Escape I: Cannonball
Mar 22, 2022 23:52:06 GMT
Casanova English, Max f'n Daemon, and 1 more like this
Post by Lissie Hope on Mar 22, 2022 23:52:06 GMT
“I just need to take my mind off of everything - and I think CU:LT can be exactly the kind of escape I’ve been needing.”
I shook out my arms, feeling the tight and sore muscles regain feeling as the blood circulated, traversing from my heart to my extremities. I felt light on my feet, my knees buckling, until I braced myself on Ian’s shoulder.
Ian Cavanagh is my agent, and one of my first mentors. He discovered me in a New Orleans kickboxing gym back in early 2019, and got me connected with Action Wrestling and Trinity Wrestling. A former wrestler himself in the early 2010’s, he excelled during a time when wrestling companies were emphasizing MMA-hybrids, but as his career winded down, and the injuries piled up - he took his talents to scouting. He told me I was going to change the game. And for awhile - I believed him.
“The AW executives aren’t too happy that you’re venturing off, Lissie,” he said, handing me a water bottle. “Here, hydrate.” He held my wrist and contorted my arm, loosening me up. “I understand why you think you need to do this - and so do they, really - but it’s still worrying them. It’s worrying me.”
“There’s nothing to be worried about, though,” I assured, feeling the same kind of trepidation he warned me of when I signed to GCWA back in 2020. “I’ve grown since - y’know - the last time I did this.”
I entered the GCWA Warrior of the Ring tournament after losing my AW World Championship. I felt I needed a reprieve, something that could help me reestablish the confidence I’d lost. It was a thirty-two person tournament, and I was one of four women in the field. Match by match, I took care of business, until I ended up winning three in one night and earning the coveted trophy and a World Championship number-one contendership. A month later, I won my first of two World Championships… until –
“The last time you ‘did this’, it ended up with you in a fucking hospital bed getting your stomach pumped,” Ian said, sternly. His voice oozed with hurt. With contempt. He was usually more judicious and considerate when discussing my failed suicide attempt. But I could tell, this time, he was nearing his limit.
“That’s not going to happen again,” I said, my voice trailing off. “I’m not expecting anything here.”
“So what are you even doing this for?”
Walking into a foreign locker room where the only friendly faces I’d see aren’t friendly at all - Holden Ross, I couldn’t get a read on. There are some days when he seems like the nicest guy alive. He invited me to dinner one night when I was feeling alone, engulfed by the cruel vices and debauchery that would always jeopardize my sobriety, and he took my mind elsewhere. But then I see what he does in the ring - he’s brutal, an unapologetic barbarian - and it doesn’t coalesce with what I know lies within his heart. And then there’s Max Daemon - seriously, fuck Max Daemon.
“That’s what I want to find out,” I said, eager to find out if my hopefulness was convincing. I reminisced back to the conversation I had with Robbie, my beloved confidante, my brother who was taken from the world too quickly - he was someone who never placated me. Who always challenged me. He made me think of everything - of all outcomes - before I did it. Before I put pen to paper. He wasn’t an enabler. And he was what I’ve been missing. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
Ian Cavanagh went silent for what seemed like an eternity, though it was only a few seconds. He placed his hands over my ears and pulled my forehead to his. I dug my nails into his wrist.
“Yes.”
I’m misunderstood.
I know when my face appears in a new company, everyone is put on notice. From the moment I arrived in this industry, I established my purpose. I planted my flag in the center of the ring - in the middle of enemy territory - knowing for the entirety of my career, I’d be ducking and dodging all of cannonballs shot in my direction.
I’ve never been afraid to make the biggest splash.
To challenge the status quo.
I’ve never been scared of the shadow I cast, knowing that every time a stranger decides they want to take a shot at me, that there’s a little bit inside of ‘em that knows they need to fire first. That’s the kind of weight my name carries. That’s what’s in it for you - for everyone who’s ever spit their venom at me, hoping to generate a reaction.
Because when I respond?
When you hit my radar?
When Lissie fuckin’ Hope merely acknowledges you?
Sometimes that’s all you really need.
Now, people like to call me arrogant for this. For calling a spade a spade. For embracing my role in this industry, and all the resentment that comes with it. There’s a fine line between genuine hatred and pitiable jealousy. I know there are those that truly dislike me, and what I represent, and how I carry myself - I know some of those jarbabies have their fangs embedded in your throats, their fists up your asses, making you their mouthpieces.
I know - without a shred of doubt - that my foray into the murderlands recall these memories - one short year ago - where I painted an Action Wrestling target on my chest and wanted you to aim. I dared you to take the fucking shot.
Well?
I’m still here.
I’m still standing.
Still stronger than ever.
Because you fucking missed.
So now the onus falls on you, Iggy.
Here’s the thing about you. I don’t pity you. I don’t think you hate me. I don’t even think you resent me. I think you look at me as a challenge, as someone who could make or break your reviving career. And I appreciate your insight. Your awareness of your own status, and what you’ve meant to professional wrestling. I really do.
You’re one of the reasons I decided to come here, y’know?
We’d never spoken prior. I don’t think we even had any mutual friends or followers. Never a conversation where we’d orbit in the same circles. I watched as CU:LT plastered your face on the promos, trying to find a willing person to take you on - to put their neck on the line, exposing it to the feared Lariat Tubman. I read up on you, on everything you’ve done, on what you represent - and I respected the grind. I appreciated the hustle.
You’re a strong woman, probably one of the strongest I’ve ever come across - both physically and mentally. You’ve been through the fucking ringer, and I can relate - and that’s why I’m honored to get to this ring. That’s why I’m excited to see you on the other side.
I misunderstood you, too - I’m not afraid to admit it.
When CU:LT announced me, and your first instinct was to be cute, to be cynical and disparaging about where I’ve been, about who I’ve learned from - I thought to myself that I’d made the biggest fucking mistake, y’know? I can admit when I tread in deep waters. Nobody likes to feel their feet scratching the bottom, like their arms are flailing, stranded until the eventual surrender.
Nobody wants to be alone.
We watched as each new face was announced - each one scarier-looking than the next - as if the Scooby-Doo bus of misfits pulled up from the fucking asylum. And we bonded - maybe it was out of desperation, out of necessity, or maybe we were just humoring each other, diverting our match tension to finding the absurdity in these quirky crackpots. You lit the wick and burned the incense, casting out the wickedness we’d found ourselves surrounded by - and I ended up with a skinned raccoon stuffed with pine needles in my locker.
Thanks for the present, Wendigo.
Obviously, we’re both out of our element. We’re both probably thinking - ‘what the fuck did we sign up for?’ I don’t know about you - but this is exactly the way I fucking like it.
We do differ, though. You’re coming into this organization with friends. With a boyfriend. With friendly competition. I’m arriving on my own. And there’s no better embodiment of that when the person you’re eager to get in the ring with, the same person who very well could be the first CU:LT New World Champion, decided to jump down my throat and do her best to do what every other fucking person does when I decide to piss on their turf.
She tried to discredit me.
Tried to assert that I’m bad news.
Tried to remind the masses, those that watch these companies flood the market, those that come and go like a fart in the wind - even those who remain from what’s still smoldering in ash in Backwoods, Tennessee - she’s tried to jump the gun. Load up the artillery, put my chest in the crosshairs - because, again, this is what it means to have Lissie fuckin’ Hope sharing your locker room.
It’s gonna take both of you.
It’s gonna take all of you.
I don’t die - not without a fuckin’ fight. I’ve taken on the world - and the world ain’t got shit on me. My biggest, most destructive enemy? Is myself. And it’s a war – that I’ve fought, and that I’ve won.
Iggy?
You’ve got a clothesline from fucking hell.
But that ain’t where I’m goin’.
Not with my crucifix around my neck.
Not with my eyes on the fuckin’ prize - the one that might soon be around the waist of your girl, Wocka Jaka Flame.
I’ve been to hell - and I’m back.
Some would even call this place a hell on Earth - but all it looks like to me is a fucking playground. A place where I can dick around, a spot where I ain’t got no allegiances, no real enemies - just a bunch of wide-eyed shitheads and sycophants who know they’ll have to come together, who know that my mere presence sends you down another fuckin’ rung.
That’s why Jaka knew to target me immediately.
To fire the first shot.
And she’s playing nice with you, Iggy, not because she sees you as a viable challenge - not like you naively see her, anyways - but because once I force my way into that title picture? Where I fuckin’ belong?
She’s just setting the scene.
Lining up her soldiers.
Ready? Aim? – Jammed.
I’m the fucking cannonball.
Nobody creates a bigger splash –
than
Lissie.
Fuckin’.
Hope.
“You think I’m making a mistake?” I asked, shoving Ian in the chest. “What the fuck do you know, man? You haven’t been in a ring in a decade.”
“This business chews up people, Lissie,” he warned. “You’ve seen it. I don’t want you to live it. You can’t go to this company alone.”
“I’ve been alone - for years,” I cried out, feeling my emotions building. “Even when I’m not alone -”
“- you feel like you are,” he interrupted, and I nodded in acquiescence. “I get it, Liss. I just want you to be careful. This place is dangerous. This isn’t like other places.”
“Maybe this is what I fucking need,” I blurted out. “This? This isn’t about a ring. This isn’t about my heart. This is about my pride.”
He watched me, growing concerned.
“This is about the fight.”
A pause.
“The violence.”
“Okay, Liss.”
“I want to hurt people.”
“Why?”
I unwrapped my wristtape and traced the scars along my wrist with my fingernail. Tears began to flood my eyes.
“I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
