Path of self-destruction girl: yeah, that’s me. Why do you think I wrestle? I don’t necessarily get-off on losing all the time – especially these days – but I’m just waiting for that final blow; that final hit that would take me outta commission. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I just want to succeed and then retire at the top. I’m twenty-three years old, and already thinking about retiring. Christ. Something has gotta be wrong with me.
And who the hell is this Demonica broad? I was having a perfectly good hissy and she comes in and starts giving suggestions? I’ll destroy property in my own way, thank you very much. Perhaps this new… partnership… will be better than previous ones. Cough, Angelica, cough, cough, Nikita, cough. God, I hate tag-teams.
But what for Gwenivere Jordan now? What of the former Mistress of Darkness, turned heel, turned the epitome of nonchalance? I will definitely be looking into this whole Demonica scheme. Needless to say, I’m intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? I think it’s about time I turned this horse around and kicked some ass. No longer will I be called the “most notable athlete in Frost Inc. who can’t even score a win for the team”. Oh yes, I’ve heard it all.
What of Joey Jackson? What of Joey Jackson, indeed. A man who’s got skill and has a, dun-dun-dun, 6-0-1 streak. Boo-yah. Congrats, Jackson. No, really. I mean it. You’ve gathered the International belt and are currently at the top of your division. Congratulations. But, what does it all mount up to? Your fire will fade, Jackson. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen young, jovial wrestlers come into the ring, win a few battles and think they’re supreme. Yeah, that was me. I used to be in that situation. And now my fire has fizzled out. I’m sitting on the wick of a candle, with no fear of someone lighting the match.
The power is shifting. Can you feel it? There’s a new blazing partnership in New Era Wrestling now. Welcome to the new generation of things that go bump in the night, as they bump you off your pedestal. Question: top of your division and what has it gotten you? Answer: a bunch of people beneath you, ravenous for your blood to be poured onto the canvas. You will be forgotten soon enough. Someone will take that belt from you and your legacy will come crumbling down like the Berlin Wall.
Whoo, I’m on a roll today.
Naturally, A.D.H.D. has taken it’s affect and I grow weary of speaking of you. Next target: Sebastian Boch. Who are you to call me such names? Does it make you happy that you try in vain to put the way I am into words? The fact that you even bring up child molestation makes me think there’s something going on behind closed doors with you. You know? Like, the men who insist something is “gay” then turn out to be homosexuals down the line?
Come Tuesday, I will end my losing streak. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. Step into the web of the ring and allow me to prove that I am the predator. I may be what some people call “the underdog”, but everyone who I’ve fought knows I can put up a fight. I will not lie down and allow either of you to pin me. It’s not going to turn out like that. I won’t let it. And I’ll make sure that my Frost Inc. sibling, Chris Phillips, doesn’t fuck me over either.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Say that again?” I said into the receiver of the telephone in Reno Frost’s office. He had moved out of the room after telling me that I had a phone call. I leaned against his large desk, fingers curled around the edge of the lamented mahogany.
“I’m sorry, Miss Jordan. There was nothing we could have done,” the doctor on the other end of the line said solemnly. A few tears ran down my cheeks as I brought my hand up to my face. “He said to tell you not to worry about him. He said to take care of yourself and live a full life, and not to take anything for granted, ever,” the doctor continued, though I was hardly listening.
Without saying goodbye or anything, I hung up the phone. It seemed all like a dream. There was no way I could go and see him until Wednesday. I was in Pennsylvania and he was in Rochester, New York. I’d have to deal with it later. After Tuesday. God, this was wretched. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I folded one arm across my stomach as I staggered out of Reno’s office, bypassing him standing there. I think he tried to ask me if I was okay, but I couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t the caring type of guy, I gathered.
I sat down in the locker room, staring blankly. The place had been cleaned, and I had paid for damages. Well, most of them anyway. I wasn’t about ready to pay damages to a food tray. I leaned back into the couch, staring blankly at the opposing and ominous, pastel-coloured wall. My stomach churned within my abdomen. What was I getting so riled about? I got up for a moment, only to sit down a few minutes later with my laptop. I booted it up and silently waited for my desktop to flash onto the LCD screen. I opened the web browser and logged into my email account. I sat silently, staring at the screen’s text box, thinking.
To my mother and brothers,
I know it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. Too long in my opinion. But I have horrible news. Raphël is dead. I know you’re probably saying that I really don’t care… but he came to me and tried to reconcile… I think. The funeral is in a week’s time. I’ll send you more info. when I get it. Please, please come.
Gwenivere.
The email was sent off to be filtered and checked before being sent to my eldest brother’s computer. I closed the laptop and put it beside me on the sofa. I leaned forward then, hands curled my head, squeezing my temples. I was starting to feel extremely nauseated. But why? Before this past week or so, I wouldn’t have cared. Hell, I would have probably run to his grave just to dance on it in stilettos.
“Damn him.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I never thought I’d be doing such a thing. Never thought I’d have to. I stared blankly at the computer screen, overwhelmed by the images. Mahogany boxes, silk linings, embroidered pillows, engraved vases. And the sickening sight of some balding, overweight man at the top of the screen, winking with finger-guns pointed at the viewer of the screen. Yeah… because death is just such a happy-go-lucky occurrence, I’m sure. Hell, there’s gotta be someone else out their like the sick-fuck who owned the website who enjoyed death just as much.
I closed the site, nearly wanting to throw the laptop across the room and go to throw-up. I let a dry-heave escape me before closing my eyes and holding my hands over my face. My hands were shaking; my back tense from the pure anxiety of having lost something I didn’t know I cared for. I let out a long sigh before getting up and heading for the door. I slipped into a pair of worn-in sneakers and my coat before heading out to the nearest pub, or club, or someplace I could bury myself into a bottle at.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
