Post by codeapathy on Sept 18, 2020 22:22:04 GMT -5
Calling for a savior
To convince you it's alright
Running from the consequence
You're wasting precious time
There's nowhere left to hide
Everyone Loves A Villain - Empty Mirrors
++Death is a matter of life. A concrete fact. Over the years I had buried my share. The feelings were always different. For some it was relief, their suffering had ended. For others it was pity, for they had either wasted what time they had in this world or had no chance from the start. Some, sweet satisfaction that they had gotten exactly what they deserved. The truth was very few that I buried did I ever truly mourn or feel a sense of loss. My daughter of course was one. That hit me hardest. No mother should outlive their child but God has a fucked up and cruel sense of humor. Yesterday I buried the only other person I ever mourned and ever fully truly felt like I lost. I lie sleeping, a sheet covering my private area. A ginger haired woman was laying face down, her arm stretched across my tits. The only sound was the ticking of a wall clock. It was calm and peaceful. The stoic silence was shattered as I sat up in a cold sweat, screaming at the top of my lungs, gripping the almond colored sheets then gasping for air. The red head quickly flopped to her side, hunched up and grabbed me by the shoulders++
“Merde! Margot! What is it belle?”
++I exhaled sharply and my body went limp. My chest was heaving as tears were streaming down my face. The red head embraced me and held me close to her naked body, consoling me and calming me down as she ran her fingers through my dark hair, cooing and reassuring me that everything was okay++
Sophie: There there Margot, it was just a nightmare. It is okay now. Was it George?
Elizabeth: No...no. It was my Aunt Claudette. The screams as she burned alive. It was just a flash back that’s all. Recounting the incident a few weeks ago brought it all back to the surface…
Sophie: Intéressante.
++She released me and rolled over, stepping out of bed. Her skin was pale, covered in small freckles. I had known Sophie since we were both children. We had both known from an early age we were attracted to each other. She leaned against the kitchen island of her studio apartment and poured herself a cup of coffee. I sat up straight and leaned against the tufted headboard of the bed, rubbing my temples++
Sophie: Ramsus yes? I remember him. Quite charismatic. He convinced you that the only way to free yourself was to burn her out of her life. You pleasured him by riding him in a small patch of woods near the house, facing it and listening to her burn to death. Most savage. To be frank Margot, after all these years my feelings on the matter remain the same. While you were manipulated to the highest degree your Aunt was a wicked and wretched woman and got exactly what she deserved. I am curious why you still let it torture your psyche?
Elizabeth: Those screams…
++Sophie scoffed nonchalantly and took a sip of her coffee, almost rolling her eyes. I raised my eyebrow and lit up a joint, taking a hit. I didn’t quite get what she was getting at. I knew she was working towards something. It was true. The guilt of my actions followed me for years. Thought thinking back on it, the only one it seemed to have bothered, was me. Not her son, not the daughter she abandoned, not anyone else just me. I rested my head back and closed my eyes as she continued++
Sophie: Her screams? This is what haunts you? Oh Margot. Let us be candid and honest with each other right now, yes? We have both seen things in this world that we rather wish we had not. We have done things we are ashamed of and regret. Our lines of work have found us being required to do things that other weaker willed women would have found repulsive and demeaning. Our families have requested we partake in political, religious and social taboos that normalized citizens would find borderline cultist, fanatical and regimist. You just buried your ex-husband, the father of your precious, beautiful daughter and you feel a sense of loss and sadness yet you used the unborn child of another ex-husband as leverage to convince him to kill himself, with no remorse. Her screams are what haunts you? What of the abuse you suffered at her hands? What of your beloved Uncle she drove to suicide due to her whoring ways? She was malicious and remorseless. In fact I am disappointed you haven’t extracted the same vengeance on your mother yet. She concocted the whole deception to begin with, all in the name of money. When does she get her taste of the same bitter almonds? You and I Margot are cut from a very special cloth, what is there to be ashamed of? To apologize for?
++She cocked her head to the side and took another sip of her coffee. I took another hit off my joint and really let the effect of what she was trying to tell me sink in. Sophie was unique. French Arabic. Her mother was French Irish. She was a dual citizen. Just like me. We spent our summers together in Paris. Our Fathers were business partners, friends and political allies. She worked for her Father doing odd jobs. She worked as a translator, ambassador amongst other things. We had a mutual understanding of what the shitty underbelly of this world was really like. Her Father was unaware of her sexual deviance. In truth she was married to a very nice businessman, jewels I believe, who was aware of her proclivities but it turned out the match was a great fit as he had a fetish for prostitutes and twinks. He protected her secrets, going as far as to declare she was infertile to explain why they had no children, and used their schedules to reason why adoption was not an option. She and I had been lovers since we were 12. On again and off again. Our schedules too were hit and miss. Causal lovers. Like minded we just enjoyed each other's company and designer drugs. I digested the conversation, opened my eyes and tilted my head up++
Elizabeth: I think sometimes, living in America so long, I forget sometimes what it means to be a free and liberated woman. My profession makes it a requirement to hold a home there but at the same time I have been there so long I forget that I am not really one of them. I go soft sometimes. I forget who I am, what I am, what I have been through and endured. I let my guard down. I got so caught up in Laramie’s daddy issues that I got affected by the fact that I was surrounded by marshmallows and white trash. I forgot that a man like Johnny is little more than a trailer trash mongrel in a nice suit and he sucks the class out of everything he gets near. Laramie Jr. is little more than the spoiled little boy of a Chicken Grease Empire. I almost let Johnny suck me down into that sewer pipe again. I can’t let that happen. I let it happen too many times. With too many subpar characters. The fact is I fucked my own self out of that world title the first time. I let myself get dragged down into someone else long standing personal drama and let it throw me off. The fact of the matter is, at the end of the day their fight isn’t mine. Whatever deep seeded feud they have, isn’t my problem. I wasn’t there, they aren’t my people and it just isn’t my fucking problem. I don’t see anyone out there looking out for me. Do you? The Wolves have people coming out of the wood work to look after each other. Johnny can blow smoke up your ass, make you feel like a champion and suddenly he owns you and has you in his back pocket. It’s just me. The only one I got backing me up is me, myself and I.
I look at this match coming up and I look at the lineup and I see Xavier. Been there done that. He came at me with a certain level of respect and I appreciate it. He recognizes I am a threat and I am not to be taken lightly or undercut. He is a professionally and clearly did not get to where he is by being overly confident and stupid. That is the Wolf way. Excellence through execution. They are known for precision and being able to read their opponents. It’s the only way you last in this business. Can I fault him for wanting to break out on his own and wanting to escape someone else shadow? No. Sometimes a situation stops being a fit. I just wish he could have found someone else to give his talents to than Johnny Stylez. On paper he looks like the best option. The most lucrative but his services come with the highest price. Xavier is putting his whole career on the line for a man that knows loyalty only to himself and all because he was tired of shivering in someone else shadow.
Then there is Roger Wright. Swan’s fuck boi. No stranger to me. No friend of mine. If he had learned better delegation and management skills maybe the ENTIRE FUCKING COMPANY wouldn’t be in the state that it is. He is HALF responsible for the shit show that exists right now. Strutting around thinking he can pull pages out of Johnny’s book and use people to his advantage and make them dance for his amusement. Merde. Fucking queer steer fucker. La chatte. Rootin tootin spaghetti western cowboy with a dime-store pop gun and a small dick energy hat. I guess Anicka likes sex with small dicks or else he’s into pegging. Wonder if she goes 12 deep on him when he’s a good cowboy.
Sophie: Sauvage! Get that American poison out of your system my belle fleur. That cynical French bitch I adore so much is coming seething from your lips and I love it. I’m feeling champaign brunch. Croques Meurice and Petits Pains au Chocolat?
Elizabeth: Rose Champagne please. Also some Flaugnarde with Pears.
Sophie: Very good. I’ll order from Henri’s. Continue, Oui.
++I moved to the side and stood out of bed letting the sheet fall half to the floor. Sophie turned to pour me some chai as I arched my back, stretching, making an orgasmic face as I felt my back and neck pop and crack. My body relaxed and I ran my fingers through my knotted hair. My ass jiggled as I joined Sophie by the island and I sat on a cold stool next to her, casually picking up an orange and began peeling it with my almond shaped nails++
Elizabeth: This is beginning to feel like a reading of a dossier. Then again in a way, what I do is almost the same as dissecting and disassembling targets in the field. Only instead of assassination we’re fighting each other for trinkets. If ever there was a Kingpin it is Anicka. She has been unstoppable. I came so close but I fell short. Technically I was interim but that isn’t good enough. It isn’t actual and actual is the only thing that matters. Johnny is partially to blame for that but then again so it Roger. And Xavier. Always stuck in the middle of someone else melodramatic power struggle bullshit. It gets so tiring. Someone always has a problem with someone else and then the rest of the collateral damage gets stuck in the middle. Pawns for the slaughter. Shields they can hide behind while they fight amongst themselves. We’re not part of the main battle so we are cannon fodder for the elite. The second go round with her was quite different. She never hesitated to sit down on that chair to get the win. My trajectory wasn’t that far off. She is both a victim and a willing participant. She likes the prestige and glory that comes with being the top bitch in the pile but she was a duped sacrifice to the war between Wolves and Tweakers. Now she too is caught between the struggle of Johnny’s empire of cocaine and dirt and the Wolves kingdom of excellence and stalking. She is both prey and hunting at the same time. Serving two masters.
How tragic. How complicated it is to serve oneself and also two masters. How painful it must be to remember the tender loving and passionate arms of her lover but also desire the cold sensation of the metal and leather against her skin. How confusing it must be to recall the feeling of belonging and family she felt while running with the pack and the odd but somewhat refreshing notion of feeling worshiped and herald within the Syndicate? It isn’t easy. I can imagine it is hell on her fragile psyche. Thus far she has kept it together but will that hold when she stands there and sees Roger standing across from her? Xavier? Will Roger go all in or will he be more concerned with trying to persuading her to step down? Will Xavier follow whatever plan Johnny has concocted to a T or will he see a situation to elevate his own position?
There are also a few unknown variables. Scotty. What dog does he have in this fight? Does he have a price? Is he one more tired soul that wants things to return to a state of normal? There are others who do. Scotty isn’t a stranger to me. We go back. There’s no animosity there. No agenda. A mutual respect maybe? Just two individuals who show up and do what they do and pass like two ships in the night. A rare spectacle of two people who mind each others business. They nod to each other, pass each other in catering, maybe shoot the shit once in awhile in a non-combative tone and go about their separate ways. Both of us presented an opportunity in this match but both of us veterans. He knows Roger will be gunning for Xavier. So do I. If that opportunity presents itself then...lucky us. What about Stratford? I’ve been watching him. Reading him. His cause his noble. Between the three of us it is a situation that favors us. We have no ill will between us. We are all in the same category. Sick of this back and forth shit that is diminishing the rest of the divisions and show. I have nothing but respect for Stratford. Others are already touting the “he doesn’t belong” card but that is foolish. He wouldn’t BE in the match if he didn’t. He didn’t get here by wishing. He earned it.
Never underestimate an opponent, no matter how unlikely they are. Stratford has a goal and a purpose and those are the most unlikely and dangerous people. He’s stepping into the ring with three of the very people he’s aligned himself against. Three of the individuals who have added to the chaos and indignities that have made so many of us tired and irritated. We’re not faces or heels, we’re just fucking sick and tired of the same old shit every week. Again, Stratford is not stupid. He sees their weaknesses and their faults. If he toos sees Roger and Xavier, or even Swan write us off and get caught up in their own problems, it would be easy for us three to isolate, separate and down them.
Sophie: Magnifique. I love it when you talk ops. It’s fucking sexy. It takes me back to the Gaza strip all over again. Who says your job is boring and predictable eh? Oh! Over brunch you will have to talk to me about Abdul. Clearly I am very interested in that one. Go on, go on, text says our food will be here shortly.
++I finished peeling the orange and began the separate it, putting a piece in my mouth. There was one more piece on the chessboard. El Gran Luchadore. He was a sore spot. Not because we had any particular history but because of the recent passing of George. I met George in Mexico when I was working the Lucha Circuit. I had just found myself out of work when the outfit in Ohio shut down. Bella Meurte. Beautiful Death. The way he said it made my heart melt. We went out after a show, got drunk on way too much Tequila and ended up fucking. And kept fucking. We stole away any chance we could to see each other. He was a confirmed bachelor. Swore to never marry. I was fine with that. As the years went by we kept our trysts secret. I married once or twice but then I got pregnant with Annicka. He terminated me. He automatically figured it was my husband’s, Jon. Jon knew it wasn’t. He had a snip job done behind my back after our first year of marriage. That’s a whole other story. We got divorced. I had Annicka. That’s when George turned the identity of the father into a fucking story line. Deluded that it truly wasn’t his. Surprise. It was. Sophie realized I had gone quiet and cupped my chin, tilting my head upwards to meet her eyes++
Sophie: What is it my sweet?
Elizabeth: Reflection. I don’t know much about the last guy. El Gran Luchadore. Just his origins made me reflect on George. I don’t miss working Mexico. I am glad I am black listed. I am glad what happened, happened. I knew I couldn’t keep him. I knew deep down in my heart he and I would never work. We were hot and passionate but when we imploded it was like a nuclear bomb. Fists through walls, plates and bottles flying through the air. Doors slamming and windows breaking. “I’ll kill you! NO! I’ll kill you first!!”. Then we would make it and it was nothing of this world. He married me thinking it would fix things but his jealousy and mistrust were so deep seeded and with good measure. I had been fucking around with Tom. Bel. The list goes on. He knew it. He was like my Desi Arnez and I was like his Marilyn Monroe. What is love without tragedy thought, right Sophie and he and I had plenty of that, this is just the final act. He’s gone. No more angry phone calls. No more screaming and swearing at each other in Spanish and French. Annicka is grown now. They reconciled before it happened so that is good.
As for El Gran...I don’t know where he stands. What he stands for. What he wants. Is he in someones pocket? Is he out for himself? I know he is talented. I have watched him from Gorilla position. I haven’t been able to do shit like that since my coma. He isn’t a sleeper that is for sure. He has a lot of heart and passion. He is dedicated to what he does and I respect that. In a way he makes me wish for my younger days but you and I both know that those days are long since passed us. We are in the Fall of our lives and must adjust accordingly. Our youth is beyond us now. Though let’s be honest, we’re still fucking gorgeous.
Sophie: Ha! How could we not be? Look at our pedigree! Speaking of gorgeous, are you still dodging that yummy Irishman? I mean clearly he isn’t my type, he doesn’t have a twat but you swing BOTH ways darling and you said yourself his dick swings. Is it because he said the L word?
Elizabeth: I don’t have time for love Sophie nor do I have room for it in my life. Not only that he is an underachiever. Look where I am and look where he is. Love doesn’t mean shit when I am up here looking down on you. I need an equal. I need someone on my level. Does he look good? My GOD yes. Does he fuck good? CHRIST yes. I just can’t lower my standards anymore. I have to stick to them this time. He was impressing me. He was making moves and going somewhere and then what? My pussy isn’t a free ride. Not anymore. If I need to cum I have a hand, a vibe and your tongue and that is quite satisfactory. He liked the pussy but not the work that went into staying on top of his game. I owe him nothing. He helped me. I helped him. I would say we are even. If he starts climbing again, showing that tenacity, that heart and hunger...I have his number. Doorbell. Brunch is here. I’ll go get dressed. Then I’ll tell you all I know about Abdul...