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Jenny Myst · (07-03-2017)

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. That is how the old adage goes, right?

SAVAGE JULY 1, 2017

POST MATCH

Nobody likes losing, but it happens. Does a loss define us? No, not necessarily. To some people, numbers matter. To some people, a win/loss record or a ranking on a chart is everything. If that were the case, in this match, Jenny would be the best by default, seeing as these other two dolled up fun-bags aren't even on the rankings list at all.

But numbers don't matter. The fact that Jenny has lost more than she has won lately and still doesn't have that "signature win" to add to her designer belt doesn't mean a damn thing. It will come, in time. They always do.

Hell, it could come this week. With the idea of a women's belt hovering over the horizon like a sunset and a newly reinvented "women's division" in the XWF, Jenny still had time to make a name for herself. She has been in 8 matches. 8. And she has won half of them. As far as she was concerned, she was fine.

----But she sure didn't feel fine. Everything hurt. Her back, her head, all of her joints, her nose, her groin. Everything hurt, and all because of some silver-back gorilla and her cheap shot attack.

Sitting in the trainers room, her body shook. She was hurt, and hurt bad. As much as she believed that life goes on, per say, and that good things still sat in the future for her, in the back of her mind she questioned if this was for her. She was doing just fine being a valet for Chris. That is how she rose to fame. Sure, she took her lumps, but other than some spray tanned whore with a bad root job wielding a tattoo gun, she never got attacked and thoroughly dominated like this. In the back of her mind, in the deep recesses of her cerebral cavity, she had a hard time seeing the light.

This was the second time in 3 weeks that she needed medical assistance. All of the work she put into her ring training, all the money she spent on altering her appearance to be better suited for the ring, seemed to her in this moment to be all for naught. Even when the television in the trainers room showed a cute commercial with puppies and kittens, Jenny couldn't bring herself to smile.

Was this for her? She didn't know anymore.

Wincing as the trainers put ice on her head, she heard the door to the trainers room open.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? That was quite the tantrum you threw out there in the ring, miss."

Jenny looked up and saw Milton Matthews walking towards her.

"Ugh, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Well....blondie....this is the trainers room, is it not? I am the director of Med-i-cine and Tech-no-logy, am I not? It's pretty simple."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Fine, then, what the hell do you want?"

"I want to make sure one of my superstars is okay to compete next week. I came to check on you, you should be thankful."

She rolled her eyes. There was a brief pause, and a wince, before he spoke up again.

"So, how are you doing?"

Jenny scoffed. Hissing a bit. "I am fine, Milton." The way she said Milton was like a pissed off sister addressing her annoying little brother named Milton.

"I just lost a match I was supposed to win because the two dumb cunts I face on Warfare and some over-sized wilderbeast decided to get involved. Then King Kong decided to make me its play-toy, all she was missing was a sky scraper. So how the fuck do you think I feel, Milton?"

There is was again, the affect on the word Milton. She was really seething.

Just as Milton was about to speak, she looked up inquisitively.

"Next week?"

"Ahh, I thought you'd never ask. I just left JT's office and he told me to tell you---Yes, next week on Savage you and your beau are going to compete in a Tag Team Match, the tournament that Vinnie announced......."

She nodded, wincing again.

"........against Thomas Nixon and the Clone of Brock Lesnar!"

"You motherfucker----" she got up to try to swing but stumbled a little, sitting down quickly. Milton backed away a little, smiling. She hissed her next words. "You fucking computer nerd looking, mothers basement living.........troglodyte!" She slapped the trainers table.

"Ooooh, big word, hun. Tell Brock I said Hi."

"You cocksuck---"

The door opened again, Chris walked through it with a rushed pace. He rushed to Jenny's side. "Jen! I got here as quick as I could.....I am sorry I didn't get out there to stop......Milton.....can we help you?"

"I was just telling your little barbie doll here about the little match YOU signed the two of you up for." She looked over at him with daggers in her eyes.

"That you what?!" She said. Chris looked at her, then at Milton, then back at her.

"Milton, we'd like you to leave."

"Already gone.......good luck next week."

Wanna know what the secret to victory is?

Defeat.

It was tough to drive with shaky hands. It was tough to drive when even keeping your eyes open was a agonizing experience. It was tough to swallow that you were a failure, even though your failure wasn't permanent.

She didn't know how Chris handled it. Sure, he was 33-11-2, a good record for sure, but this soul crushing agony of losing a match you thought you could win........

He was stronger than she thought.

Her rock.

She needed to clear her mind, to think. To decide if this was for her or if she would continue to just manage Chris to the top again.

Her pink Mitubishi Sports car screamed like an eagle through the desert. She needed to clear her mind--and what started off as a simple drive ended up with her all the way in the middle of East Bumfuck, Nevada.

No matter how hard she tried to be cute and hip, those thoughts kept creeping back. The "old Jenny", the Jenny most people in XWF knew her as. The Jenny with poor self esteem and an image to overcompensate years of sexual torture and mistreatment. The Jenny would would do whatever Chris wanted because she felt like she had to--what would she be without him? Now, she often thought what would he be without her? How many times had she helped him out of a jam?

No, she cannot think that way.

She looks out the window at the literal ocean of sand and clay around her. He sees her dim reflection in the tinted window. She also sees, a single tear drop.

The desert all looked the same. She tried hard to think to herself that the glass is half full, but what if all of the glasses look the same?

What if they are all half empty but pretending to be half full?

Glasses in disguise.

She looked different now, talked different now, and really was beginning to come into her own and show the XWF who she was.....

.......but was that who she 'really' was?

The Diva of the Damned.

Her shaky fingers played with the radio nob. Good thing for Sirius, because very few FM stations made it out here. Lithium Rock, that's a solid station.

Pearl Jam was on the radio.

Unsealed, on a porch a letter sat
Then you said, "I wanna leave it again"
Once I saw her on a beach of weathered sand
And on the sand I wanna leave her again

She had no idea where she was, but for some reason it all felt so familiar. Being lost. For some reason that was the only thing that comforted her. She wasn't like Chris, she didn't like to plan things. She preferred to take life as it came to her.

But what has it given her lately. She didn't have respect in XWF. She was a running joke. Sure, she was hot, but nobody gave her credit for any of her in ring accomplishments. They don't give her credit for improving. They only see her as a blonde bimbo with highlights who is trying to wrestling because her beau has decided it is best for her.

God, who was she?

She felt another tear. Part of her felt good for it. Letting it out. Part of her hated herself for possibly smudging her makeup.

She can't do anything right.

She should just go back to the sand where she came from. Who would miss her?

The gas gauge was moving a millimeter as she glanced at it. What if she ran out of gas......

......she already felt like she was out of as anyway.

On a weekend I wanna wish it all away, yeah
And they called and I said that I'll go
And I said that I'll call out again
And the reason I ought ta leave her calm, I know
I said, "I don't know whether I'm the boxer or the bag"

But what would it look like if she told Chris she didn't want to wrestle anymore? To find a new partner for the tag tournament? To find a new girlfriend..........

To just leave.

As she heard the words "I don't know whether I'm the boxer or the bag", she felt a shiver down her spine. Oh, how life change in the blink of an eye. She had it all. Her boyfriend was the Universal Champion. She was in the spot light. She was up to shenanigans and tricks, and even when there was a BIG show on the card, SHE was the one they talked about. Maybe being a sex object was what she was ever going to be.

Recently, it seemed like all of her training had been useless. She was all talk and no bite. She knew she could compete, but look at the lineup, look at the schedule. Why couldn't she face Brian Harris or Jody Madrox or Joshua Reno again? Because of Chris, she was facing top competition every week.

She was guilty by association.

She was a punching bag right now, nothing more, nothing less.

Nemesis showed that on Saturday. Roxy showed it at the Pay Per View.

Never before had she felt so empty.

Oh yeah, can you see them, out on the porch?
Yeah, but they don't wave
I see them 'round the front way, yeah
And I know, and I know I don't wanna stay

She felt like she couldn't walk through the locker room anymore. She didn't give a shit, personally, of anyone liked her. But she was upset that people don't respect her. She felt like she at least earned an idiom of respect. Her entire life she battled her way through, trying to earn at least the title of "human being". When she managed Chris, she had that. Now, she felt like she was sinking to the bottom and the surface got further away every time she came up for air.

Suddenly, he world came rushing back to her. She didn't have a plan for where she was driving to, she just hopped in the car and went. Maybe it was fate, maybe there was a God--though unlikely--of maybe it was some sort of divine intervention. Either way her called pulled to a stop in the middle of the desert, about 14 miles north of Las Vegas. She could faintly see the lights in the distance.

There was a small stick coming out of the middle of the ground. She got out of the car and walked towards it.......

Her vision was blurry.

She was crying.

Make me cry

Getting onto her knees, she began to dig. After what felt like a lifetime, she came to a hard surface under the Vegas dirt. A black surface you could tell was once shiny but years of being buried had made it muddled.

When she gets far enough down, she breaks down.......she begins to cry again. Her hands running over the old box, her perfectly manicured nails tapping and scratching with each new push of dirt. Finally, she stops, panting and sniffling.

"I'm sorry I came here" she said. "I know I said I wouldn't but I don't have anywhere else to go. I didn't even plan to come here but this is where I ended up and I think that is for a reason. I need you to guide me, I need to you show me what to do--show me the light. I am in a bad place. I just need to know that what I am doing it worth doing."

She sniffles again, remembering this landscape. She can still feel the rope on her arms. She can still see the dread, the fear, the panic, hear the hawks and crows circling above, feel the desert heat the the cold steel in her hand.............she can still remember pulling the trigger.

"You always knew what was best for me, even though I often hated it. I always thought you were doing what you were doing to punish me but I realize now that it helped me more than you will ever know. I just needed to come see you because I am going to hurt two other women on Wednesday. I am going to fight like you taught me to fight, survive like you taught me to survive, and......kill, like you taught me to kill. Your methods were weird but your message was clear. I know what I have to do.

I Love You,

Daddy."

Do you know what the secret to victory is?

Defeat.

You can never know how good it feels to win before you know how back it sucks to lose.

Jenny was going to win her match, she was going to be the last woman standing, and she was going to be...............finally..................free. A win would cure it all.

Back at the facility where she trained, Jenny was getting ready to hit the gym and get in the best shape possible for this match. For the first time, in a long time, she felt like she could smile. Even for only a second.

"I don't have my signature win here. I don't have that win that puts me in a new category, that sets me aside from the others here. This week, this could be it. Madison Dyson and Ezariaha, two fucksticks with big mouths that think that because they have their big girl panties on now that they can hang with the baddest bitch in the business. Listen, Ezzy, you cost me, as far as I am concerned, the TV title. You stuck your nose in business above your pay grade, and I got affected. So now, I have to teach you a lesson. Sure, I interfered in yours, but in case you haven't found out by now I do what I want, when I want, to who I want. The fact that you tried to repay the favor---hun, you just aren't ready for that yet. Stay in your lane. And Madison......pssht.....I don't even know where to begin with you."

"I have to make my way to Missouri, the Show-Me state, to show you exactly what this "fuck hole" can do. Isn't that what you titled your last roughly thrown together attempt at smack talk? Ode To A Fuckhole? Well, if you're gonna go to sex route, you might as well make it right, make it creative. You have no idea what this "fuck hole" can do. I will squeeze and contract around your head until the the juices come out. If done correctly, you will swear you can feel your soul leaving your body. If done incorrectly, well, that wouldn't be pleasant for either of us would it?"

"I'll tell you what else won't be pleasant......when I kick your teeth down your throat. How are you going to yell at liberals and tell anyone willing to listen about the fake news that Fox has filled your head with without your chicklets? How will you belittle and put down minorities while you are too busy trying not to choke on your tongue?

You're right, Madison, I lost to Roxy. I think the entire world knows by now. That was my match, my stipulation, my home city. And I got embarrassed, I know. We all know. You aren't rubbing it in, I am over it. At this point you are dabbling on like a grandma with dementia telling stories she only faintly remembers but every time is like the first time over and over again. The only thing new and fresh about your routine is how much deeper the bags under your eyes get every time you have the misfortune of gracing a camera lens. The only loses here are the XWF fans when that happens.

"You and I aren't so different, ya know. We both slept our way to the top. The only difference is, when the black light comes on, I actually have something to show for it. You see, Madison, your shallow insults are amusing at this point. Your patronizing quotes are more embarrassing to your cause than our "president's" tweets. You just can't seem to keep your mouth shut and accept that you aren't cut out for this, that you are unqualified to step into the ring with giants. You continue to throw around blame for the ignorance you spew like a Yellowstone geyser, then get defensive when someone calls you out on it. You claim you have all these accomplishments, but where are they? You've built damn near entire cities, but you've gone bankrupt more times than the "American" auto industry. This all metaphorical, of course. I don't think you understand how the world works because you're lost in a haze of alt-right propaganda that has twisted your already tiny brain into thinking your way is the only way worth recognizing. Maybe that is your TRUMP card, get it?

Madison Dykson Said:DO NOT DODGE THIS QUESTION GIRL. Why should I fear you?

"You should fear me because for the first time in my life, I have nothing to lose. I have no title to try to win, I have no respect, I have no dignity left. I have nothing left to do but break bones and split skin. I have nothing left to do but to rip every hair out of your head. I am done trying to "win". I am solely committed to trying to hurt. Maybe you are right, Madison. Maybe I am nothing but a sex object trying to re brand myself into something worth selling at Caedus family yard sale. So, if that is the case, why should I care about what I do? Why should I care about how many staples it takes to rearrange your already drooping face? Why should I care about anything but making sure that when I am done on Warfare, even LGBTQ community won't accept you for your new "image"?

It's funny. My "signature win" that I have failed to add to my resume may just come against you this week. How will you be able to look at yourself in the mirror knowing that this "window licking real doll" finished you off better than a handy in the HOV lane.........sometimes, the risk is what makes it hotter.

The fear.

The possibility of crashing and burning but feeling so good in the moment that you don't care?

Sometimes.....the secret to victory, Madison, is defeat.

When you are left looking like that bitch from the quit smoking commercial and have to be fed liquid food through the hole in your throat, you will have nothing left to fall back on but those championships you take credit for but nobody seems to remember.

Maybe Barney Green will still want you after this, he doesn't have many options left. Hey, at least someone will still want you.

In the wise words of a fat girl I heard speaking one time, your end.......Madison........is Nigh.

And that......Madison......is perfection"

4-4-0

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