''One's'' Love Triangle (9)

[Level-Two]

''One's'' Love Triangle (9)

Here we go, again.

I must have stood in this very spot; thousands of times before and I'm not talking about the centre of a wrestling ring, home sweet home. Rather, I'm referring to the chaos that goes on beyond the confines of the ring ropes. Television only captures less then one percent of reality, but every hour of every day is a fight. Most nights, I can't even sleep—maybe one day, it'll take it's toll on me but if sleep really is the cousin of death, perhaps I'm in good standing with the family.

I wish it was as simple as everything seemed in the eyes of the public. Wrestle. Eat. Sleep. And in no particular order—but it isn't. There was training, television promos, interviews and a set of cameras stalking you in every corner, witnessing the atrocities I commit along the way and it wasn't for the contracts bounding their hands behind their backs, I'd probably be arrested more then once. And even after all that...

There were press conferences. I hated these the most. A room packed full of top journalists looking to get the best sound byte to take out of context and create a story lines from their own imaginations specifically one that would make them the most money. These people were vultures. Spineless, limp-wristed creatures who were promoted to the top because they were best at what they did; tell lies. On the positive side a few females wielding pens, pads, mics and tape recorders were easy on the eye to look at; but I probably shouldn't. After all, I had enough girl troubles to deal with. One more just might result in forced castration. Ouch.

I find my mind wavering again as I remind myself to stay focused. If it was any constellation out of all pre pay-per-view press conferences I ever had to do, I was looking forward to this one the most. These media outlets and gossip columns saw me as the bad guy and there was no changing public perception anytime soon. So, I'd simply be myself. I'd embrace the ass hole from within. Most importantly, I'd use my negative energy for a positive outcome. Plus, in the last few days—I've come to terms with something, I was too humble to admit...

Sally Talfourd simply didn't stand a chance.

Now before I jinx myself and thwart my APW world heavyweight championship plans because I underestimated Sally Talfourd, I should probably offer up a suitable explanation. I'm sure by the end of it, they'd agree with me and if not? Fuck em'; The only thing that counts at the end of the day is my opinion, in my opinion.

''...all week I have heard people asking me the same question over and over again; Level-One how will you match up with Sally Talfourd when you aren't at 100%? To those people, I ask you this. Will Sally Talfourd put forth her all? Will she put her heart, soul, and virtually everything she has into this match 100%? If you're saying yes at this point, you're only lying to yourself.''

The press in the small crowd began to break out into sects of discussion; whispering feedback to their colleagues, eventually settling down within several seconds, as I mouthed; ''Thank You'' sarcastically, as positioned myself in-front of the microphone.

''There's no debating that Sally Talfourd focus isn't one hundred percent into this match and all you need to do is look at her actions over the past several weeks. It seems like she's more focused on getting underneath the undergarments of her little girlfriend Leila Farrahi then her name above all, plastered on a beautiful marquee as world champion. Sally, has already shown that she's an amazing tag team competitor defeating my team, twice but in singles competition—she has, can, and will once again be pinned to the mat for three seconds...''

I paused and smiled.

''So, to answer that question which I know is on everyone's list; me entering at 75% is worth much more compared to the 50% Sally Talfourd has exhibited time and time again as she struggles to balance her will to carry a company on her back with her will to carry a lighter more female friendly load shared by her tag team partner...''

The reporters in the room stop, pause and then proceed to cross, check or scratch out the question which had just been answered off their lists. I knew these people like a book—a book, that is hardly worth the read. A man in his late fifties, with balding grey hair, a heavy build and a thick southern accent was spotted and picked out of the crowd;

''Go ahead, Bob...''

''Thank you, Level-Wun. I'm bob stern with Rasslin trailer park madness dot com and we are wundering if you were gonna spice things up abit with a bushwhacker, baseball bat or a few lawn chairs this weekend and emphasis the beauty of that hardcore rasslin we folks down at trailer park madness just luvs too watch!?''

''Well Bob... unfortunately we're going to be playing by disqualification rules so unless the referee turns his back what he won't see won't hurt me but it's not something, I'm counting on. If it's any constellation, you'll get your fix of nonsensical beatings, trash wrestling and over all mindless entertainment when our resident side show thumb tack diving freak, Crazy Joe goes head to head with Victor Hades, literally. I, on the other hand prefer to keep things, classy. After all, I am a world class wrestler with one of the biggest prizes in this business backing me up!''

The large crowd of reporters called out trying to gain my attention, hoping they'd be picked out of the crowd but for most the odds simply weren't in their favour. An African American man, wearing a neatly pressed white suite with a white fedora cap on stood out from the crowd like a swore thumb would rubbing diamonds.

''Yeah, you. Mr. Pimp-master-flex...''

''Yeah, dawg. Good looking out. I'm representing bitches, bra's and wrestling rings.com. My hoes be doing shit big, ya heard? So I just want to ask you dawg, how you feel about having a bitch up in your ring n' shit? Do ya really think they should be wrestling the men?''

''That is well put together question, Mr. Pimp. The truth is now days women can compete with the men and Sally Talfourd has proven it time and time again. Never had I tried to take anything away from her just because she had a pair of tits—not mention the last time I laid on her trying to score the three count? Dare I say it, it felt good and I can't wait to do it again. The fact that Sally Talfourd is a female is irrelevant to the final outcome of this match. The fact that I am Level-One and she isn't; is where her faults remain.''

The news reporters in the crowd stirred in a chatter of confusion in regards to the unorthodox journalists being picked out of the crowd to ask questions and began to grow suspicious. Luckily enough, I had shown up well prepared. A small petite brunette held a microphone and struggled to stand out in the rowdy crowd.

''Yes, go right ahead, Anya...''

I said as I tilted my head back away from the podium and towards my pants pocket where I took a sneak peak at my phone; reading one of Patricia's text messages.

''OMG; Lester! I can't believe you used one of my classmates to ask a question for your stupid press conference! You better not embarrass her!''

I lifted my head back up just in time to receive her question.

''Anya, independent journalist. Level-One, since you have released your initial promo which hit the web late Wednesday Night it seems as if your demeanour has changed and you are approaching this match much more differently, why is that?''

I was slightly taken aback by the curve ball; Patricia journalist classmate had thrown at me but it wasn't a question that I was afraid to answer, in fact apart of me was glad she asked it. I took a few seconds pause before I relinquished a smile and leaned into the microphone.

''Well, Anya. A few days ago I stopped by the doctors office and he informed me that rewards outweighed the risk and ultimately supported my decision to compete; thus giving me the confidence that I could compete at the level you all have come to expect from your APW world champion. Lastly, I have sat down over the past week and fleshed out a fool proof plan which just about guarantees not only victory but the peace of mind that I'll be able to wrestle another high paced, main-event match in the future. I once again stress that I do not doubt Sally Talfourd; rather, I'm convinced of my own talents and abilities that will lead me onto the path of victory at Shockwave...''

''Level-One, I'd like to match this up with a follow up question...''

''Please go ahead...''

''Upon my own independent research you have an impressive 83 victories and 13 losses in singles competition. However, upon further research at least five of those 13 losses in your career comes by the hands of female competitors who are an underwhelming force in professional wrestling. When you take these factors in; can you really be sure we won't see a first APW world champion crowned at Shockwave?''

I took a deep breath. Obviously, this one missed the memo. What the hell was she doing? Damn, journalist students. I should have known she'd try to make a name out of herself when I had given her the chance.

''Well, Anya... that's an interesting way of looking at things. However, the facts are facts. I already beat, Sally Talfourd. She can attribute my win to the DQ she received by trying to enlist the help of Bryan Payne to save her ass; but I just about had her beat, regardless. And while it's true that was several months ago and the case could be made that she has improved vastly since then; there's no debating, I'm back onto the top of my game—world title and all. One day, I have no doubts that a female will rein supreme and be crowned queen with the same tiara, Pence Weatherlight once skipped around with but unfortunately, it just isn't going to be on my watch nor my time. See, legends may never die... but they do stop wrestling and when this legend does—it'll be her turn to shine and have no qualms at all about that reality...''

''Can I ask one more question?''

''Only if it's one that I'd like to answer...''

I said raising my eye brow coughing away from the microphone trying to drill home the point. She nodded her head up and down satisfied with job she had already done.

''Level-One... the world is just dying to know how it feels to be the greatest wrestler in all of professional wrestling to date?''

Yeah, that's more like it!

''Well that is extremely flattering, Anya. You really shouldn't have gone there but because you did, I'll answer your question and do my best to remain humble in respect for my opponent this Sunday. See, Anya—when you are as great as me? There is always a pressure to preform. Winning? More often then not is the expectation but stealing the show often takes that extra effort and unless you have a half decent opponent in the ring, it's impossible—no matter who you are. In addition to the pressure, you are evyied, hated and often targeted for vicious attacks motivated by pure jealousy due to your success. Being a world champion and the best in your promotion isn't an easy thing to do and it's something opponent Sally Talfourd, can't understand. That's fine because I'll make sure she remains wilfully ignorant to the cold hard realities I deal with day in and day out, come Shockwave—simply because I am a nice guy and nice guys, do amazing things. Thank you...''

Taking a page out of Sally Talfourd's book; the reporters cried fowl. Major news organizations, sports and gossip magazines failed to get the answers and perhaps sound-bytes their employers had sent them out for. As walked off stage my lackey came jumping out at me from behind a set of curtains, grabbing me by my arm.

''What the hell was that, Lester!?''

''Something different. Maybe you and Sally Talfourd should try it sometime!? Look, this is a special match which calls for some special treatment in the way I approach this shindig, alright? I don't need to deal with a bunch of slanted questions by ignorant piss ants that can't stand my guts, inside and out...''

''So what? You paid your way out of it? You hired a hillbilly and a pimp to feed you bullshit questions so you could give them bullshit answers?''

''Well, you forgot the beautiful, Anya—the journalist student who I just gave her big break. I was doing myself, you and Patricia a favour, alright?''

''Well, I must admit it was funny...''

Jason Blackburn said; coming clean, right before bursting out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He pointed his finger at me and waved it up and down.

''Please, never do this again...''

Jason Blackburn pleaded with me, still laughing his ass off; as he stumbled off into the opposite direction trying to contain himself; when he finally does, he looked back at me—his face beat red.

''Hey, if you can't beat Sally Talfourd this weekend... just know you always got a gig in comedy waiting in the wings...''

''Oh, fuck off!''

She shut off the television.

Kayla Rose was never a world heavyweight champion. In fact she hadn't fought a single day in her life; but her determination alone could make up for whatever else she lacked in life. Her father was a former world champion in a federation that had closed it's doors almost a decade ago and grew disdainful of the business that ultimately helped kill her father.

When her father left; Lester Only had filled her void. In a sense, her father was re-born with introduction of Lester Only, entering her life almost as quick as her father left. At the time, he wasn't a world champion. He barely had a handful of wins to his name, in fact. What he was however, was a clean slate. An empty, white canvas—with space to grow and room to improve on his craft.

Today, that canvas is full. Lester Only or Level-One as most of the world knows him—has set the scene and painted quite an abstract piece not even he himself can truly put his finger on. A picture so beautiful; it pushes even the utmost attractive females out of it's picture frame; thus, it's no surprise that Kayla Rose seethes with jealousy and anger till this very day. After all, Lester Only promised her one thing;

She'd be apart of his picture, too.

Kayla Rose made a vow to herself, no ring needed. Death do us part. She was determined to live up to her own expectations; whether Lester Only accepted them or not. She was going to do everything in her power to bring Level-One to his knees and back to her where she held the belief much stronger then any religion; that he'd one day, return to her arms.

Although, she was tempted to strike down the one women Lester Only had professed his love too; she knew it was a lost cause. In fact, killing her—would be a last resort. It was her belief that if she killed Patricia Lewis; Lester Only, would only become further lustful of the immortal girl. Patricia would be larger then life itself and Lester Only would never see Patricia for what she was. A slut.

So, Kayla knew she'd have to use other means to get into the head of Lester Only. She wanted to hit him where it hurt the most; without hurting, Patricia in the process. So, she watched him closely. In fact, minutes ago she was watching Level-One live on television, claiming his dominance. And while, she herself never doubted a word that came out of her former lovers mouth, she knew she could make him doubt himself.

She grabbed a brown folder which contained the details of Level-One's neck injury, caused by his rival; within the brown folder where not only the scans detailing where Level-One was most vulnerable for an injury but also the doctors notes detailing the game plan Level-One had hatched to defeat Sally Talfourd once and for all.

These battle plans; is what made Level-One as confident as he was today. And while these battle plans quite possibly could have lead him to victory—now we may simply, never know. Kayla smiled as she flipped open the brown paper flap, licked it and sealed it shut tight. Apparently, the address on the folder told us they were heading to Washington, D.C.

''I'm sorry, Lester—but now you'll learn not even you are above the power of a woman's scorn...''

---

The hardest part of heading into the next match was leaving her.

Although, it was for the greater good—it felt nothing more then a guilty pleasure. There are risks every time you walk into the ring, of course. However these risks vastly improved due to my injury and had to be taken into consideration. This time around it wasn't a chance that I'd get hurt—it was likely, I was going to get hurt. How hurt? Well, now that's a question I haven't really thought about. Sometimes I see myself as invincible...

I probably am. Though, nobody else seems to think so. Patricia Lewis has been worried sick about me wrestling injured and while she wouldn't consciously admit—the fact that it was Sally Talfourd and not a bone breaking nut case with anger issues named Bryan Payne, it made it far more easier for her to accept this reality and deal with it. I, on the other hand saw Sally Talfourd in the same light I saw Bryan Payne; pieces of scum just trying to convince the world otherwise. I always I the philosophy that if I was bound to the confines of hell; I'm selling out every last one of my enemies in hopes of bringing them down with me. Fair is fair, right?

I stopped by the flower shop on the way to her house and picked up a bouquet. Truth be told, I don't know what type of flowers nor the garden in which they originated from and like many of my purchases, I didn't actually pay attention to the cost. I may be no romeo but that doesn't mean I exactly picked these flowers out of random; it just means I picked the set that reminded me of her. The flower that best represents her amazing scent, her beauty, and the way she has grown on me over time. You can't go wrong with this.

I walked up her stairs leading up onto her porch and placed my feet on the welcome mat. Instinctively, I thought to knock but instead I took the more black opts approach by using a key. A key. She gave that one to me a few weeks ago. Ever since the unborn baby made it's way onto the scene; it's brought us closer together. Unfortunately, it also made her trust me 100%; I don't even trust myself, 100%. Fuck it. Why ruin a beautiful day with percentages, right?

I entered her house and approached her in a small workspace she had set up within her house. She sat behind a desk working on a lap top computer; her eyes made it's way from the computer screen to my face and then back down to the computer screen. Oddly enough, I was the first one to say anything;

''Hey, baby. What's up? Working on some school work or something?''

Patricia didn't answer. It was clear she was upset in some degree the second I walked in and her mood only got progressively worse. Originally, I assumed it just had been pregnant woman syndrome or something, at least... that's what I was hoping for.

''I'm assuming you're going to explain these provocative pictures that was sent to my email this morning!?''

Patricia charged angrily, as she clicks away on her mouse. In panic, I tried to explain it away...

''I'm sorry, look I wanted to tell you about that...''

Patricia interrupted me before I could get a single word in edge wise. Things were probably better of this way.

''I can't believe you lied to me! Lester—you are really in no condition to wrestle!''

I looked at her confused. That's when I realized; we weren't exactly on the same wave length. The pictures she was referring too was not of me, naked with my ex-girlfriend who had practically raped me several months ago but instead of my x-ray scans detailing my neck injury, I had been planning to fight through.

''Right. Those pictures. Yeah, about them... how in world did you get sent my scans over an email? Those are supposed to be confidential...''

''That's besides the point, Lester...''

Beep, beep. My phone called out to me. Another text message. It's amazing how many of these things I have been getting as of late. Apparently, the art of a phone call is lost in the year 2010, according to Jason Blackburn; but really, what the hell does he know? Scanning my in-box, I notice the text message originates from Kayla Rose's cellphone. The text message itself was as follows;

''What the hell is this?''



''You are so fucking screwed if this gets out...''

Kayla had my scans. I didn't know how she got them; but she was bound to release them to the public—if she hadn't already. I needed to find her to stop the spread of not only my scans but any other information she may have gotten her slutty paws on. Wait. Isn't there an app for that?

''Lester; don't you have anything to say—at all? You aren't even going to try to sweet talk her way out of this bullshit?''

There's an app for everything, accept getting your girlfriend off your back when you need her to the most, apparently. I found the location in which the phone call originated from—pin pointing it down to a night club. It just had to be a night club. Just my luck.

''I'm sorry, Patricia but I really need to go. I promise; when I get back, I'll explain everything, okay?''

Patricia rolled her eyes as I spun around handing her the bouquet of flowers. She looked up at me, fighting back the urge to smile as she took the bouquet, seemingly unimpressed by it as I turned around and ran down her hallway, then out the front door.

Patricia sighed. She looked at the bouquet of flowers, ripping of one small peddle allowing it to drop to the floor. She smelled the assortment of flowers and they made her smile. It was hard to be mad at Lester Only for too long for she loved him too much. She whispered to herself;

''You better return to me in one piece, Lester Only...''

---

I approached the front door of the night club which had been guarded by two tank built bouncers. The duo looked at each-other and then back at me as they stepped to the side. I wasn't on the guest list but apparently having a guy like me in the club would increase their revenues by the next morning. The two bouncers laughed at me as I walked in but I didn't pay them any mind. My focus was Kayla Rose.

The loud pulsating almost trip like inducing techno music blasts the PA system as green, purple and blue strobe lights lit up the otherwise darkened dance floor. I scanned the bar with my eyes long enough to watch two girls holding hands pull themselves past me, quite possibly inviting me in on a threesome with their eyes alone. ''Stay focused'' is what I reminded myself.

I approached the dance floor and saw odd couples choosing to get things on. There were three stages not too far away from the dance floor simulating a strip club. One stage in specific had a half naked man wearing a large mascot hat on his head; that made him look like he was half man, half beaver. Apparently, this isn't your typical club...

A man on the dance floor tried to hit on me as I pushed him away from me and cursed him out with an offensive epithet; I probably shouldn't repeat. It was a different word for Pence Weatherlight. Get it? Good. It wasn't long before I realized this wasn't your typical club—if there was one and this club was dedicated to same sex couples. At that point, I came to the conclusion—I might have turned the beautiful yet psychotic Kayla Rose, lesbian. Although if it were true it would be extremely helpful to me, it would be absolute shot to the balls when it comes to pride. Ouch.

My eyes scanned for Kayla for a few minutes before I gave up. That's when I felt a hand touch my back; I snapped around assuming it was going to be another gay man looking to get his rocks off on the dance floor but instead it was... Jason Blackburn?

''What the fuck are you doing here!?''

Jason Blackburn looked side to side and shook his head back and forth, frantically—as if he had been caught in an act.

''No, don't get the wrong idea man, I'm not here for any of that! And I could ask you the same question...''

''I'm here because my ex-girlfriend made a call from this location. She sent me a picture of my scan. Which means she has all my information—including, the game plan and pre-match strategy I went over with my doctor...''

Jason Blackburn shook his head back and forth as he reached into his pocket pulling out a pink cellphone. At this point; things were getting way too weird. Either, Jason was a closet homosexual or he had some explaining to do; here's hoping it was the ladder. Jason leaned over my shoulder shouting into my ear as the loud techno music picked up in noise.

''I think there is big misunderstanding. I sent you that text message and that picture from this phone...''

That's when everything hit me. I looked at Jason as if I was a deer caught in the headlights and he was the mac track rolling down the road at 60mph ready to scatter my guts all along the pavement.

''Jason, what's the girls name?''

''She said her name was Kayla or something. She's the chick I met when we went over to the hospital a few days ago. I don't know why, but she insisted we come to this specific club. Apparently, she has a lot of gay friends...''

''You idiot! That's Kayla Rose! She's my ex-girlfriend! She's the one who stole the scans and the doctors notes...''

''Well, I guess that explains why she had your scans uploaded to her phone. I'm telling you champ, never believe coincidences; they just don't exist...''

''Alright, save your scholar bullshit at least until I get my personal information back. Where is she right now?''

''I'm not sure. She said something about going to the bathroom; but she's been in there for about ten minutes now. If this wasn't a gay club—I'd say, she'd be up to something...''

I walked away from Jason Blackburn leaving his drunk ass on the dance floor. I worked my way through the small crowd realizing that there was a special VIP section of the club; a bouncer guarded it with a pen and checklist. I approached the front gate of the VIP section as the bouncer looked up at me.

''Name please?''

''Lester Only...''

The bouncer sighed as scanned the list with his eyes. He looked back at me shaking his head side to side, letting me down easy with obvious news.

''Sorry, you aren't on list...''

''Really? I mean, I should be on the list. I'm a world champion. I want you to prove to me that I'm not on this list...''

''Fine. I have all night to read you the list out loud if you'd like?''

I stood there for about a minute as the bouncer calls out name after name; until he blurts out one that beats my ear drum creating music in my ears.

''Say that again?''

''Paul ''The Big dick'' Joseph?''

''No, the one before that...''

''Right. Kayla Rose?''

''Yes, that's one. Is she here today? I know her. We have a little thing, going on—you know?''

''I'm sorry but the VIP does not have a +1 policy. Please, re-join the dance floor if you don't mind. I have other patrons to deal with tonight...''

I sighed. I turned around to see a small line with about 3 to 4 people gathering behind me. As a turned around; I was hounded yet again. A man reached over handing me a bottle of beer.

''Come here often?''

I grabbed the bottle and turned back around and smashed the bottle over the VIP bouncers face; as the people gathering in the line behind me, gasped in shock and horror. The bouncer collapsed to the ground bleeding from his face as I stepped over his body and into the pool of broken glass and liquor and began to march into the VIP section of the club.

The second I walked in; Kayla Rose had made eye contact with me and immediately charged for the exit door as I began the high speed chase on foot. The exit door lead out back out onto the street—but she wasn't to be seen in either direction north or south. I cursed under my breath;

''That fucking bitch!''

And before I knew it; I had been knocked to the concrete. My vision went from clear to blurry, as I battled unconsciousness with all my might. The first blow was followed up by a second which had been dedicated to my ribs. The momentum had caused me to roll over onto my back; forced to look up at my attacker. There three of them. Maybe, two—but most likely just one. Kayla Rose. She surrounded me in every direction with the large black baton she had pulled out from her purse. Kayla Rose flipped her hair back and blew me a kiss.

''You don't like happy endings, Lester? Well then just consider this a new beginning. A new beginning with Sally Talfourd taking the reins as the precious world heavyweight champion. Lester, you were so much better before you became a world champion and forgot about me. You forgot how much you loved me. Well, now I'm going to make you remember...''

The last thing I saw was Kayla Rose walking away from me, leaving me alone in the same manner, I coincidentally had left her in years ago.

---

At this point; I should probably just kiss my APW world championship, goodbye. After all, my game plan was bound to Sally's and she knew exactly how to beat me—more so then she already did before the scans had been shipped to her. I told myself, maybe they got lost in the mail or something and that she didn't see them but I knew I was simply lying to myself.

I'm not one to give up, ever; but the idea was far more enticing then it was before. I was already at a great disadvantage before I had a key to victory but now that that's gone, I'm running on empty. At this point, I wish I could have taken back everything I had ever said to Sally Talfourd, right about now. I guaranteed victory then but now; I'm not so sure anymore.

I sat on the couch with Patricia Lewis my girlfriend as she applied an icepack to the top of my skull trying to reduce the swelling. Surprisingly, the shot with the baton was the least of my worries. Sally Talfourd was good before but now that she knows my weaknesses and can make them her strengths, she's just about unstoppable....

Goddamn it. If can't talk sense into myself and convince me everything is alright, who the hell in this world will?

''Lester; don't sweat it, hun. You can do this. You can find away to win at the end of the day, you always do...''

''Yes, but maybe this time is different. Maybe, all the people I have screwed collectively, are finally coming together to put me out of my misery, once and for all. You know, a balancing of the universe type deal...''

Patricia Lewis slapped me gently across the shoulder. She hated when I spoke like that. I sighed deeply, as she applied more pressure with the ice pack against my skull.

''I don't know why she would do something like this to me...''

''She?''

I paused looking up at Patricia. The original story I had told her is that I was jumped by four guys in a back alley, who stole then released my files to the public days before the match. It was less climatic but it would do the trick. I couldn't tell her about Kayla Rose; at least not now. I don't know when if ever the right was to come clean once and for all.

''I mean... those guys. The must have been Sally Talfourd fans or something. It feels like the whole world is out to get me as of late...''

''For someone who wants to basically take over the world for himself, you're kinda asking for it don't you think?''

''Yeah, perhaps—but if I can't keep my prematch game plan and health records a secret, world domination is pretty much out of the question...''

I smiled as she planted a kiss on the side of my forehead.

''Why are you so wound up with this leakage thing, anyways? I thought you weren't one to implement game plans?''

''Yeah, but once I heard how highly touted they were by that stupid doctor you set me up with—I figured it would take me to the next step. It'll make me even better then I was before. Ultimately, pushing me over the edge at the end of the night...''

''The next step, Lester? And what exactly is the next step, after being a APW world champion?''

She asks; I paused for several seconds and couldn't come up with answer. I wasn't sure what she was trying to get at but I was more then willing to listen.

''There is no step beyond that, Lester. You're a great guy. You're legend. And no matter what, you'll always be regarded as one of the best. That's all you can do, Lester...''

''It's not enough. It's never enough...''

''There's only one place you can go from here on out and that's down. And no matter how hard you try, how hard you fight—one day, you will fall...''

I stood up, as Patricia's hand fell to the couch. She followed me up to my feet as she wrapped her arms around my neck, hanging off me like a human necklace.

''...but it isn't going to be, Sunday. You can do this, Lester. You don't need any stupid game plans and you certainly don't need to hide your injury. If your weaknesses have become her strength then make her strengths her own weaknesses...''

Patricia smiled as I planted a kiss on her lips.

''In other words if I can't beat her; I simply let her beat herself!''

Patricia nods her head up and down as she pulls me close and whispers into my ear; it was time to depart for battle.

''I think in that case you already have her beat; now go catch your plane and finish this once and for all...''

As I made my away from her living room—she felt apart of her die. A single tear rolled down her face dedicated to the unknown. She had faith that the love of her life was going to return to her like head promised so many times before; but in the back of her mind the what IF weighed heavily upon her emotions and were too heavy to bare.

---

[glow=red,2,300]THANKS FOR COMING SALLY[/glow]

It's that time of the month, huh? The mood swings, the bitching and the long winded rants? This is bound to get dirty and hella bloody and it isn't going to be a pretty sight; and I'm NOT talking about your period....

With Shockwave only hours away, it's no surprise you were going to try to shoot for the hail marry, across the field. Unfortunately, you throw like a girl. I sat through your last promo and listened to what you had to say, coincidentally although it was a lot in quantity—it wasn't much in quality, how fitting. Nonetheless, I took one for the team. I subjected myself to your desperation, ignorance and flat out bold lies that you spit out in a cold and calculated fashion. On the positive side; what doesn't kill you, is said to make you stronger. And that case, you're pillow case hands are only going to add fuel to my fires and your bound to get burnt.

Sally, it's one thing to talk about me inside a wrestling ring, but it's another thing to attribute my life to some shitty soap opera, I've never heard about. So, I have a lot of problems. My life is fucked up and you love to quarrel in my stints of pain and misery—but that will only give you satisfaction for a short period of time. My life outside the ring, is balanced with what I do from within. That ring, is my escape. It's where I can let myself loose and not have to worry about being charged with assault to cause bodily harm or worse, like murder. So, as far as I'm concerned your entertainment will be replaced with my own; when I dissect you physically, mentally and emotionally in the middle of the ring, like the little spineless worm you are; and the whole world will watch.

I'm sorry, I'm not as special as you. I'm sorry, I can't sit in-front of a camera, pouring on make up on my face to hide my imperfections and weaknesses and pretend everything beyond the view of the camera is, alright. I'm sorry, I don't spend my life in the confines of a small bedroom in my parents house—like some fourteen year old teenager with social problems. On second thought? Fuck that; I'm sorry for none of it. At least the world knows who I am. Those people know exactly what I'm about. You? You're only what you claim you are and once again, Sally. Words are only worth so much.

One could only imagine the skeletons in your closet. Hmm? And if there isn't any skeletons in your closet; there is at the very least provocative clothing and blow toys you get your rocks off too. After all, you need practise to get where you're going. And if that's the case? It's better if you do stay locked up in a room; shooting, low-quality web shows that get's less hits then Leila Farrahi in a bar...

I find your assertions absolutely, hilarious. Apparently, I've bribed my way to the top. Anyone I have ever faced from Pence Weatherlight to Bryan Payne himself, I paid them to take a dive just so I could be world champion! You want to talk about wacky conspiracies? How about you start on your own street corner, trick!? I earned my way to the title whether your liked it or not. Sure, I used a few steel chairs and a few threats to scare management into giving me the title shots I deserved; but really, no harm! That's just what I call, hard work. You should try it sometime, Sally.

Hypothetically speaking, let's pretend for a second you are right. I, Level-One got my title shot due to threats against management—at the end of the day? I won myself the championship! I proved that I was the better man for the job at the end of the day. At the end of the day, I justified the demands made and was more then worthy of the opportunity, I took. Sally, if you had an inch of respect for the APW, you'd understand that—but you don't. You hate everything the APW stands for and you're out to change it for the worse. I won't let you.

The truth is—threats or no threats; I was the right man for the job. If anyone but me was in that ring with Bryan Payne in my position they would have tapped out. There's no amount of steel chairs you can swing, threats you can make or muscle you can flex that will make you a world champion but it's no surprise you wouldn't understand that. I mean, after all... you aren't actually speaking from experience. I have experience that you don't. A factor that you haven't attributed to the outcome of this match and it might be one of the only things that puts me over the edge at the end of the night.

You claim your hungry and you have a burning desire to be a world champion; yet you claim, a laid back, lackadaisical care free attitude is the way to go. I'd disagree. I believe it's a great strategy, if you want to get your ass handed to you pillar to post but not when it becomes to being a successful world champion. Basically, what your telling me essentially is that I need to turn off my animal instinct to set out and hunt for what I desire; and take the liberal approach of simply waiting around, clicking my toes until the world simply falls into my lap. Sorry! Where I come from princess? If you want something you go out and get it. A life lesson you may want to consider after you watch this opportunity of a lifetime pass you by... a shame.

At the end of the day, you are in no position to tell me how a world champion should act. You aren't my mom. You aren't Aunt Betty. And you sure as hell aren't the world champion nor have you ever been. You are aware every time you do speak on matters that don't concern you—make you all the more laugh worthy, right? It's like a some guy who doesn't have his licence telling a NASCAR driver how to execute the perfect turn at speeds exceeding hundreds mph. It's like homeless man trying to give you income tax and mortgage advice. For fuck sakes, Sally. At least wait UNTIL you win the world title before you ramble on about how a world champion should act! Though, don't hold your breath...

Now before we move on any further; are you still butt hurt over what happened last week? Seesh. You have attachment issues, don't you? I thought we were done and dusted in regards to that issue but the again, you're a women. You thrive on raw emotion. You're acting as if I turned you down and cheated on you with my world title ultimately breaking your heart. Sally, whether your like it or not—never once did I claim I was above or below an attack. Never once did I claim I abandoned many of my bad habits. In fact, I lived up to my end of the bargain. We would work with each other until the RSM/Greatness alliance was taking care of; we did. Last week was simply a preemptive strike to set the tone for Sunday. I think you're just angry because I just so happened to react quicker then you did. You are aware that could be a determining factor on whether you win or lose, right?

Here you are ranting and raving about how quick you are and how hard it'll be to catch you—meanwhile you couldn't see the obvious standing inches away from your face. If I was you? I would've known better and I would have never been so irresponsible to turn my back to a fifteen foot drop basically asking for it. You may be able to run around the ring quicker then me; but apparently, you're as dumb as a box of rocks. I'm not sure I have to catch you when it's more then likely, you'll just run face first into my chest.

And face it the only reason you are ''complaining'' about your injury, is simply because your injury doesn't exist. I have no doubt that fall left you with a few apple sized bruises but nothing more. You had a stack of tables to break your fall before you hit the concrete. Those wires made for some pretty fire works but your pretty face is still intact; so unfortunately, you weren't burned. And trust me, I'd love to take full credit for hurting you and equalling up the score but I know it's just another calculated move to throw me off my game. Surprise! It isn't working.

That all may sound cruel; but really, it's nothing compared to you. I mean, you basically danced around while I was out coping with my injury. All you did was eagerly count down the days until the APW world championship would be tossed into your lap which is apparently a theme within your philosophy. You had spread cowardly lies about me running away from you; knowing full well what Bryan Payne had done to me. Rather then sticking the Morales you claim time and time again you had and denouncing Bryan Payne's vicious attack against me, you condoned it with your silence—all too willing to go along with the flow. Sure, that's something I would do... but I thought you were supposed to be pure? Good hearted? The perfect little angel with tattered wings? Nope. Rather, you're just a little devil in a lairs chair perched up on hells fire and you are fooling, NOBODY!

Sally, never once did I claim you had no advantages over me. In fact, I'm sure you have a few things up your sleeve that will make things a little difficult to implement my game plan; but your self hype train, is starting to get my nauseated. I mean, this notion that you're going to be able to run around me for thirty minutes is comical at best. I may not be the quickest or the most explosive but I can and will endure. My power can and will match your speed. When you're flying through the air with a missile drop kick or some other spot monkey manoeuvre; I'll swat you out of the air like the pesky little insect you are. Then I'll step on you. Fucking cockroach.

Sally, I understand that the way I say things can give you mixed signals. For example, I call you a whore one minute the next I'm shouting praise and respect to you. And while you're too damn slow to understand the context in which my words are coming from; it doesn't make either of those two things, less true. I DO respect you as a competitor; but beyond that? I can't stand you. I hate your mannerisms. I hate your ignorance. And I hate your stereotypical preppy, happy-go-lucky front you put on and have the gull to call it a personality. Unlike you, I see the world for what it is; black and white. You? You paint it with all these bright colours and make it into something it just isn't. Deep down, you're a miserable person and the bright colours you put on are merely a distraction. You're a lot like me, Sally. That's what scares you. You know I can bring the worse out in you; and I love it.

You stressed the fact that my words meant nothing to you and that I failed to get in your head. Again, Sally. Actions are louder then words. If I what I had said to you meant nothing, you wouldn't have spent so much time hanging to every last word—actually, every last syllable I spoke. Ultimately turning my bashing hour solely dedicated to you into a long winded debate. Well, two can play at that game and chances are I'm better then you at it, too. Nonetheless, I'm glad that I could get under your skin; getting under your pants, shouldn't be half the challenge—not that I'd actually like too. I'll opt out on herpes if you don't mind.

I know you're used to having sexual relations with everyone you come in contact with—but I assure you; I have no desires to rub rubbers with you. Unlike you, I've never had to ''blow'' my way to the top and I wouldn't think of taking any sexual favours in return for giving up my APW world championship. The fuck... or rather the buck; stops here.

Your path to the APW world championship has been a fucking cakewalk compared to my own. So, while I respect what you have done after Test for the best in terms of who you matched up with inside the ring, it's nothing in comparison to what I had to go through. You? You were given a chance. You were granted the opportunity to fight for the number one contendership spot at test for the best. Me? In the weeks before the tournament; I was treated with unfair bias by President Jeff himself; who stripped me of my rights to a world heavyweight title rematch with Pence Weatherlight!

You may not understand this, Sally—but I was punished simply because I was successful! My last title rein; lasted months upon months—scratching the surface of an entire year before I lost to Pence Weatherlight. Apparently, President Jeff wasn't too confident of his number one man—because he deprived me of a rematch knowing full well it was more then likely that I'd beat him a second time around and make an absolute mockery of his poster child, Pence Weatherlight. Instead, contendership matches were put on between John Green and Micheal Lively, two men I had beaten multiple times prior! You wouldn't know this because you decided to stick your nose into my business half way through while I was stomping my feet and causing a commotion. You may not agree with how I carried myself; but everything I had done in order to call to attention to this case of corruption was justified in order to rectify injustice!

And whether you like it or not; you are bound to follow the same footsteps off a cliff, Pence Weatherlight and Bryan Payne took; should you somehow walk away with the APW world title. You are no different from them. You three are pretty faces with the same holier than thou ere about you—but at the end of the day, you'd make a deal with the devil if it meant getting what you desired. The only difference between me and the last several champions the APW has had; is that I am honest about what I have done where as you'll take your lies to grave with you with no fucking shame.

If you want to talk about morals and corruption; how about we talk about you throwing yourself upon our general manger, Biggs? Your complete lack of respect for a man and his women reminds me of another bitch in my life, I absolutely loathe and I'm sure you'd get along with. For a women like yourself to even spout the word respect followed up with the ''APW'' in the same sentence—you sure know how to show it by trying to get your rocks off in the principles office, huh?

You're nothing more then a home wrecker. I have known and worked with both Biggs and his girlfriend Ellie in the past and while they have made plenty of indiscretions themselves when it comes to me and my business—their love for each other always something I could respect and will continue to do so as long as I breath the air from this filthy earth. And because of your actions, Ellie has rushed herself and Biggs into a wedding ceremony; just to send the message to you and have you finally back off for good... yet, you still desire her man. Disgusting. Pathetic. You aren't worthy the shit off my boot never-mind the glow of this championship...

It's not like your ''love'' for Biggs is actually shared by Biggs himself. I've had personal discussions with him behind the scenes and I assure you, you repulse him in every way possible. I would argue on the behalf of Biggs that you are ultimately the reason he didn't win the Extreme tournament 2010 this year, despite being worthy of a finalist. With all the trouble you have been causing and his wedding coming up it was probably more then enough to thwart his focus in his match last week. You make me sick. Here you are bragging about Level-One Vs. Sally Talfourd for the APW world championship when it could have been Level-One Vs. Biggs for the True Experts championship, on APW pay-per-view itself if we wanted too! You are good for nothing. Maybe a good tug job... but nothing more.

It's clear you only want to get to Biggs; because you want him to provide you with special perks and advantages. You know, nights off. Extra win bonuses. Free title shots!? Well, sorry to break it to you, Sally, but now that Biggs has finally decided to play fair these days, your efforts are useless. And once I knock you out of the APW world title picture; I plan to never see you again and if Biggs continues to deliver justice to Thursday nights, he'll make sure of it.

Last week, Sally, I put your Test for the best win in perfect context; as I walked through the three top standouts of the tournament, one by one. Two of which you defeated; ultimately, granting you a shot at my championship in the first place. In one match, I practically did what you did in an entire night—which was impressive itself. In doing so, I wasn't planning to prove that because I able to overcome such odds; I'd be able to overcome you—but rather prove to you I could overcome the same obstacles in your way and that your feat while impressive; wasn't nearly as great as you would have liked it to be.

At the end of the day though we both need to do the dance with each-other. Who beat who last week is irrelevant in the right here, right now. On the same token, you aren't better then me. You haven't fought harder then me. And you sure as hell haven't had the need to overcome half of what I have to stand here today.

If your right about anything at all it's that at Shockwave come Sunday, we don't need to worry about the RSM or The greatness, anymore. And I promise you; you will have my attention and full focus when that bell rings. I can now rest in peace of mind knowing that at the end of the day, my fate rests in my hands—not yours, not Biggs and not the RSM/Greatness alliance. Unfortunately, that only favours me and works against you. Again, I thank you.

Sally, I can't say I'm not the least bit intimidated by you. I mean, days ago, I figured I had this all but in the bag but now, you know my weaknesses and can make them your strengths. You know my game plan and can now prepare for it accordingly. At this point in the road however; there is NO going back. We are well past the point of no return...

What I can say is this; I can and will overcome. For when the pressure is turned up and the spotlight shines down on me, I'm in my element. You may ask me why am I still confident? Why at the end of all this would I continue to be so sure of myself at the end of the day? Well it's really simple, Sally. It's belief. Belief not in a god or a religion but a deep seeded belief in myself—that a few notes and x-ray scans won't change.

I don't know how I am going to beat you; but I suppose that's simply something we'll both find out when we get there and are living out the special moment. If I win...

No. When I win...

I'm not sure where I'll go from here but it's bound to be anywhere but down. In my life; putting all your eggs in once basket usually just amounts to a large scrambled egg, I'd spend the next several months cleaning up but this is a rare occasion. It's all or nothing. I need to take all the risks in the face of all the odds; in order to earn the ultimate prize...

Victory!

Apparently, Sally is celebrating victory already—if not, I'm not sure anything could explain the constant slurring and jumbling of her words but I'll let her drink her nights away. Perhaps, at the end of the day, I don't need to even beat Sally Talfourd...

I'll just let her beat herself.

Finally, I guess why I'm so certain I'm walking out with the APW world championship is merely because I don't got a goddamn choice. Sally, I'll die before I let this championship go. Cliche, yes—but I mean it in it's truest sense. At the end of the day, I'm not sure you have what it takes to put me flat on my back never mind looking me in my eyes while I die...

Though; if it makes it any easier on you; I'd probably kill you in a split second. So do yourself a favour, little girl. Should you get the chance, please... don't hold back. Don't show me the same mercy, I wouldn't show you. You'll regret it.

Sally, this is war and wars are casualty bound. What's important however is that wars aren't won by the most damage done to the other side. Wars aren't won by the brigade who wields the biggest guns. And wars aren't even won by knowing your enemies battle plans. A war is nothing more then a battle of endurance. If you can out endure your opponent then the damage done is nothing more then collateral, even the biggest weapons run out of ammo sometime and eventually when your survival hangs in the balance—battle plans take your place and dies a martyr.

I will out endure you even if it kills me, Sally Talfourd.