Post by Amy Jo Smyth on Nov 19, 2016 23:20:08 GMT -5
But I'm not looking for a love that'll last
I know what I need and I need it fast
Yeah there's one thing in common that we both share
That's our need for each other anytime, anywhere
___________________________
Everyone has ups and downs, good and bad days, weeks, months, years, even. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, and sometimes we miss the fight completely. Sometimes we fight with all that we have and still come up nothing to show for it. Fuck, there are times when we win and have nothing to show for it.
I know this better than most.
After my loss for number one contendership a few weeks ago, then another loss - draw, same shit - before that, and a loss in another organization that cost me a title, I've been in a slump - both career wise and emotionally. I put myself in this slump. I don't think anyone has missed by… mood as of late. Down on myself, beating myself up. I was injured, lost yet another contendership spot, and well, I haven't exactly been impressing anyone here in L.A.W. or abroad.
There's that old saying, it's not that you got knocked down, it's how you get back up, it's that you keep fighting. Well, I didn't get up, the fight in me died, my fire went out, I lost all sense of self-worth and confidence. I no longer considered myself a good wrestler, worthy of anything, let alone to grace that ring. I gave up, on nearly everything. I didn't get out of bed for nearly two days, hell, I didn't even leave my house for almost a week, save for doctor’s appointments. I numbed up with liquor, cigarettes, and goodies of the green variety.
I got inside my own head and let these setbacks control me, do me in, nearly ruin me from the inside out. Doubts were my best friend and the only thing I listened to. I was not good to myself. I have faced setbacks before, lost huge matches, and still got up. I lost a fight and didn't get back when I am known for getting right back and right back into it, never giving up, even when things were bleak. It was hard for me to get back on my two feet, literally and figuratively.
My confidence had been crushed and I had been crushed. Who am I without my confidence? Who am I without my unwavering determination? Who am I without this attitude? Who the fuck am I without being a bitch people feared? How can fear me now when I have been felled more than I've stood victorious? How can I be confident or determined or have the attitude I need to compete when it's been lost? How can I win without confidence? Who is anyone without confidence? I'm supposed to be better than this but I couldn't find out how or why.
I had a decision to make. I could just give up, give in to my injury and the doctors, and retire, let the losses define me and become a loser, and let all this shit determine the outcome of my career. Do I stay down or lift my ass back up? Even though those nearest and dearest tried to pull me back up, I was ready to stay down for the count. Then some words were spoken to me.
“You used to be hardcore.”
Spoken by a woman I respect, a woman who knows me and the things I've done, the competitor I've been and can be, what I'm capable of. Those five little words cut me to the bone. Which I'm sure will delight the woman who spoke them - the act of cutting and stabbing. I wonder if she knows what she did, how she affected me. They did.
It cracked that little inner core, let the light back in, reminded me of who I am, and woke me up. I had forgotten this vital thing - my past, the things I had done and the things I had overcome. My confidence came back and then I won another match, finally, FUCKING FINALLY, won number one contendership to a world title. The streak is broken, the string of losses has come to an end.
I pulled myself up and I'm standing on my own two feet, literally and figuratively. Now that's a very dangerous situation for Mindy De Santiago to find herself in.
___________________________
In the Continuing Adventures of Our Hero...
<|<| Be Kind, Rewind
My own person group of bodyguards leads us out through the dining room, right past the incoming firefighters who don’t seem to notice or care, which is awful because Birdie basically looks like he got hit by a train, but ya know, whatever, do your thing.
“You’re gonna merge right back in with the crowd,” the woman says, pointing to the entrance that will lead me right back into the lobby.
I give her look and then stiffly point at my cheek. “And how do I explain this, exactly?”
She shrugs. “You fell?”
“I feel like I’m making excuses for my abusive boyfriend…” I turn on a high pitched voice, mocking a woman who might be in this particular case. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just walked into a door… You know those door knobs, five feet off the ground.” My voice returns to normal. “No one believes that shit.”
There’s a soft laugh from Birdie. It clearly causes him pain so he stops.
“Find your wife,” she explains. “I will shadow you.”
“Oh, goodie. Because you were so much help last time.” I roll my eyes and sigh heavily.
She pushes me forward. “Just go,” she says the proceeds to mumble anger things in Russian. Doing what I do best, pissing people off, this time internationally. This feel like an accomplishment. I celebrate this accomplishment as I wander through the lobby doors, more firefighters milling about, ignoring me. The firefighters are about to have a very unpleasant discovery on their hands.
That’s when it hits me.
I quickly turn around, look at my protective shadow. “What about our fingerprints? Our DNA?”
The woman’s answer: a wink. A fucking wink. Oh, yeah,that's real fucking reassuring. It totally makes me feel amazing and super confident in how this whole thing is going to turn out.
I've got no other choice than to trust her and this and my government and the people it has employed. We fall into the crowd of hotel guests that stands across the street, watching, questioning, chatting, freezing as they wait. There's a search in progress to find Allison and then another search to figure out how to answer her about my disappearance and growing bruise on my face.
At some point I'll have to tell her but not yet, not here. I'm kind of hoping I can avoid it completely, that it never comes up, and if it does, my obligations to the CIA is long over. She can find out after I'm dead. Which, at this rate, may come sooner than later.
My Russian counterpart and assigned bodyguard disappears, falling into the crowd, but I can't imagine that she's gone too far and has a keen eye on me. While I'm on my own, I'm really not. In this crowd right now, there has got to bed at least three agents assigned to keeping me safe. I say safe in loose terms.
“Where did you go?” Allison yells. She appears, slipping through a small space between two people and stands in front of me. “You can't leave me like that!”
She wraps her arms around me, pressing on things that already hurt and now hurt even more with the pressure she puts upon them. I have to hide my pain and hold back the groan.
“Seriously, where did you go? What happened?” she asks, staring me straight in the eyes.
I inhale deeply. “Ran into an old friend,” I say slowly.
“Oh.” She leans up against me, stealing my warmth. “Someone you fight with?”
“You could say that,” I answer and start rubbing my hand up and down her back. It wasn't a complete lie. Wasn't a lie at all, really. Time to change the subject. “Cold?”
She nods. “Uh huh.”
I pull her in closer, hold her tighter.
“I wonder how much longer it'll be...” she inquires.
“Don't know,” I shrug. “Depends on what it is.”
My wife just digs herself deeper into me. I'm starting to suspect that she might be onto me and no longer believes my lies. Allison isn't stupid and giving my expert level ability to lie, I'm not exactly making myself believable. There are only so many excuses I can use and as my unexplained absences keep growing, the questions are going to keep growing. Very soon she is going to start asking questions that she already knows the answers to. Very soon she is going to get really angry about my bullshit, too. There's going to come a time when things, my answers so elaborate, that I'm going to lose track of them all.
I'm weaving a web that I'm going to get tangled up in.
Fast Forward |>|>
We just got back home from Seattle. Suffice to say, I’ve never been happier to disappear behind the safety of these walls and sink into my bed as if were a hole. That’s exactly what I do, too. As soon as step foot inside my house, I kick off my shoes and head straight for my bedroom. I fell into my bed like a rock, bouncing slightly, and quickly cover my head with a pillow.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Allison says, “I really am.”
I have no answer for her. Honestly, I neither have the energy nor the fucking concern to answer her. I also don’t feel like being patronized.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asks. “I can cook. Or order out. Whatever you want.”
“No,” I say into the pillow.
“C’mon, you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” She grabs my foot.
Quickly, violently, I pull my foot away and pop upright. “I said no. Now leave me the fuck alone,” I shout.
Allison cringes and leans back in a start. The woman I love looks at me hard and deep, clearly questioning my stability.
I didn’t mean to yell. Maybe I did. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I just want to be left alone, exactly how a loser, a multiple time loser should be. “Please, just… Just leave me alone. Okay?”
She nods. After a little while and a hard sigh, she leaves, closing the bedroom door behind her. I return my cave beneath the pillows and soon, the heavy blankets. No one can find me here. This is exactly where I belong.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
“AJ?” Allison calls out to me. “AJ?”
I come out of my haze and pull the pillow off my head. “What?” I moan.
“It’s almost time for me to leave,” she says.
It takes a long time for my eyes to focus and my to figure out what the actual fuck is going on around me. I’ve been in this bed, without food and only some water, since we got back. I’m not exactly quick on the uptake. Allison stands next to the bed, coat half on, fully dressed, glaring at me. I rub my eyes and hold them tightly closed for a long time.
The more I sleep, the more tired I feel. But sleep is just about the only place I feel good and the only place I can actually be a world champion wrestler again. How many more times can I get the chance to get the chance and fucking blow it? At this point, it’s all pretty much worthless and not even worth attempting anymore. I’m just wasting out the rest of my days in the ring, giving future champions a notch on their bedpost, the ability to say they beat a legend. Fuck, I’m not even a legend at this point.
“You’re going out… Can you get me cigarettes?” I ask and then drop the pillow over my head.
“Baby, no. I’m leaving for LA,” she says. “Remember? I told you about this just last week. I’m going to a conference…’
“Oh.”
There is a long pause, pure silence. I remain motionless in the bed, awake with my eyes closed.
“I’m going whether you get up or not,” Allison says. “Can you at least take me to the airport? Can you handle that much?”
I open my eyes. We look at each other for a long time. It’s a staring contest.
“Fine.” I sigh heavily and roll over, right off the bed, onto the floor. Hey, I’m wearing pants and I consider that a real achievement. The energy that required, good god damn. The effort it took with my fucked up ankle. Ha. If that’s not a reason to give up this stupid charade, I don’t know what is.
Because I’m a fool and my ankle needs special support, I say fuck it all, and just slide into my slippers. There’s no reason to dress up or even look like a normal person. It’s an airport in New Jersey and I don’t have to get out of the car. Girls in New Jersey think oversized sweatpants, Ugg boots, and a hoodie from Victoria's Secret is a nice outfit. Hells, guys think the same thing, too, so really, what’s the motivation to put on a fucking pair of nice jeans and a decent blouse?
I certainly don’t have any motivation to go beyond this t-shirt and pajama pants. After stumbling into the kitchen, doing more of a hop than anything close to a walk, I stare at the kitchen counter, trying to remember where I put my car keys.
Allison stands near the door, jingling them.
I nod and take my sweet-ass time getting them from her. “When are you coming back?”
“Sunday,” she answers.
We walk down the stairs, me clutching the railing the whole way down.
“So I’m gonna be alone all week?” I ask as we step outside.
“Yes,” she nods. “The whole week. You’ll be fine. I left you plenty of frozen meals, restocked the beer, and made sure that Megan or Nelly is gonna check on you every day. I scheduled all your doctor’s appointments. Dr. George will be by tomorrow to check on you - just a routine checkup. Martin will also be over to help you with your physical therapy.”
“Gee, thanks, mom,” I say, rolling my eyes.
She stops and steps in front of me, looks me dead in the eyes. “Right now, when you get in these moods, you need someone to take care of you and since I can’t be here,” she explains, “I’m going to do everything to make sure you’re taken care of.”
“I’m not in a mood.”
“I love you, but you so totally are,” she answers. She then kisses me on the forehead. “I love you even when you’re moody and all down yourself. Because I know you’re gonna get over it.”
“I don’t like that I have to sleep alone during it,” I say in a huff.
“You'll be fine.” She shakes her head. “I have no idea how I deal with you. Love is such a silly thing, makes us do really crazy shit.”
My Thunderbird awaits us, ready to carry us to Newark airport where an airplane will take my wife away from me for a whole week.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
“I wanna dance with somebody,” I sing, badly, sitting on the sofa, beer in hand, “feel the heat… something, something, something… God, I’m so bored!”
Allison is off doing her writing thing with other writers. Television has never been my favorite thing, not that there’s anything on, ever. I ran out of things to watch on Netflix - didn’t even know such a thing was possible. There hasn't been a good book out in months. Doctors came and went. I went to the doctor and came back. The news is never good. My physical therapist insists that I’m not doing myself any good but he helps me all the same. Not that I’m putting any effort into my rehab.
Other than liquor store runs and trips to Megan’s to steal food, I haven’t gone much of anywhere. It's left me to my own thoughts and given the steady stream of bad ones, this is not good. I’m bored and lonely.
I need a distraction. Let’s go harass people on Twitter while drinking.
This should go swimmingly.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
I’m not even sure why I started flirting with her. It was something to do. I didn’t expect it get this far and I didn’t expect her to be so willing. It also helps that I was pretty fucking drunk. Our first night hanging out went well, I thought. It was a huge confidence boost and I never needed it more than I did then. It was a wonderful distraction, too.
We bedazzled things - my walking boot and Roxi Johnson - and drank beer and ate this delicious food. I ate and drank myself into a stupor that eventually turned into a coma.
For all the fun I had and love I felt, the brief shining moment of confidence and good that I felt was gone when I woke up the next day and the worthlessness returned. The house was empty once more, quiet and lonely, leaving me to television, beer, and pizza delivery.
Then I remember her and her willingness to spend time with me. She makes feel less like shit. The confidence I'll get from her.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
Over in the main house, there is a large home theatre setup, an entire room set up for watching movies and playing videos, complete with theatre seating, a state of the art projection equipment, and a vintage popcorn machine. It has every video game console known to man, even Hudson’s childhood Atari, and the ability to stream videos and games via the internet. It is, in no uncertain terms, Hudson and Lucia’s favorite room. There have been many of times Lucia has spent days in there, playing her games, shooting at things, screaming into a headset.
I can go over there anytime I want, play any game I want, for as long as I want on a huge screen with surround sound. Yet, tonight, I don’t. Tonight I sit in my living room, with a video game console connected to my average sized flat screen by unsightly wires. Tina, my new friend, has brought over Madden and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for us to play. Even though I’ve never been very good at video games and I have to be careful with what games I do play due to my seizures, I’m playing them and I’m doing really well.
Half the time I don’t even know what button to push but I’m winning. It’s probably because Tina doesn’t play much better than me. Maybe she’s letting me win… Hey, whatever. I get to be the Atlanta Falcons and she’s, for some reason, the Miami Dolphins.
It has come time for me to kick the ball away to the other team. A punt. The last few times I’ve had to do this, all I managed to do was have my kicker - sorry, punter kick it all the way to the end zone and out of bounds. My boor, poor kicker. It has to be ruining his record. I almost feel bad about this. Almost.
Okay, and I should admit, that I’ve had one too many beers so even if I did know what the fuck I was doing, I wouldn’t be able to do it.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, holding up the control. “You have to teach me how to do this right…”
Tina chuckles. “I told you already… You have to hold down…”
“No,” I whine, cutting her off. “You have to show me.”
The beautiful woman slides up closer to me and damn near sits on my lap. Her hands take up my hands, controlling my fingers, showing me, teaching me how to make my poor punter dude do his duty. Gawh, her touch feels wonderful and her skin is so soft. Can’t deny that I’m not a little turned on, even more so when her hair brushes up against my cheek and the scent of her shampoo is easily detected. It smells clean, a little like chemicals - hairspray - but clean. One doesn't understand how important and attractive it is to smell clean. Especially over and above the strong, overwhelming scents of perfumes or sprays.
She looks up at me, our faces inches apart. Our lips are so close, they could touch and frankly, I don’t think I’d mind that. Actually, since last night, it’s all I wanted. Our eyes meet and everything else doesn’t matter. My thumb slips free and starts stroking her thumb.
This is getting to be too much. I clear my throat and smile. It breaks the spell.
“So, yeah,” she quickly says, turning away and putting her thumb back in place on the buttons. “You gotta hit it when it does that, just right there,” she explains, making the screen do something. “Then do it again and then your kicker kicks.”
“Got it,” I say, nodding. We watch my punter do his job and while the ball doesn’t go very far, it stays in bounds, crashing into the endzone where Dolphins watch it bounce, retrieve it, and then take a knee. “Oh, a touchback!”
This is worth celebrating.
“I think we need some fresh beers,” I announce.
“I’ll get them, gimpy,” she answers, leaping up from her spot on the sofa. I watch her hips shimmy and her ass bounce jiggle as she walks to the kitchen. There is nothing finer in this world than a woman with curves and all the parts perfectly proportioned. Hips. An ass. Thighs. A woman should be healthy and Tina is perfectly healthy. That’s a woman I wouldn’t mind getting naked and doing all kinds of things with.
She makes a fine substitute for my wife, even if just for the night. She can’t and won’t ever replace Allison, and let’s be serious, Tina will never light up my world and life like Allison does. Yeah, she turns me on, Tina is a sexy woman, and she’ll be fun to make scream, but no one turns me on like my wife. Won’t stop me, though.
Then I remember all that - that I’m married and I’m married to the love of my life, a woman I can’t get enough of, a woman that turns me on in every single way, and satisfies me. I took a vow, I broke that vow once before, and I have no desire to break it again.
But oh, God, she’s so sexy and I’m so tired and I’m so lonely.
Tina sits down next to me, a fresh beer in hand for me. I take the delicious beverage from her, take a sip, and stare at her. “You wanna finish or wanna do something else?” The raven haired beauty slides closer to me. Our thighs touch. Our shoulders and arms touch. There’s an inner turmoil with me. “Let’s finish the game.”
↼ ⟡ ⇁
Final quarter. I’m in the red zone, about six yards out. A touchdown will win this game for me. There’s about a fifty seconds left in the game for. Tina hasn’t been able to stop me. My running back has been firah. That, or the Dolphins defense is garbage. Whatever. I’m totally gonna win this game.
“Rise up!” I shout for good measure.
“No,” Tina shouts as I put the ball in the hand of my running back. He takes off, slipping into a hole between defenders. Then he’s stopped, taken down hard. “Yes!”
I give Tina a hard stare and this time, prepare a pass play. The play clock is counting down. I get ready to spot an open receiver. Tina suddenly springs into motion, leaping at me, knocking me over, causes me to drop the controller.
“Ah,” I shout. “That’s not fair!”
We begin wrestling, falling off the sofa. Just like Tina let me win at Madden, I let Tina win this wrestling match. She tackles me, straddles me, holds down my arms. Her foot kicks my ankle. An intense pain rips through me. I let out a screech.
“Fuck!”
Tina panics, quickly climbs of me, looks at my ankle. “Oh, God, did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Even though it hurts like hell, I lie, “nope, fine, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” she quickly says. Next thing I know, I’m being helped back to the couch and being pampered. She’s removing my boot, getting ice, putting ice on it, rubbing my foot. Her hand slowly moves up my leg. She has just the right touch.
“That’s - that’s really nice,” I sigh.
“Yeah.” Her hand begins to higher and higher, slipping as far as it can go under my pants.
...To Be Continued…
But what gives Ms. De Santiago reason to believe that? I've been humbled, right? My loss of confidence and demoralization and breakdown in public has been well noted. Then again, maybe you didn't witness it. You've been less than concerned about your employment with L.A.W.
Hey, remember that time we were supposed to fight once before? Yeah. I was ready to fight. I was ready to fight the coward who had been running up and down the interwebs, saying all kinds of shit. But, here you were, when push came to shove, you couldn't be bothered. You're the coward that walked away.
Don't ever forget that.
I won’t ever forget that.
You wasted my time and time is precious to me. For that, there’s gotta be some kind of payback, retribution, payment for time and effort lost. You were a big fat disappointment to me, to Ms. Steele, to the fans, to L.A.W. - who gave you a job and apparently a second chance - and above all else, yourself. You’re looking real good, kid. Really racking up those points for your reputation. Your reputation was actually pretty solid - you had impressed and brought up about some serious damage during Queen of the Ring and the month preceding it.
That someone got a little too big for her britches.
In your mind, when you turned tail and ran from me, you were too good to fight Kate and myself. You were better than L.A.W. and you felt wronged because you had been, what was it? You had been cheated out of your win in Queen of the Ring. You let everyone know it, too. If I had ever seen a meltdown, that was it. You put on a show in all the wrong places. In reality, you should have been putting on a show in that ring.
But nope, you went boo-hoo and wanted - expected things to go your way. Bitch, yeah, your opponent did some shady shit - welcome to wrestling. It ain’t perfect and it sure as shit ain’t always fair. I've been cheated out of wins plenty. Fuck, I was cheated out of a title. I've done my fair share of bitching, too.
Except, at least, when I bitch, I’ve got ground to stand on and I'm ready to fucking back it up in the ring. What's your excuse? I’m sure you got plenty. Just, here’s the thing - nobody wants to fucking here them. I could run my mouth, come up with any number of excuses as to why I lost in my last match? Hey, I’ve got the biggest excuse of them all. I was hurt. I got in that much and fuck all, I kept going and I kept fighting. That’s what you do.
Yeah, okay, sure, I've been beaten up and ready to throw in the towel. We just went over that and it happened just weeks ago. One loss and I was two steps from quitting this sport outright. However, unlike some others I might mention - you - didn't give up and I haven't given up.
Have you given up, Ms. Santiago?
In my heart of hearts, I knew it just wasn't time for me to end this long career that I've had. I'm far from done. I've got a lot to do and one of those things to do is to get things righted for myself here in L.A.W. That starts by getting myself back in the favor of the gods of victory. To do that, I gotta defeat you, Ms. Santiago. Sorry for you, but I'm healed up, my confidence is back, and there will be denying me of my win.
I'm ready for this fight. I want this fight. There is an ache inside of me to prove to the world, but more importantly, myself that I've got the spirit, the ability, skill to defeat you and so many others. There is much to do and a spirit that needs stoked. The fire is back inside of me and I will spread it. I do hesitate to call you a victim of this fire… It's cliche and not true. However, really, you are a victim. You're a victim of your own mistakes and your own mouth.
Don't let your mouth get ahead of you, this week. Don't say things I'll make you regret. Mostly, don't say things you'll regret. Like, I dunno, challenging me to a fight and then taking flight when I call you out. Or, ya know, quit when you don't actually mean it. I'm still not sure if you've actually quit or not. It's not like anyone has seen or heard much from you. I guess you're still too good for us. Alas, here you are, on the card, booked, getting paid, getting to face me. Far be it for me to question the how and why of it. I don’t make the cards and I’m not the one calling the shots.
For me, I guess this is the penance I pay for my streak as of late. It's okay. It will be nice to finally face you and settle this once and for all. It's been a-coming. You know, as long as you show up. We all know how much you pay attention considering that you almost missed your last match here.
That really strikes fear in me.
It makes me tremble.
Watch me roll my eyes.
It actually worries me when you get right down to it. I want a fight and I need a fight - a real fight. Something to get my boil moving and challenge me. Can you give this to me? I can tell you the first thing you gotta do if you wanna actually do those things. First and most important, show the fuck up.
Can you handle that much?
You leave me with serious doubts. At least when it comes to the doubts that I leave within my opponents, it's not that I won't show up and it's not that I won't give them the fight of their fucking lives. This much I can almost always guarantee. Injured and all. Win or lose, I leave it all out there. I take my lumps, and though I sometimes stumble and take my time getting back up - I’m only human - I still get up.
You did not, Ms. Santiago. Maybe you did. Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares?
This alone makes me that much better than you. This alone makes me someone to fear. This alone makes my shot at winning at Night of Glory that much more promising. Whether you like it or not.
Too bad, so fucking sad.