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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Cross Promotional RP Board - Archives
𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚅: 𝙿𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷|𝙷𝙴𝚁
Author Message
Lissie Hope Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
(.Awaiting user update)


#1
02-20-2022, 11:14 PM

[INCOMING]
YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE DISCUSSED?

[OUTGOING]
YES SIR. AND I’M BEING TAKEN CARED OF?

[INCOMING]
AMOUNT DISCLOSED DEPOSITED INTO ACCOUNT xx1x-1xxx-x11x-7648 THIS MORNING

[OUTGOING]
PERFECT. WHAT HAPPENS IF SHE CALLS THE POLICE?

[INCOMING]
SHE WON’T.

[INCOMING]
BUT IF SHE DOES

. . .

[OUTGOING]
SIR?

[INCOMING]
YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN.





Emma Langdon boarded the aircraft with reddened eyes and moist nostrils, her bag feeling inexplicably heavy in her thin fingers. Long, cross-country flights - alone - were already paralyzing, leaving her paranoid and anxious. And now, with a heavy heart after Cypher had hacked Lissie’s Twitter account and exposed her indecency, Emma could feel the turbulent shake in her chest. And it wasn’t from a shaky flight, but from her heart bouncing in the walls of her body. She hadn’t packed much - it was not much more than a standard carry-on - and she knew only a few hours separated her from Lissie, and her explanation - in person - for the first time. The words on the other line of the phone weren’t sufficient - without looking into Lissie’s eyes and peering into her soul, how could she gauge her sincerity?

But beyond the probable infidelity, it felt like another dagger to the heart knowing that the woman she had begun to care for so deeply, so quickly, had a jetsetting life without her. She would venture into all corners of the industry that private planes would take her - from Action Wrestling to APWO to CU:LT, and now, to Las Vegas for the Denzel Porter Invitational for the buzzed “match of the night” contender against Druscilla White. Emma didn’t want to be an accessory, someone Lissie could hide in New York City until it was time for a big show for the cameras, but that was the reality of dating one of the biggest wrestling superstars in the world.

Emma could see the headlines now - hell, if she weren’t dating her, she might have written them for This-Is-Awesome herself.

𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚆𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗!
𝙰𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎.


“Settles.”


Lissie Hope had a reputation - a bird soaring through the sky, slicing away at any tentacle tethered to her ankles that would restrict her from taking flight. Having been in several prominent romances with members of the locker room, and with the cameras rolling on the four-time World Champion every time she ventured out into the world, the world would talk. And they wouldn’t talk quietly. Lissie wore her heart and her insecurities on her wrists, and even if she resorted to long-sleeve shirts in the summertime, the world knew. And the world was unforgiving.

She would be called a whore - by fans, by press, by colleagues - countless times. And Lissie’s response was to own it - to take pride in her independence, to control her own narrative, to be boastful and unapologetic - the rumor mill be damned. She could shoulder the resentment and the hatred - she’d proven she could, even if it narrowly missed sending her to an early graveyard.


“Hooked on Hope.”


Emma wasn’t a fan. She wasn’t a historian. She’d known that Lissie was flourishing in her career, building a legacy beyond Action Wrestling, but she didn’t know about the burdens and the misery - the albatross cinching tighter around her neck. Lissie was a recovering addict, and after just six months removed from surviving a suicide attempt - and in the throes of a sponsorship with an entity called Philidor Holdings that preyed on her longing for support and acceptance - Emma had begun communication.

It was slow, and innocuous at first - mutual correspondence of flirtation while Lissie was engrossed in a toxic, unfulfilling relationship with Cassidy Adler. But things kicked into another gear at the start of the new year, and a recently-single Lissie invited her to a show in Sacramento. And almost instantaneously, the two were completely enamored with one another, completely inseparable, dropping everything to spend every waking moment together. Into the early hours of the night, Lissie would reveal her inner turmoil, her darkest secrets, fully expecting Emma to be scared away. Instead, Emma absorbed the oncoming storm like a needle tearing through her vein; she wanted more. She needed more.

After years of torrential relationships that were destined to sink into the murky depths, Lissie finally felt revitalized. She was no longer merely treading water, as her friends and family watched from the shoreline. Instead, she was tearing through the ocean, with Emma Langdon waving her in.

The ultimate prize.
The satisfying ending.

For once.

Emma was hooked.

And hopefully, the needle wouldn’t leave any deep cuts[/font].




NEW YORK CITY | ONE WEEK AGO



“I look like a dork,” Emma Langdon giggled as she joined me in the mat room of her local Planet Fitness. She was wearing a t-shirt that hung over her thin body like a curtain, and her pale legs peaked out from the black shorts she borrowed from my luggage.

“I think you look hot,” I assured her, leaning over to give her a kiss on her cheekbone. Her soft fingers patted my triceps and I felt her warm breath on my ear. The self-defense instructor averted his eyes, giving us some privacy. But I stepped back and motioned towards him, Emma’s cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Sorry, we-uhh, got carried away.”

“No worries,” he said with a smile. “Is this your first time doing any training?”

Emma nodded her head and took up a fighting stance in front of me. I quickly powered through her guard and circled around her waist, wrapping my arms around her torso. She surrendered into my body as I grabbed her wrists and pulled her in close.

“Fine! Take me!” she said, cackling with laughter. This time, I saw the instructor glance up at the clock, his patience waning.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it,” I said, stealing a quick kiss. “I’ll, uh– I’ll be just over here.”

Throughout the course of her training session, I worked with 35-pound dumbbells, feeling my muscles tense and mold and shape and take form. I wanted them perfect, I needed to be perfect: I hadn’t felt extraordinary in a long time.

But in between, I watched Emma’s progress. She began the session overwhelmed, but still injecting her own carefree and humorous personality. When she reacted defensively, she mimed planting her heel into his groin and added a playful sound effect. The instructor didn’t find it endearing, but I did. And she had natural form in her genetics; I don’t even think she realized how much her father’s ability was engraved in her bones.

But when the instructor became more aggressive, I saw a shift in her body language. An intensity in her eyes, as she adopted some of her training and flipped him over with a wristlock judo throw.

“Something seemed to change midway through there,” I told her after she joined me for a water-break. “It seemed like your focus shifted - I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

“Oh, you couldn’t keep your eyes off me??” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“I’m serious! What went on there? I’m just - captivated.”

“...but why?”

“It’s just - I’m trying to remember why I love wrestling again. And it seems like you don’t need to, y’know? It’s just - there. It’s in your bones. And it’s inspiring.”

“Maybe one day I’ll take you on in the ring!” she said playfully, raising up her fists. I grabbed at her hands and locked my fingers in hers.

“Why self-defense? Why don’t you get in a ring? I bet you’ll be amazing. I’ll help you! And maybe you can help me –”

“-it’s not like that, Lissie,” she interrupted, her tone shifting towards indecision. And paranoia. “You weren’t on the plane.” Her voice faded, immediately regretful.

“What happened?”



TWO WEEKS AGO

[INCOMING]
SO YOU’RE ONE OF THE GUYS WHO SENT HER THOSE HURTFUL MESSAGES LAST YEAR?

[OUTGOING]
ARE YOU A FED?

[INCOMING]
NO.

[OUTGOING]
I’M NOT PROUD OF IT. I’VE CHANGED.

[INCOMING]
YOU DON’T HAVE TO CONVINCE ME.

. . .

[INCOMING]
YOU SAID WHAT A LOT OF PEOPLE WERE THINKING.

[INCOMING]
THE BITCH NEEDED TO HEAR IT.

. . .

[INCOMING]
HAS ANYONE EVER THANKED YOU?

[OUTGOING]
HOW WOULD ANYONE THANK ME?

[INCOMING]
I WANT YOU TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME.

[INCOMING]
I’LL COMPENSATE.

[INCOMING]
GENEROUSLY.




“There was - this guy,” she began. “Y’know, the neckbeard - from the terminal. He was like - threatening.” A tear began to form on her flushed cheek. “He cornered me in the cabin. Stood right in my face, you know? And he told me I needed to stay away from you. That being involved with you can - hurt me. And I got scared.”

“Babe,” I said quietly, knowing the avalanche that follows me would forever swallow anyone associated with me. “I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said confidently. “I just don’t want you to have to worry about me.”

“I’m bad news,” I admitted tearfully. “Damaged goods. I always will be.”

“You’re not beyond repair, Lissie,” she assured me. And you're not getting rid of me that easily.”




Like so many others, I watched the TFCC on the television screens, from the comfort of the home I can no longer return to, as it now lies in a pile of molten rubble and ash.

I know loss, Dru. I know what it’s like to have the entire world crash down on everything you represent, on everyone you love, on all things you cherish.

I watched in shock and horror as the bullet tore through your flesh. You flipped overboard, the tearful screams of agony are ingrained in my conscience. I wasn’t there, but I think a part of me was. I felt it deep in the pit of my soul. I understood their pain, and their anguish. Like many others, I went immediately to my phone, reading tearful first-hand accounts, one by one. The tributes poured in. Everyone who has ever cared for you was absolutely devastated.

And so was I.

There’s a lyric to a song that haunts me - ‘what if I told you I feel like I know you; but we never met?’ - and I think that’s what I’m taking away from this pairing, Dru. I don’t think Denzel Porter and the powers-that-be who decided to book Lissie-Druscilla realized just how similar we are. How two kindred spirits who’ve never run in the same circles, but who’ve both endured the greatest tragedies - and, in our respective promotions, who’ve both been the greatest tragedies - could find themselves staring each other down in the center of the ring - under the flags hanging from the rafters of the Allegiant Stadium - two shadows dancing under the bright lights of Las Vegas.

People come to this town to escape - some have monotonous lives and seek the adrenaline rush that comes from winning big at the table. Others find a dystopian refuge to imbibe and self-medicate until six in the morning, caressing their vices and losing their inhibitions because under these lights? There is no pretense. No passing judgement. In this town? People have a great place to hide - in plain sight.

I used to look at Vegas the same way.

There was a time when Las Vegas was my own dystopian refuge. My own prison where I found comfort and solace in depravity and self-loathing. But it also became my playground, my sanctuary, my home - because Las Vegas is where I learned to prevail.


Sountracked to the intoxicating sounds of slot machines and vaudevillian energy, I’ve always been tethered to Las Vegas. This is the city where I climbed the twenty-foot ladder to grab the All-In briefcase - this is where I arrived. Step by step, like an experienced climber reaching the summit of Everest, but I was merely a novice. Only three months into my career. A few months later, Las Vegas was where I was chased by demons that terrorized me until I confronted them, and I won my first of four World Championships.

But there aren’t only demons here threatening to pull me back under. And it’s not a matter of sacrificing my sobriety, but instead - and this has been the hardest thing to rationalize - but it’s where I finally have to let go.

In July of 2020, my brother - my confidante, my support system, my best friend, - he was murdered here.

A morning run for breakfast, and he was savagely beaten by a gang of jackals, just to enact revenge. Just to prove they could. My brother was a saint, he didn’t have any enemies. He was collateral damage, and his death rocked me to my core. Permeated the darkest recesses of my mind and spirit. There he lay, burning under the morning sun, his fractured body swimming in a rotten mixture of his own tears, and blood, and piss, and yolk from broken eggshells.

This place has not just been a dream.

It’s been my nightmare.

It’s not just been where I learned to win.

But it’s where I learned to survive - without him.

I know loss, Dru.

It’s engraved in my bones.

I’ve lost World Championships here. I’ve lost my brother here. I’ve lost my soul here. And even if it kills me, because I know just how dangerous you can be - I’ve watched your promos, and I’ve watched your matches - I’m going to reclaim it.

HERE.


I’ve been soul-searching for a year. Trying to right the ship. Trying to win back the trust that all of my fans had in me. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the process, but I’ve reflected. I sought perspective. I sought absolution. I know that in order to be better, I have to do better.

Last summer, I took on three of the most influential women in this industry. Bonnie Blue, a first-ballot Action Wrestling Hall of Famer in her final in-ring competition. She was passing the torch to me. I took on Atara Themis, but my eyes were lustful and my conscience wasn’t clear. And I took on Betsy Granger, who was kind enough to shoot it to me straight. She urged me to reevaluate my decisions. She pushed me to take the plunge; and headfirst, I dove.

And in a way, I see this as an extension of that. Queens Doing Queen Shit… the revival. That’s what this represents. What fighting under the lights of this sinful city entails. You may not know anything about me. But I’m going to show you what I’m all about. There are so many ways we are alike - we’re the Living Dead Girls, after all.

But I’m also going to show you what separates us.

And the cavern is deep.

The bridge is far too long to traverse.

The gulf is in the paradigm between a champion - and a fraud.



LAST NIGHT


“I don’t want you to believe a word he says, Emma.”

I had just landed in Las Vegas - hadn’t even stepped out of the airport yet - when I was bombarded with a sea of Twitter notifications as soon as I powered up my iPhone. The last time I remembered feeling the repeated vibrating pulse in my pocket, hearing the uninterrupted string of audible message tones, I was on the brink of unconsciousness after swallowing a handful of oxies, crawling towards the toilet, drenched in my own sweat and piss and tears and bile - completely isolated and alone in a Miami hotel. But the messages kept coming until my vision blurred, fading into white.

It was a vivid recollection, and it hadn’t been revisited since - until I realized my privacy had been invaded, until I learned that she was now having reservations.

And hearing nothing but silence on the other end?

I felt my soul blackening.

I felt my vision fading.

Again.

“He’s just trying to use you to get to me. He’s putting you through the ringer, and it’s tearing us apart. I don’t want him to win, Emma.”

“This isn’t about winning. Why is it always a competition for you? You don’t have to win every time.”

“But I do -”

I paused when I heard her voice crack.

“This time? I do. I don’t want to lose you.”

I waited to hear her response. I did wonder if she had followed his commands - Emma had access to my account now. She’s the one who changed the password that restricted him from terrorizing us from the shadows any longer. Did her curiosity win? Did she ransack my direct messages? I almost wish she did, because it would exonerate me. But at the same time, if we truly trusted another… why would she need to?

“Anything you need to know, just ask. I’ll be more than upfront.”

“I don’t want to talk about this over the phone, Lissie.”

“So does that mean you’re still coming to Vegas?”

I know that sounded more desperate than it needed to. But at this point, nothing was off the table. I needed her here more than ever now. I needed to know that I wasn’t going to have to endure this city - and all of it’s temptations and all of it’s wickedness - alone. Wandering from casino to casino with a broken heart and a broken spirit and lifelong addictions. That was my biggest fear.

“You know how I feel about flying alone these days.”

And that was hers.

“I’ll fly back first. And we can come back together.”

That was the only resolution I could offer.

“No -” she began, and I felt my heart sink. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Baby, you’re not,” I cried out. “If anyone is a burden, it’s me. It’s always been me.”

“Stop -” she insisted. “ - just… stop.” She paused, for what seemed like an eternity. My muffled cries and panicked breathing tore through the silence. “You’re not going to lose me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Not over this.”

“Baby,” I started to say something I hadn’t told her yet. But I felt it - never more than in that moment. “I lo–”

“He’s just trying to punish me by punishing you. I see through it, Lissie. I know what he was trying to accomplish, and I won’t let him. Just - don’t make a fool out of me, okay?” I nodded on the other end. Of course, she didn’t hear my acknowledgement, but I have a feeling she felt it, too. “That’s all I ask.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow night, okay? Try to get some sleep.” Again, my non-verbal communication would be better served in person. “And do one more thing for me, could you?”

“Anything.”

“Make (her)him feel just as low and just as awful as we did. Punish (her)him, Lissie.”



[Image: D982-FD4-F-5-A87-45-DA-923-B-7-BB49-B426-D56.jpg]

When I was cuffed to a gurney with shards of glass sticking out of my flesh, with my stomach pumped of toxins and my veins penetrated with IV bags, and with every medic that could get their hands on me doing everything they could to save my life - hearts were breaking.

The updates poured in overnight, and under the morning sunlight, the fans began to assemble outside of Mercy Hospital in Miami. And throughout my unconsciousness, I might have been in paradise, running and playing in the clouds with my brother - but paradise isn’t everlasting. Not with the broken world you’ve left behind, who are hoping and praying for a miracle.

I didn’t see it, but I could feel it. And when I was ready to embrace it, when I was ready to say goodbye to paradise, I did.

I was a boomerang.

I returned.

I didn’t allow those hearts to continue breaking on my own volition, Dru. I didn’t make the choice to watch my loved ones say goodbye to me - not to stroke my own ego, not to prove a point, not to teach my loved ones a lesson to love and cherish you while you’re here. You watched them tearfully eulogize you, you watched them make the preparations no family ever wants to make. And you did it from the shadows, allowing your own father to sacrifice himself in your honor.

You know, because you needed to make a big return.

Your illegitimate daughter, who you’ve never claimed until now, who’s embraced your outlaw lifestyle that robbed her of youth and innocence - you march into her life expecting a relationship. Expecting all to be forgiven. Because, you know, you died.

But you didn’t, Dru.

It was all a mirage.

A story crafted out of your own narcissism and self-importance.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

That bullet was real.

But your enemies, the one who wanted to hang you from the gallows, and erect your pale, bloodless head from a pike - they didn’t know better than to replace the hollow-point lead with garlic-soaked wood, because you’re a blood-sucking leech with a vampire’s fangs, unapologetically ripping the life away from all of your unsuspecting victims;

Your friends.

Your fans.

Your colleagues.

Your family.

I resent you, you stone-cold bitch with too many nicknames to count, because you did this to yourself. You did this to those who love you. To those who support you. And you’re preying on their naivety, because you know they’re never going to hold you accountable.

But not everyone has that, Druscilla “Black Prophet Dragon Willow” White - seriously, what the fuck? No, not everyone can make amends, because to know fault of their own, they’ve lost their opportunity to. But there are those, like me, who want that chance. Who need that conversation, just to move on.

To stand on their own feet for once in their life.

And you took advantage of it.

We live by an entirely different moral code. I understand that now. I regret the people I’ve hurt, especially the ones that didn’t deserve it. But you own it, because you can get away with it.

You’re the president of a gang, for fuck’s sake. Not unlike the gang that pillaged my family and ripped my lifeblood from me. You find a scapegoat for whatever delusional, backwards-ass sense of revenge that you’ve rationalized in that fucked-up head of yours until you carve your initials into some dude’s taint for the trouble. I guess New York is full of a fuck-ton of enabling Chief Unser’s who are too busy frisking the youth for drugs that they don’t realize your priveleged ass is the real menace lurking in the shadows.

And I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy, bitch - Jax Teller was not the hero in the story.

And neither are you.

Not in this one.

Not in the next one.

Not in any one.

Jesus fuck - I mighta-sorta torched a building that represented the poison I needed to leave behind, and I’ve had to screen my phonecalls just so I don’t incriminate myself. But you? You cease talking about disembowling your best girlfriend Toddy’s hubby, Austin, just so you could literally disembowel somebody else and shed tears all over the flesh you’ve sliced open - and it’s all done in front of Fight cameras.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near a wrestling ring.

You should be in fucking jail.

But I’m not a judge, and I’m not a jury, Dru.

But what I do have is a conscience. I have a grasp on right and wrong. I know that actions have consequences, and I’m still reeling from having to face my own.

That’s something you don’t have to worry about, is it? Not with those boot-licking freeloaders you’ve let into your club, those who enable you and apologize for you, no matter the monstrosities you commit. You need their loyalty, and they need your protection. The cover and safety to sleep at night knowing that none of you will ever have to answer for the heinous things you do.

You’ve been given a free pass for far too long, Dru.

So now it’s time you hear it in terms that you’re more accustomed to.

You ready to meet your executioner?




[OUTGOING]
HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL OF THIS ABOUT ME?

[OUTGOING]
ABOUT HER?

[INCOMING]
I HAVE MY WAYS.

[INCOMING]
I’M A MAN OF MANY TALENTS.

[OUTGOING]
BUT IF YOU GOT IN LAST NIGHT

[OUTGOING]
HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT ME TWO WEEKS AGO?

. . .


“Good evening, this is your capt-”

[OUTGOING]
SIR?

[OUTGOING]
ALRIGHT I THINK THE DEAL’S OFF.

[OUTGOING]
I CAN’T DO THIS.

[INCOMING]
IF YOU BACK OUT

. . .

[INCOMING]
[Image: punisher-skull.gif]

[OUTGOING]
PLEASE DON’T THREATEN ME

[OUTGOING]
I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW YOU KNOW ABOUT ME

. . .


“Please make sure your lap-trays are in the upr-”

[OUTGOING]
SIR?

[INCOMING]
YOU THINK THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME I GOT IN?

[INCOMING]
I KNOW EVERYTHING, EDWARD.

[INCOMING]
YOUR FAMILY IN WISCONSIN?

[INCOMING]
YOUR JOB?


“-ce day and thank you for choosing American Airlines.”

[INCOMING]
HOW DO YOU THINK YOUR LOVED ONES WOULD FEEL IF THEY KNEW THAT THE LAST RACIST MESSAGE A PROMISING YOUNG WRESTLER READ BEFORE SHE NEARLY OFFED HERSELF COULD BE TRACED BACK TO THEIR LITTLE INNOCENT EDDIE?


“Sir, the captain requests that you turn off all electronic devices while the aircraft makes it’s climb.”

Edward nodded in acquiescence, closing the lap-top screen. He looked up into the aisle, and her golden-blonde hair was unmistakeable. Edward felt his knees buckle as he rose from his seat, bracing himself on the headrest. Sweat poured from his forehead, and he tugged down on his shirt, stepping in her direction. Just as he was about to speak, the flight attendant intercepted him.

“Sir, please get back to your seat -”



Am I speaking your language now, Dru?

Do I need to detail how I’m going to maim you? How I’ll pull those fangs from the roots with pliers and shove them straight up your snatch? Or would you rather I bludgeon you so badly that those fangs penetrate whatever brain matter remains in your she-wolf, vampire, zombie-ass cranium - whatever the fuck you want to be… today? Forgive me if I’ve “misidentified” you. Is that what gets you going? Is that how it’s done in your turf?

Poor Lizzie Apathy, right?

She got you to unleash the fucking riddler on her ass, sending secret threats and shit. Having to literally spell out for that brainless twit that you’re a death-murder-killer or whatever the fuck?

I’ve read enough of Matt Knox’s brain-damaged haikus lately to care to deliver a secret message for you, so I’ll spell it out so you don’t have to put in the work to deconstruct it.

Y
O
U

R
E

C
O
R

N
Y

You don’t scare me, Dru. As much as you like to intimidate your opponents, that shit doesn’t work with me. I’ve fought - and won - against giants and monsters and defilers and tormenters. I’ve seen the worst this world has had to offer - and, frankly, I thought we’d gotten rid of all those goofy goblins from Eddie Murder’s basement barbed-wire bullshit back in July - and I’ve vanquished the menaces of this industry, time and time again. The only thing I see when I watch you on-screen is a fatter Sooki Stackhouse squeezing into a leather cut.

You want it both ways, and I’ve learned from experience that shit don’t work that way.

You aren’t a sympathetic person, Dru.
You are no benevolent martyr.
I hate to admit it, but I was fooled by you.
I wanted to like you.
I wanted to respect you.
I wanted to mourn you.

And now?

Maybe I’ll do the world - and Gotti - a favor and just end you my fucking self.

Because, here’s the thing, honey: I’ve been the punisher, I’ve been the killer, long before your busted-ass tried to make IG-vamp-chic trendy. I was the killer when I needed to crush a dream, and win a second World Championship.

It’s been a minute since I’ve needed to be the killer.

But I’m going to embarrass you in front of your own crew.

In front of your own club.

In front of all those friends you’ve betrayed.

And in front of Fight-NY.

I feel like I know you now, Dru.

Even if we’ve never met.

And you’re going to fucking wish we never did.



I was pacing back and forth inside the terminal of McCarren International, watching the flight-board update. American Airlines 192 had just landed, and in just a few moments, I would be reunited with the girl of my dreams.

My hands shook as my fingers clasped the rim of my Americano tight. In order to ease my nerves, I took a sip, feeling that burning sensation as the liquid careened down the back of my throat. I felt a calmness wash over me - and I exhaled, trying to catch my breath as I saw her in the distant, about to descend the escalator.

I watched her with a smile spread across my lips, each step disappearing under the frame as she drew closer. A man rushed by her, high-tailing out of the airport. I met her by wrapping my arms around her neck.

“Baby, thank you for coming!”

I planted a kiss on her lips.

And finally, I had the courage to say it.

I love you. So much.”

I pulled away, expecting her to say it back.

But the ghosts of Las Vegas were floating among us.

I could see it in her eyes.
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