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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Leap of Faith III
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"Loverboy" - Story Of My Life
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Vincent Lane Offline
Rock n' Rolling XWF Owner and Megastar
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#1
07-19-2016, 09:05 PM Heart  "Loverboy" - Story Of My Life -->







Due to the maudlin nature of the following chapter in Loverboy's life, here is a humorous clip of number one contender Scully's childhood home movie. the very first time he attempted athletics. Not much has changed.

[Image: tumblr_oa516riDnb1tfmrz4o1_250.gif]







7 pm PDT, Monday/ 3 am GMT, Tuesday

The suite doors swing open as a bellhop pushes in a massive cart filled with luggage, a full set of matching Coach bags. The bellhop enters fully and sets the cart to the side, standing straight next to it and holding the door while “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane and Roxy Cotton walk into the room, staring intently into their cell phones.

“Welcome to the Savoy, sir! I hope you enjoy your stay!”

The bellhop announces in perfect London-inflected English. He holds his hand out, palm up, as he finishes his spiel.

“Yeah, yeah, nice place, dude.”

Loverboy slaps a firm high five down into the outstretched palm of the bellhop, catching him off guard and nearly knocking him over.

“Erm. Right. Well, if you need anything else, give us a ring.”

The bellhop scurries out, barely beating the door which Loverboy swings shut behind him. Almost immediately, Roxy turns around with her hands on her hips and scowls at Loverboy.

“Vinnie, why do we always end up taking the redeye? I’m exhausted! And I’ve been wearing these Louboutins for over ten hours!”

“It wasn’t even dark when we took off, dude! It was, like, morning. Don’t blame me, blame England’s stupid time zone.”

“Well I wanted to go to Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant here! Do you think they’d wake him up?”

“Of COURSE they’ll wake him up for me, babe. That’s part of what being a Hashtag Megastar is all about!”

Loverboy pleads his case as the bombshell plops onto the king sized mattress, pulling her dainty size fives out from their stiletto prisons. She wiggles her purple-tipped toes at the megastar.

“Rub my feet, baby?”

The rocker moves toward his girl with a sinister smirk on his face, but seems to be stunned into a pause before he reaches her waiting feet.

“Hold on, dude. My phone just blew up like the London Metro. I must have got, like, six emails and ten texts… hm…”

He paces away, holding a finger in the air absently while Roxy pouts and begins to rub her own soles. After a second or two, Loverboy’s face falls ashen and lax.

“Rox…”

“Vinnie, PLEASE… I swear, if you just rub them I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue.”

“Rox, stop. I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I have to leave."

Loverboy starts grabbing at the luggage rack, tossing Coach bags around until he finds his old leather gym bag. Slinging it over his shoulder he starts heading for the door.

“Wait! Vinnie what are you doing? Where are you going?”

He stops but is clearly full of anxiety and panic. A shocked look sits on his face, like someone just after a car accident.

“New York.”

“What? Are you insane, Vin? You have a title defense in two days! Here, in London!”

“I don’t care! It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital and it’s not good. I have to go. My sister’s there, she says this might be it.”

“You… have a sister?”

“Yeah. Look, this isn’t really the time. I’m going. Just… just stay here, don’t worry about the pay per view. It’s fine. I’ll be back in time for the match. I think. If I’m not, well, fuck it, I guess Scully gets to be the first champion who never beat anyone. I can get it back anytime I want from him. This is more important than the job, dude. This is family, you know? Real life. Like you.”

Roxy reddens a little, her eyes glowing with happy tears as she fights away a smile, not wanting to seem disrespectful at such a somber moment.

“You’re right. Go. This can wait. I can too.”

Loverboy rushes to her and plants a hard kiss on her lips, bending her backward onto the bed. He wraps his arm around her and squeezing her tight.

“Roxy… I love you. I love you, forever.”

Tears fall freely from the champion’s face, his nose beginning to run. Roxy can’t help but cry along with him, seeing the clear signs of pain carve themselves across her lover’s cheeks.

“I love you too. Go. Go see her, while… while you can.”

The force of her words closes Loverboy’s eyes, as if he were trying not to see the impact of them. Then he nods, kisses her again, and heads for the door.

Sitting on the bed in the lush Savoy suite, Roxy Cotton listens to her fiance’s footfalls get fainter, then looks over to the dresser, where he’d absently left the XWF Universal Championship.

For once, the megastar left without his gold.



[Image: D9MpvaV.gif]



“How long?”

“Twenty minutes, mate.”

Loverboy sighs and glares into the screen of his cell phone, willing it to light up with more information. His sister wasn’t answering calls or texts. She was probably in the hospital room without reception.

In the back of the claustrophobic cab, Vinnie Lane couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to the loss of his father just a few years before. The way he’d sat in a hospice bed, right down the road, withering away and dying from the cancer eating him alive from within. Less than five miles from where Vinnie lived, and yet he couldn’t find the time, or wouldn’t find the time, to go and see the old man.

Vinnie’s dad didn’t complain. He never did. He never wanted to be a bother in the first place. As soon as he realized he was losing the ability to care for himself, he called the ambulance and rode off to the in-care facility, not wanting to burden his only son.

The specter of Vinnie’s guilt and shame haunted him daily, but was especially present as he sat in London traffic, on the way back to Heathrow to fly to his dying mother’s side on the other side of the world.

He looked again at his cell, still seeing nothing but the icons of various apps plastered across the backdrop of his own portrait, smiling, celebrating, holding his title belt over his head. The little successes that seem so big until the things that matter start to fall away one by one.

His fingers dance across the phone screen, and he holds the cell to his ear, holding his breath as well. It rings, twice, three times. Then…

“Hello?”

Vinnie opens his mouth but forgets to speak. For a frightened second it looks as if he may hang up, but he squeezes his eyes shut and forced air through his throat.

“Hey… hey Bobby. It’s me, Lov… it’s me. It’s Dad.”

Silence. Vinnie waits with a chest so tight that his heart must be strangled against the muscles of his ribcage. But, instead of an answer, his cell phone screen merely blinks, showing that the call had ended.

Bobby had hung up without another word.

The rest of the cab ride went by in complete silence.



[Image: mR0KEnq.gif]



Oh boy Scully, has timing suddenly gotten bad for you, dude.

See, before, I was just going into this as business. Just another title defense, just like I do all the time. Another contender who thinks he’s the next champion. Another Gilmour, another Trax, another Ginger Snaps… just one more wannabe about to get himself a rude awakening, right? But then I got the bad news. It’s cool, Scully, I know you saw the video. Everything I do goes viral faster than an AIDS outbreak in Haiti. I get followers faster than you get swiped left on, Scull. It’s just a day in the life.

So, clearly, you know about my mom. And I know you’ll spin it, and I know you’ll use it against me. Go for it dude, that’s part of the game. You scrape the bottom of the barrel and try to shake me with whatever lame insults you can come up with… Bummerboy? Really? … Then I turn around and kick you in the face and go home with my title belt. It’s like the tides, man, you know they’re gonna come in and you know they’re gonna go out. Predictable.

And you know dude, I don’t blame you for sticking to the safe route. It’s worked for you. You don’t want to make too many waves, get too many eyes on you. You know why? Because behind all those middle school insults and that fake aura of confidence, you know you can’t beat me one on one. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all the times you’ve snickered in the locker room and talked about being undefeated against me because of War Games 2014. Yawn. It’s the one and only notch in your Loverboy belt, isn’t it? But you know it’s bullshit. You know it’s empty. As soon as I get into that ring it’s mine. Anything I want, it’s mine. If I want to make you tap, I will. If I want to knock you out cold, I will. If I want to take a half-day and win by lazy count out? Dude, I will. You’ve got no say in this match, Scull. I’m leading this dance, dude, you haven’t even learned the steps! You’re trying not to trip over your two left feet because you know the simple fact that no one is willing to say out loud but me – Scully isn’t READY to be a champion.

Oh, I know, I know. You’ve held the tag titles. Lovely. Explain to us all, Scully, how it feels to be the worse member of a tag team featuring Maverick? I don’t think that’s an emotional low most of us would be able to get through without chugging a gallon of bleach and just checking out, dude, so kudos to you for not taking the obvious route of wrapping an electrical cord around your neck and going out like Robin Williams, with your tiny Jumanji in your hand. Or, shit man, maybe no kudos? I mean, I’m a positive guy and I’m all for optimism, but how you get up every morning expecting things to get better isn’t seeing the glass half-full, it’s just plain ignorance. Face it, the second you knew that all your boys jumping me and trying to lay a hurting on me wasn’t going to end in a forfeit, you knew you were fucked. It was a solid try though, dude. Played to your strengths of being <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif"> and not winning wrestling matches.

Here’s what I’m really thankful for though, dude. In light of my mom getting sick, it got me thinking about family. My dad never got to see me become a champion, you know? My mom, she doesn’t really know what goes on in the world of pro graps. It’s never been her thing. She likes women’s stuff, like drinking wine or knitting doilies or watching fucking soccer. So yeah, my successes, they’ve been mostly for me. Me and my lady, anyway. But you? You’re getting a hell of an opportunity here, Scully. We’re gonna be right in your backyard, right? London! The O2! England’s own Scully in his first ever Universal Title shot! You probably bought out the front row, huh? All your ugly little mongman cousins and siblings. Aunts and uncles. Mum and dad. All of them are gonna be right there to tell you they were right about you never having the chance at making it big, because they get to watch me end your dream from ten feet away. I only wish we were doing it in Birmingham so your crippled old gran could come to the show and get disappointed by her least favorite grandchild one last time before kicking the bucket. Come on, Scull, she held on this long just for you to break her heart with your inability to step up to the big time? You’re killing your grandma, dude!

This isn’t your time, Scull. This is my stage, dude, you’re the extra. The wannabe. You’re being allowed into my main event with a temporary visa, just like the one that my country will revoke on you once they see you on the big screen for the first time ever. A day ago you were gonna get out of this with just a couple of bruises and another loss in your record, no big deal, but now? Now I’m just gonna have to take you out for my mom. That sucks for you, dude.

Step up your game, Scull. This is your only shot. Step up and do what you born to do, on the grandest stage of them all, in front of a hometown crowd, against the greatest champion you’ve ever seen. Go in there and lose, Scully. Lose bigger and better and more visibly than even you ever thought you could.

You can do it, dude. I have faith in you.

XOXO.

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