Post by daturawashere on Feb 25, 2023 4:28:45 GMT
Tampa, Florida
October 27, 2022
Silence. It’s all I want. Words make things complicated, cause misunderstandings. But my mind? It’s a torrent of two words flooding constantly over my consciousness.
From the large black couch in the living room, I can see Salem redecorating her room. Her hand delicately caresses a silver pentagram before placing it on top of the black dresser. I close my eyes and inhale. The smell of sage drifts through the doorway.
“Liz?” My eyes burst open and fall upon Salem, who has snuck her way into the living room. Disbelief courses through my entire body. How did she get here? “Liz, are you okay?” Salem’s worry rings in my ear. I open my mouth to reassure her, but my tongue is dry. I choke on the words.
“I’m…” I swallow. It feels like an anvil in my throat. It drops down into my stomach, splashing up embarrassment from the depths into my esophagus. It tastes like abandonment. What if she gets angry? What if she leaves? What if I never see her again?
Ask her.
“I’m fine.” I respond. My cheeks grow tender, flushed the color of roses. My eyes instinctively drop from Salem’s as she watches over me. Courage is a difficult thing to come by. I can pretend. I do it often. But tonight, four days before Halloween, I am petrified into speechlessness.
“What’s wrong?” Salem asks. I finally grow the fortitude to look back up. Her face is pale, paler than usual. Concern is a mask she wears beautifully. I inhale through my mouth and hold it. I count to four before exhaling for another four seconds. I repeat this process several times, as my therapist demanded. It does not help.
“I uhm…” I have been hit in the head with chairs, put through tables, jumped off of cages, and run headfirst into fire. But this? This is the thing of horrors. As my heart punches my chest, I wince and look back down to my hand. “I’m really sorry if this comes off as awkward or strange or… whatever the case may be. Someone asked me a question the other day, and I realized I didn’t have a straight answer.”
“What question?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I am extremely happy with what we have. When I say I’m living because you’re here, I mean that in both the most literal and figurative senses. You make me the happiest I’ve been since Girl Power, and I know that this is just an issue of semantics, and I know we’re living together and…” I sigh and close both hands into fists. My brain immediately returns to the mid 2010s. There, in front of thousands of fans, I wear my blood like an extra layer of skin. I stare across the ring to Salem, who wears the same. As our eyes meet, we smile. “Would you… with what we’re doing…would you consider us to be… dating?”
Salem’s mouth opens in what I can only assume to be shock. Before she can answer, I jump in to give her an escape.
“If it’s not okay: I totally get it. I won’t feel bad; I won’t push it or anything. If you don’t want to put a label on it, I completely understand, and I’m okay with however you want to proceed, but being unsure has been eating me up. I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
A faint chuckle rises from Salem and blossoms into full fledged laughter. Her hand jumps to her mouth in an attempt to thwart it, but her amusement is too boisterous to contain. All of my breath leaves me at once. I feel like a rejected schoolgirl. I shift my gaze off to the side again and nod. Wonderful. I wonder how long it will take to help her pack. Will she even want my help? Maybe I should just lock myself in my room…
Without warning, Salem leans forward and presses her lips into mine. My eyes burst open, and I feel an unfamiliar warmth permeate through my veins. As she pulls away, I gasp, collecting myself.
“Stop apologizing. There’s no need to be worried or nervous, hon. So let’s just spell it out: I’m your girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend. We are girlfriends. We are dating. I don’t mind labels.” As an adult, I should not feel what I am feeling. The giddiness, the uncontrollable glee. But, for the first time in eight years…I feel needed. Loved. I reach forward, clasping my wounded hand into hers. With a soft tug, I pull her onto my lap and bury head into her shoulder.
“I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” I say, my words muffled by Salem’s shoulder.
“You really are. Fortunately, I’m not keeping score or making a mental note for a future IOU” I giggle. I imagine she is wearing her trademark smirk. I pull my head back.
“You know if you want or need anything, I will gladly provide. I adore you. You know that?”
“I do.”
“Sit with me a while?”
“Of course, my love.”
“I’m sorry I’m so needy. It’s just…” Salem flicks my forehead.
“I said stop apologizing.”
“...you’re the only thing that keeps the hopelessness at bay.”
—
London, England
February 24, 2023
“Before we begin, I would like to address the obvious question: why am I here?” I shift my eyes off to the side, pulling back the memories of December.
“The answer is quite simple. As disappointed as I am in the result of that main event two months ago, I understand now. Despite my preparations, despite my calculations… I failed. And that is not something that I admit lightly.” I click my tongue and squint, returning my gaze to the camera.
“Yet, in that loss, I learned something. Rather, I rediscovered something.” I chuckle. “For years now, and there have been many, I have wandered alone, lost to my sense of purpose. Those of you who watch Supreme Championship Wrestling have watched my decline, my absent mindedness, my meandering, my weakness.” I gnash my teeth together.
“I have not been myself. But despite my defeat at the hands of Casanova English, something happened at the very moment my head hit that concrete. If you remember, I did not lapse into unconsciousness. No. But I had…” I pause, tapping my finger against the armrest of the red smoking chair, attempting to articulate exactly what transpired. “Some would call it an out of body experience.”
“It was a strange sensation. I could feel everything, mind you. I felt the comforting warmth of blood trailing down my forehead, I felt my skull rattle and throb, I felt the limpness in my limbs.” The reminder sends a shiver through my body. “But as I looked down and Casanova rolled over my lifeless body, I did something no one else would have done, something I usually would not have done. I kicked out.”
“And in that moment, I realized. I used to haunt the Visionaries of Wrestling locker room; I was the hellion of Girl Power Wrestling. What happened to make me so fragile? The answer is simple. I lost my taste for blood. Figuratively, of course.” I wink.
“Unfortunately, that is where you come in, Miss Beaufort.” I smile, bowing my head in a sign of respect. “I want to make something very clear. You asked for this.” I stare directly into the camera and tilt my head to the side.
“It was January 27th. I remember your words quite vividly— you expressed displeasure with the quantity of deathmatches CULT management put you in. You were so excited to be booked in normal competition. I found it… adorable. In fact, I think that is a perfectly accurate way to describe you. Your bubbly optimism, your undeniable drive to improve, your will to have the best match possible. All of these attributes are absolutely adorable. But they also make you dangerous.” I blink several times and let the thought marinate.
“There is a tendency in this business to discount plucky upstarts like you. We all see it happen: experienced competitors see someone who has only been a professional for a couple of years and consider them unrefined and inexperienced. Eevan Maloney even insinuated that you were not a real wrestler, whatever that means. Adrienne,I think that mindset is foolish. One does not judge a novelist by how long they have been writing; One judges them on the quality of their work.” I sigh and shake my head before straightening it out.
“And from my perspective, The French Rose has the intangible qualities that make an excellent competitor.” I pause. “Is she squeamish? Certainly. Is she painstakingly innocent? Of course. Does she struggle to close a match? Yes, she does, but I urge you. I urge you to go back and watch her recent matches. Let us begin at The People versus Casanova English.”
This time, my eyes move up to the ceiling. “Despite being intimidated by the match stipulation, Adrienne got first blood, and she did so with that background in judo. It was not Beaufort who went into the tacks first, but The Warmonger. Now, I concede that was short-lived. Maloney took control, but how did The French Rose respond? But shoving a handful of thumbtacks into her mouth and spitting them at her opponent. How many people would go so far? Not many. Not many at all.” The memory drives me to laughter.
“Now, for someone who is not a real wrestler, she sure held her own. That suplex? That moment she drove Maloney face first into tacks? For someone who went into the match scared, she certainly got comfortable very quickly.” I snap my finger. “But, in the end, she got caught. It is as simple as that.”
“And at Ladder Day Saints, Adrienne Beaufort got her wish and showed us exactly what she can do in a regular match. That hand shake, that chain wrestling? That match was art. She stood toe-to-toe with someone the caliber of Jennie Fenix. Until she didn’t. She came out ahead of that grappling match only to run straight into an elbow.” I sigh and rub my face in frustration.
“Now, I must pay respects. To kick out of the Three Wishes is no easy feat, and Beaufort did just that. She is tenacious. But tenacious is not enough. She even got back in control once more, but then what happened? She bounced herself off the rope, and she got caught. Again.” I raise my finger and wag it at the camera.
“There is a pattern emerging, and I do not like it.” My disappointment morphs into anger.
“Adrienne, you have all of the qualities that make someone a threat. You have heart, you have martial arts skills, you have so much, and yet every time you step into the ring, you let yourself fall victim to your own carelessness. You are better than that.” These final words escape near-scream.
“And on February 28th, I want you to prove me right.” My top lips curls upward. “I want you to come onto my turf, into my home, and I want you to show them exactly why I respect you. Because the truth is, I am coming home to England for one reason:
“I want your bones.” My breath grows shallow as it passes in and out of my lips.
“You got what you wanted. There will be no tacks, no chairs, maybe even no blood. There will only be two people trying to make the other submit. And darling, after fifteen agonizing years of bending and breaking others, I do not plan on coming all the way home just to tap out in front of my friends and family.” I shake my head to emphasize my point.
October 27, 2022
Silence. It’s all I want. Words make things complicated, cause misunderstandings. But my mind? It’s a torrent of two words flooding constantly over my consciousness.
Ask her.
From the large black couch in the living room, I can see Salem redecorating her room. Her hand delicately caresses a silver pentagram before placing it on top of the black dresser. I close my eyes and inhale. The smell of sage drifts through the doorway.
Ask her.
“Liz?” My eyes burst open and fall upon Salem, who has snuck her way into the living room. Disbelief courses through my entire body. How did she get here? “Liz, are you okay?” Salem’s worry rings in my ear. I open my mouth to reassure her, but my tongue is dry. I choke on the words.
“I’m…” I swallow. It feels like an anvil in my throat. It drops down into my stomach, splashing up embarrassment from the depths into my esophagus. It tastes like abandonment. What if she gets angry? What if she leaves? What if I never see her again?
Ask her.
“I’m fine.” I respond. My cheeks grow tender, flushed the color of roses. My eyes instinctively drop from Salem’s as she watches over me. Courage is a difficult thing to come by. I can pretend. I do it often. But tonight, four days before Halloween, I am petrified into speechlessness.
“What’s wrong?” Salem asks. I finally grow the fortitude to look back up. Her face is pale, paler than usual. Concern is a mask she wears beautifully. I inhale through my mouth and hold it. I count to four before exhaling for another four seconds. I repeat this process several times, as my therapist demanded. It does not help.
“I uhm…” I have been hit in the head with chairs, put through tables, jumped off of cages, and run headfirst into fire. But this? This is the thing of horrors. As my heart punches my chest, I wince and look back down to my hand. “I’m really sorry if this comes off as awkward or strange or… whatever the case may be. Someone asked me a question the other day, and I realized I didn’t have a straight answer.”
“What question?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I am extremely happy with what we have. When I say I’m living because you’re here, I mean that in both the most literal and figurative senses. You make me the happiest I’ve been since Girl Power, and I know that this is just an issue of semantics, and I know we’re living together and…” I sigh and close both hands into fists. My brain immediately returns to the mid 2010s. There, in front of thousands of fans, I wear my blood like an extra layer of skin. I stare across the ring to Salem, who wears the same. As our eyes meet, we smile. “Would you… with what we’re doing…would you consider us to be… dating?”
Salem’s mouth opens in what I can only assume to be shock. Before she can answer, I jump in to give her an escape.
“If it’s not okay: I totally get it. I won’t feel bad; I won’t push it or anything. If you don’t want to put a label on it, I completely understand, and I’m okay with however you want to proceed, but being unsure has been eating me up. I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
A faint chuckle rises from Salem and blossoms into full fledged laughter. Her hand jumps to her mouth in an attempt to thwart it, but her amusement is too boisterous to contain. All of my breath leaves me at once. I feel like a rejected schoolgirl. I shift my gaze off to the side again and nod. Wonderful. I wonder how long it will take to help her pack. Will she even want my help? Maybe I should just lock myself in my room…
Without warning, Salem leans forward and presses her lips into mine. My eyes burst open, and I feel an unfamiliar warmth permeate through my veins. As she pulls away, I gasp, collecting myself.
“Stop apologizing. There’s no need to be worried or nervous, hon. So let’s just spell it out: I’m your girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend. We are girlfriends. We are dating. I don’t mind labels.” As an adult, I should not feel what I am feeling. The giddiness, the uncontrollable glee. But, for the first time in eight years…I feel needed. Loved. I reach forward, clasping my wounded hand into hers. With a soft tug, I pull her onto my lap and bury head into her shoulder.
“I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” I say, my words muffled by Salem’s shoulder.
“You really are. Fortunately, I’m not keeping score or making a mental note for a future IOU” I giggle. I imagine she is wearing her trademark smirk. I pull my head back.
“You know if you want or need anything, I will gladly provide. I adore you. You know that?”
“I do.”
“Sit with me a while?”
“Of course, my love.”
“I’m sorry I’m so needy. It’s just…” Salem flicks my forehead.
“I said stop apologizing.”
“...you’re the only thing that keeps the hopelessness at bay.”
—
London, England
February 24, 2023
“Before we begin, I would like to address the obvious question: why am I here?” I shift my eyes off to the side, pulling back the memories of December.
“The answer is quite simple. As disappointed as I am in the result of that main event two months ago, I understand now. Despite my preparations, despite my calculations… I failed. And that is not something that I admit lightly.” I click my tongue and squint, returning my gaze to the camera.
“Yet, in that loss, I learned something. Rather, I rediscovered something.” I chuckle. “For years now, and there have been many, I have wandered alone, lost to my sense of purpose. Those of you who watch Supreme Championship Wrestling have watched my decline, my absent mindedness, my meandering, my weakness.” I gnash my teeth together.
“I have not been myself. But despite my defeat at the hands of Casanova English, something happened at the very moment my head hit that concrete. If you remember, I did not lapse into unconsciousness. No. But I had…” I pause, tapping my finger against the armrest of the red smoking chair, attempting to articulate exactly what transpired. “Some would call it an out of body experience.”
“It was a strange sensation. I could feel everything, mind you. I felt the comforting warmth of blood trailing down my forehead, I felt my skull rattle and throb, I felt the limpness in my limbs.” The reminder sends a shiver through my body. “But as I looked down and Casanova rolled over my lifeless body, I did something no one else would have done, something I usually would not have done. I kicked out.”
“And in that moment, I realized. I used to haunt the Visionaries of Wrestling locker room; I was the hellion of Girl Power Wrestling. What happened to make me so fragile? The answer is simple. I lost my taste for blood. Figuratively, of course.” I wink.
“Unfortunately, that is where you come in, Miss Beaufort.” I smile, bowing my head in a sign of respect. “I want to make something very clear. You asked for this.” I stare directly into the camera and tilt my head to the side.
“It was January 27th. I remember your words quite vividly— you expressed displeasure with the quantity of deathmatches CULT management put you in. You were so excited to be booked in normal competition. I found it… adorable. In fact, I think that is a perfectly accurate way to describe you. Your bubbly optimism, your undeniable drive to improve, your will to have the best match possible. All of these attributes are absolutely adorable. But they also make you dangerous.” I blink several times and let the thought marinate.
“There is a tendency in this business to discount plucky upstarts like you. We all see it happen: experienced competitors see someone who has only been a professional for a couple of years and consider them unrefined and inexperienced. Eevan Maloney even insinuated that you were not a real wrestler, whatever that means. Adrienne,I think that mindset is foolish. One does not judge a novelist by how long they have been writing; One judges them on the quality of their work.” I sigh and shake my head before straightening it out.
“And from my perspective, The French Rose has the intangible qualities that make an excellent competitor.” I pause. “Is she squeamish? Certainly. Is she painstakingly innocent? Of course. Does she struggle to close a match? Yes, she does, but I urge you. I urge you to go back and watch her recent matches. Let us begin at The People versus Casanova English.”
This time, my eyes move up to the ceiling. “Despite being intimidated by the match stipulation, Adrienne got first blood, and she did so with that background in judo. It was not Beaufort who went into the tacks first, but The Warmonger. Now, I concede that was short-lived. Maloney took control, but how did The French Rose respond? But shoving a handful of thumbtacks into her mouth and spitting them at her opponent. How many people would go so far? Not many. Not many at all.” The memory drives me to laughter.
“Now, for someone who is not a real wrestler, she sure held her own. That suplex? That moment she drove Maloney face first into tacks? For someone who went into the match scared, she certainly got comfortable very quickly.” I snap my finger. “But, in the end, she got caught. It is as simple as that.”
“And at Ladder Day Saints, Adrienne Beaufort got her wish and showed us exactly what she can do in a regular match. That hand shake, that chain wrestling? That match was art. She stood toe-to-toe with someone the caliber of Jennie Fenix. Until she didn’t. She came out ahead of that grappling match only to run straight into an elbow.” I sigh and rub my face in frustration.
“Now, I must pay respects. To kick out of the Three Wishes is no easy feat, and Beaufort did just that. She is tenacious. But tenacious is not enough. She even got back in control once more, but then what happened? She bounced herself off the rope, and she got caught. Again.” I raise my finger and wag it at the camera.
“There is a pattern emerging, and I do not like it.” My disappointment morphs into anger.
“Adrienne, you have all of the qualities that make someone a threat. You have heart, you have martial arts skills, you have so much, and yet every time you step into the ring, you let yourself fall victim to your own carelessness. You are better than that.” These final words escape near-scream.
“And on February 28th, I want you to prove me right.” My top lips curls upward. “I want you to come onto my turf, into my home, and I want you to show them exactly why I respect you. Because the truth is, I am coming home to England for one reason:
“I want your bones.” My breath grows shallow as it passes in and out of my lips.
“You got what you wanted. There will be no tacks, no chairs, maybe even no blood. There will only be two people trying to make the other submit. And darling, after fifteen agonizing years of bending and breaking others, I do not plan on coming all the way home just to tap out in front of my friends and family.” I shake my head to emphasize my point.
“Bangers and Mash is your opportunity, Miss Beaufort.
Don’t get caught.
Because if you do, I am taking what I came for.”
