Post by chaos lite on Jun 16, 2013 0:07:10 GMT -4
you’ve got me ringing
hell’s bells
hell’s bells
jun.13.thirteennight
I was walking behind him. I guess it was a few minutes after the cameras stopped filming for Overdrive. My head was still throbbing. My back still hurt. He was walking with a little less pep and direction than he normally did. Logan. Hurt again- led into the wrong side of battle once again, and it was because of me, and I could see it in him now.
”In the way you walk... in the way you talk, I can see what I’ve done to you. It’s clear now.”
We marched in silence, and every time he faltered even the tiniest bit, or looked like he was even remotely close to straying from the direct path to our locker room, my heart sank. I remembered the events from four weeks ago... I remembered watching him collapse, and thinking the absolute worst, and I physically positioned myself behind him, ready to accept the impossible.
”When I saw that we were opponents this week, I got angry, and I looked at it like it was an attack. I saw that the New Sindicate was being sabotaged. It was too convenient, and too easy to predict- so easy that I never saw it coming...”
We’d reached our locker room, and I was just watching Logan as he stood, a towel slung over his shoulder, a single tablet of aspirin between his thumb and finger- one that I’d given him that I partially expected he wouldn’t even take.
”It wasn’t until now that I understood what this... is.”
I leaned against the far wall, watching as Logan reclined across the locker room sofa, his eyes closed from exhaustion. I thought, for the tiniest of fractions of a second in the farthest depths of my mind, that he looked vulnerable, but I was happy because for a moment at least, he was resting.
”Regardless of what’s at stake, and regardless of what happens on June 30th, tomorrow night, we have to fight, Logan. I didn’t get it... and you did, and I’m sorry that I-”
I stood in front of the mirror in the private locker-room’s bathroom. I remember one thing lucidly about that mirror... there was an almost perfect, triangular-shaped crack in the glass in the bottom corner, and it looked like somebody had tried to crudely super-glue it whole again.
”I’m sorry that it’s like this. I guess it’s out of our control.”
I observed the tiny, but aggravated scrapes and cuts along my arms, and the backs of my shoulders- casualties of war from one too many tosses against the ropes and unceremonious exits from the ring.
”We’re going to give it everything we have. They’ll think we’re enemies, the way we’ll fight- and I know you’ll fight like that, because you’ll have to. I’ll have to. You won’t let this go any other way, will you?”
The shower. I think that’s the part I remember the most vividly. The most accurately.
There was this weird feeling that I got when I watched the blood run down my arms, and my shoulders, and fade, going from a crimson, to a pink, to as clear as the water raining from the showerhead. The water was warm, but I got goosebumps.
”Last time we fought, we could’ve killed each other, and no matter what the circumstances were, you’re the one that came out on top, and for a week after that, it bothered me. It was November, and it seems like such a long time ago, but I remember that it tore me apart for those seven days where we didn’t see each other. It could’ve killed us.
It almost did... it almost did kill us.”
I ran the hands over the lines of ripped, pink flesh. I glanced at the blood on my fingertips... watched as the water collided with it, and carried it down to the tiles, sweeping it into the drain... again... again...
”It’s funny.
I don’t know if I ever let that go.”
I stepped out of the shower, and my eyes drifted toward the imperfection in the mirror... that triangle of damaged glass.
”In this business, you’re everything to me, and we’ve always been the competitive type... seeing that we’re 2-1 in competition here gives me that fun motivation, and that- that drive. It makes me want to beat you so I can show you that I took what you taught me, and I turned it into my own, and I became a formidable opponent.”
I pulled my clothes on; the details of which I can’t remember, but it was casual. It was dark. I remember that.
And I remember not being able to look away from that triangle of broken glass.
“Maybe an unbeatable one.”
I pulled it. It moved, but it didn’t come flying out- I pulled at that triangle of glass, and I gave it three solid tugs before it finally came separated from the mirror.
”But there’s another motivation, Logan.”
One shaky step followed another until I was standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the locker room.
Beyond the door, I could hear the sound of Megastars and crew members shuffling about in the distance, many of them making their way out of the arena for the night. My eyes were on my tag team partner, though. My eyes, on my opponent. Logan was still lying on the sofa, having drifted off to sleep. Vulnerability.
”You’re standing between me and something that happens to be incredibly important to me.
You’re the one thing preventing me from getting that chance to validate what I’ve suspected all along- that I’m the best at what we do here in APW.”
Gripping the jagged shard of glass, I made my way toward Logan.
”It’s fitting. You’ve given me all the tools to succeed, and all the opportunities in the world... except this one. Overcoming you, in the grand scheme of things, has always been difficult. I’ve always had to fight twice as hard.
I’ve always had to try to hurt you.”
And there I stood, holding that glass, looking down at him, and at the content, composed semi-smile he wore in his sleep.
”And this time...”
I raised the shard.
”...it could kill us for good.”
And I drove it into his throat.
Down.
Down.
His eyes shot open, instantly red, wide with an uncharacteristic panic. His hands reached up, and they wrapped around my wrist. It was futile.
I tore the shard through his flesh, past his throat, up through his neck, toward his jawline, and the warm crimson poured over my fingers, and down my palms like a river, and finally, a horrible, ear-splitting, glass-shattering shriek.
…
”It’s fitting.”
I opened my eyes, wincing when I realized that the water from the showerhead had become scalding hot. The faucet was making an annoying whistling- no, squealing sound and I reached forward, turning off the water, and pulling myself out of the shower.
I resumed my routine. I got dressed. I allowed my damp hair to fall behind my shoulders. My eyes drifted toward the imperfection in the mirror.
”I’ll defeat you.”
I stood in the doorway, between the bathroom and the locker room. I listened to the shuffling of Megastars and crew members, making their way out of the arena.
There he was, still asleep. Still peaceful. Still vunerable.
”I don’t have the strength... to be sane. I don’t have it in me to look you in the eye and accept that I could lose on Sunday, because this tournament- this validation is everything to me.
When I hear a bell on Sunday, you’re dead to me. The name ‘Logan Alexander’ means nothing to me until I do whatever it to win, and I’ll probably have to hurt you. I’m okay with it. We have to hurt our friends sometimes.
Badly.
You’ve hurt me. You didn’t mean to... in fact, you had to. Something always hung in the balance. The first time was in a Fatal-Four-Way, and a shot at the North American Title was on the line. It was the first time I lost, and I walked away without a scratch, and I smiled, and we hugged, and I got over it, but it hurt. It stung. It was a wake-up call. It was necessary.
That was the first time you hurt me.”
Staring at him, I felt tears in my eyes, and if he’d been awake, I probably would’ve felt stupid. If I was about to cry, I had no idea why. Maybe at one point I did, but if you asked me now, I’d be stumped.
”The second time was in November, and it’s a night we remember very well. The North American Title that I beat six men, including yourself, for, was on the line. Sienna was the special referee. Everybody decided that they wanted to be a part of that match, and whether it was Sienna herself, Amy Zing, Evan Envi, or that bastard Delikado, everybody found a way to make their mark in that match.
It ended with me having my skull driven into a chair at the of the night. It ended with me losing my title, and going to Asylum, where I had no idea that the powers-that-be only wanted me there so they could attempt to feed me to the wolves in an attempt to promote THEIR idea of the future.
People like Sally Talfourd. People like Phil Atken.
And who the fuck was I? I was the girl that couldn’t even hold onto a strap for a month. I was nothing. I was alone. I was nobody all over again.”
Those tears- there weren’t many, but they felt like they were boiling my skin as they traveled past my nose, down over my lips.
”That was the last time you hurt me.”
And I watched him.
I watched him for a long time.
i killed him
jun.15.thirteenmorning
”Still having those nightmares?”
We were at Cassandra’s aunt’s house in Atlanta. I’m sure I stressed multiple times how thankful I was that we were staying in such a nice, low-key place- I just couldn’t remember it. She had basically offered the entire basement to Talon and I for the weekend, and it was a hard offer to refuse. It was better than a hotel.
But looking around the house, and at the old-fashioned kitchen we were currently sitting in was a distraction. Looking at the vanilla and the sugar sitting on the table between Cassandra and I was a distraction. It kept me from having to lie, and Cassandra picked up on it, giving me a small nod.
”Think they’d go away if you talked to someone about it?”
”Ha. With who? Norman? Talon? You?”
She shrugged. I remember she had coffee, and she was adding vanilla to it, sipping it every few seconds.
”Maybe. Maybe Logan.”
”I don’t like talking to him a lot before big things like this. Makes me think about too many things.”
”Like what?”
Her intrigue would’ve normally annoyed me, but I couldn’t help myself. I met her eyes.
”Hurting him. Hurting him really badly.”
She added more vanilla.
”How bad?”
Sugar.
”Bad.”
Vanilla.
”Like, kill him bad?”
Sugar.
”Like, yeah. Like kill him bad.”
She seemed satisfied by the taste of her coffee by now and for a few seconds, Cassandra didn’t speak to me. She didn’t look surprised by what I was saying. She usually wasn’t anymore, I guess.
”Have you had these thoughts about the others?”
”Others?”
”Yeah, like... Legion, Bailey, McDonald, Mannie... Keaton... like, everyone. If Logan beats you, then you have to worry about all of them, plus whoever else ends up in there, and... and...”
She trailed off, becoming cognizant of the cold and unamused stare I had fixed on her.
”I’m not going to be participating in any second chance Battle Royal tomorrow, Cass. I’m gonna do it right the first time.”
”You can’t possibly be so sure about that.”
”Why not?”
”It’s Logan. Logan.”
”I know who it is.”
”No one else has been able to beat him on Asylum.”
”Until tomorrow. And you forget... no one else is Aubrey J. Parker.”
I reached across the table, taking her mug by the handle. I raised it to my lips and took a sip. Too sweet. I don’t even think there was liquor in it. Seriously, how did this bitch live her life?
”I just think it’s really cool, that you two get to have another one on one match. I like it when you guys are out there together, for whatever reason. He really keeps your head straight.”
Fucking cunt. I hated her casual smile. She had no idea that every time she fucking spoke, she was killing me, making this situation worse.
”And you guys are mature. You think you want to kill him now, or whatever, but that’s just... they’re just nerves. When your match is over tomorrow night, and then the Battle Royal is over, and you both make it into Test for the Best along with Christian, you’ll forget about all of this.”
I remember what I had imagined. I remembered driving that glass into his neck, and carving, and killing.
”Then we can all go out to dinner and celebrate. And we’ll drink to you.”
I stared at her, and I lost the ability to... form words, temporarily, you could say.
”And to Logan.”
I couldn’t speak.
”And Christian.”
I can’t explain it. Not now.
”And Terry. And the New Sindicate. It’ll be great.”
When she put it like that, everything sounded promised. It was as if on the other side of her words, there was a reality that just seemed so far out of place; so perfect. It was a sweet and ethereal fantasy. It didn’t feel as if it belonged to the New Sindicate.
”What I have to do tomorrow is really complex, and I don’t want to do it, but I’m going to. And I don’t want it to mess up anything you’ve got floating around in your head. I want you to keep cheering for Christian, and Terry, and for me... and keep cheering for Logan.
We’ll drink to ourselves, and to our accolades. Ha, it’ll be fucking grand.”
I folded my hands neatly before me on the table and looked at Cassandra.
”But don’t stop cheering. Don’t ever stop... cheering... whatever you see out there...”
She listened, so intently. She watched me with these shaking eyes, studying me.
”...don’t hold it against me. I’m just doing what I’ve got to.”
She listened to it. She let it register, but she never reacted to it directly. Not that I could remember. All I recall is her bringing that mug to her lips, and saying something passive- probably something about the coffee, or the house. But one thing stuck out, and she said it; it wasn’t a delusion.
”Don’t hurt all your friends.”
Ha.
fin.
dead.
