Ayla Book; Chapter 9: Colorful Masks

The happiest place on earth.

What a crock of shit.

For thousands, I'm sure it holds some delusional truth. None of them experienced what I did that night. (Except for one, I guess.) Watching my everything, my love, Cameron, drop into a pile of blood and wires. I tucked myself beneath a mask of reassuring smiles for the children… All dressed in their Disney attire while I gagged on every breath.

Do not worry, he is fine. I repeated it until the doctor confirmed it. Do not worry, he’s fine. He’s fine. He is fine. My entire body rejected even water after the match ended. I was, for the first time in our marriage, helpless. Nothing I could do but watch in horror. My concern for him was acid in my throat.

He was broken. Aggravating old injuries that’d send him back to limping around with a cane again. While I suffered through worrying about him, through worrying about what my stresses were doing to the baby growing. While I worried about my husband–

All while he stood… staring out the window. Upset… about him.

That was when it began to grow.

When the wind carried the seed into my garden. Harmless, insignificant, until rain came. Until the first tears of our newborn, Leo. Roots slowly sunk into the soil tangling around the very foundation of our house. I heard it crack. It echoed, one night. I, exhausted, riddled from birth, crept to the basement where he pounded his fists into the weighted bag. Drenched in regret, in annoyance… In his own destruction. He hadn't noticed it.

I listen to the roots every single night now as they terrorize the home we built. Even Damian's breathing doesn't silence it. I press close to him hoping his arms will be strong enough.

I know they are no longer…


    My eyes open to the sound of Leo's crying. He whimpers before belting out a wail that splits the day in half. To my right, Sylas stirs with a soft babble. He too is unsure what to make of our newest. Leo is so terribly loud. He bellows and I find myself struck. My body slowly bends enough to scoop up his small form tucking him close to my breast. He is an image of his father. Dark hair and lovely eyes. He is an image of his father that I have not met. Gage pointed it out first so it could fester beneath my skin.

"He is Damian with the Good Hair reincarnate!"

A man… I never knew.

My hand gently combs through Sylas's darkening hair. He nuzzles my palm with a soft coo. Ever since the birth of Leo, he has gotten quieter. The twins had never gotten jealous of their brothers, so this behavior was unexpected.

I prod Sylas's nose with a smile. "Daddy will have lunch ready. Will you escort me down?"

He grabs my hand tightly. I opt to snuggle the two further in the covers instead. The room has become a sanctuary where I do not feel so strange. I feel as if this birth has ripped my own skin off. Suddenly, I am raw and too weak for the world again. The only difference is the heaviness of loneliness uncomfortably wrapping around me to scratch against my sensitivities. Not like before I met my husband. It is worse.

My head turns towards the door where he appears. Handsome as ever and highlighted in afternoon hues. Damian says nothing.

"Can we eat up here?" I beg softly. I noticed too late that he has a tray already. Behind him, Orson is carrying two cups, and Odette carrying the last.

He sets the tray near me while we adjust in bed. Sylas climbs into my lap and I pass Leo to his father. He has made stuffed sandwiches and soup. Orson hands me my cup before giving Sylas a kiss on the cheek. I feel myself melting between my children.

“We already ate!” Odette sips her juice with a grin. She peers into the baby’s bed where he is asleep once more. Midday is when we rest without interruption.

My appetite…vanishes. My entire body aches but not from the training. Not from anything tangible. Adrenaline drums through my soul watching my husband exit the room. It’s as if he was never here. The twins begin to tell me about their day, about how Odette helped her father cook, and Orson cleaned the entire living room. Their words are bubbles and sparklers, so beautiful against my cheeks.

I feel nothing but dread.

He left the room.

The roots slither up the wall and I squeeze the cup between my hands.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Melissa’s body shutters with the desire for violent action. She hates games these days. Once upon a time, this situation would’ve piqued her interest and she’d agree to play along. Now it was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Can we get this the fuck over with?” The sharp tone belongs to the sulking woman who is slumping on the couch with a roll of her eyes. She swings both legs over the arm.

Tara takes a seat on the large throne of a chair and folds one leg over the other. La Andalucera stands to her left like a protective knight. Melissa plops down in a chair across. It occurs that this is where she and Cameron used to sit. The chair is smaller than the one Tara occupies and feels more delicate. She imagines them– fresh into marriage, fresh into being parents, in this extravagant living room. Watching TV and enjoying the peacefulness this house has to offer.

“What is this?” Melissa folds her arms.

“Payment.” Tara informs.

“Breaking my arm wasn’t good enough for you? What else could you possibly want from me, Tara?! I’m, I’m not a wrestler anymore, I don’t manage people, I’m not–” She has to cover her mouth to stop from yelling. Her son, Hunter, was napping in the other room. He had fallen asleep watching early morning cartoons.

“I need the mask you buried. You are going to help me cleanse PWE… To transform it and return glory to it. You are required to ensure the change goes smoothly.” Tara’s smile is thin. “Let us not lie to one another. That quiet life you built was stale and you are restless.”

“Are you sure you aren’t talking about yourself? Getting bored of being a housewife so you decided that you wanted to play pretend? Please. Maybe you should just try some kinkier stuff in the bedroom or something.”

The Knight swiftly stomps with a snarl, “¡Cállate!”

The women all stare at one another, except for Noelle who is inspecting her nails. Her eyes roll. A loud series of knocks halt the tension efficiently. The Knight doesn’t even need to look back and goes to answer the door.

“Find a better explanation.” Melissa snarls.

An almost meek woman enters the room, holding a suitcase. Her eyes take in the tension before she sets the suitcase down. Her appearance baffles Melissa who squints at Tara who offers a friendly smile.

“Introductions then I will speak to Melissa outside. This is Kanna Von Wolff, Noelle Rivers, La Andalucera, and Melissa Reed. You will be assisting me.” Tara raises from the chair. That was it.

Tara rests a hand against La Andalucera’s bicep, whispering instructions to her about getting the other two settled in their rooms. They are taken with a small nod from the woman who Melissa views as Tara’s bodyguard. Quiet conversations echo in the hallway until a louder voice breaks it. Noelle isn’t too pleased. Meanwhile, the two of them walk outside.

Tension gathers again. It had been a while since the former friends had even spoken to one another. Their friendship is now riddled with negative emotions, but Tara doesn’t appear to notice how Melissa eyes her. A venomous snake that had just lured a woman away from the safety of Eden. Or whatever. Not that Mel would ever view herself as Eve.

“What’s this actually about, Tara? There are millions of wrestlers that are strong enough to use on your crusade. Hell, we both know that you could’ve used Sophie to help you out. She has already been in PWE, strong enough to handle anyone there, and whatever. If you asked then Vhodka could come back to help out.”

Tara looks upon the old backyard with a wistful smile and allows her posture to slack. Her hands fold together. “Vhodka has other obligations but she provided aid.”

“Cut to the chase, please. I’m begging that you just tell me what the fuck I’m doing here. It’s already been two weeks and honestly, I want to go home to Artemis.” Her eyes narrow. “I can’t believe you sent Gage after me. To literally snatch me from the fucking store. You do realize that I had to try to explain that to my toddler?! He thinks we’re on some weird vacation! Tara– Level with me, for one fucking second, put yourself in my shoes. You took a toddler away from his routine and forced us to play house here! Hunter– has nothing to do with wrestling… I just...”

“Would you prefer I send him back?”

Melissa frowns. “I rather go home. I’m not going to be of any use to you. I’m retired! I buried my old nickname along with any possibility of me getting back into wrestling. Quit training people, quit managing people, quit anything to do with it, and I promise you, that I haven’t been training for the last two years. Find someone else to help you with this mission. Fuck! I’ll find other people for you to use. If you want a clown that badly then I will call Sybil! She loves causing chaos, jumping people, or whatever you’re going to have us do.”

“No one else can help me.” Tara hugs herself. Her head turns away aiming a mournful gaze at the fence surrounding the backyard. She shrinks.

Melissa inspects the posture with understanding. She feels a strange tug at her heartstrings before forcing herself to look elsewhere. This wasn’t about revenge, some desire to ruin Melissa’s life, fuck with Artemis, Alex, or even her old abilities in the ring. It was something far more intimate and perhaps more important to Tara than her own career… This was desperation. Tara’s hands were reaching for something she felt was slowly being ripped away.

Yes, she could leave the situation if she really wanted to. No way Tara would actually hurt her or her son just for this sport. Not even for a mission she believed in. The last incident had been one of those “long time coming” types of things. Nothing that Mel wasn’t used to. People used to try to break her in the ring for insulting them or playing pranks. Nah, but this was a plea. Melissa cursed the very fucking air!

“I have some conditions.”

“As did your boyfriend.” Tara’s tone tried to be playful but failed her.

“I’ll ask about that later, but first, after this is all said and done? I’m gone. I get to go home. No more playing pretend cult groupy for you. Second, my son stays as far removed from this as possible. Alex and I don’t want him involved with wrestling unless he is an adult and decides it. His childhood? Is a very hard no. Third, I get to paint a room pink.”

Tara squints confused by the last one. Melissa gently takes one of Tara’s hands. “So, what’s going on with you and Cameron?”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Press PLAY upon an audio device begins an all too familiar sound. A low crackling cuts to the voice.

“It was perfect…”

Candles begin to light themselves along the room unveiling Tara Ayla hunching forward on a tattered throne. Fingers are together with a dour expression. To either side stand a series of masked individuals. Two are adorned with decorative masquerade masks, the other is a wolf and a bunny.

“The pit was full. A mass of writhing, mangled bodies desperately wading through the grime, the blood, and feasting upon the weak. It was there. Everything had developed as we had wanted. Finally, after all the work, the crawling, the bloodshed, it was there. Pro Wrestling Excellence had just begun to understand what it meant to **Reach Heaven**. It had become exactly what we desired! A battleground for the strong to thrive. Fulfilling what we had promised Charlie when we arrived! Finally– I had a sample of what it meant to truly be satiated. Finally, I had achieved a sought goal of mine! Gold and glory, all of it neatly tucked in the palm of my hand, of ours, and it was beautiful. Alas, nothing ends the way we desire, does it?”

“The garden is withering. Drying! Our labor of love for not because we thought it safe in the hands of others… I mourn for the effort wasted, but my stomach? My ever-posed maw? They lust for the irrefutable solution: Bloodshed. To rebuild what was slowly torn down by those who failed to understand. They declared this and that, defiling the very truth that had been so easily recognizable. PWE blossoms in the red glow of violence. We speak the sole language here. Even Allen saw it, which is why he so desperately lured Damian back to PWE…”

A hand covers Tara’s face. Her laughter is abrupt and unsettles one of the masked figures. She takes a moment to collect herself. “Assumedly, most believe that I’d return for my Impulse title, reclaim what I had, but no. Sometimes it is not the quantity of something but the quality. My time was cut short but that title has been given new life. My goal with it was fulfilled. Through glorious blood, the gold gleams anew, but I will keep an eye on Jason Long from here on out. Hopefully, he continues to feed the Impulse Title as it deserves.”

She smiles softly, reclining on the throne.

“No, my goals are a bit different.”

One figure reaches forward to gently turn the device off. Tara drapes one leg over the other causing the dress she is adorned in to slip down her thigh some. Her eyes darken.

“First one on the docket…is Blaze Darling… Yes. It appears that my role has not changed. We shall see this very match if you have what is needed to thrive, not only here but in general. Are you just another starry-eyed rookie waist-deep in the hungry waters of wrestling? You spread yourself thin hoping it’ll give you an edge. A mistake in the long term, I assure you. For a short span, it’ll help gather experience. It’ll get your name spread across many platforms: Zion, NEO, Dystopia, XIX: Disputed. So many companies and plenty of eyes. Is it a ploy at attention? For a while, they will offer you a spotlight but be quick because they shut off. People’s attention spans are shorter if nothing catches their eye.

Your results thus far are…Decent. Boring. Safe. Just another person that’ll be swallowed and chewed, broken down by the gnashing of teeth if you become negligent. Feel some peace for what PWE has done to you. Consider me a filter. Surviving through me has become the standard, and remaining afterward is an accomplishment. I want nothing from you other than the best. This company can not ascend without proper people. You have potential if you are willing. What is your goal in stepping into this company? I do hope you weren’t just following your boyfriend, Alexander.”

Tara squints. Her cheek rests against her hand.

“You can be more, Blaze. So much more. If you so wish then you can do what I did. Help construct the fucking table. Built this brand, perfect it, and be what people fear. Be a name on people's lips even when you aren't present! Don't allow yourself to be forever forgettable. Don't be just another tick on my board, just another face, because how depressing.”

Prove to us, to them, and to yourself that you care enough to show it!” Her hand slaps the arm of the chair! “I’ve always written off flippant people who take losses lightly. No title belt, no victory, no passion, but people should care? I’d rather someone who throws a tantrum, who promises revenge, than another person like you. Do you think it makes you strong? Why bother in such a demanding sport? Tweeting “oh wells, and did my best tee-hee” bullshit. Do you want people to offer praise while you rather pour effort elsewhere? Please. If what I’ve seen is all you have to set at the table then this meal will be short and unsatisfying. You see, Darling, I do hope this pisses you off. I’d rather like to begin with a competitor with teeth.”

Listen closely, I left because I physically couldn’t wrestle, but that does not mean I left Pro Wrestling Excellence without my tender care. Even from the sidelines, I pushed people a little further. That is the difference, Blaze Darling! Desire. That will be your defining moment in this company! Can you endure? Can you fight? Can you prove to me, to everyone, that you have what it takes to crawl to the top? Or will you run? Continue throwing everything at the wall in a pathetic effort to make something stick. I’ve grown so tired of people just like you coming through PWE and wasting our time with your half-assed effort. Not even a meal to be devoured but a snack of thin, almost stale, chips.”

“My forced break deepened my appetite. I was starving while being away and now… Oh, now.” Tara hides her growing smile with her hand. Her head tossed back with a strange laugh. “I just don’t think you’ll do, Blaze. Not as you are now. I think all you’ll do is make me ravenous. I pity the next and the next, and oh...”

“Perhaps, I shall bring you an offering so you may feel welcomed and motivated. A gift from Dystopia…” From Tara’s hand comes a waterfall of tacks. Their silver color catches the light as they sprinkle across the floor. This makes her smile. “Emily stole your opportunity at gaining a title. I wonder if you shrugged off that ass beating as well? Chalked it up to a well-fought match and merely accepted your failings. That’ll do nothing for you in the long run. Take exceptions, seek revenge, and fight for something more than a fleeting fucking spotlight! Or get the hell out of my sight…”

Tara stands up retrieving an all too familiar deer skull. Ornate with gems set in the bone and small trinkets hanging from the horns. She slips it on.

“Show me you are worthy, Blaze, that this pathetic set of failures isn’t everything you may offer, and that the pit won’t have just another victim we feast on. My sweet child, let me help you. Let me show you how to…REACH Heaven Through Violence.”

The feed cuts.