Post by Queen Melody on Mar 25, 2019 22:09:43 GMT -6
Beep
The card slid through the magnetic slit, the door opening almost too quickly with my body weight laid against it. The night was still young, but there was nowhere else I could imagine myself right now. Blood still matted my hair, despite having cleaned off at the arena, and the longer removed from my match I was - the stiffer my joints were getting.
Some people might be out celebrating their wins, or drowning their losses right about now…
The door closed behind me with an audible ‘thud’ as I dropped down the half empty gym bag beside me. No amount of drinks or company could compare with the treat of a hot shower as I trudged toward the bathroom of my hotel suite. Silence was broken as I turned the knob, water pouring from the faucet with the same dull roar that lingered in my ears. I had fought tooth and nail before - from my first match on Uprising, my first training session with Becky, and literally tooth and nail tonight, but nothing had been as taxing as the Wondercrush and everything Stitches had thrown at me.
It can’t be said I won’t leave it all out there….
I mused to myself, wincing as I pulled the FSW t-shirt over my head and tossed it aside. Everything ached. Everything had the same bright white haze on the edge of my periphery. The further I disrobed, the more apparent the aftermath of the Wondercrush was becoming. Bruises were flaring up, blackened purple splotches amidst the flayed open skin. Dried bits of super glue were starting to threaten to flake away and the waxed thread along the cut on my back desperately tried to keep me (pardon the pun) stitched together. I pulled the lever up, switching the flow to the shower head before gingerly stepping into the bathtub. I stood in silence for a moment, closing my eyes and letting the hot water do its best to rinse away the pain and the ache.
It won’t go away - but I could do with it at least taking the edge off…
As I opened my eyes back up, the hot water eventually managed to start breaking up the clumps of hair gummed together with the dried blood. Swirling in the bathtub basin, the red began to look fresh once more. How much blood had I lost already tonight? The sting finally broke through, the water washing over the lingering cuts that had been hidden away by my hair. It would’ve been mesmerizing to watch the drain, if I could focus. Everything had come to a head this weekend. How long had it been? Seven months? Eight? From a virtual nobody, working at the front desk of a construction company…. To holding the FSW championship. From ‘Emily’, the quiet, weird girl from Nebraska - to Melody Malone, the siren of scorn. From the bus and uber, to driving a Lexus.
I’d say I’m lucky… but luck had nothing to do with this.
Luck didn’t earn me my shot at signing with EWC. Luck didn’t earn my shot at the FSW championship. It wasn’t luck that had people stopping me on the street yesterday for pictures, autographs, or the handful of peonies I’d been given as a good luck token from a fan. I had earned all of the accolades, the attention…. Even EWC’s broadcast execs had called me into a meeting before I flew out to Tokyo to discuss getting together and working on an EWC.tv exclusive show centering around yours truly. There’s no luck involved.
Tonight was no different.
I had survived the Wondercrush. I had not, however, come out with my championship in my hand. I raked my hands through my hair, a stray shard of glass from the fluorescent tube hitting the porcelain tub with a ‘tink’ as I bit my bottom lip in frustration. I had failed. Everything I set out to do tonight - to keep the FSW championship around my waist, on the right brand… fell short. I didn’t even know how it happened, in all fairness. One moment, I was beating my knee into Stitches’ head and the next I was face down on a gurney, my shirt cut away and topical anesthetic numbing my back as the medical staff furiously stitched me back together. It told me all I needed to know.
There was nothing else I could have done…
The words hung in my throat, unspoken, as I stood under the now cooling water. I wanted to spit them out, bitter and angry, but when I worked my throat, nothing would come out.
I did everything…. Everything I could have done. I bit, I clawed, I just… couldn’t. I let down FSW, I let down the GM, I let down Becky, I let down myself.... I have prided myself on being loyal to FSW. I’ve given everything for this brand, this company, and this championship… and this fucking clown not only scraped by in this match, but scraped through with my championship and had the nerve to make some stupid ‘declaration’ about bleeding orange…
Except, I proved tonight, immediately that you bleed RED you god damned traitor..
“AAAAARGHH!”
The only sound that I could make, the guttural scream as the water rained down on me, the last of the blood circling the drain. I wanted to go back to Tokyo Dome. I wanted to go back, to prove that I was worthy. That I knew what it meant to be loyal, to fight for what was worth it. I wanted to prove that Stitches’ win was a stroke of luck, the result of a pity fueled referee who never gave me a fair shot to recover. Instead, the pain froze me in place as I stood in the shower and choked back regret and denial.
Tonight I could afford to grieve what was lost.
Tomorrow... I would find my voice once again.