▢🄾🅃🅷🅴🆁 | ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜɪᴇʟᴅ & ᴍᴇ | Act IV
Apr 28, 2023 0:02:26 GMT
Casanova English, JC Keeton, and 2 more like this
Post by Lissie Hope on Apr 28, 2023 0:02:26 GMT
Two weeks ago. | “You’re embarrassing,” Johnny hissed, with venom dripping from the sharp incisor puncturing his bottom lip. He jabbed his shoulder into my body as he pushed past me; I dug my nails into his forearm and he swung his arm instinctively to create some separation. But the words he said - the same two words he uttered under his breath that left me knocked senseless in a cold, dirty hotel room two years ago - I felt the weight of his punch in all of it’s intensity on the roof of my own building.
But I was made of iron - sharp, stone-cold, the steel of a shield could melt through butter like a burning blade - and I wasn’t going to let myself rot alone under the scorch of the sun.
I heard the door slam behind him – and I gave chase. And like a Tiger uncaged, I was hungry for blood.
“Don’t you dare,” I cried out, my voice bouncing off the hollow walls of the hallway. “Don’t you dare walk away now!”
His pace quickened as I raced behind him; he punched the button of the elevator as I closed in on the prey.
“We’ll talk about this later, Elisabeth,” he said quietly, acutely aware of the neighbors who’d begun to poke their heads out of their doors. But I was uncontrollable and untethered as the steel of the elevator door gave way to my fist like a crater on the moon.
“You embarrass me,” I howled into his ear. “This is how you want me –” my voice cracked, running the gamut of blackened rage to harrowing sadness. “– broken and beaten so you can fly in and save the day.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he growled. The elevator door opened and I propped it open. “Close the door,” he ordered. “Or get in.”
My legs were heavy, and my knees buckled as I stepped in. I stood side-by-side with Johnny, staring at our pained reflections, tears running down the sides of my face. I saw a neighbor on the phone as the door closed. “Guess I’ll be led outta here in handcuffs. Or a straight-jacket,” I joked with resigned callousness. “Everyone wants me to be a prisoner — I should be used to it by now.”
“I was trying to leave -” Johnny grunted. “Just trying to give you some space. Some time.”
“And here I come barreling after you like a wild beast, holding you hostage instead,” I said with a feigned chuckle, wiping my cheeks. “Push people away and then cry when they leave me. God, I am embarrassing - thank you, Johnny,” I sniped sarcastically. His eyes widened as he stared at himself in the reflection. “Thank you for showing what you really think about me –” I said, reaching into my pocket. Johnny’s eyes - once transfixed to the stainless steel - darted down towards my hands, cracked and bloody from the punch into the wall. “- it would just be nice if you told me the truth about yourself.”
I pushed my hand into his chest, feeling his grip tighten around my wrist. My fingers opened as the baggie of Blue Velvet floated to the ground.
“You’re better left in the dark,” he answered solemnly, his voice breaking with a touch of regret.
“...why?” I whimpered, like a desperate child. “You couldn’t ever be the one to tempt me with the apple right? ‘Cause a junkie will always be a fucking junkie. How embarrassing.”
The elevator dinged and the hotel lobby appeared before us. The concierge was already on high-alert; her ear to the phone, her eye to the oncoming freight train.
“That's not who you are,” he uttered quietly. “This is my floor,”
“Wait...” I said, fighting through tears with painful realization. “You’re actually leaving?”
“Back to Oakland, yeah,” he admitted. “Wouldn’t want to overstep more than you already think I do.”
As he began to walk away from me, I couldn’t hold it in. “Coward,” I snarled under my breath. He stopped in his tracks.
“Was I a coward when I took a gang-beating for you?” he said with quiet anger. “Unlike Alice – who took a sledgehammer to Serenity’s mother’s headstone – I know how to honor and respect what you continue to lose. Everything you let go. Everyone you push aw–.” His anger seemed to fade into sorrow. “Nevermind.”
“Just say it,” I begged. He turned to look at me, finally – the pain in his eyes burned a hole in my soul. He glanced down at my blood staining his fingertips.
“I just wish you’d stop bloodying the hands that will move heaven and hell to never let go of yours.”
I watched him walk towards the exit as I backed into the elevator. The fallen baggie caught my eye, and like a fiend in the throes of surrender, I tore it open as the doors closed shut. Shoving the plastic onto my tongue, I finally relapsed - fifteen months of resisting temptation down the gutter with an unholy mix of piss, blood and vomit - and the bitter taste of the Blue Velvet swirled in my spit, burning my esophagus as I ingested it into churning stomach.
And as the elevator began the ascent, the lights flickered.
The cables in the shaft ripped violently, ricocheting from end-to-end as the turbulence in the elevator cabin quaked under my feet.
And as the lights turned black, I heard the demonic voice I’d last heard in my nightmares bouncing off the hollow walls of my stainless-steel hearse.
H̴͎̪͍͘̕͝e̵͓̙͒̐͒͜l̸̢͚͇̿͌͒l̴̞̪̽̈́͒o̸̟͚̙͋̔̈́ a̴̝͚͚̕͝g̸̼͓̺̈́̚̕a̵̼͙͙͛̐͛i̴̫͍͐͋͜n̴͉͚̺̿͌͌,̴̘͉͔͋͝ E̵͔͓͒͆͛͜ĺ̸͓̘̺̚͝i̵̙̦͙͑̿̔s̵͉̺͆́͘a̸̼͍͚͆̿͠b̴̟̺͎̓̒͘e̴̼̼̾́͐t̴̘͎̫̐̽̈́h̸̙͇̪̓̈́̕.̵͚͎̒̓
Sunday morning. | “That was a beautiful service, Father.”
“It’s really nice to see you home.”
I looked over at ‘ma across the chapel and we shared a knowing smile. She had asked me to go see Robbie - that it would do some good. And I hadn’t been back in almost a year, and Father’s testimony assured me that it was time to heal.
As I walked through the cemetery gates, a feeling of dread permeated in my soul. The graveyard wasn’t my brother’s resting place anymore.
As I approached, the beer cans and cigarette butts littered the headstone. His eyes were closed as his mangled face hid under his fallen bangs.
“Johnny…?”
_____________
Heaven and hell is on earth.
It surrounds us - with every step forward, and with every move we make. We can grip our rosary beads until our palms bleed - we can bathe ourselves clean in the word and the gospel and rid ourselves of the stains of sin - we can seek absolution and grace and permanence and salvage a rotten, inflicted soul that’s been poisoned for so long.
But if we’ve had every good intention marred with our own bad decisions, what difference does it make?
We try to protect this farce, this illusion of atonement with the shield of salvation - but at any given moment - our lifeline can be severed and we descend into the depths of hell as the sharp iron of the sword tears through soul.
It doesn’t matter how fast your legs move and how far you run before your bones splinter, because the darkmanness is always lingering in the shadows, threatening to wrap it’s tentacles of despair around the veins in your neck.
Salvation is temporary -
- until the next time you fuck up.
It doesn’t matter how many championships you strap around your waist. How many moments you raise your hand in victory. The blinding camera flashes or the deafening cheers don’t matter. If taking the world on your own is what defines you, and you arm yourself with the shield that only only protects your heart, you may leave the center of your spine open for the plunge of the sword.
And that’s when you realize that the gates and the inferno are not only on earth.
Heaven and hell is in me.
_______________
I’ve always thought my biggest fear was abandonment. I knew I’d feel haunted if I walked into a room, expecting to see a familiar face, and finding nothing but the harrowing whispers of the ghosts of their memory. And every sight would be a reminder - and those reminders become the catalyst - and my sutured heart would rupture and I’d bleed out on my living room floor.
And no one would find me.
That fear is crippling.
But this fear - the fear of being trapped and tormented by this monster - one you thought you’d escaped but is back to finish the job - this fear is paralyzing.
The elevator shook as violently as the rumble in the walls my heart.
I felt thousands of needles puncturing every inch of my flesh.
I felt my eyes burn with the salt of my tears - and I tasted the blood from my tongue, torn and shredded between the vibrating chatter of my teeth. The wave of heat washed over my body, rising in intensity from the breath of a fire-breathing dragon to the charring blaze of a fiery inferno.
T̵͍͔͌̔h̸̟̦̦͛͋̕e̴̦̟̾̾͘͜r̸̡̺͐͒͌͜é̸̢̠̝̽̿'̸̦̺͋̾͊s̸̢̻̼̈́̾̕ n̸͇̟̝̐̒̓ö̴̻̦́͛̚͜t̴͓͙͕̒̈́̚h̵̺̦͉͐͒̓i̴͙͍͒̈́͊͜n̸̻̝͔͆͐̓g̴̢̟̙̔̓̿ y̵̡̢͔͆̔̒o̸͔͎͕͛̓͘ú̵̦͇͔͘͝ c̸̞̫͇̐̿a̵̦̼̦̾̚n̴̡̡̦͋́͝ d̸͙̘̟̀͌̓o̴͓̘͉̐͆͋.̸͇̘̻͛̐̐
And the words.
I punched the elevator button to my floor, over and over again, under the false hope that it would make the terror stop.
But the voice continued.
Ḯ̴̻̠̽͒t̴͚̺͖̽̈́'̵̪͉̞́̈́̚s̸͍͍͌̓͜͝ a̴͎͛͆̐͜l̵̻͖͍̐̀r̴̘͕͙͌͝͠e̵͎͚͝͝ä̵͇̟́̓́d̵͔̦͙̐̈́͝y̸̦͍̼̾͛͆ b̸̘͕͐̔̚e̴̡̠̻͑̽́ë̵̞̫̦́͝n̵͚̝̘͒͝͠ d̵̻͍̪͋̾̕ö̴̝̦̝́̾̐n̸̙̞͕̈́͆͛e̵͓͕̽̾̕͜.̵͔̝͙͛̀
It tore through the squealing shriek of the freefalling elevator. It feasted on the debilitating panic coursing through my body and grew louder the more I pleaded with desperation. My nostrils flooded with the aroma of embarrassment, as if I was swimming in a lake of bourbon. And the walls shook, the numbers flickered, and I felt I was trapped between floors. They couldn’t rescue me, even if they wanted. to.. Johnny was my shield - my protector - the only person I’d entrusted ever since Robbie absorbed my shadows of trauma before him. And he was gone. I was alone.
Ÿ̵̞͓͕́͝ò̴̠̝͖̿ú̸͙̼͙͝͝r̴̻̫͌̿͜ s̵͉͔͎̀̐ẃ̵̝͔͛̓ö̸̺̻̙́̿r̸̞̘͑̒̕d̴͙̝̠͋͛̿ i̸̠͎͓̿͐̿s̸̞̪̾̿ s̵͎̟̟͛̔ḧ̸̢̦͇́͋͠a̸̼̟͉̒͆͝r̸͚̘̈́̒͜͠p̸͙͔̞̐̿̽.̸͎̟̺̈́̔͊.̸͕͖̪̒̾͋
But I could fight back. I’d never surrendered to a fight before. Every battle I’d ever been in, I’d found a way to prevail. I wasn’t always victorious – but I would never quit. And even if I was surrounded by all of the demons that I thought I’d escaped – even if they’ve been given new life from the wickedness of Casanova English and CU:LT Wrestling, I wouldn’t allow them to win. I was the sword –
B̴̺͕̝̀̒u̵͔̝̻̽͊͘t̸͎̪͋͠͝ e̸̡̟͕̽̔̓v̵͔͉͐͛͊e̵̺̦̒̐͜͠n̴̘͕͑̽͑ ir̸̡͍͇̒̿̔o̵̪͎͖̔͑͝n̸͓̼͎̔̚͝ w̸̘̝̺̓̔͝ḯ̸͍͉̫͆͛l̸̡͙̦̀̓͝l̴͎̒̐͜͜͝ r̸̙̦̽̐̈́͜o̵͍̝͐́̕t̸̢̺̦͑͆͑.̸̢̟͉̐̀̚
A rainfall of razorblades emptied from the heavens - there must’ve been thousands of them - and the crash on the floor sounded like a drummer pounding on a cymbal. And my suit of armor - tough, resilient, leathered skin and scar tissue - it could no longer protect me. My shield, once a halo of self-confidence and absolution, gave way. The sharp ends of the blades stabbed every inch of my body, and I felt every sinister movement of this diabolical surgeon as each staple embedded in my skin was pried loose and ripped out. My blood ran down my limbs - I was stepping in a pool of my own waste, my hands stained red, as if I’d buried them in the carcass of a slaughtered lamb.
If only I knew I was the one who would be sacrificed at the altar.
_____________
I love you, Johnny.
And I know it’s going to be hard to accept the repulsive lengths we must go to to satiate the perverse desires of Casanova English - but this landmark achievement, your first World Championship awaiting you at the gates of Heaven Sent - can you ask yourself if the ends justify the means?
I’m an open book - I wear my blackheart on my scarred wrists — but your shadowy secrecy and the back-alley deals - was this always the end goal? Was this your priority, your motivation – you do his dirty work and you get rewarded with the chance to champion his company and legitimize your legacy?
You’ve been telling me otherwise. You’ve assured me that this was for me - that you signed a deal with the devil to benefit me - and perhaps you didn’t know it would lead to this. This war between lovers where we weigh the value of this New World Championship, and whether or not the disarray it’s caused, and the damage it’s done to our devotion — was it a price worth paying? Perhaps you never even considered this an option - you never thought you’d have to destroy me to cement your status because, maybe, you didn’t think we would be in this position to begin with.
Lissie Hope as the New World Champion was a defunct possibility the day Casanova English fucked me out of it. And when I prevailed over him in February at the DPI, it was never going to happen for me. I’d sacrificed my fifth World Championship out of vengeance. And I could accept that – because the ends justified the means.
I could believe that, Johnny – because there are times when I feel you don’t believe in me.
You don’t have to physically hurt me to hurt me, even though I know you’re prepared to. You’re a great guy - maybe the best guy I’ve ever known and loved - and I know you’ve sacrificed so much for me. To defend me and honor me and protect me. But there are parts of me you hate, aren’t there? And I’d rather continue to pretend and believe in this make-believe - I’ll willingly place your love and adoration for me in the same test of faith as my own faith in God – but as you know…
…there is no God in a Cult Wrestling ring.
Whenever I’ve felt like I’m drowning, you are the one who’s kept me afloat, Johnny. You are the breath in my lungs. The marrow in my bones. You run through my veins and you give me life. I want you to know you’ve made me buoyant, and I know I’ll never stay under – until you decide to let me fend for myself. And you’ve been my backbone - you’ve kept me standing straight, locked-kneed, upright.
Do you want to crucify me instead?
Do it.
I dare you.
Hammer the nails in my wrist, Johnny.
Even if we fight until our last tears fall, until the last drop spills; even if we devour each other for his amusement, and even if I’m hung from the cross until I meet God and see my brother again – yours is the last face I’ll see. And even if I die in the ring at your hands - even if you sacrifice me at the altar of Lissie Hope and write my fucking epitaph?
It’s… comforting… to know that - at least - I would die yours.
At your hands.
Even if they’ve got my blood on them.
_______________
Sunday morning. | “That was a beautiful service, Father.”
“It’s really nice to see you home.”
I looked over at ‘ma across the chapel and we shared a knowing smile. She had asked me to go see Robbie - that it would do some good. And I hadn’t been back in almost a year, and Father’s testimony assured me that it was time to heal.
As I walked through the cemetery gates, a feeling of dread permeated in my soul. The graveyard wasn’t my brother’s resting place anymore.
As I approached, the beer cans and cigarette butts littered the headstone. His eyes were closed as his mangled face hid under his fallen bangs.
“Johnny…?”
