I feel like I must have sat here and watched the door for hours after Roxy left. The shadows on the floor stretched longer until they seeped up the wall and stared back at me like expressionless cardboard cutouts of myself. I read the emergency evacuation plan on the back of the door over and over, trying to make the time tick by faster. As the hands on the clock spiraled incessantly forward, my thoughts evolved from hopeful to desperate to depressed.

She’ll come back.

She has to come back.

She isn’t coming back.

((“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane is still sitting in his hotel bed. The afternoon sun has lost its fight and dropped below the horizon to rest for the next day’s battle. As Loverboy sits with his elbows on his knees, staring nowhere, he wrings his hands together in nervous anticipation. Eventually, the sounds of laughter and happiness filter in from the hallway.))

A couple. Drunk, possibly, happy, definitely. They’re walking back to the room they share together in order to fuck and fall asleep tangled up in each other’s arms and legs like a human knot.

They’ll wake up in the morning, on time, just like they’re supposed to, and have a normal breakfast to start a normal day. Finish their vacation. Go where they’re planning to go and get there as a couple. As a team. As a family.

Listening to the natal cries of a fledgling romance is like nails across a chalkboard for me right now. Don’t they have any fucking respect for anybody else in this hotel? Don’t they know that some of the people here just had their hearts ripped from their chests still beating?

((Loverboy lifts himself to his feet like an athlete called onto the field. In just his boxers with big, red adorning hearts he storms to the hotel room door and starts to turn the handle, but only opens the door an inch or two before heaving it shut again. He settles for pounding the inside of the door with his fist once as his means of railing against the contentment of others.))

Fuck them. Fuck this. Fuck me. I’m not going to just sit here and die like a houseplant someone forgot to water for too long. I’m a god damn rock star, a champion. I’m a TV celebrity, a wrestling megastar, a household name.

I can’t go outside without hiding my face because every pair of X chromosomes sees me coming and turns into a bitch in heat like a werewolf on a full moon. I spend 24 hours a day with this grin glued to my face to the point that I don’t even remember what I actually look like. I know how to play the game, god damn it, and I know how to win.

((Loverboy stomps over to the nightstand and flips open his laptop, bringing up a website of individual classified ads.))






((After scrolling enough, he finds something to his liking and makes a call, negotiating a little but mostly just going along.))

Loverboy: Yeah, fine, whatever, I’ve got the money and I’ve got party favors. You and your friend just get downtown and get here ASAP, I don’t want to be waiting here all night, you know? I’m in room… shit, I dunno hold on…

((Walking back to the door, Loverboy inspects the escape plan again.))

Loverboy: 404. Yeah, right, like the fuckin’ internet meme, sure, whatever you say. Look, I’m gonna get my shit together, just come on. And I’m paying you extra to keep your mouth shut, alright? I don’t need to end up on the news tonight or get my ass fired for screwing a couple of whores in Detroit, of all fucking places. Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just… just come on. Cool? Alright.

((He hangs up. Looking around, he gathers his things and tries to organize a little.)

Roxy Cotton thinks she’s irreplaceable because I put her on a pedestal, but she’s just another girl in a long line waiting to get a piece of me. She’s just a whore working on an independent contract and on a weekly stipend instead of getting paid cash in hand for doing what she does, like these internet hookers will.

She thinks she’s one of a kind and can’t be replaced? Then let me show her it can be done in less than a day. She’s not the one they name reality shows after, or make VH1 specials about. She’s not the one thousands of fans light up for when the music hits. She’s not the one with these gold belts PROVING she’s better than others.

It’s me. All me. I’m the winner. I’m the king of the jungle, the cream of the crop, the top dog, big cheese, whatever the fuck you want to call it, and I’m not gonna let some bleached blonde junkie take that shit from me.

((As if on cue, Loverboy moves from handling his Trios Championship belts to grabbing at the works next to them on the dresser. He finds the lighter, the spoon, the needle. Roxy left one behind.))

At least she only took what she needed. I don’t even want the shit, only started it up again because of her, but if it’s here I may as well make use of it. Make this night one to remember and have a party like the old days. Like I’m just backstage, getting ready for the crowds, man. Like I’m not sitting in some bullshit hotel room in my underwear sad about some heartless cunt.

((He brings the stuff to the bed, sitting again and turning his laptop to a music website, full volume. The pills are melted and sucked into the syringe in a process made unconscious by practice. Crush, wet, boil, filter, press, pull, done. A drop of blood in a vial of water curls like smoke over an invisible fire – slow motion.))

I hate fucking needles.

((A chug on a bottle of whisky, then a shot. One vein banged. Wash, rinse, repeat. Pull, sip, slam.))

How many songs have played on this station that I even liked? Jesus, this crap is awful. No wonder everyone’s on fucking drugs. What time is it?

((A knock on the door. Loverboy pops up, charging cord for his cell phone still looped around his bicep in a twisted metaphor for a sphygmomanometer. Still just in boxers. He swings the door in and there stand two young, big titted stereotypes.))

Girl: Hi! You ready?

Such aplomb. A tan blonde and a pale brunette. I like to mix my flavors, don’t I? What does it say for me that the most exciting part about getting these two girls over here is looking forward to when they leave?

((The door closes, Loverboy gestures to a pile of crumpled bills next to the championship belts and sits back down to finish his dose as two tight dresses get pulled up over slender shoulders and pooled onto the floor like puddles of blue and green liquid.))

Party time.




((“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane jerks awake with a start. The room is dark and empty.))

I’ve got to stop coming to and not knowing where the fuck I am. That shit must have knocked me out a little quicker than I thought it would.

((Leaning over, Loverboy reaches into his shorts and pulls off a wet rubber, tossing it onto the floor.))

Good. At least I wasn’t too fucked to fuck. The show must go on…

((Standing, Loverboy flips a light switch and turns to the dresser. In the mirror on the wall, he sees his face drain to paper white and his chin drop his mouth into a black oval. The belts are gone.))

Shit.

Loverboy: Shit. Oh shit. Oh SHIT.

((The face is panic, then wonder, then defeat. Faster than last time. Loverboy finds the needle faster this time, too.))

Fuck it.








Guppy Parsh.

You need new friends, dude.

Before this match, I thought you were mostly normal. A little dumb maybe, or naïve is a better word, I guess. But dude, you are nothing close to normal. If I follow you correctly – and man, I probably don’t so bear with me – your top, Stevil? That’s his name? Your top was a guy named Tri Bute, but maybe it was also you? Or some chick? So none of you know who you actually are? Either I drank more than I thought I did, or you guys are fucking crazy.

Honestly though, man, after the shit Stevil had bubbling up from his insides about me I almost wish it was him in the ring instead of you. I might actually feel bad about bloodying my fists against your head, dude, but it would be nothing but sunshine and rainbows to do it to him. This dude wants to talk about whining? Wants to talk about fan clubs? Nice, man. Way to keep it on the up and up, right?

Let me tell you a thing or two, Guppy. You might not understand it because you’ve never had anyone really give a shit about you in your life, but yeah, people do cheer for me, and I even do have a for real, honest to Betsy, fan club. I don’t run it, man, I just sign some shit every now and then and maybe from time to time take a phone call or meet up somewhere. But it’s got my name on it and I make a little change on the side. Big deal. I know doctors don’t get paid for autographs, and rapists definitely don’t, right? Is that why you put on the cape and cowl? Is pretending to be a real hero that people already love easier than actually BEING a hero that people love? I wouldn’t know, dude, I’ve only ever done it the second way. I guess if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em though, right? Fake it ‘til you make it?

You know, it really doesn’t shock me too much that a shithead like Stevil would be so willing to get fucked in the mouth by Pest. Shit, that’s probably how he got that phlegm I heard rattling in the back of his throat when he was talking about him. Dick worship is a powerful way to control someone, man, trust me, I have a line of bitches around the block ready to get filled up with Loverboy Smoothies. But Guppy, dude, I’m just trying to look out for you. After you’re just a shrimp in a cape without a title belt, what’s that ugly bastard gonna want with you, anyway? I wouldn’t be surprised if he snatched a few of those t-shirts with my name on them for himself, getting ready to try and jump onto my bandwagon after Wednesday night, dude. Don’t worry though, Gup, I don’t want him. Your “friend” isn’t welcome aboard this train, man. So don’t blame me when you lose your man and your belt in the same night, okay dude? It’s not my fault, and I’d never wish that on you, man. I’m just saying, watch out for that guy. He tried to cut your dick off because he thinks you’re his bitch. Don’t be his bitch, Guppy, be a man.

I know it's gonna be tough for you after Warfare when you finally lose and finally know what it's like to not accidentally stumble into an undeserved victory, finally know what it's like to have a championship ripped away from you, and find out that you're not actually the best man in the ring. I feel bad about it already, dude. It's the way it's got to be though, man. People deserve something better than "Stevil's Bitch" being listed as a champion of anything, you know? I know you understand, Gup, you're not stupid. I tell you what though, Guppy, since you won't be the champ anymore and you won't have Stevil to look up to anymore, you can join my fan club for free after Warfare, deal? Not Stevil though. He still has to pay.

So come on, man, do it. Tell Stevil it's over, that you've got a new idol.

Put HIM on the bottom for once.