Chicago, Illinois – Wednesday, October 29, 2014 – 10:00 am.

((Outside the train station, Roxy and “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane stand and wait for a taxi. They are huddled together against a brisk morning breeze, using one another for warmth. As cars whiz past them, they stand closer. Roxy’s hands disappear underneath the long jacket Loverboy is wearing, and he wraps an arm across her slender, shivering shoulders. Without a word, she molds her body to his – her legs embracing his thigh, her head bent to his chest against the wind. If not for their being standing upright in the middle of the day in a busy city street, they could be confused with two lovers asleep in bed together. Eventually, one of the speeding cabs slows and stops in front of the two, and Loverboy gallantly opens the rear door for his treasure first, then lifts the bags into the trunk before sliding in next to her and shaking the cold off of himself.))

Hold me, Vinnie… I’m still cold.

Of course, babe.

((And again, Roxy sinks into her love. As Loverboy directs the driver to find a nice hotel close to the arena, she closes her eyes and lets the vibrations of the car moving across the asphalt soothe her. The night before, in the train room, he had tried to touch her again. She felt awful lying to him over and over, especially after getting into the shower with him that morning and turning him on so much, but she couldn’t force away the shadow of memory that stretched over her subconscious.))

Baby? Do you want to stop at a liquor store and get some party favors to celebrate with after the show?

No… Vinnie let’s just get to the room, okay? I’m freezing.

((She couldn’t drink, either. How the hell long as she going to be able to keep this up before he saw through her? Vinnie was no idiot, and he paid attention to her. Probably more attention than anyone ever had. Since her father, at least. She didn’t want to go there.))

Okay, Rox, I hear ya. Not like it is in L.A. over here, huh?

((She could hear the smile in his voice even though she kept her eyes closed, and she held him tighter. Breathed him in. Soon she felt his hand kneading through her long, blonde hair, stroking down the back of her head, and she found herself drifting off. She began to dream. Unfortunately for her, soon the humming of the road became the buzzing of a cheap air unit, and her face gently vibrating against the lap of Vinnie Lane became the forceful friction of flesh against rough bed sheet. She was back there. This time inside her own head as she felt it hitting the wall, felt the hair she had sucked unconsciously into her mouth choking its way down her throat. Felt her thighs being lifted and parted without her consent. Roxy felt it all. Her dream was like a living coma, alive and feeling but unable to move. Her wide open eyes could see the shadows on the wall – the frame of the man behind her, arching himself and thrusting into her. Then she was moved. Rolled. And she was looking up at him. His face a blur, the man’s chest was heaving as he came down on top of her, breathing hard against her face as he went about entering her again. Nothing gentle. Everything rushed and rough. The pain between her legs lapped at her inner thighs like the tongue of a flame, but still she could do nothing but lie there and feel him moving within her, uninvited. Then, suddenly, he came into focus. She saw his face. A young, handsome guy, like the thousands of others just like him in Los Angeles. Then the blur again. And then, finally, horrifically, as he pushed deeper and deeper into her, finishing there, she saw him clear as day. Her father’s face, like it was all those years ago. Back from the dead to haunt her.))

Roxy? Baby are you okay?

((She woke with a start. Vinnie was cradling her face in his hands, and she could feel the wetness between her cheek and his palm.))

You’re crying, babe. Were you having a bad dream?

Yeah. Yeah, I was.

We’re at the hotel, Roxy. Let’s get upstairs and get comfortable. We’ve got time for a little cuddling before I have to get to the show.

That sounds great, baby…

((Roxy sits and waits while Loverboy gathers the bags from the trunk and pays the driver, then opens the door for her like the gentleman he always is to her. She takes his outstretched hand and rises from the car, then wraps her arms around herself while she waits for Loverboy to lift the bags from the sidewalk and start to move towards the hotel entrance.))

Maybe we can have a little playtime too, huh babe? You know I love to get a little warmup in before a big match…

Vinnie… I can’t…

Damn, dude… is everything really okay with you, Roxy? I don’t understand why you’re so hot and cold lately.

((And there it was. The moment she knew was coming.))

Vinnie, we need to talk when we get up into the room, okay? There’s something you need to know.

Well, babe, I don’t want to wait, dude! We’ve been joined at the hip since you flew into Dallas and I feel like we’ve barely talked at all! We sleep right next to each other but you won’t touch me! Tell me now, at least do that for me.

Okay… listen. This is really hard for me to tell you. The other night, when I went to the Viper Room? Well… there was this guy…

Oh my fucking god. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me right now?

Vinnie, wait, listen…

You went home with some other motherfucker and fucked him, right? After we had talked on the phone about our plans? Really Roxy? I trusted you! How could you?

((Tears sprang from her eyes like fountains, and she struggled to grasp the right words. She could see the hurt in his eyes, but she needed him to know that she didn’t betray him. It wasn’t her fault.))

Vinnie, please…

No! No more “please!” I committed myself to you and you couldn’t make it through one fucking night without picking up some asshole and getting your rocks off!

Vinnie, no! He raped me!

((But it was too late. The anger had taken him too far away, and he was no longer listening to her, no longer thinking. He snapped back and spit pure venom at her with every word as he glares at her through slit eyes.))

Sure he did. Of course he did! I bet you were dressed like a fucking blow up doll like you always are huh? Did your skirt even cover your ass? Were your tits up to your fucking chin? Of course they fucking were! You walk around acting like a pussy in high heels waiting for the first dick to show up and you wonder what guys in clubs think of you? And now you want to call it rape to save our relationship?

No… no… I swear, Vinnie…

((And then it happens. He tries to step away and she grabs him in desperation. She pulls him back towards her, and his instinct kicks in with a fraction of a second of reaction time. Not even a moment of thought. Before Roxy knows it, she’s kneeling on the sidewalk, holding her stinging cheek and looking up at Loverboy. He stands with his mouth open, staring at his extended hand as if it were no longer a part of him. Horrified, the anger is gone from his voice as it cracks and wavers. His chin shakes as he speaks to her in a rushed whisper.))

You… you get away from me. Stay away. You fucked this up big time, Roxy. We’re over.

((And before she can react, he’s gone. Roxy is left sitting on the Chicago sidewalk, crying into the wind as it rips the hair from her wet face.))




My, my, my, it looks like I’ve finally gotten the attention of Morbid Angel.

You know, it’s funny dude. When I first joined the XWF back in July, I saw you were the number one contender for the Universal Title at the time and I remember thinking – what chance does this fat, old fucker have against Azrael Erebus? What chance does an overweight retiree with disproportionate nipples stand against a champion of Erebus’ caliber? But, dude, you caught me off guard! You won that match and took that title from one of the most talented competitors I’ve ever seen when they were saying it couldn’t be done!

Now, I’m not like that that little wet fart, Frodo. I’m not gonna say Azrael got bored and lay down for you, man. I mean, who would lie down and take a loss to someone like you without putting up a fight? Who would let the fucking stench of “lost to Morbid Angel” be a part of their documented history? Nah, man, you really rose to the occasion and you earned that title, and I give you credit for it.

My question though is this: what have you done since? You dropped that belt almost immediately to Eli James, you lost your rematch with Azrael, and you barely squeaked by the weakest team in the history of War Games matches. How the hell can you keep telling people you’re undefeated when any given week of the year you’re probably on TV getting your wrinkled, fat ass handed to you? I swear, if they wanted to watch obese pieces of shit fall down all day they could just turn the channel to watch The Biggest Loser. That show’s still on, right? Did you ever apply to be on? You’d think they’d be paying you as a fucking spokesman by now. If not watching that awful program, people could also choose to replicate the Morbid Angel professional wrestling experience by going down to their local old folks’ home and tripping Alzheimer’s patients’ walkers out from under them.

And what’s with all the self-aggrandizing bullshit you’ve been spouting, dude? Victory Forever? Dude – you never, ever win! Your strategy for matches is to just pretend you didn’t lose! What the hell kinda crap is that? And what is with you and “got ist tot?” I mean, at first I was impressed that you were literate enough to quote someone as cool as Nietzsche, but then I remembered where that particular quote came from. Yeah, of course, it all makes sense now. Big Gay Morbid reading books promoting the Big Gay Agenda. I gotta admit, man, “The Gay Science” sounds like what your major probably was back at Vassar or Wesleyan.

Let me give you a breakdown of how Warfare is gonna play out for you and your fuckboy, Peter. He’s gonna get to the ring about ten minutes before you do, while you’re still wheezing and leaning on your knees in the aisleway. And mind you, Gilly isn’t a skinny dude anymore. I don’t know if that heavy duty lap band he had installed blew out after his fifth pizza of the night or what, but his beer gut sure came back with a vengeance. Maybe it was all the shit Guppy fed him? At any rate, if you’re lucky you’ll find one of those Wal-Mart motorized carts and scoot you and your type two diabetes down to the ring in time to watch me drop poor Gilmour onto his head and tuck him in for the night. If you want, I can serve up some seconds for you… and let’s face it, you don’t turn down seconds, do you? Those big ol’ double D titties of yours look like they’ve had plenty of second helpings dribbled onto them once you black out into a coma. Be careful dude, one of these days you’re gonna wake up in a hospital missing a foot. Maybe while they have you under they’ll at least fix up those crooked ass pepperoni nips I mentioned earlier.

Either way dude, after I get done breaking Pete in half I’ll plenty left in my tank to drop you like the ton of shit you are. Afterwards you can go home and spend the rest of the night trying to dig your little winky out from under all of that dimpled fupa and get it some air. Maybe slap it around a little and try to convince yourself you won again?

Whichever way you wanna do it, man. Just remember – it ain’t too late to quit, dude. Just go full-on silver alert and wander off towards the horizon and find yourself a nice elephant graveyard to die in.

Victory Forever, am I right?




Chicago, Illinois – Wednesday, October 29, 2014 – 5:00 pm.

Hello?

Mister Lane? Vinnie?

Yeah, that’s me dude, who’s this?

Mister Lane, I’m Detective Alan Specter, with the Chicago Police Department.

What the hell? Dude, I’ve barely been in town six hours…

Mister Lane, I’m calling you because you were listed in the cell phone as an emergency contact to an attempted suicide victim. I thought you might like to know that your friend is alive, barely, and she’s at Mercy Hospital on Michigan Avenue…

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute… suicide? What are you talking about? Is this a joke?

I’m not joking, Mister Lane. We found her unconscious in a gas station bathroom with both of her arms slit from wrist to elbow after someone happened to hear her in there. She’s lucky to be alive, though I can’t guarantee you she’s going to make it.

This can’t be happening… Roxy?

That’s the name saw in her cell phone, yes sir. I’m very sorry, but I have to go. I’d get down to the hospital as soon as I could if I were you, sir. I’m very sorry to have to tell you all of this. Goodbye.