? That's what you want me to believe. Except we both know that's a load of shit. I don't have friends. I don't even have a husband anymore. Did all of this for him... to save his sorry ass and..." she trailed off, making a frustrated noise. "It's been almost six months. I just want to go home. God, I'd give anything right now to be on the road, to be bunking down in some tour bus or a random hotel or even sleeping in the back of a car like I did when Robby and I started out."
"What will you do when you get to go back?"
She made an exasperated sound, shaking her head, "I had to delete Twitter... my email... I had to get rid of Instagram and everything social media – I don't even know. Look for closure, I guess. Spit on Gambini's grave. I'd say give Alex that divorce, but that's moot now, isn't it? I mean, I'm dead. Legally, speaking. I don't exist. So... he's free to do whatever in the hell he wants. With whomever. And the media vultures will clamour if they catch wind of the reason I disappeared... if anyone tells them the shit Gambini did to me, that two-bit wannabe Michael Corleone. I'm a wrestler. I'm not some stupid wise-gal. I'm not some mafia groupie. I'm... I'm... I'm just a girl from Hamilton who wanted to be famous." She laughed bitterly, "there's something worthy of an epitaph. Here lies Kitty: she just wanted to be famous. She just wanted to be loved."
"Did you?"
"Of course. I wanted to be the best. I saw the way they looked up to Brad, the way they hung on every word, the way the talentless turds went out of their way to copy him. I wanted that for myself."
"We all want to make our mark on the world. We all want to leave something behind. That's why so many women you age have families."
She pointed a finger, scowling, "don't you even start on that bullshit. I don't," her voice faltered, "I don't want that. This world is too fucked up to bring a child into... so whatever you're going to say about me going with the flow, about how I just need to ride the storm out or whatever... get on with it. We'll pretend I'm in some fucking halfway house... like I'm just 'exhasuted', like I need a good nap and everything'll go back to peachy-keen." The anger was there in her voice as she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She took a few deep breaths, flinching when his hand rested on her shoulder.
"Being angry is natural, Kaitlynn," he said softly, "the man tried to rape you."
"All due respect," she rolled over, glaring at him, "I'm going to be hard-pressed not to punch you in the face if you don't get the hell out of here. Now."
"Tell me about this letter. Tell me about this... Mikhail, was it?"
"No." She bit her lip, stubbornly closing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest. "Absolutely not. He's..." special died on her lips as she bit the bottom one hard enough to taste blood.
"Do you love him?"
"Love is a joke," she scoffed, rolling her eyes through the tears, "it's a chemical reaction that makes you high, isn't that what they say? That true love isn't real?" Kitty sighed, "being alone is what I deserve. I twisted so many guys around my fingers over the years... I lied... I manipulated. This... t-this is karma, right?"
"Karma doesn't exist." The doctor said, patting her shoulder, "and every mistake is meant to be a learning opportunity. You've already come so far, Kaitlynn. Maybe you can't see the progress for the pain, but I can. You have to trust, child. Trust and believe."
"In what?"
"Things happen for a reason, in their own time. Have a little faith, Kaitlynn. It's brought you this far, hasn't it?"
"Faith? Fuck that."
LOCATION: THE PRESENT: somewhere in California
DATE/TIME: July 19, 2016 || sunrise
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Dawn was nothing more than a pinkish hue on the horizon and she'd already been up for an hour. Barefoot in yoga pants and that old standby pink sports bra, Kaitlynn stood on the hill overlooking the paddock, the soft sounds of the horses nickering to each other almost as soothing as the gentle breeze. Breathing in slowly, she moved from the half-moon pose into a standing split, holding her breath until her lungs started to burn. Switching stance, she moved through the same two exercises with the opposite side, feeling the burning in her hamstring.
Mikhail knew when she'd gotten up, he never put it into words of course but he was always possessed of a sort of awareness when it came to his beloved wife. It would likely make little sense to someone that wasn't Russian, but it was still something he felt and experienced. He was far slower to rise, to give her time to do what she must before he stepped out on the porch of their farmhouse in sleep pants and unlaced heavy work boots, a thermos of very hot tea in his hands. By the time he felt that it was right to go up and join her, the tea would be tolerable. For now though, he was content to watch her form, even in the lowest of light and waiting for the dawn.
Fluidly, she moved through a few more poses, her eyes closed against the brightening sky, ignoring the twinges in her muscles. She bent and twisted, proving to herself that she was still as flexible as she'd always been, still as strong as ever even though her arms were shaking when she knelt, resting her forehead against her knees. That pose she held longer than the others, feeling her spine crackle as she stretched her arms out, fingers sliding through the dew-soaked grass.
Watching her, an idea hit him and Mikhail ducked back into the house for a few minutes. He came back out on the porch, boots thumping as he finally headed down the steps and walked toward his wife. He still had the thermos of course, but now he had a dryer-warmed towel flipped over one shoulder as he approached his wife, his voice holding a tone as warm as the cloth as he crouched down near her. "Kaitlynn. There you are," spoken as if he hadn't already known.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she straightened up slowly, turning her head to look at him as her eyes opened. Seeing his face in the first light of dawn was the most wonderful thing, that tenderness that always shone in his eyes nearly overwhelming today. "I couldn't sleep so I thought..." she let the words trail off, knowing he would understand without her fumbling for an explanation.
"Sometimes, we move. It is all we can do." It might sound cryptic to anyone but Kaitlynn but he had that assurance that she would understand him; she always did. "Here." He handed her the warm towel first, the weather had been unseasonable this year, fluctuating warm to cold and he wondered if it might rain later in the day. A shake of his head to clear his thoughts before he offered her the thermos, "when you are ready. I will listen as well, when you tell me who it is chasing you from our bed so early."
"You know me too well." She wrapped the towel around her shoulders like a shawl, feeling the warmth against her damp, chilled skin like an embrace. Cupping her hands around the thermos, she sighed. "The ghosts are loud, Mik," her voice came out hoarse, strained, "thinking too much about corpses I should have left buried, mistakes I've made. The usual, I suppose." There was a significant pause, "and it's driving me up the damned wall because I still don't understand what I did wrong... why they wanted me gone. To terminate my contract while I was still recovering from that shoulder strain..." she frowned, fell silent for a few seconds, "it was shady. And you know why I didn't fight it."
Mikhail inclined his head, his dark eyes filled with that warmth that had always been there for her. He didn't respond. They both knew why she'd found it easier to walk away.
"I'm afraid. For the first time... I'm terrified. Not of Nick Perry – I've seen enough to know I can handle him. I'm just... what if this goes the same way that SCW did? What if Brytain was right? What if I've done the worst damage possible... what if I've tainted your sister's legacy, and destroyed the Queen of Sin name for good?"
A hint of a smile curled his lips before he spoke, his tone gentle, that soft Russian accent comforting. "This is why, no matter what or who may stand in your way, you will find a way to win. Perhaps not one battle, but the war? That, my Princess, that is already yours. This I believe."
"I'll win." She nodded, leaning against him, "I've come too far to quit now and there's no damn way I'm going to let them... no." She shook her head, "no. They're not going to take this away from me. I'm a goddamned Queen. I earned that. And they are going to BOW before me whether they like it or not."
"I have no doubts, my Princess." Mikhail kissed the top of her head, drawing her in close enough that he could feel her vibrating with that pent-up anger. His voice was firm, ice in the words as he promised, "they will pay."
