''One's'' Love Triangle (8)

[Level-Two]

''One's'' Family Bloodlines (8)

Your regularly scheduled broadcast has currently been rescheduled...

I'm better than you.

As the lights brighten and a stage hand signals as if he was replicating the arms on a clock, I closed my eyes tightly and sighed. Two minutes. Two minutes to evaluate everything I have gone through to make it here today. Fortunately, communicating through your own consciousness speeds the process up, quite a bit so hopefully, I can do myself some justice.

I'm a world heavyweight champion but by now everyone knows that. For many however, achieving such a career milestone would warrant a breather, a vacation or some other form self gratification one could think of but, not me. Some disagree with how I've gotten to where I am today but their judgements fail to redirect my direction. My soul, my heart and my body, no matter how empty, cold, or damaged any of the three may have been, always belonged to me. No price tags. No deals. No compromise.

And because I was true to myself, with every leaping step I took towards the finish line—I may, have tripped over a few rocks in my path. I may have fallen face first in dirt and I may have taken the hard road when I easily could have skipped along the short cut—but that's what makes me, me. I maybe confident, prideful and sometimes hard headed but I am always humble. After all, I am not perfect...

...but I'm the closest thing to it.

Even after eight world class championships to my name and three separate hall of fame inductions later; I'm still not perfect. I'm still held to limitations every other person on this planet, is. One day however, I'll be immune. One day, my strength will come in the form of weakness leaving my body—and I'll truly become the beast I was made out to be. And if Perfect is still impossible? Then, I'll just become the human embodiment of impossible.

Impossible to stop. Impossible beat. Impossible to be. And while champions can be made overnight with blueprints of the make up of Bryan Payne, legends are built over the longevity of a life time. At the ripe old age of 26 it's not hard to see I have quite the long way to go but I've always been up for the challenge; Que, Sally Talfourd.

If she knew I was here, doing this, perhaps it would give her the inspiration of a little giggle. While, I'm here soaking up flashing lights, she's in the gym doing push ups on her knees calling it pre-match preparation. While I'm here approaching a podium she's getting ready to approach her bedtime, proud that she was strong enough to skip the drama television and the side serving of a tub of ice cream. And while I'm here eyeing the world in-front of me as if it was mine for the taking, she's getting ready to type up her latest blog to her fans laced with sentiments of hard work and ''sacrifice'';

For Sally Talfourd, Shockwave is the forum in which she can express her desire to be a world champion and quite possibly begin to moderate the direction of this company and I know that means, a lot. However, sympathy cards never wins you the poker game—not mention, I have so much more on the line. Where these chips fall?

An empire will be built...

I opened my eyes the stage hand held three fingers high above his head and before I could watch them go down, the camera had been rolling...

''Um, yes, hello... ladies and gentlemen watching at home. I'm sure you all know who I am and what I do for a living and if you don't—you are probably living under a rock with no heating nor own a television and thus probably won't see this message, anyways...''

The camera crew behind the scenes displayed their laughter, unprofessionally as I fiend a fake smile. I straightened my posture and looked the camera which levelled with my eye.

''I happily inform you that for the next thirty minutes I will be interrupting your daily mindless drivel of celebrity gossip, propaganda media channels and god like worship over stupid reality television shows. Instead you are encouraged to listen to me... or you can log onto your computers, charge up your internet browser and watch Sally Talfourds latest dreadful promo so I don't have to...'''

I rolled my eyes. Here's hoping, some emails me a full paged review report on it—boiling down the most important aspects of what she has to say, better yet... make it half a page, double spaced. That should do the trick.

''The reason I am here however is not to sell you great informed citizens of this country, a great action packed event slated for this Sunday's, August 29th, weekend day—for a bargain deal for only $49.99 when you order it on the world wide web at APW.com; but to instead inform you that I am here to change the way business is done in Liberty City!''

I held up a fist as I leaned over the podium placing my lips as close as the microphone without french kissing it.

''I may not be eligible nor have the connections needed to get my name on the ballot for the upcoming elections but I am here to make a promise to the citizens of this city. The truth is, I'm no politician—and if the last twenty five years was any indication that these are the people who aren't going to save you then there isn't much more I can say here today that would appease your ill willed decisions. For those however who want something different, new and innovative then perhaps what I have to offer would be of interest of you today...''

I turned my head around and made eye contact with Jason Blackburn who leaned against the exit door just out of sight of the cameras. He nodded his head once and lifted his thumb in the air—he was as ready as I was to get to the point.

''I have a fool proof plan that will take this city to heights it has never been to before. It will give life to the economy, eventually getting everyone back to work—where we as a society belong! This plan of mine will fix roads, schools and hospitals around this city. Not only will this city pull itself to the red line and out of debt but will turn a pricey profit this city hasn't seen in years! Now, I'm not asking you folks for a damn thing until what I've said is done, in fact all I am asking you is for the recognition I deserve when it is done and this is built better then it has ever been before...''

I pointed at the camera to emphasize my next point.

''Now here's how I plan to get all of this done...''

Suddenly, the camera crew begins to engage in chatter as they look to each-others professional analysis to diagnose what is occurring behind the scenes, inadvertently cutting me off in the process. I looked up at Jason Blackburn who is eyeing a nearby television monitor as he approached me at the podium with bad news.

''What the hell is going on?'' I whispered as I turned towards the camera crew with a nervous smile; ''Are we still on?'' I asked to which as if on que the camera crew nodded their head side to side.

''You might want to look over there...''

Jason Blackburn said as he pointed to the playback monitor. The feed to my very own broadcast had been cut out to plaster another smooth face on television—they always claimed I was irreplaceable inside the ring but outside in the real world the climate was always much harsher. Here I was on prime time television dealing with the big dogs who ran the networks and called the shots and they were flaunting their powers in my face and there was nothing I could do about it... at least for now.

The president with his fancy suite hanging out like royalty in his oval office slash playground palace issued an emergency ''state of the union adress'' cutting my voice off by the vocal chords. His poise put mine to shame. The two thugs who guarded him looked like a pair of world champions themselves—perhaps I could rest easy knowing that if this entire running this city thing didn't work out and my wrestling career was to go astray starting with a defeat by the hands of Sally Talfourd, then lugging around the President for a less then an impressive pay cheque is about all I can do. Jason Blackburn wrapped his arm over me and leaned on my shoulder trying to cheer me up, the idiot.

''I'm afraid to tell you, you've just been cut off about twenty minutes to early by the President of the united states...''

''Well fuck him then! We spent over $500, 000 grand for this slot out of MY money and now it was about as good as nothing?''

''No, don't think about it like that. Think about the positives. I mean, you just introduced yourself to millions of people outside the APW while cutting only a measly ten minutes from the six hours citizens of this country spend on average, per day! Now this jack ass here, is going to spend about an hour saying much less and everyone is going to miss the next episode of some stupid karaoke contest. I can't imagine that his actions here today, won't hurt his approval ratings, which I mind you are already down the toilet...''

''This is bullshit, Jason! Does this motherfucker know who I am!? I'm an APW world champion! A former true expert! I'm a hall of famer goddamn it and a future legend just in case those other facts fail to appease this motherfucker! Who does this asswipe think he is do to this to ME!?''

''Well, uh, he is the President united states?''

I shoved Jason's arm off of me in complete and utter disgust. It was clear to see who's side he was on and it wasn't mine. The text message signal on my phone rang off as I scuffled through my pockets, in a drunken like rage. I pulled out my phone as I pointed at Jason Blackburn.

''In that case this better be a text from the president himself apologizing for his rude and rather untimely interruption then, shouldn't it? You listen to me, Jesus Christ to Muhammad. Peanut butter or jelly, fucking united states president or not—I refuse to be treated like this. I refuse to be made a mockery of and I refused to be fucked with! We are going to run this fight club, Jason. And we are going to use to become the two most powerful sons of bitches in the entire country...''

''Hey man—just remember the main goal, alright? We are going to do this fair and clean. No funny business. Large net profits really isn't worth much if you can't enjoy it in a 2 by 4 cell next to Chico and his boyfriend Freddy, alright?''

''We won't do anything that Mr. President and his cabinet hasn't done to achieve their feats of power...''

I looked down and saw Jason Blackburn fiddling with my phone, as snatched it back from his hands. He had ventured through my in box and the name ''Patricia Lewis'' had been highlighted with the message line saying; ''You want to rule the world now...''; I sighed and looked up at Jason who merely shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

''Are you sure you and your quest for world domination has room for a package of diapers and formula?''

I scoffed off Jason Blackburn's cheap shot as I opened up the message which had read;

''Can you please put this entire saving the city thing to rest? At least, until you pick me up some strawberry ice cream with some chocolate syrup, with a package of marsh mellows, please? I'm craving it right now!!!''

I flipped the phone and sighed. Jason Blackburn for the most part was right. I knew becoming a king pin of sorts in this city was no walk in the park. Apart of me wanted me to chalk this entire thing up as naivety, and call it a night—but then what kind of champion would I really be? Perhaps, in a week—that question would be void and invalid but a question that needed to be asked.

For now though, baby steps. And with one on the way, I'd have to put world domination on the back burner, at least until I pick up that bucket of ice cream and everything else she had desired with it.

The things we do for love are...
...always stronger then the things we'll do for power.

''One's'' Love Triangle (8)

''You need to see the doctor, Lester. The last thing you need is to re-aggravate your neck any further. And please don't rule out vacating the championship and taking a rest to heal up properly, okay?''

Her voice was all I could think about as I impatiently sat in the waiting room. Jason Blackburn had accompanied me but he could care less about the final result of my injury, he knew that no matter what news the doctor had given me good or bad, I was going to fight. It is my belief that deep down Patricia knew this too; she knew me better then anyone else. It was likely she had felt the duty to tell me otherwise, even if I wasn't going to listen.

Still, I've taken great lengths to do my best to keep her at least, content. If you put me in same predicament as I am now a mere several months ago; her words probably would have escaped my mind, through my ear and then out the other and I'd be skipping out on the hour long waiting process to see a health professional. To be truthful, I don't think I have matured anymore then her belly has grown, a few months in to her pregnancy. She still kept a highly desirable body figure, after all. And if honesty is what truly does me in for good, perhaps it's the guilt hanging over my head like a dark cloud does this city when mother nature makes a cry out in the name of injustice. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't it...

Right now, I have everything going for me. A world championship. An empire boiling on the back burner; and women I can call mine who is carrying our unborn child with an unknown future—it's as if nothing can touch me. Though, I'm not blind. I can read the sign language. I can see the slight of hand morph into a balled up fist ready to hit me where it hurts me the most. A widow peaking through the curtains with a blade behind her back ready to stick it into the women she see's as her mistresses back—she's a widow because I am dead to her.

Where I go, darkness follows and I know nothing about living in a shadow. I really wish things were that simple but it's not. This is life and it throws you a few dozen curve balls all at once at a pace you can't barely keep up with never mind hit out of the ballpark. So, I pick my shots. One ball at a time. Each time I swing, you can bet the energy I swing with will be worth it.

Stepping up to the plate next is...

''Lester Only?'' The doctor calls out. He saw me as he nodded my head once and sighed, waving his along, signalling for me to follow his lead.

''So, it's you again? I could have sworn I had signed for a new doctor...''

I complained at the sight of my old doctor. A doctor which I hadn't seen in years. I don't know if it was because I was built out of rock and stone or if I was just lucky, but I haven't needed to see a qualified doctor specializing in my area of work since, well... the EWC. Thank god that joint shut down. I've already spent $500, 000 grand on a less then profitable deal—the last thing I needed was to be fined every time I dropped the three letters of doom but since they exist no longer in practise, there was no bill I could possibly run up. Needless to say, EWC's dodgy business was sure to rub off on this guy being a former employee. His name was Dr. Paul. He was already a slime ball as far back as I could remember.

''Yes, that's correct. However, a nice young lady called in on your behalf and wanted to make sure you were tended too immediately and I was willing to step in and work overtime for an old friend...''

''Oh, so that's what we are, huh?''

We entered his office and I took a seat in a chair across from his own. He placed his notepad on the table and looked up at me and sighed.

''Our old EWC days are done and over with; how about we forget them too? Besides, you aren't half the kid you were when you first came in here. I can see the industry is treating you quite well, champ...''

''Yeah, the neck injury is quite the gift that keeps on giving. It's all apart of the business, I suppose. You know much like failing to give your clients a proper rest period in between scheduled events, forcing them to wrestle injured and over all throwing them in harm ways, treating them more like prized cocks in a cock fight rather then world class wrestlers in what was billed as a world class promotion...''

''So much for forgetting the past thing I was talking about, huh?''

He raised his eyebrows above the rim of his thin framed glasses as if I hadn't had much of a choice but to accept his call for truce. Wisely, he didn't wait around in silence and was eager to move forward with the process at hand perhaps his main-motivation was getting me out of his office and on my way, that would make two of us. He placed a brown folder on his table and removed pictures that had been kept hidden inside. Removing the first photo out of the line up, he held it up in the air in front of my face.

''Level-One or Mr. Only, which ever you prefer—your neck injury makes you highly vulnerable to the possibility of worsening your injury to an upgraded diagnosis which is more then likely to result in surgery, delaying the process of recovery even further as long as up to six months to a year. And in the event of a far more extreme injury, it could possibly side line you for the rest of your career or possibly result in death...''

I quickly stood up willingly ignorant to the doctors observations that were leading me nowhere, afraid to hear anything more.

''I want a second opinion! How about we start with my real doctor who's on vacation or something!?''

Dr. Paul simply placed the photo he had been holding up back onto the pile as he leaned back in his chair and gave me a long and hard look—as if he was evaluating my current condition with his bare eye, rather then the high powered fool proof scan.

''Look at the end of the day whether or not you want to compete is solely up to you and it isn't my profession to try to bargain with you on doing otherwise but rather provide support for you when your decisions are made. It is however in your best interest to keep these risks in mind before you do something irrational and end up hurting yourself, or worse...''

''Well, thanks for the consideration ''doc'' but I think I have everything covered. This isn't my first time fighting through the pain and taking a big risk—maybe if this was ''just another match'' I'd consider and weigh your professional opinion but when it comes to the world championship? I'm the professional and I sign my own doctors note...''

Dr. Paul nodded his head up and down, acknowledging everything I had to say. He pulled out a small note pad out of his white clean lab coat and a pen out of his pocket. The pen was blue. It's amazing, what little irrelevant things the complicated human mind decides to take note of, speaking of notes...

''So tell me a little about your next opponent?''

''Well, her name is Sally Talfourd...''

Dr. Paul stops and looks at me as if I had just called his mother a bitch and he couldn't believe what had emerged from my lips with the assist credited to my tongue. His eyes spread wide open as he shook his head back and forth with a grin on his face, as he took notes down in his book. Shockingly enough, I took offence to his reaction, perhaps because I knew inadvertently in a way it undermined me.

''Do you have a problem with me squaring up against a female competitor who whether I agree with it or not; earned her shot at my title?''

''No, no, not at all. I'm just saying that from a biological standpoint every sign points to you having the upper hand. Men are made stronger then females—especially with a few enhancements? You can call it a day, they don't stand a chance...''

''Hey, if I thought like you did—I'd kiss my APW world title goodbye...''

''And why's that? How many female world champions has the APW have thus far?''

I stopped to look at my hands and couldn't find a finger to lift. Fuck it. This entire thing was irrelevant, anyways. What exactly was this guy trying to prove or get at? If this is his way of telling me he's gay, he can forget about it. While I was tempted to stand up and walk out his office and call this a day, I decided to honour my commitment until the end.

''Anyways, my goal here is simply to provide you a fool proof plan to not only retain your world championship but to remain healthy in your next defence...''

''Game plans? I'm sorry, Doc. I don't mess with game plans. It's just another word for strategy and who needs strategy when you have natural talents like mine? I've made my entire career out of throwing plans out of the window and working with what I have right then and there in the moment...''

''That very well maybe the case but this time, your fighting injured—and you need to keep that in mind when you approach this match. You may have not felt the effects of your injury just yet but one well placed shot could be what separates you and a successful world heavyweight title defence...''

I rolled my eyes asking myself wasn't this guy supposed to help me fix and work through my injuries? Instead all I had gotten from him was a headache. Thanks a lot, Doc. Dr. Paul removed the glasses from his face and placed them on his table beside the brown folder with the scans of my neck, detailing my injury straight to the bone.

''My professional opinion is that you go into this next match and try to end it as quick as possible. I know some of you guys like to showboat, toy, and psychologically get into your opponents head which likens the chances of victory—but you are in no shape to take risks nor waste time. In addition to your physical assets and want you to implement roll ups and quick maneuverings against your opponent in hopes that you can catch her off guard and escape without breaking a sweat never mind a bone. Look for pin falls early and pick your shots wisely...''

''Is that honestly all you have for me? That all seems a little too simple, don't you think?''

Dr. Paul nodded his head in acknowledgement as he held his index finger up in the air—as if he had more in store for me. Great. Dr. Paul wrote up a quick note on a separate piece of paper and handed it over to me. He spun around in his chair grabbed a prescription and placed it on the table, with a grin on his face.

''Pain killers!?''

I asked flabbergasted by the doctors sinful prescription. Pain killers were addictive not to mention, I didn't need them. At least, not now. Dr. Paul looked at me as if he had just messed up, he retrieved a small glass bottle and placed it onto the table beside the pain killers.

''This is more like it. The one two combo, punch. You take these two things leading up to the match and you're all but covered...''

''That's steroids...''

Dr. Paul smiled look at the bottle as if it was his own secret weapon, he had kept locked away in his closet for years on end. It was clear that he supported his diagnosis from the outset.

''Yeah, I say why not play to your strengths? She's got speed you've got strength—now you'll just have a bit more...''

''I don't want your goddam steroids or your fucking pain killers...''

Dr. Paul looked at me feeling slighted. He feigned a smile shaking his head back and forth as he picked up the glass bottle as I stared at the label.

''Come on, Kid. Give me a break. Everyone does them these days. One look at you and I'd say, you have too...''

I quickly sprung to my feet and slapped the glass bottle out of his hand, as shattered upon contact with the clear white floors in his office. Dr. Paul looked up at me as if I had been a monster in disguise and my cloak had worn off.

''I don't need your drugs. I don't need your poison. You are no different from the scum that ran the EWC into the ground....''

''I-I-I...''

''...burn in hell...''

I stormed out of the doctors office cursing sentiments your son's and daughter's are bound to speak. Jason Blackburn heard my march down the hallway and quickly sprung up out of his chair, tossing his paper to the side and made his way to me.

''Man, you won't believe this! There was this chick she was absolutely stunning and I think she likes me!''

''Not right now, Jason...''

I said as I pushed Jason Blackburn out of the way and headed for the exit doors of the hospital. Jason Blackburn watched me march on seemingly too caught up in his emotions to realize mine, as he insisted on following me. As I grabbed the handle of the door he snaked his way in-front of me continuing his protest.

''What's wrong? Bad news or something?''

''I don't really care to talk about it right, now. All I want to do is get back and home and spend some time with my girlfriend before my match this weekend...''

''Talk about pre-match preparation you lucky guy! How about sharing some love? Please...''

''Fuck off, I don't do threesomes...''

My attempt to shrug off Jason Blackburn and head to the car in the back lot is stifled by a resistant Jason Blackburn—who continued to plea his case to the jury of one.

''No, no... oh hell no! All I am asking for is ten minutes with this girl, please. She's somewhere in this building, I know it and I never had a chance to ask her for her number...''

''Fine. You have ten minutes on the dot to chase this floozy around. It should be enough to sit down and gather my thoughts. With you hanging of my balls every three seconds, ten minutes of tranquillity is about all I could ask for from you...''

''Thank you, thank you very much!''

Jason Blackburn slipped under my armpit and quickly took off in the other direction opposite the exit doors, nearly knocking over a elderly patient in the process. I hadn't seen Jason Blackburn so excited since, well...last week; when he found out he was going to be the second man in within an empire.

At least that broad won't leave him with a broken heart.

Her name was Kayla Rose. A determined woman. One who knew what she wanted and was going to get it at any cost even if it meant taking herself down in the process. She was pure at heart but everything around her was dark, cold, and corrupted—so one could say, all she was doing was adapting to her environment in order to survive in a once beautiful world turned cruel.

She was attracted to man in the lobby sincerely but that wasn't enough to stop her from using him to get to her desired destination. She figured chances are he just wanted to take her clothes off and rub skin, raw—perhaps, it's how all men appear in the eyes of a product of the lost. Girls on the other hand, often wield razor blades, both sexes were an equal opportunity for her disdain thus she was a bisexual in a sense.

The man in the lobby was gone. She had heard about him before but had never seen him with his own eyes—those eyes were too focused and drawn to the source of her pain—virtually blinding her to the beauty of everything else. The sky, the sun, the wind... even the sweet scent of the rain on a fall day, was special to many but her.

She entered the doctors office and approached the man who was caught off guard. She leaned towards him and ran her hands across his name tag retracing the letters that had spelt his name. Dr. Paul was his name as she whispered it seductively in his ear—before she knew it, she was laying on top of him, stripped down to her bra with her eyes on a brown folder...

''I'm all yours if this is mine?''

She had spoke softly, as she lifted up the brown folder.

''I can't that's a patient of mine. He's a high end professional....'

''Shhhh''

She whispered placing her index finger on his lips using her free hand to unbuckle his pants. This is Kayla Rose; better known as the women who get's what she wants. Always.

---

There's nothing like spending time with a quality woman. Hell if it was up to me, I'd probably spend everyday alongside of her but for the longevity of our relationship distance was always virtue. Partly why she probably loves me as much as she does is dedicated to the fact I am hardly around at all. As the saying goes, quality over quantity and every second we spent together had been of quality and always worth the while.

And although distance kept us apart ever since I had found out I had a child coming my way, it connected us in ways we hadn't been connected before. who knows how wrapped up, I'd get once the little guy or gal was born. Apart of me was fearful or at least what I thought was fear—having experienced it for naught over the past several years. Although, I tried not to think about it—perhaps the birth of a child could mean the death of my career...

We've all seen weirder things, right?

If I changed at all it was for the good and not on purpose and maybe this is all apart of truly growing up. And with years away from a Gray hair; I wasn't afraid to say it, either. As I took my spot on the couch beside Patricia who held a large silver bowl of popcorn in her lap, it all set in. I had the one thing that truly mattered by my side and everything else provided me with a beautiful backdrop, a backdrop I would die for; before I'd let the colours fade...

Tonight was movie night at her house which was a first. She had insisted we watch a movie called a ''third eye'' with a bunch of actors and actresses I probably could have had several chances to hangout with over the past four years. I had always turned down any offers that didn't involve work, perhaps it's why I'm so darn successful. As for the movie itself? The plot was more then fitting, in fact—it seemed almost too good to be true.

Patricia laid her head on my chest and looked to get cozy but almost on que, my phone rang. She lifted her head off my chest and eye-balls me as if we were in a real theatre with real people hushing about making more noise then my phone could ever conjure up. I pulled the phone from my pocket and read the tag line, unknown. As tempting as it was to put it aside the eeriness of the entire thing was too much to bare. The text message read;

''Miss me? Xoxo''

With the following photo attached;



I quickly delete the message thus erasing the photo from my phone. It was Kayla. It's amazing how something so attractive on the outside could become so ugly on the inside and in the back of my mind, I knew she was a threat to virtually everything I have. After a two year relationship with me and a run in with two shady individuals she had encountered through me; she had the insight into my head and understood how to work me over psychologically in a manner then no opponent inside a ring could ever manage to do.

Patricia had read my face and it alerted her to something leading, astray. When she spoke, her voice almost made me jump out of my own skin.

''What's wrong?''

''Oh, nothing... nothing at all. I had just forgotten to turn of you phone. You know, silly me!''

Patricia looked at me unconvinced but eventually settled her focus on the movie scenes playing out in-front of her; it was a horror movie, not really her type but I wasn't to complain. I dreaded love stories and light hearted comedies. Who would have thought? The text message from Kayla Rose was suspicious as she hadn't had my number since I changed it. I nudged Patricia softly on her shoulder.

''Hey babe; have you spoke to Kayla, lately?''

Patricia grabbed a piece of popcorn out of the bowl and tossed it into her mouth and begin to chew as she shrugged her shoulders.

''Yeah, in between classes here and there. Still, we don't hang out as much as we used too. She's sorta distant with me...''

''Maybe it's because of the baby?''

''Yeah, maybe. Why'd you ask?''

I sighed and wrapped an arm around her; I couldn't tell her the truth but it was killing me that for the first time in my life my fate hadn't rested in my own hands but instead in the death grip of Kayla's. I couldn't let her win, I needed to tell her...

''This isn't what I think it is, is it?''

Patricia asked me with her eyebrows pointed up in suspicion. At this point, her reaction brought the guilt on in me ten fold, I'd be surprised if she didn't see my poker face for what it was.

''Aw, your asking me irrelevant questions because your nervous about something...''

''I am?''

''Look, Lester. I know this night wasn't supposed to be dragged down with constant talk about your next match but I'm willing to listen to it if it's really bothering you that much. I know how much that APW world title means to you...''

''Uh, yeah, exactly!''

''So what is it about your next match is bothering you, anyways? The fact that you're going to have to defend your title against a girl—who I'd like to mind you I would weigh less then if I wasn't carrying our little jewel...''

It looked as if I was out of the woods, for now. I knew one day however, I'd have to come clean. I'd have to tell her about the black mail Kayla Rose held over our head for the both of us. Maybe, now wasn't a good time. I didn't want to jeopardize my title defence. Damn it. I'm a selfish bastard.

''Yeah, that's basically what all this is about. I mean, if you asked me several months ago—if beating a girl one inch away from death in the name of winning a wrestling match; I'd say, it wouldn't cramp my style in the slightest. Things have changed since then, though. Now we have a child on the way and he or she will look back and see what I have done...''

''They'll understand, Lester...''

''I hope so. She's a great competitor who is capable of doing great things but once I make the decision to step in the ring, all that goes out the window. I maybe legally irresponsible for what happens to her—but morality, is judged based in it's own context...''

''The only thing I and I'm sure the rest of the world is expecting from you is to win. And of course... avoiding the sentiments of humping her for the three count? Seriously, Lester... disgusting.''

''Yeah, I'd figured she'd enjoy that too much. You know, she's one of those types of girls...''

Patricia laughed along, as he laid back and relaxed catching a few more scenes of the movie. Basically, the jest of this movie was three main individuals. A man. His girlfriend. And a crazy ex-stalker who vows to seek revenge on her ex-boyfriend and his lover caught in the crossfire. The only good part of this entire movie plot that it is in fact, just a movie plot.

Or so, that's what I thought before I heard the door bell ring. I stood up, but Patricia Lewis had followed me to her feet, insisting that she had answered the door herself. Reluctantly, I standby and watch as she hands over the big bowl of popcorn over to me and approaches the door—what was standing on the other side of it was indescribable.

''Oh my god! Kayla!''

Disgusting. Crazy. Evil. Dark. Cold. Spiteful. Hateful. On second thought, maybe Kayla Rose wasn't so indescribable anymore. As she barged her way through Patricia's front door way, crying her eyes out—an act worth an Oscar if it wasn't so stomach turning.

''The guy I was dating, he... he hit me. I had to leave him. I couldn't stay there, trish. I was afraid he was going to kill me!?''

''I'm so sorry, Kayla. Is there anything I can do for you? A cup of coffee, ice—a call to the local PD?''

Patricia wrapped a blanket around Kayla Rose who huddled towards the couch as Patricia ushered her towards the couch. Kayla Rose slowly lifted her head and made direct contact with my eyes before selling her next act.

''I'm so sorry, guys. I really didn't mean to interrupt anything you two had going on here. I should probably leave...''

''Yeah, you probably should...''

Patricia Lewis flashed me a dirty look but was too busy tending to Kayla to give me anymore sass. Patricia quickly huddled out of the room in order to treat Kayla's silent demands. She stared at me with a blank canvas, as she slowly painted a sly smile across her face—adding bright colours and eventually animating her grin cheek to cheek overtime.

''Kayla what the hell are you doing!? You are taking this ten steps too far. You know I don't want anything more to do with you...''

Kayla Rose quickly sprung to her feet as she took the popcorn bowl out of my hands and straddled herself on top of my lap, placing her forearms on top of my shoulders. It was almost as if she wanted Patricia Lewis to walk in on us and get caught. The more brazen the antics she was able to pull off; the more thrill she got from them.

''It's not about what you want anymore, Lester. You have gotten everything you wanted. You've gotten far too much and now you've forgotten who is really important to you. You love me, Lester. You just don't know it yet...''

''I have a child on the way, a beautiful girlfriend who one day, I plan to marry and a career that seems to blossom by the minute...''

''Yes, that's right. And one by one, each one of those things, will cease to exist. And guess which one I am planning to start with, Lester?''

In a fit of rage, I shoved Kayla Rose off of me, sending her stumbling back into the couch, where she fell onto her safety cushion. She smiled and licked her lips, trying to lure me in with the beauty on the outside but I was no fool. Kayla turned her attention to the television screen knowing how to work me over...

''The third eye!? You know, this happens to be my favourite movie...''

I clenched my teeth as seethed with anger. She was the only person in my life who could see me boiling over with rage and not so much as to blink or recoil in fear because of it. It was something, I couldn't understand perhaps it was because we weren't as different as it seemed.

''Yeah, how about you spoil me the ending, where the crazy, physcho bitch fails to get the man she desires at the end of the movie?''

She merely giggled to herself and twirled her hair; satisfied with borderline schizophrenia and home wrecker tendencies.

''That's fine because she succeeds in everything else she does. She's a very determined woman. If she doesn't have him, nobody will...''

I turned my attention away from the television and towards Patricia Lewis in the kitchen who smiled back at me.

I guess that's what hurt the most.

---

I made it.

Through all the pain, through all the adversity, and against all odds I will be at Shockwave defending my title against, Sally Talfourd. For me? It's great news. For Sally Talfourd and all her fans? It's the worse thing that could have happened to them. See, along the way, I knew I couldn't trust Sally Talfourd. She may come across sweet and innocent on the outside but the acid that burns within her tells a much different story. Every second I was around her, I could hear the gears turning within her mind, never knowing when her womanly scorn would come out and cut my balls off, taking my manhood home with me. Every time she smiled and blinked twice—it was her way of trying to lull me into a false sense of security, in which she was safe enough to finally strike me down when I wouldn't expect it.

Needless to say, she never really got her chance; and rightfully so. The reason why Sally Talfourd was so reluctant to help me deal with the obvious threat of the super stable was because it played into her hand, giving her a perfect advantage. Sally Talfourd had known full well that I wasn't 100% and prone to further injury, which would make her winning the championship at Shockwave that much easier—if at all. The truth is, Sally Talfourd dreaded Sunday, August 29th, 2010; the second I pinned Bryan Payne's shoulders to the mat and never had any intentions on beating me, squarely. Simply because...she couldn't.

While I have no concrete proof there is more then enough reason to believe Bryan Payne's uncharacteristic cowardly attack on me after our match wasn't a product of his anger problems but rather a plan put into motion before the night even grew old. Bryan Payne and Sally Talfourd have had a history of mutual respect, assuming that's all it is and not that Sally Talfourd has an ulterior motive of wanting to jump yet another man's bones. Not only do they have mutual respect for each-other but also share the same disdain for me—and would have let's say... a world heavyweight title to gain if I was suddenly removed from it's picture? Sure, you could argue that I'm no Sherlock Holmes but I say, no shit Sherlock; I'm Level-One and I know better than that.

So while whether or not Sally Talfourd used Bryan Payne as hired gun remains a question unanswered there's no doubt that Sally Talfourd used my injury, against me. Unfortunately, her hired gun wasn't able to get the job done quite like she expected and so her plans of winning a vacated title went out the window and when that occurred clearly, she got desperate.

If I was anything like Sally Talfourd; I would have just sat back and enjoyed the show and allowed my doctors and lawyers pad my recovery time up until my title defence at Shockwave. It certainly would have been much more easier for me and I wouldn't have to depend on a emotionally wired, psycho bitch hopped up on riddlin. But I, Level-One of all people felt sorry for YOU sally. I was at home forced to watch seven cowards beat up on you and your hooded side kick—and it made me sick. To this day, I don't quite know why. Maybe, there's something about watching seven grown men beat up on two helpless women—or maybe, I was just jealous I wasn't apart of it but whatever it was, I took a stand in your defence and never once did you respect it.

You know it's really fitting that you've recently decided to re-unite with your former tag team champion in the midst of all this madness. You two ranted and raved about how great of a team you two made—yet where was Leila when you needed her the most, Sally? Why, when a threat took you as a target was she not the first one to stand up and put her ass on the line? I'd say, after your attempt at a heavyweight world title rein the tag team division seems right up your ally, but it seems like you have poor teamwork in addition to the myriad of flaws that make you, you.

All along you were lead to believe that I needed you while secretly, it was the other way around. Unlike you, I drew the line the sand and put my balls on the line—which ultimately pushed back the offensive by the super stable of wannabe thugs. They were coming after you. You were the weak link in this month long fling and that's why at the end of the day, I had to bail you out! If it wasn't for me they would have slit your throat live on television and Shockwave's main-event wouldn't be possible! You owe me but knowing you? You'll repay me with nothing less then spit in my face.

And that's fine; I expected nothing more from you. Ultimately at the end of the day, I got exactly what I wanted. I've been given the chance to redeem my last title rein with complimentary title defence, one of what will be an example of many. And most importantly, I have been given the platform to shine once again—a platform which would have been ripped from underneath me if it was up to you or those mafia thugs. As far as I'm concerned half of our battle is already over with, the other half hangs in the balance at Shockwave.

I really hope you took last week when I kicked you 15 feet off the stage for everything it was worth. You didn't play me. You didn't get in my head. And you certainly didn't win. I don't like you, Sally and I apologize if our three week alliance misled you in anyway. I can't say, I didn't use you—because all along, I had this match in mind and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure it occurred without interference. Don't you worry though... thank me later.

Sally, if you learnt anything from all this—is that I AM a man of my word. You may not like the way I say it or when I say it; but when it comes from my mouth, it means a lot. This is something you'll eventually learn around here with time. You seem to be under the impression that running your mouth for an extended period of time makes what your saying valid or even somewhat potent; when truth is you're just filling the room with hot air.

What's next? Are you going to claim you've worked harder to get to this point then I have? How about the fact that you ''want'' it more then me? Or how about showboating about my previous losses VIA fault of my inferior tag a longs, over the past several months?

At the end of the day Sally, you can write cheques you can't cash but eventually those cheques will bounce. You can claim you worked harder then I have to get to this point—but who was the one scrambling to do something about a super stable looking for blood even swallowing their pride long enough to gut up and withstand the smell of an unwashed, cooch? Who's the one standing here injured and fighting through the pain, despite the odds stacked up against him? Lastly, who's the one who made his career as a singles stand alone competitor rather then a professional tag along, known to have as much as success as their partner is willing to strive for? At the end of the day Sally, I have years of credibility under my belt. You? You have a bunch of too good to be true stories to tell and not enough camera time to bore us with them.

You claim to be all about the well being of this company, yet your actions show quite the opposite. For the several weeks I was absent the APW became a dud. A borefest. In fact the most interesting thing that occurred was the formation of the super stable between the Red Shield Mafia and The Greatness—neither of which is in line to carrying a world heavyweight championship in their ranks. If it wasn't for me—the Mafia would be running around here like a pack of rabid animals out to lunch and you'd standby sucking your thumb hoping that they decided to take aim at someone else, so it wasn't your problem to deal with.

You may have hunger for fame and glory, Ms. Poptart but you have shown time and time again that you don't have a true desire to fight. You fight because it'll get you fame and glory, see? To be honest, I can't say I'm surprised. You rank up to about a seven on the attractive scale—thus falling short of the ten needed to be a model. A career in acting is about as good as you can keep a straight face when asked ''can you beat Level-One?''; from one world champion to a wannabe, you have a horrible poker face. Then there's also a career in prostitution where coincidentally the aforementioned comes into place. You're a seven on the scale but when it comes to prostitutes, I'd give you a ten. And as far as acting goes... word on the street is you can fake one hell of an orgasm.

Hey...on the bright side at least you have a Plan B when your impregnated with failure!?

All jokes aside Sally, I do respect you. The second you won the Test for the best tournament it was as if Jesse Nunez had won this year all over again in a show of an absolute fluke—but you proved week after week that you were here to compete and you did in fact deserve a shot at my heavyweight world title when you beat the substitute champion, Bryan Payne. I may not agree with you in your assertion that what you've done so far is worthy of legendary status but it doesn't mean I don't respect it. You've shown the APW that you are the best one for this job and now Biggs can take it upon himself to scout better talent from here on out...

See while I acknowledge your skill; I know it doesn't stack up to mine the way it showed with someone in your position. As it stands now—there is a small window of opportunity for you to pull some kind of major upset but the reality and facts remain that it's simply, highly unlikely. I mean, I think it's great step in the right direction that females are getting their turn in the spotlight—but does that really speak for yourself or the current state of testosterone in these men, who lay down before you—with their balls in your purse?

The truth is; you winning the world heavyweight title would make quite a ''happy ending'' to your fairy tale story and I'm sure the APW would blow up big with females of all ages, borrowing viewership from the Oprah Winfrey show in support for their new women but that's all you really have going for you, shock value. Are you happy that you're a side show freak? Are you happy that those in the back office are cheering you on solely because of the short term profits they plan to make off of your name? Don't you stress those questions too long, queeny. The positive is; we probably won't have to hear your answers, anyways...

If it's up to me? There is no ''first'' woman's APW world heavyweight champion; at least, not under my watch. It's my experience that women world champions, usually spells the apocalypse for said promotion, just ask Amy Rosen and the EWC. You may have the talent to be a champion, but you lack the heart, desire and poise to carry this promotion upon your shoulder and the last several weeks have been proof beyond a reasonable doubt in regards to that. I have no doubt in my mind, you'd make for a weak champion—who doesn't command respect but rather politely asks for it. A champion who doesn't take names and kick ass but instead takes a beating and accepts it for what it is with no consequences. The era of weak champions has passed you can choose to move along—or you can take a hike off a cliff, with Pence Weatherlight.

So you can blog, bitch and tweet your sentiments along online and tell everyone how I am such a jerk and that your the chemistry to the supposed cancers I have spread in the APW; really, none of it matters to me. The only thing standing between me and this APW world championship is you and I've never been the one to take kindly to a third wheel...

So go ahead, Sally. Paint your picture. Mold your paragraphs wisely and create your plot. At the end of the day, your fairy tale of supremacy, victory, fame and fortune is more then open for interpretations in the form of my own edit. After all, there is two sides to every story...

...and I don't like happy endings.