Desire [4B]Gasoline: The Final Chapter

Desire [4B]Gasoline: The Final Chapter - Printable Version

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Desire [4B]Gasoline: The Final Chapter - Jenny Myst - 03-03-2018

Are you insane like me?

Looking into the window through mascara stained eyes, her nails dug into her face. She tugged at her hair, screaming to nobody in particular. Screaming at the reflection, maybe? Screaming at the reflection she saw, and hated. There were several barrels on the ground next to her, along with knives and a pistol that sat on the pavement. She had a brownish substance pooling at her feet. Her feet were in spiked heels, what looked like stripper heels. Her top was tattered, as if it were ripped and tugged at. Her hair was a mangled mess. Her leggings had dirt marks on the knees.

Been in pain like me?

She sat in class, doodling in a notebook. The teacher was droning on about something. She never made the connection that teachers and adults actually sounded like the teachers and parents from Charlie Brown until now. All she heard were faint trumpets on nonsense. She wasn't even drawing anything on the paper, just pushing her pen into the paper so hard it almost ripped. Just lines, over and over. It made her feel better to press into the paper and pretend she was pressing into flesh. Her hands were gripping the pen so hard, she thought for sure it would explode. Her head still hurt from getting it shoved into a locker last period. For being a pretty girl, she got bullied a lot. She never really had it in her to stand up for herself, and at home it was worse. Her mother always yelled at her for stupid things and her step dad, in her mind, didn't care if she lived or died.

She pushed the pen harder onto the paper as she felt her face go flush.

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?

The music was bumping, the familiar thump of the bass from some of today's most popular hip hop songs. Mixed in, stringing them together like cans on a line, was the occasional DJ scratch or horn sound. Every once and a while he would say something over the mic, but it was muffled. The club patrons cheered regardless.

She sat in the VIP, surrounded by good looking men with even better looking wallets. A few of her girlfriends were with her. Her skirt was short, bordering on too short. She looked good, and felt better.

The bottle service girl came over to them, asking if they needed anything. This bitch, she thought she was hot shit. Women hate women, inherently, and she could be a great person but she looked good and had a nice smile so fuck her.

"Dom" she said, "and make it snappy". The girl smiled her best fuck you smile and said she would get right on it.

Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Who knows how many bottles later it was, or how much time had passed. But she stood in front of the mirror, jabbering to herself and feeling petty. She looked at the bottle in her hands, and felt herself turning towards the swirling drain. Money didn't matter to her, money was material, and money could be attained. All money did was buy friends. All it did was split up families. All it did was fuel habits. How much this bottle costed didn't matter to her. She bought it because she could, and that is what she hated. As it swirled down the drain she saw the dollar signs swirl with it, but money is the route of all evil, so perhaps the evil was leaving too?

If money is the route of all evil, why do they ask for it at church?

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

The glass of wine sat, chipped and cracked, on the floor before the table it fell from. There was a stain on the floor, moving at a snails pace towards whatever was in front of it. She sat with her hand in her hair, a cigarette in her mouth. The music playing off her phone was slow, sad, dreary music. Something by like Adele or some shit.

In front of her were a bunch of papers that had a mixture of red and black writing. Many of them said FINAL NOTICE. Too many of them.

Finally, she had enough. She threw the papers up in the air, and a few of them fell into the red wine that was staining the floor. She opened the drawer where a pistol sat.

The air was dry. Drier than normal for this time of year, though in Las Vegas precipitation is rarer than a black guy at a country concert. Jenny groaned as she picked up the heavy barrel that resembled a keg. Her face was red with exertion and her already tender back from the Jack Cain bearhug several months back wasn't doing her any favors. She duck-walked over to an old car that sat by it self in the middle of a Sears parking lot. Well, what used to be Sears. The emblem was still there, stained into the side of the building, but the boarded up windows were what told the story. On the other side of the lot was the interstate, though it was one of the small connecting interstates that linked into Las Vegas Boulevard. No wonder this Sears went of the business, they were literally in the middle of nowhere.

Megan ran behind, trying to keep stride. Despite the heavy barrel in her hands, Jenny was walking with a purpose. Like an Olympic dead lifter she showed off a feat of strength even she didn't know she had. Getting right up next to the old car, still in pristine shape for being almost double her age, she set the can down, panting. Megan finally caught up, her manila folder in hand. Megan was dressed in her usual grey knee length skirt and a nice black blouse, her hair up in a bun with her glasses on. She was a pretty girl, but so damn plain. Jenny nicked named her Plain Jane. Megan hated it.

"What are you doing, Jen?"

Jenny tuned her out. She didn't have time for questions. She was only human, she had flaws, demons, and hangups. Everyone does. If she was going to be at the top of her game against Mandii, she needed to get rid of these demons. There weren't many things still plaguing her, but she decided a trial by fire was the best option for what was. Let Satan decide if God was real.

But, as soon as she got to the car, she froze. On the back windshield, there was still the two very prominent smudges. They looked like they were part of the window, but Jenny knew different.

"The smudges?" Megan asked. "It is an old car, Jenn, it is bound to have some dirt."

Jenny held a finger up, as if to say "give me a minute". She choked back emotion, and Megan could see it. She got closer to these smudges, putting her fingers with her perfectly manicured nails on them. They were on the inside of the glass. She ran her hand slowly over them.

I knew, right then, I was going to die. Actually die. For real this time. And I was helpless to stop it. My face was covered with what I thought--knew--was blood. Based on how I felt, I knew I was a wreck. Would I ever be the same again? The man behind me grabbed my hair again, and he held a mirror up to my face. It wasn't blood, though I did have some dribbling from my lip. And my nose. The rest was sweat and whatever substance I was sweating out of my pours. Whatever drug they gave me the night before. He told me he wanted me to look at the face of failure. To look at a waste of space. He told me he wanted me to look at the face of a worthless whore who would only ever be good at would be spreading my legs. I shifted in my seat, and I could feel it was a little damp. I had apparently pissed myself from the current. They made fun of me, and I felt embarrassed. I couldn't help it. I was FORCED to piss myself and couldn't do anything about it. My body had failed me. I hated myself for it. I'm just glad the other end stayed in tact, for now.

I felt myself being untied from the chair. I was hoisted over a shoulder, and laid down on a table. It was cold against my sweat riddled skin. I gasped. I was expecting to be strapped down on the table. That never happened. Instead, I felt a knife, which oddly felt warm in the cold room, on the skin just below my navel. My eyes went wide as I felt it push down.

Jenny looked at Megan.

"Okay, I'm good." She said. Her voice was stone cold. She was hiding something, Megan knew it. She hadn't been Jenny's publicist long, but she knew when her client--and friend--was feeling it. Coming into Turning Point, after what happened with Madison, her emotions had to be a roller coaster. She wanted to give Jenny a hug, but she didn't want to risk seeing a part of Jenny that she knew was in there, and she didn't like. Basically, she didn't want to get throat punched.

Jenny pulled a knife out of her legging waistband and plunged it into the top of the barrel, circling it around like some sort of a homemade can-opener. When she got to the end, she dropped the knife and began to pry at the lid. She finally got it off. Wiping sweat from her brow, she looked at Megan.

"Ready for the show?"

Megan didn't know what that meant. Oh god. What DID that mean?

They taunted me with the knife. Getting a glimpse of it, I saw it was the same knife I had bought at the hardware store. It was the same knife I had sliced sunglasses man with. I was about to be disemboweled with my own knife. Slowly, too, methodically. Something about it made me.....oh god, wet? Was I beginning to get tingly from this? How sick was I?!

I still managed to say no, plead no, crying tears I didn't have left. They didn't even want any info- because I didn't know any. I knew who they were, but I didn't know anything compromising. Maybe I should have just went to the police, reported the rape, let them handle this. But I didn't know names, and Nye County police wouldn't travel all the way to Reno. By the time word got out, they'd be long gone. I tried to handle this myself, and this is the predicament I was in. I was about to be gutted. Just as I felt the man above me break the skin, he stopped. Smiling at me, he stepped aside and handed the knife to the sunglasses man. He wanted revenge. Part of me didn't blame him, because so would I.

I laid my head back and accepted my fate.

Jenny picked up the container again. This time some of the contents spilled out of the top. She took a half step, and dumped it on the car. Picking it back up, she dumped it again. She didn't stop until the car was covered in the brownish green liquid, and stepped back again. She looked at Megan. The smile that came across her face gave the girl goosebumps.

"Megan, you have the matchbook, right?"

Instantly, Megan knew why Jenny had asked her to pick it up on the way here. She didn't ask questions then, but now she wished she had. This was insanity. And Jenny had some of it on her. She was going to blow herself sky high as well. Was that the plan? Jesus.

Megan, however, shook her head and produced it from her purse.

This was a bad idea, but she knew better than to mess with Jenny in this mind state. She knew better than to question anything she said anyway, but with her like this, in this frame of being, she knew that Jenny was one wrist flick away of burning her next.

She handed over the matches with a shaky hand.

I woke up and I was being dragged. I was outside now, I could tell. I had passed out, apparently. Had the sunglasses man spared me? Or was this the afterlife and I was lying on a table somewhere with my intestines leaking out into a sausage link pile? I opened my eyes. No, fuck, this wasn't the afterlife. The sun was bright, blinding. I squinted. I wasn't in substantial pain. I was being dragged by my ankles and there was a dust cloud under me. I was thankful for the fact they weren't tearing my back up dragging me over pavement......but, why were they preserving me? That thought scared me even more.

I felt myself hoisted up and put into the back seat of a car. I was so out of it that I didn't even realize the car was moving until we were almost to wherever the hell we were going. The sunglasses man finally spoke as the car stopped. We were in the middle of the dessert. Two men got out and went into the trunk. They pulled out shiny metal objects......shovels?

He told me that he wanted one last go around, further reiterating that what was between my legs was the only good part about me. He pushed my back against the back of the seat. Before I could blink, my leggings were down to my ankles, creating sort of a trap around my legs, holding them still. They were hoisted up as well. God, if I thought his voice was bad, his breath was worse. Then, he was inside me. My legs were forced up, my feet against something warm and dry.

He was breathing heavy. I closed my eyes and just hoped it was over. After several minutes, I felt him tense, and groan. "Not inside" I muttered, "please" but I knew that wouldn't stop him.

I felt my insides flooded with a warm substance. I shuddered. What if I got pregnant by this monster?!

Not like it would matter, because I was probably going to end up in whatever ditch they were digging outside. He pulled out of me with a sticky pop noise, opened the door and pushed me out of the car. I managed to get my leggings back up, preserving whatever measure of pride I had left, and get to my knees. That is when I felt the cold steel against the back of my head. Then the click.

As the car burned with what seemed like a multi-story flame, Megan and Jenny watched. The young publicist knew this was a bad idea, but she knew more to stay quiet. She looked over at Jenny, who had free flowing tears now.

"So why were those smudges so important?"

Jenny composed herself for a moment, with a sniffle. "Those.....those were my footprints." She said. "After all this time, nobody ever wiped them off."

Megan realized what she meant, and didn't ask another question. As a small explosion went off and the car dropped to the ground, the tires bursting from the immense heat, she opened her mouth again.

"So how did you get away?"

Jenny looked at her. Her eye makeup was smudged now.

Deep breath.

"Sometimes surviving is destiny. Some people do, some people don't. I am a survivor. I'll tell you someday, kid, but that is for another time."

Megan nodded.

"But sometimes, all you need is a little gasoline before the match is lit. Mandii gave me the gasoline, now it is my turn to be the match."

They didn't say anything more as they stood there for the better part of an hour, watching Jenny's past burn like hell itself.

"So Mandii thinks she is going to be the savior. She is going to be the Oprah of the women's division. Riding in on her white horse to save the day, and suddenly everything will be better off? Mandii this division is dead and buried, and by yours truly. There is nobody on this roster who can viably say they have the same drive, passion, heart, grit and determination as me, and that is why they are wrestling elsewhere than in the XWF. These also-rans have tried me on numerous occasions, and sometimes it took a few tries, but the end result is always the same. Jenny wins. Every. Single. Time. You see, Madii, your goals for this division are foolish. If you win this belt, you will simply be a lame duck champion. Do you honestly think that winning this belt will put you in any higher regard? It won't. You see this division is only as strong as its champion, an eco system is only as strong as its top predator. That is me. I have battled my ass off to be something here, and there is nobody on the roster who deserves this more than me. There is nobody on this roster who has fought through more adversity than me. Mandii, do you know how it feels to be hated? I don't think you do. I am hated not because of my attitude but because I am the best to ever put on a shiny thong and do an arm drag. I am the best at this and that is why I am envied. Think about it.......lets use a sports metaphor, not that you watch any sports besides competitive heroin shooting......a team in your division or conference wins every year, you are going to hate them aren't you? You are going to want them to lose at every turn. But they don't, they always manage to pull it out. They hate me cuz they ain't me. But you seem to think it is because I am some ditzy airhead blonde with a spoiled attitude and no skill who talks a game bigger than her ability. That is false. I am as good in this ring as you are at the claw machine at the bowling alley's you frequent.

You are underselling me like a pawn shop. That is a bad mistake because win loss or draw Mandii I am going to take a chunk off your already sporadic career. I may not be flawless, but I am damn good. Madison took my heart and soul away from me and now I will go to the end of the earth to get it back. Say I won't. Say I can't. There really isn't much more to say that hasn't already been said by the both of us. I could sit here and insult you with cheap shots, but what good does that do? I could sit here and pump myself up, but what good does that do? All I can tell you is that I am coming to give it my all, something apparently you aren't accustomed to doing. Sorry, couldn't help it there. You want to put that match behind us, come out and challenge me. Push me to the edge, make me suffer like I suffered in that garage. Make me suffer like I suffered most of my life. Cover my in blood. Hell, even rape me. Because no matter what you throw at me, I am going to catch it and throw it back. I am going to get the worst beating of my career, I know that, but when it is all said and done I am going to rise to the top like the true queen defending her kingdom. This company isn't big enough for the both of us, and I will sit atop my throne when it is all said and done. Overlooking my kingdom. You see, Mandii, you can't just come in here after two years off and expect things to be the same. I bet you are already sweating because this isn't anything like it was then. You know I am going to bring it like you've never had it brought before. You are probably already sitting there, chewing on your boyish nails, listening to this promo and hearing the intensity in my voice. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything before. I think you can hear in my voice that this is a different Jenny Myst. You have opened a channel that you should have slammed shut. Now, Mandii, I am in defense mode. I have a kingdom to overlook. You see, Mandii, this division doesn't need a savior, they don't need a hero, or a white knight, they need a Queen.

Long Live The Queen.

Are you deranged like me?
Are you strange like me?
Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me?

So you run on gasoline............

Gasoline.........

Gasoline