Post by bad guy™ on Feb 18, 2017 17:18:56 GMT -5
Act I Scene IV: Hilton Hangover
'FINDERS KEEPERS LOSERS WEEPERS'
"W….what?"
What the hell is going on? Why is my alarm going off? Reaching over to my phone, I knock it off of the end table of the bed. Thud. Sh*t. I don’t have a case on this thing. Damn iPhone, I probably shattered the screen into a million pieces. Uggggh….reaching down off of the bed for it is hard work. I almost fall off. I grab the piece of crap, hey, it isn’t broken! Kill the alarm. Right. I slam the phone on the end table and lay back in bed, holding my hands over my eyes. Everything from the neck up hurts. I feel like Phillip Schneider just stabbed me in the head with a railway spike. F*ck. I roll over to the other side of the bed and it’s empty, made up perfectly. Where is h…ohhh I smell coffee. As if on cue, here comes my Knight in shining armor holding a Hilton mug in one hand and a closed fist for the other. He comes to my bedside and sits at my feet, opening his hand into mine and dropping aspirin into my palm. Coffee next.
"Drink up."
"O…ok…"
Aaron Knight. Son of Michael ‘Thunder’ Knight. 21. My boyfriend of…quite a while. Gotta say, he knows how to treat a hungover lady. I take my medicine and coffee, sitting up and planting myself firmly next to him, leaning my head against his shoulder, hoping I fall asleep again and this hangover is gone when I wake up. He strokes my hair, kissing the top of my head. How sweet. If only that fixed all of my problems. My feet barely reach the floor, but I feel a glass bottle at my toes. Very gingerly, I move my head forward to catch a glimpse and it would appear I killed a whole bottle of Captain Jack. Rest in Peace. Aaron doesn’t drink, so that one was all my doing. Normally Scarlett buys me liquor when we aren’t back in Tempe because I don’t get carded there. Nice of Aaron to get the good stuff.
…wait a minute. He’s seen me hungover before. He’s never been THIS nice.
"You gonna tell me why you’re being so nice to me this morning?"
"You had a hell of a night."
"If I remember correctly, which I don’t, you had to have had one too."
"If you don’t remember clearly, how do you know?"
"My hips are on fire," I say lying. Gotta boost his confidence somehow. But I do, vaguely, remember that.
Aaron goes to make a snarky comment back but instead he finds himself hiding his face in his chest. I lean over and kiss the side of his head and down the rest of the coffee. Cup. Table. Ok. Time to try and stand. Feet. Floor. Knees straight. One foot forward, and I have a hand on my back keeping me standing. F*ck I’m dizzy.
"You ok? Hurting that much?"
No, kid. You’re not THAT good. The Captain, however…he did a real number on me last night.
"Little bit. I’m super dizzy, too."
I grab my phone from the nightstand and slowly start making my way towards the bathroom, using the bed as a navigation stabilizer. Wait where is the bathroom in this place? No…that’s the closet. I’m not in there. Other side. Cool. I turn on the light and see a towel, cloth, a disposable vape pen and a whole change of clothes sitting on the stand next to the shower. Ok. Either he’s taking direct orders from Scarlett or he forgot the condom and this is his way of apologizing. Poor kid forgets the pill. Not about to f*ck up my life for a good time. Eh. I’ll let him stress, anyways. I’m a bitch when I’m hungover. Not sorry. I turn on the shower, close the door and sit in the corner of the bathroom, knees to my chest, staring at my phone. I take a couple of puffs of the pen and open my phone up. 4 new messages. 3 from Scarlett…but I don’t recognize this other number. I open that message first, curiosity piqued.
"I got your number from David. I’ll meet you in Dallas. There’s a shop across from the arena. Meet me before the show. You’ll want to talk with me. Julia."
David? Brennan? Williams? Arquette? I’ve got a stalker, apparently. Cool. At least the name is a woman. Unless I’m getting catfished and it’s some fat superfan looking to steal my shirt. I’ve heard those exist. I’m stupid. I’ll go. I’m already here anyways, why not? Ok. Now what the f*ck does Scarlett want? Open the most recent message, see how much trouble I’m in before I read the rest.
"TELL AARON TO SHUT THE F*CK UP. I’M IN THE ROOM RIGHT NEXT TO YOU F*CKERS AND HE’S LOUDER THAN PENNY AND HER GIRLFRIEND ARE AND THAT’S SAYING SOMETHING DAMMIT."
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Cure for a hangover, have your best friend tell you your boyfriend is louder in the sack than an obnoxious bitch roommate. I instantly feel better. Not really though, but it’s the thought that counts. Ok. Messages in order.
"I know what you two are planning. Don’t forget you have important business to conduct tomorrow, lady."
"This is the enemy. Hate him. Loathe him. Prepare for the kill."
Austin Hayes pic attached. Shame that pretty face has to get kicked in.
Thir….yeah already read that.
I take another puff and climb into the shower. Perfect temperature to stew my thoughts. The water pours over me, dripping from the tips of my hair and off of my chin as I lean forward and grab at the neck of the showerhead to maintain my balance.
The f*ck is wrong with me? These last couple of weeks are f*cking tearing me apart. I’m drinking more than I normally do. I’m blowing through two or three packs of Kools a day. I have to be in bed with Aaron every night, I haven’t even been back in Tempe just so I could stay close to him. I’m following Scarlett around from city to city for each show like a lost puppy dog. I haven’t talked to my mom or dad in almost a week, surely Scarlett is feeding them positive info. But Aaron is acting weird to me, even more than usual. Scarlett is seemingly more focused than ever on getting my head straight…she knows something’s wrong too. But why? What am I afraid of?
So I lost to Joe Bishop. Lots of people have. Dude is good, I never shirked his ability; just his toxic personality. Is it because I’m three weeks into the Gauntlet and still don’t have any points? I mean last week was a bye for me so of course I get nothing in return for that.
But I have nothing in general.
I have all of this support. Wayne, Vanessa, Scarlett, Movie Man, Brennan (silent support yo), Williams Aaron, Thunder, mom, dad…is that it? Am I afraid I’m disappointing them? I most certainly am not giving them a reason to be approving and pleased. They’ll never voice their displeasure, not even Scarlett who’s my toughest critic. But I’m used to disappointing people though. That’s just who I am. So what is it?
…f*cking overhype. That’s it. I’m starting to realize I was way too f*cking overhyped. I’m a second generation star with a terrible chip on my shoulder, and I’m on a mission. And all I have accomplished was push Joe Bishop to his limits and come up short. I did NOTHING to deserve to be in this tournament. It’s f*cking laughable that I was entered before the ink on my contract dried. Everyone expected greatness from me, as if I was supposed to win the world title from Drakz on my first f*cking show. I probably could have, but that’s another story. So much is expected of me.
I’m not Scarlett Quinn.
I’m Anna Ahriman.
I’m still a little girl. I act more mature than I really am…I know that. I drink, I smoke, I cuss like a sailor and yet I’m petrified of my shadow at this point. It was not the loss that shook me. It was not me disappointing people. It’s the ing pressure of my god damned surname. I get why Scarlett still refuses to use McGurk even in her return. There’s a knock on the door.
"Uhhh…a little busy here, Aaron," I shout out.
"Good thing I’m not Aaron."
This bitch has a red ear, even when I think about her.
"Fine. Get in here quickly. Don’t let the steam out."
The door opens and shuts quickly. I hear Scarlett close the lid on the loo and sit down.
"How’s the hangover?"
"How do you think?"
"You’ve never felt better?"
"Sure. Let’s go with that."
Awkward bathroom silence is awkward. Mainly because I’m naked in the same room as Scarlett Quinn, only a thin pane of glass protecting my blushed face but that’s another story.
"Aaron shot me a text to come over before I headed out to get ready for my GRAND return. What a dork."
"He’s my dork."
"He’s a dork who’s worried about you."
Oh, great. Just what I need. Disappointment with a dash of concern. Terrible seasoning.
"He’s always worried about me. He’s sometime too nice of a guy."
"I’m concerned too, little lady."
F*ck. I’m cooked.
"You’re…what…three weeks in now? And you’re already tail spinning. Not even Dex collapsed THAT fast. I’m not going to let you completely crash before you get that sweet taste in your mouth for the first time."
"It’s not your problem, Scarlett. Your concern is appreciated and duly noted, however."
Maybe my sarcasm will come across as honest statements.
"It IS my problem. I’m not going to let my friend fall apart like this without trying to stop it. You got overhyped like a mother*cker and you’re getting dragged down by not living up to the expectations right out the gate."
Nope.
"Are you a psychic?"
"I’ve been there. At the risk of sounding like a c*nt, my father is better than yours. McGurk holds more weight than Ahriman."
Do I sound argumentative right now?
"I didn’t know that was up for debate."
"I practically disowned my dad, I wanted to be my own woman. But I was nothing more than a little girl in a big ass pond of piranhas. I adapted quickly, but I’ve got a thicker skin than you. Plus, I didn’t dive a f*ck what anyone but Penny thought. I still kind of don’t…I don’t need approval from anyone. That’s part of why I decided to come back."
"So what are you telling me to do? Become a heartless ice queen like you once were until I achieve success?"
"Hell no. That life is far too lonely and one you are not suited for. I’m not going to lie. Barring a miracle, you aren’t winning your pool in the gauntlet. Trace is too far ahead, and Joe’s got a tiebreaker in the unlikely event Trace collapses. Or gets murdered by Ante Whitner."
"Ante’s doing God’s work by taking out Dean."
Hail Whitner. We’re not worthy.
"Hehe, there’s my little wise ass chica. But the point stands…your overhype led you to believe everyone expected you to win the Gauntlet, and now you’re already down by half at the half and it’ll take that miracle to crawl back up."
"You’re not wrong. I literally just put that together myself. Who knew life’s mysteries were best solved naked in the shower?"
"Everyone. Duh. Point is…none of us actually expected you to win, lovely."
"…but why? No faith?"
"Nah. We all have faith. You’ve got no experience and got put into the bracket of death, and against a sure fire Hall of Famer the moment he hangs up his boots in your very first match. You went in too confident, and that’s our fault for not giving you a more realistic expectation outcome. And I blame myself as much as anyone else."
"It’s my head, not your fault."
"I have been one of the key figures propping you up. Yes, I’m as much at fault and I won’t let you tell me otherwise. But the mission now has to change in that head of yours."
"To?"
"Win if you can, lose if you must, but fight like f*cking hell. And start tonight with Austin. You both have a blank slate, someone’s got to get their first point. You’re both rookies. So get your hungover head out of your ass and prove that the overhyping wasn’t without some merit. Because dammit, Anna, you’re a f*cking fighter. You BELONG in the WFWF. So what if you don’t win the f*cking tournament? There’s ten people in it. Only one can. It’s not like the odds were any kind in your favor to begin with. But this company will one day be yours. Ours. The path just isn’t quite as easy as you had been led to believe."
I can’t help but weep, unable to differentiate my tears from the water falling over my face. She hears this, opening the door to the shower, reaching in and pulling my head to her chest. I grab at the sleeves of her shirt, holding tight. Scarlett kisses the top of my head and runs her hand through my soaking wet hair. She’s whispering ‘shh’ in my ear.
"Be strong, little one. You’ve got this."
"I…I believe you."
It was at that moment I realized that I’ve got a fighting chance. Bring it on, Hayes.
Act I Scene V: How He Lived
Cruisin’ down the street in my…kicks. I’ll be damned if I am taking my car through the streets of Dallas while still hung over. F*ck that noise. I’m close enough to the little shop anyways. I made sure to turn Location on my phone and have informed Scarlett of my whereabouts in the unfortunate event I get kidnapped or mugged in a back alley over a shirt.
I showed the text from this ‘Julia’ to Scarlett, asking her if she could make any sense of it. She insisted that she couldn’t, but I know she’s lying through her teeth. I don’t know a Julia, but she sure as hell at least knows of one. I contemplated NOT going at the last minute, but it was Scarlett’s urging me to go that gave it away that she f*cking knew who I was meeting. She just didn’t want to say. Maybe it’s a super fan. Maybe she’s some kind of talent scout. Maybe she’s some chick Penny slept with while on tour with WFWF and needs help at getting back at Penny….which by the way I would totally f*cking bite on.
Regardless, I have no idea who or what I am looking for. Unless this ‘Julia’ is going to be holding one of those signs you see tacky limousine drivers waving at LAX or some sh*t. Gonna have to assume she is looking out for me and that we are actually in the same place at the same time. That’d be awkward otherwise.
As I approach the shop, I’ve got a million things on my mind. Naturally I am overthinking how many different ways I can contort that Dungeon Master Ash Ketchum wannabe Austin Hayes and make him cry for his mother. Meanwhile, just a few hours prior I was just crying and practically begging for my mother when Scarlett wrapped me up in her arms to console me as I had a mini-meltdown.
OH GOD I WAS NAKED AND SHE DIDN’T CARE. OH SH*T.
…maybe there’s hope for a fling yet? We’ll likely be traveling together since she’s back on the active roster…nothing wrong with a one time….many time…stand is there? Doubt Aaron would care.
See what’s going on in my head? Stranger danger. Work. Meltdown. Hangover. Boyfriend. Dream girlfriend. Where are those baggie dealers Slanted and Enchanted when you need them? Hell, I’d probably buy whatever the hell Donnie Kent was selling on the street if I saw him. THAT’S saying something.
As I prepare to open the door to the shop, I glance across the street at the massive arena in which I will be center stage quite literally in just a few hours. Makes me feel really small when I see something that bi….watdafuq is that?
The picture showing marquee billboard shows off the WFWF event happening tonight…and MY GOD DAMN FACE IS PLASTERED ALL ACROSS THE SCREEN. WHAT THE F*CK? I did NOT approve of this subjectification dammit. I haven’t even approved of a f*cking action figure. Christsake. Good thing there aren’t a ton of people glaring up at the billboard and that the crazed fans haven’t arrived to hound us for autographs…I’d probably either die of embarrassment or knock somebodies f*cking lights out. Depends on their age and if they’re cute or not.
…f*ckin’ hormones yo.
Opening the door to the coffee shop, I scan the shop for the limo driver sign. Nothing. Meh, was worth a shot. This is real life, not some piece of fiction. I walk up to the counter, and I get stuck with a not so attractive, yet seemingly pleasant looking barista. I was hoping for one of those hot chicks you see in Starbucks promos.
"How may I help you?"
"Uhh," I scan the menu above her head quickly. None of it makes any sense to me. "Coffee, five cream, four sugar."
"Parvus, Medius, or Magna?"
What in the actual f*ck? These sound more made up than Venti…whatever.
"Umm…large."
"Magna. Right. Two fifty six. Can I have a name for the order?"
"Anna."
"Thank you."
I pull out my card and go to insert the chip…and there is no where to do so?
"Please slide. We don’t use the chip."
Good f*cking lord this place must be old timer hipster heaven. Use…Latin(?) and refuse to convert to chip? I didn’t know this kind of place existed in Dallas. I haven’t even seen anyone munching on a rib-eye in a cowboy hat with a shottie strapped to the back of a Dixie jacket. Is this real life? I swipe the card, get my receipt and walk over to the side to wait for my order.
"Anna! Order up!"
I grab my cup and thank the barista, and as I go to take a sip I catch a glimpse of the Sharpie name.
Ana.
Who the f*ck is Ana? This is the easiest f*cking name in the WFWF. Hell, man. I tell ya. The sooner I get the hell out of Dallas the better.
I look for an open booth and prepare to slide myself in when a voice rises above the 80’s rock music on the radio.
"Anna! Anna Ahriman!"
I take a look across the café and see a middle aged fellow ginger slowly waving her hand to grab my attention. This must be the woman I’m supposed to be meeting. She looks…normal. And she certainly does not look like someone who would be a die-hard wrestling fan, so what she wants with me is beyond my comprehension. Just another thing to toss around in my freaking head. I can’t handle this right now. I nod my head at her and take a seat in her booth. She looks vaguely familiar to me but I just can’t put my finger on it.
"I take it you’re my mysterious text message buddy?"
"I am, yes. Name is actually Julia, no worries."
"That’s good. I had concerns meeting someone who sent me a random text message, but my friend told me it would be a good idea. She wouldn’t admit to knowing you, but she has to."
"She? I asked David for your number. Don’t believe he’s a she…not that there’d be anything wrong with that…though I should say that quietly here in Texas. Trump country."
"Oh good, a kindred political spirit."
"Oh, no, I voted for Trump. I just have a few different feelings on things."
Ok. Time for a quick exit. Can’t have a talk with a Trump supporter. Speaking of, where the f*ck is Dex?
"Umm…no. Woman, my friend Scarlett."
"Didn’t know you were that close with Wayne’s daughter. Figured you’d be egged on by Aaron or something."
"Wait…I’ve got to catch up here. Scarlett Quinn is a celebrity in her own right, so it’s public knowledge who her dad is even if you aren’t a wrestling fan. But how the hell do you know Aaron? Let alone that he’s my beau? Are you seriously a stalker?"
"Heh, down kid. I’ve gotten to know Michael a little bit over the last year or so."
"Michael…Thunder? Wait. Now I’m just confused…more than I was before I sat down. I know you. Why do I know you?"
"David gave me your number. I felt it was high time I met you."
"David. Brennan?"
"Williams."
Oh sh*t…
"…Shawn’s brother?"
"Indeed."
Oh f*ck.
"You…are you…?"
"David’s my brother-in-law."
THE PICTURE. THE F*CKING PICTURE ON SHAWN’S BEDSTAND. THAT’S HOW I KNOW HER. I almost spit out my coffee, and she smiles at me.
"I’m Julia Welders. Formerly Malakai. I wanted to meet the little girl my late ex-husband basically took in as his own after he insisted he never wanted another child in any manner after Xana died."
Oh god I’m about to be murdered.
"…and ask you how you managed to thaw his once iced over heart…"
Ok, imminent life threat over. Now this is just bringing my heart down.
"…and request you tell me how he was when he died."
I take a sip of my coffee and tuck my hair behind my ear.
"I’m sorry. I can’t do that."
She’s taken aback by my honesty. Just wait till I drop the bomb.
"…but I can tell you how he lived his final days in…as much happiness as David, my father and myself could provide to him."
Act I Scene VI: Hot Mess
Soooooo…lots of sh*t going down in my life right now. I’m mentally falling apart because of wrestling. I’ve got the ex-wife of a very old, very dead friend and mentor of mine hounding me for information…but I imagine she has an ulterior motive for contacting me. Maybe it’s in some kind of sick form of penance because she’s FINALLY come to the realization that Xana’s death wasn’t just on Shawn’s shoulders…she was just as much her mother as he was her father. And she wants to know how I managed to replace Xana in his heart. Dummy, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I was just a little kid when I met him; hell I still am. I was just being nice to an idol of mine who took literally time out of his life to make me happy, tell me stories, and be as much of a dad to me as my dad is. But I’ll continue to indulge her. I saved her number in my phone, I bet she’s going to want more talks. I can tell she doesn’t like that I’m a little girl wrestling, I got that much from our brief conversation before I left for the arena. I invited her to come, meet Scarlett in person too but she was almost appalled by the recommendation. So stay tuned for more info on that one. But now down to brass tacks.
In wrestling, I’m way too f*cking in over my head and down by two in the bottom of the ninth with the bases empty and about to strike out with one bad swing at Austin Hayes. Like Scarlett told me, he and I are not just both rookies but we’re also in the same position when we step into that batters’ box. Neither of us have any points in the Gauntlet; and it’s going to be nearly impossible for the winner of our match to catch up to Demon or Bishop, and completely impossible for the loser. This is do or die for the both of us.
I have all of this sh*t running through my mind right now. I’m a right hot mess. I have to get focused. Somehow. Plus, I’ve still got this bloody headache from last night…though I imagine that’s actually long gone and this headache now is more stress than Captain induced. I can’t shake it…it’s been here for a few weeks now. But I’m just going to toss as much of this out of my head as possible when I step into that ring tonight. Julia is just an acquaintance. Alcohol is just a friend. It’s just another match. Austin is just a dork who has less of a right to be in the ring than me…I was born for this at least, just like Scarlett. That’s all that matters to me tonight. Not the Gauntlet point. It’s just about turning this hot mess into a hot less-mess.
Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and Hayes will get stuck in the airport and now even show for the match. A girl can dream a little, can’t she?
[/b][/center]'FINDERS KEEPERS LOSERS WEEPERS'
"W….what?"
What the hell is going on? Why is my alarm going off? Reaching over to my phone, I knock it off of the end table of the bed. Thud. Sh*t. I don’t have a case on this thing. Damn iPhone, I probably shattered the screen into a million pieces. Uggggh….reaching down off of the bed for it is hard work. I almost fall off. I grab the piece of crap, hey, it isn’t broken! Kill the alarm. Right. I slam the phone on the end table and lay back in bed, holding my hands over my eyes. Everything from the neck up hurts. I feel like Phillip Schneider just stabbed me in the head with a railway spike. F*ck. I roll over to the other side of the bed and it’s empty, made up perfectly. Where is h…ohhh I smell coffee. As if on cue, here comes my Knight in shining armor holding a Hilton mug in one hand and a closed fist for the other. He comes to my bedside and sits at my feet, opening his hand into mine and dropping aspirin into my palm. Coffee next.
"Drink up."
"O…ok…"
Aaron Knight. Son of Michael ‘Thunder’ Knight. 21. My boyfriend of…quite a while. Gotta say, he knows how to treat a hungover lady. I take my medicine and coffee, sitting up and planting myself firmly next to him, leaning my head against his shoulder, hoping I fall asleep again and this hangover is gone when I wake up. He strokes my hair, kissing the top of my head. How sweet. If only that fixed all of my problems. My feet barely reach the floor, but I feel a glass bottle at my toes. Very gingerly, I move my head forward to catch a glimpse and it would appear I killed a whole bottle of Captain Jack. Rest in Peace. Aaron doesn’t drink, so that one was all my doing. Normally Scarlett buys me liquor when we aren’t back in Tempe because I don’t get carded there. Nice of Aaron to get the good stuff.
…wait a minute. He’s seen me hungover before. He’s never been THIS nice.
"You gonna tell me why you’re being so nice to me this morning?"
"You had a hell of a night."
"If I remember correctly, which I don’t, you had to have had one too."
"If you don’t remember clearly, how do you know?"
"My hips are on fire," I say lying. Gotta boost his confidence somehow. But I do, vaguely, remember that.
Aaron goes to make a snarky comment back but instead he finds himself hiding his face in his chest. I lean over and kiss the side of his head and down the rest of the coffee. Cup. Table. Ok. Time to try and stand. Feet. Floor. Knees straight. One foot forward, and I have a hand on my back keeping me standing. F*ck I’m dizzy.
"You ok? Hurting that much?"
No, kid. You’re not THAT good. The Captain, however…he did a real number on me last night.
"Little bit. I’m super dizzy, too."
I grab my phone from the nightstand and slowly start making my way towards the bathroom, using the bed as a navigation stabilizer. Wait where is the bathroom in this place? No…that’s the closet. I’m not in there. Other side. Cool. I turn on the light and see a towel, cloth, a disposable vape pen and a whole change of clothes sitting on the stand next to the shower. Ok. Either he’s taking direct orders from Scarlett or he forgot the condom and this is his way of apologizing. Poor kid forgets the pill. Not about to f*ck up my life for a good time. Eh. I’ll let him stress, anyways. I’m a bitch when I’m hungover. Not sorry. I turn on the shower, close the door and sit in the corner of the bathroom, knees to my chest, staring at my phone. I take a couple of puffs of the pen and open my phone up. 4 new messages. 3 from Scarlett…but I don’t recognize this other number. I open that message first, curiosity piqued.
"I got your number from David. I’ll meet you in Dallas. There’s a shop across from the arena. Meet me before the show. You’ll want to talk with me. Julia."
David? Brennan? Williams? Arquette? I’ve got a stalker, apparently. Cool. At least the name is a woman. Unless I’m getting catfished and it’s some fat superfan looking to steal my shirt. I’ve heard those exist. I’m stupid. I’ll go. I’m already here anyways, why not? Ok. Now what the f*ck does Scarlett want? Open the most recent message, see how much trouble I’m in before I read the rest.
"TELL AARON TO SHUT THE F*CK UP. I’M IN THE ROOM RIGHT NEXT TO YOU F*CKERS AND HE’S LOUDER THAN PENNY AND HER GIRLFRIEND ARE AND THAT’S SAYING SOMETHING DAMMIT."
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Cure for a hangover, have your best friend tell you your boyfriend is louder in the sack than an obnoxious bitch roommate. I instantly feel better. Not really though, but it’s the thought that counts. Ok. Messages in order.
"I know what you two are planning. Don’t forget you have important business to conduct tomorrow, lady."
"This is the enemy. Hate him. Loathe him. Prepare for the kill."
Austin Hayes pic attached. Shame that pretty face has to get kicked in.
Thir….yeah already read that.
I take another puff and climb into the shower. Perfect temperature to stew my thoughts. The water pours over me, dripping from the tips of my hair and off of my chin as I lean forward and grab at the neck of the showerhead to maintain my balance.
The f*ck is wrong with me? These last couple of weeks are f*cking tearing me apart. I’m drinking more than I normally do. I’m blowing through two or three packs of Kools a day. I have to be in bed with Aaron every night, I haven’t even been back in Tempe just so I could stay close to him. I’m following Scarlett around from city to city for each show like a lost puppy dog. I haven’t talked to my mom or dad in almost a week, surely Scarlett is feeding them positive info. But Aaron is acting weird to me, even more than usual. Scarlett is seemingly more focused than ever on getting my head straight…she knows something’s wrong too. But why? What am I afraid of?
So I lost to Joe Bishop. Lots of people have. Dude is good, I never shirked his ability; just his toxic personality. Is it because I’m three weeks into the Gauntlet and still don’t have any points? I mean last week was a bye for me so of course I get nothing in return for that.
But I have nothing in general.
I have all of this support. Wayne, Vanessa, Scarlett, Movie Man, Brennan (silent support yo), Williams Aaron, Thunder, mom, dad…is that it? Am I afraid I’m disappointing them? I most certainly am not giving them a reason to be approving and pleased. They’ll never voice their displeasure, not even Scarlett who’s my toughest critic. But I’m used to disappointing people though. That’s just who I am. So what is it?
…f*cking overhype. That’s it. I’m starting to realize I was way too f*cking overhyped. I’m a second generation star with a terrible chip on my shoulder, and I’m on a mission. And all I have accomplished was push Joe Bishop to his limits and come up short. I did NOTHING to deserve to be in this tournament. It’s f*cking laughable that I was entered before the ink on my contract dried. Everyone expected greatness from me, as if I was supposed to win the world title from Drakz on my first f*cking show. I probably could have, but that’s another story. So much is expected of me.
I’m not Scarlett Quinn.
I’m Anna Ahriman.
I’m still a little girl. I act more mature than I really am…I know that. I drink, I smoke, I cuss like a sailor and yet I’m petrified of my shadow at this point. It was not the loss that shook me. It was not me disappointing people. It’s the ing pressure of my god damned surname. I get why Scarlett still refuses to use McGurk even in her return. There’s a knock on the door.
"Uhhh…a little busy here, Aaron," I shout out.
"Good thing I’m not Aaron."
This bitch has a red ear, even when I think about her.
"Fine. Get in here quickly. Don’t let the steam out."
The door opens and shuts quickly. I hear Scarlett close the lid on the loo and sit down.
"How’s the hangover?"
"How do you think?"
"You’ve never felt better?"
"Sure. Let’s go with that."
Awkward bathroom silence is awkward. Mainly because I’m naked in the same room as Scarlett Quinn, only a thin pane of glass protecting my blushed face but that’s another story.
"Aaron shot me a text to come over before I headed out to get ready for my GRAND return. What a dork."
"He’s my dork."
"He’s a dork who’s worried about you."
Oh, great. Just what I need. Disappointment with a dash of concern. Terrible seasoning.
"He’s always worried about me. He’s sometime too nice of a guy."
"I’m concerned too, little lady."
F*ck. I’m cooked.
"You’re…what…three weeks in now? And you’re already tail spinning. Not even Dex collapsed THAT fast. I’m not going to let you completely crash before you get that sweet taste in your mouth for the first time."
"It’s not your problem, Scarlett. Your concern is appreciated and duly noted, however."
Maybe my sarcasm will come across as honest statements.
"It IS my problem. I’m not going to let my friend fall apart like this without trying to stop it. You got overhyped like a mother*cker and you’re getting dragged down by not living up to the expectations right out the gate."
Nope.
"Are you a psychic?"
"I’ve been there. At the risk of sounding like a c*nt, my father is better than yours. McGurk holds more weight than Ahriman."
Do I sound argumentative right now?
"I didn’t know that was up for debate."
"I practically disowned my dad, I wanted to be my own woman. But I was nothing more than a little girl in a big ass pond of piranhas. I adapted quickly, but I’ve got a thicker skin than you. Plus, I didn’t dive a f*ck what anyone but Penny thought. I still kind of don’t…I don’t need approval from anyone. That’s part of why I decided to come back."
"So what are you telling me to do? Become a heartless ice queen like you once were until I achieve success?"
"Hell no. That life is far too lonely and one you are not suited for. I’m not going to lie. Barring a miracle, you aren’t winning your pool in the gauntlet. Trace is too far ahead, and Joe’s got a tiebreaker in the unlikely event Trace collapses. Or gets murdered by Ante Whitner."
"Ante’s doing God’s work by taking out Dean."
Hail Whitner. We’re not worthy.
"Hehe, there’s my little wise ass chica. But the point stands…your overhype led you to believe everyone expected you to win the Gauntlet, and now you’re already down by half at the half and it’ll take that miracle to crawl back up."
"You’re not wrong. I literally just put that together myself. Who knew life’s mysteries were best solved naked in the shower?"
"Everyone. Duh. Point is…none of us actually expected you to win, lovely."
"…but why? No faith?"
"Nah. We all have faith. You’ve got no experience and got put into the bracket of death, and against a sure fire Hall of Famer the moment he hangs up his boots in your very first match. You went in too confident, and that’s our fault for not giving you a more realistic expectation outcome. And I blame myself as much as anyone else."
"It’s my head, not your fault."
"I have been one of the key figures propping you up. Yes, I’m as much at fault and I won’t let you tell me otherwise. But the mission now has to change in that head of yours."
"To?"
"Win if you can, lose if you must, but fight like f*cking hell. And start tonight with Austin. You both have a blank slate, someone’s got to get their first point. You’re both rookies. So get your hungover head out of your ass and prove that the overhyping wasn’t without some merit. Because dammit, Anna, you’re a f*cking fighter. You BELONG in the WFWF. So what if you don’t win the f*cking tournament? There’s ten people in it. Only one can. It’s not like the odds were any kind in your favor to begin with. But this company will one day be yours. Ours. The path just isn’t quite as easy as you had been led to believe."
I can’t help but weep, unable to differentiate my tears from the water falling over my face. She hears this, opening the door to the shower, reaching in and pulling my head to her chest. I grab at the sleeves of her shirt, holding tight. Scarlett kisses the top of my head and runs her hand through my soaking wet hair. She’s whispering ‘shh’ in my ear.
"Be strong, little one. You’ve got this."
"I…I believe you."
It was at that moment I realized that I’ve got a fighting chance. Bring it on, Hayes.
__
Act I Scene V: How He Lived
Cruisin’ down the street in my…kicks. I’ll be damned if I am taking my car through the streets of Dallas while still hung over. F*ck that noise. I’m close enough to the little shop anyways. I made sure to turn Location on my phone and have informed Scarlett of my whereabouts in the unfortunate event I get kidnapped or mugged in a back alley over a shirt.
I showed the text from this ‘Julia’ to Scarlett, asking her if she could make any sense of it. She insisted that she couldn’t, but I know she’s lying through her teeth. I don’t know a Julia, but she sure as hell at least knows of one. I contemplated NOT going at the last minute, but it was Scarlett’s urging me to go that gave it away that she f*cking knew who I was meeting. She just didn’t want to say. Maybe it’s a super fan. Maybe she’s some kind of talent scout. Maybe she’s some chick Penny slept with while on tour with WFWF and needs help at getting back at Penny….which by the way I would totally f*cking bite on.
Regardless, I have no idea who or what I am looking for. Unless this ‘Julia’ is going to be holding one of those signs you see tacky limousine drivers waving at LAX or some sh*t. Gonna have to assume she is looking out for me and that we are actually in the same place at the same time. That’d be awkward otherwise.
As I approach the shop, I’ve got a million things on my mind. Naturally I am overthinking how many different ways I can contort that Dungeon Master Ash Ketchum wannabe Austin Hayes and make him cry for his mother. Meanwhile, just a few hours prior I was just crying and practically begging for my mother when Scarlett wrapped me up in her arms to console me as I had a mini-meltdown.
OH GOD I WAS NAKED AND SHE DIDN’T CARE. OH SH*T.
…maybe there’s hope for a fling yet? We’ll likely be traveling together since she’s back on the active roster…nothing wrong with a one time….many time…stand is there? Doubt Aaron would care.
See what’s going on in my head? Stranger danger. Work. Meltdown. Hangover. Boyfriend. Dream girlfriend. Where are those baggie dealers Slanted and Enchanted when you need them? Hell, I’d probably buy whatever the hell Donnie Kent was selling on the street if I saw him. THAT’S saying something.
As I prepare to open the door to the shop, I glance across the street at the massive arena in which I will be center stage quite literally in just a few hours. Makes me feel really small when I see something that bi….watdafuq is that?
The picture showing marquee billboard shows off the WFWF event happening tonight…and MY GOD DAMN FACE IS PLASTERED ALL ACROSS THE SCREEN. WHAT THE F*CK? I did NOT approve of this subjectification dammit. I haven’t even approved of a f*cking action figure. Christsake. Good thing there aren’t a ton of people glaring up at the billboard and that the crazed fans haven’t arrived to hound us for autographs…I’d probably either die of embarrassment or knock somebodies f*cking lights out. Depends on their age and if they’re cute or not.
…f*ckin’ hormones yo.
Opening the door to the coffee shop, I scan the shop for the limo driver sign. Nothing. Meh, was worth a shot. This is real life, not some piece of fiction. I walk up to the counter, and I get stuck with a not so attractive, yet seemingly pleasant looking barista. I was hoping for one of those hot chicks you see in Starbucks promos.
"How may I help you?"
"Uhh," I scan the menu above her head quickly. None of it makes any sense to me. "Coffee, five cream, four sugar."
"Parvus, Medius, or Magna?"
What in the actual f*ck? These sound more made up than Venti…whatever.
"Umm…large."
"Magna. Right. Two fifty six. Can I have a name for the order?"
"Anna."
"Thank you."
I pull out my card and go to insert the chip…and there is no where to do so?
"Please slide. We don’t use the chip."
Good f*cking lord this place must be old timer hipster heaven. Use…Latin(?) and refuse to convert to chip? I didn’t know this kind of place existed in Dallas. I haven’t even seen anyone munching on a rib-eye in a cowboy hat with a shottie strapped to the back of a Dixie jacket. Is this real life? I swipe the card, get my receipt and walk over to the side to wait for my order.
"Anna! Order up!"
I grab my cup and thank the barista, and as I go to take a sip I catch a glimpse of the Sharpie name.
Ana.
Who the f*ck is Ana? This is the easiest f*cking name in the WFWF. Hell, man. I tell ya. The sooner I get the hell out of Dallas the better.
I look for an open booth and prepare to slide myself in when a voice rises above the 80’s rock music on the radio.
"Anna! Anna Ahriman!"
I take a look across the café and see a middle aged fellow ginger slowly waving her hand to grab my attention. This must be the woman I’m supposed to be meeting. She looks…normal. And she certainly does not look like someone who would be a die-hard wrestling fan, so what she wants with me is beyond my comprehension. Just another thing to toss around in my freaking head. I can’t handle this right now. I nod my head at her and take a seat in her booth. She looks vaguely familiar to me but I just can’t put my finger on it.
"I take it you’re my mysterious text message buddy?"
"I am, yes. Name is actually Julia, no worries."
"That’s good. I had concerns meeting someone who sent me a random text message, but my friend told me it would be a good idea. She wouldn’t admit to knowing you, but she has to."
"She? I asked David for your number. Don’t believe he’s a she…not that there’d be anything wrong with that…though I should say that quietly here in Texas. Trump country."
"Oh good, a kindred political spirit."
"Oh, no, I voted for Trump. I just have a few different feelings on things."
Ok. Time for a quick exit. Can’t have a talk with a Trump supporter. Speaking of, where the f*ck is Dex?
"Umm…no. Woman, my friend Scarlett."
"Didn’t know you were that close with Wayne’s daughter. Figured you’d be egged on by Aaron or something."
"Wait…I’ve got to catch up here. Scarlett Quinn is a celebrity in her own right, so it’s public knowledge who her dad is even if you aren’t a wrestling fan. But how the hell do you know Aaron? Let alone that he’s my beau? Are you seriously a stalker?"
"Heh, down kid. I’ve gotten to know Michael a little bit over the last year or so."
"Michael…Thunder? Wait. Now I’m just confused…more than I was before I sat down. I know you. Why do I know you?"
"David gave me your number. I felt it was high time I met you."
"David. Brennan?"
"Williams."
Oh sh*t…
"…Shawn’s brother?"
"Indeed."
Oh f*ck.
"You…are you…?"
"David’s my brother-in-law."
THE PICTURE. THE F*CKING PICTURE ON SHAWN’S BEDSTAND. THAT’S HOW I KNOW HER. I almost spit out my coffee, and she smiles at me.
"I’m Julia Welders. Formerly Malakai. I wanted to meet the little girl my late ex-husband basically took in as his own after he insisted he never wanted another child in any manner after Xana died."
Oh god I’m about to be murdered.
"…and ask you how you managed to thaw his once iced over heart…"
Ok, imminent life threat over. Now this is just bringing my heart down.
"…and request you tell me how he was when he died."
I take a sip of my coffee and tuck my hair behind my ear.
"I’m sorry. I can’t do that."
She’s taken aback by my honesty. Just wait till I drop the bomb.
"…but I can tell you how he lived his final days in…as much happiness as David, my father and myself could provide to him."
__
Act I Scene VI: Hot Mess
Soooooo…lots of sh*t going down in my life right now. I’m mentally falling apart because of wrestling. I’ve got the ex-wife of a very old, very dead friend and mentor of mine hounding me for information…but I imagine she has an ulterior motive for contacting me. Maybe it’s in some kind of sick form of penance because she’s FINALLY come to the realization that Xana’s death wasn’t just on Shawn’s shoulders…she was just as much her mother as he was her father. And she wants to know how I managed to replace Xana in his heart. Dummy, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I was just a little kid when I met him; hell I still am. I was just being nice to an idol of mine who took literally time out of his life to make me happy, tell me stories, and be as much of a dad to me as my dad is. But I’ll continue to indulge her. I saved her number in my phone, I bet she’s going to want more talks. I can tell she doesn’t like that I’m a little girl wrestling, I got that much from our brief conversation before I left for the arena. I invited her to come, meet Scarlett in person too but she was almost appalled by the recommendation. So stay tuned for more info on that one. But now down to brass tacks.
In wrestling, I’m way too f*cking in over my head and down by two in the bottom of the ninth with the bases empty and about to strike out with one bad swing at Austin Hayes. Like Scarlett told me, he and I are not just both rookies but we’re also in the same position when we step into that batters’ box. Neither of us have any points in the Gauntlet; and it’s going to be nearly impossible for the winner of our match to catch up to Demon or Bishop, and completely impossible for the loser. This is do or die for the both of us.
I have all of this sh*t running through my mind right now. I’m a right hot mess. I have to get focused. Somehow. Plus, I’ve still got this bloody headache from last night…though I imagine that’s actually long gone and this headache now is more stress than Captain induced. I can’t shake it…it’s been here for a few weeks now. But I’m just going to toss as much of this out of my head as possible when I step into that ring tonight. Julia is just an acquaintance. Alcohol is just a friend. It’s just another match. Austin is just a dork who has less of a right to be in the ring than me…I was born for this at least, just like Scarlett. That’s all that matters to me tonight. Not the Gauntlet point. It’s just about turning this hot mess into a hot less-mess.
Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and Hayes will get stuck in the airport and now even show for the match. A girl can dream a little, can’t she?