LAS VEGAS, NV ||| November 9, 2022
The air felt cleaner here, almost calmer and if he hadn't driven through the congestion, he'd never have known how close they were to the Strip. The backyard was a veritable oasis, the grass greener than Sev could have ever believed possible. Gizmo was in heaven, darting from one tree to the next to inspect the new sensory information. The shade of the umbrella kept the worst of the afternoon sunlight from roasting them alive and with the pleasant breeze, it was easier to pretend it wasn't November and that the year 2022 wasn't racing towards its conclusion.
In this blessed silence, it was easy to pretend he hadn't come with a mission, with the desperate need to use his best friend as a sounding board – she knew him well enough to know that he was troubled. He appreciated the fact that she didn't press him for details. It felt good, after spending two days on the road, to stretch his legs but now he found himself sitting on the lounge chair, watching his dog frolic and finding himself envious of that simple joy. He'd come here with his shoulders bowed under the weight of a heavy burden but now, after a few moments just watching Gizmo run, he felt more at peace. "I know I said I was in the neighborhood," he finally broke the silence, regret tingeing his words, "but that was a lie. I needed to talk to you about some things and it was not the sort of conversation for the phone."
"Okay." Sam Mitchell held her two-month-old daughter in her arms. Emerald had been born five weeks prematurely and looked more like a newborn. "You're always welcome here, Sev, whether you're in the neighborhood or not." She offered the man a warm smile as she held the baby against her chest. "What's going on?" Her smile had faded a hint, knowing that whatever he wanted to talk to her about had to be serious.
"So many things I do not even know where to begin." A sigh came from between his pursed lips before he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He was thinking that he'd made the wrong sorts of demands lately, letting hubris get the better of him. The trip to Hawaii had been barely two weeks ago, those two matches only days apart but they may as well have been polar opposites. He'd been humiliated a second time, belittled and degraded by his opponent. It had ended in defeat, the door to reclaiming that lost championship slammed shut for the foreseeable future. And then, it was as though it had never happened and he was welcomed with open arms, embraced as an equal by the formidable Apathy. They battled like gladiators, leaving it all in the ring and when it had ended, he had felt elated. He had felt revitalized and rejuvenated and he had waited for the next booking to come from 5BW, only to be stonewalled with silence.
"I no longer believe that I have a place in New York," he broke the silence again. "These past few months have made it clear – things are so much different when I am in Florida, when I compete for Victory. It is like…" he couldn't finish the thought.
"That's unfortunate," Sam replied, "the last time I saw you… you seemed
so happy."
"The joy that I was feeling has been steadily eroded over the last few weeks. And now, I feel the weight of those old chains. It is very hard to be smiling and steadfast when there is dirt being kicked in your face all day long – I know you know this." He chuckled bitterly, "and I do not mean to talk in riddles. Let me start again."
"Say it however you need to, we have time." Reaching out, she placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
"So many times, I have heard people say this… ‘it is the principle of the thing' and until now I have never had use for this term. I lost the championship – the whole world knows this. She was crowing from the rooftops to all who would listen, so proud of that dirty trick."
"I find her entire existence offensive. Just another wannabe TikTok star who thinks she's god's gift to the wrestling ring. Probably keeps track of how many followers she has and vanity Googles her name every hour on the hour," Sam scoffed, shaking her head. She'd watched everything that had happened and in seeing the mental toll it had taken on Sev, she felt a swell of anger.
"I do not care about the Diana Tremblays of the world." He said this firmly and then amended it, "or I
should not. I am trying. It is hard, though. To shake off the damage done. And this is how I came to have Gizmo. I could not go home after it happened. I was driving… afterwards. I did not want to go home, not because I was empty-handed. Because of the…" he struggled with the words, not because of his vocabulary, but because even in the retelling, he could feel the emotions welling up. "She made a mockery of me. All the things she said, they were echoes pulled from my darkest depths and I did not respond well, especially after she questioned my intelligence in front of the world."
"She can fuck right off for that, too." The vehemence was kept to a low hiss so that she didn't wake the sleepy baby in her arms.
"I was brought low by a kick in the
wedding tackle." He said that term without a trace of humor, even though he'd clearly heard it somewhere and was now just repeating it, "I know I should not care so much about this, I know. But it…"
"You are valid in how you feel, don't ever second-guess that." Sam could envision herself ripping out hair and clawing out eyes. There were just some guys that were worth cat-fighting over. Sev was one of those – he was the brother she'd always wanted.
"Then you know what happened in Hawaii. There was never any chance of a true rematch – of a fair contest. It was an insult, meant to further belittle. I am sick of fighting uphill both ways. I am sick of this losing battle. They will never take me seriously. I am like Chelsea Skye worries she has become. They will remember me for the kick to the groin, like Funniest Home Videos. They will not remember the reign that preceded it. One hundred and eighty-three days… and what is there to show for it outside of insults and headaches? There have been several shows since… four of them booked. And do you think that I was included in any?"
"Makes the thought of walking away easier, doesn't it?"
He nodded, "you know me too well. I am going to ask for my release but I worry that this will taint what I have in PWE."
Sam thought for a few moments about everything that had happened to him over the last few months, trying to find the right words. Finally, she met his eyes and sighed. "First of all, a groin kick is not going to be your legacy – I can promise that." Emmie started to fuss a bit as Sam rubbed her back, hoping to soothe the infant. "I think if you aren't happy with things, change it. Life's too short to stay stuck somewhere you hate."
"I do not want her to think me weak for walking away." They both knew who he meant. "I have been thinking about seeing someone. A therapist." He said it softly, as though confiding a great secret, "no, actually. This is a lie. There is an app on the phone. Someone that you can chat to that will not judge. And I have done this a few times when the darkness has grown too great but I worry that…" he waved his hand helplessly, "I have not told you the other thing. The one that hangs over it all. The one that washes away these trivial matters… makes it easier to find the strength to leave."
"Therapy is a good choice– my dad and I have been doing sessions together and it's helped." The other thing he said caught her attention, causing a knot to form in her stomach. "What's this other thing?"
The pause was heavy, almost foreboding as he weighed his words, watching the little potato of a dog wiggling on his back in the grass, tongue lolling out. "We… we are going to have a baby."
Sam's eyes widened as she'd never felt happier for anyone in her life, but she held back as she had to gauge how he felt about this first. "How do you feel about that?"
"I…" he managed a smile as he turned to look at her, "am feeling so many things. Terror most of all. But so much joy… I never thought this was possible. To have a
real life. To be a husband... a part of something greater than myself... a
father."
Sam nodded in agreement as she looked down at her daughter, kissing the top of her head. "I know I'm new to this and all, but there isn't anything greater." Her smile was wistful, "I thought that first win was something… having my hand raised while the crowd went wild, but the first time I saw her face…" she looked up at Sev, her eyes bright with unshed tears, "it surpassed even that best moment. She's everything."
"We have not made this public, not really. I may have let something slip in my last conversation with the camera but I do not think anyone was paying attention." His smile grew wider even though the words belied exactly how insignificant he felt. "You and Jude, you will be the godparents, yes?"
Sam didn't need any time to think as she nodded, "absolutely."
━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━
I have been thinking too much lately about my legacy. I know I am not alone in this and a part of me wonders if a rookie like Chelsea Skye will find it comforting to know that a veteran also worries about becoming nothing more than an Internet joke. The girl who wrestled a cat. The giant felled by a kick to the groin. You know how they say you never get a second chance to make that first impression. This is true, but what they don't tell you is that you cannot control that people think. We are all human, we are all connected in this great big world but we are not sharing a hive mind. There will always be some who are outside the circle of favor.
I have toiled many years in this position, blissfully ignorant and happy to be ignored. I was not starved for attention. I learned to exist on scraps and I hunger was never allowed to grow because I did not know what it was like to have a belly full of the glory.
I did not know of this until February of 2021, when I finally stepped from the shadows to embrace the limelight. It did not burn as I feared.
They did not laugh at me. They did not call me a fool. I was embraced for my strengths. I was appreciated for my loyalty.
I know none of this matters now but I want you to understand where I have come from. I want you to know that I am not seeking a reward for the things I have endured. I expect no badges of honor, no purple heart of valour. These victories are minor. They mean more to me than anyone else. I know dredging up the past is not a good way to pave for a successful future. I just want to make sure that I am understood. The past is dead. It is buried and every day I feel the hooks it had on me growing weaker. Soon they will fade away – I look forward to this day and it will be a cause for celebration. This will be the moment I will dance and sing and shout from the rooftops. Conquering a demon is far more exciting than silencing a fool.
I cannot help but see a parallel here – I know you are not another cardboard cookie cutter clone of Diana Tremblay. Deep down, I know that this cannot possibly be true, but the paranoia whispers in my ears.
They are still laughing.
This is what I fear.
Behind closed doors, the whispers continue.
I feel unworthy. I feel the need to work harder than the rest. I do not clamor for, nor do I expect handouts. I pointed out the truth, that I have built a firm foundation here since my arrival. I should not have been required to enter into this tournament to get a shot, yet I chose to pursue it this way. Do you want to know why?
I will still be toiling away when the rest of you have already called it quits. I am here – only here, now and I am willing to put in the extra hours. I am willing to prove my commitment to EXCELLENCE. That championship reign? They will not remember me for that. A part of me mourns this, because it was my first.
How could I not be proud of the accomplishment?
Another part of me knows this could turn into something greater – a life lesson. A chance for growth. A legacy to be build upon a solid foundation, one that is being supported and tested rather than maliciously eroded. I have been told not to fear, not to take this to heart. Losses happen in this business. What matters is not the fall. What matters is what you do when you pick yourself back up and the voices of the critics should be nothing more than the breeze from an open window. Perhaps they will make me shiver, draw the most instinctive response – I have the choice to let it go. The window is not broken. It can be closed. The wind can blow elsewhere, try and tear down someone else.
My story is not over. I will not be remembered. I am not great. I'm not powerful.
I could stand on a soapbox, on a street corner, with a placard around my waist, and preach about the coming doom, about apocalypse. I could tell everyone that they were wrong to believe in this or that but I cannot control you.
You are free to choose.
We are at a crossroads now.
This is a pivotal moment in time, not just because social media and its influence is teetering on the precipice of the abyss. For $8, you can buy the checkmark. You can cling to the illusion of clout, bolster that ego.
It does not change who you are.
In a thousand years, all that will remain are Photoshopped images out of context, the hieroglyphs of a civilization that devoured itself.
We will be nothing more than footnotes.
The past is nothing more than faded memories, jaded over time.
I would rather forget.
I would rather continue to create. To move onward. To go upward. To continue reaching for the stars even though I know realistically that I will never land among them. Maybe that is why I ended up here in the first place. Maybe my destiny was never to be driven to invisibility by a world that never really wanted me, and surely never respected me. Maybe I am to be the lesson – the cautionary tale. Careful what you wish for. You may not like what you get.
This is my shot. Like Alexander Hamilton, I have already called it, even before this tournament began. I do not break my word. I promised there will be hell to pay if my desire for a challenge was not met with something substantial. Sophie. Glum. Erik Holland.
New faces stepped up and answered my call.
New blood in the water.
The monster coils within me, ready to be unleashed again. It is hungry. So hungry. The final insult will be when I stand there, reflecting your various demises back like a mirror. Then you can see what you created and I will stand proud. I will fear no label, no reprisal because this is what I was bred for – not to be a joke. No. You are the gross mockery, the abominations that taint what should have been pure.
I am the abyss. I am the Nowhere Man, and I am coming for you. I will break you. I will bleed you dry. I am THE MONSTER MACHINE.
Empty. Hungry. Ageless.
RELENTLESS.
