Post by The Hannahverser on Apr 17, 2016 2:07:23 GMT
An Imperfect Circle
The early morning sun smiled through her curtains and eased her awake. She lay there and blinked, and felt whole. Her first full month in London had seen unexpected changes. She’d moved in and had trouble feeling at home. Gradually, stress and nerves had subsided to where she could safely relax these extra few minutes in bed before feeling any sense of urgency. That sense of stress-filled urgency had left itself in the ring more often nowadays. If Thirteen were to describe this new phase of her life, she’d call it calm. She’d call it comfort. She’d call it home.
She lifted out of bed and grinned as she walked past the plane ticket to Brazil sitting on her dresser where sat her replica Monarchy Championship, and got herself a glass of orange juice. Giddy, she gracefully pirouetted into the bare living room, and danced past the lone wall poster she’d recently situated in an effort to decorate in her off hours. The first poster she’d ever featured on, one for Monarchy’s Line of Succession Pay-Per-View event. She’d casually drawn a handlebar mustache onto Alexis Terry when she first hung it, now it kept her smile fresh.
She dressed for the gym in front of the full-length mirror haphazardly staring past her reflection at that plane ticket and couldn’t believe it was really there. Her smile grew, her contentment sung for itself in the mirror with every blink of her eye as she applied eyeliner and mascara. She had the title, and she’d successfully defended it, money had rolled in from her contract at Monarchy and Uprising, more than she’d initially budgeted for. That money helped set her in this smiling position and afford her the plane ticket that buoyed her spirits as something to look forward to.
Exiting her apartment with her gym bag tucked under her arm by 6:30 AM, she jingled the keys to the other thing her newfound financial stability had afforded her. It sat in her apportioned parking space like yet another dream come true. A grey leased Toyota Prius’ lights flashed as she clicked unlock on the fob and her contentment grew. It wasn’t so much the type, or brand of car, it was the car itself and what it symbolized: Freedom and independence. She was slowly but surely crafting the world she’d always hoped she could. It was proof you could chase your dream and catch it. She felt special.
“You dropped this.” She jumped at the sound of the familiar voice before she could get the key in the ignition. Startled she eyed the woman seated beside her, Bad Kitty in the flesh, then looked at the item she held up in her hands.
“How did you find that?” Thirteen exclaimed reaching out to touch it. Bad Kitty pulled it out of reach. The Monarchy Championship. Thirteen blinked the terrified surprise away and frowned as Bad Kitty didn’t want to relinquish control of the belt she dangled in front of Thirteen.
Thirteen tucked some hair behind her ear and noticed in Bad Kitty’s other hand the familiar firearm she’d concealed in her jacket and pretended to threaten Thirteen with the last time they’d met, now aimed at her. Thirteen sighed.
“What the hell is this now?”
Bad Kitty eyed her, and for the first time Thirteen noticed this woman who had previously worn a creepy porcelain mask to obscure her features was no longer wearing a mask. Instead, Thirteen now beheld the pleasant features of a blonde woman who looked like she hadn’t slept in years.
“Don’t worry. This is a fake belt too.” Bad Kitty monotonously intoned. “I had my own replica made after I heard about your debacle with the real belt. That fucker’s long gone, so you know. I just wanted to see your face.” She ignorantly tossed it behind her into the backseat. Thirteen looked annoyed.
“What the—THAT. That’s why you broke into my new car? To mock me?” She frowned to herself, “how the hell DID you break into my car, anyway?”
“It’s easy with practice. I came here to plant the belt and watch your reaction. Life had other plans though.”
Thirteen looked nervously down at the gun aimed at her, then noticed the distended belly, then looked up at Bad Kitty’s pained face looking back at her. Thirteen sniffed the air with a growing frown.
“My water broke.”
A gulp of recognition. It didn’t fully translate as Thirteen looked about herself.
“…in my car. You’re water broke in my car?! My brand new, leased car. How the hell am I going to explain—“
“Can you please take me to the hospital?”
Thirteen’s tantrum dissipated rapidly as she noticed Bad Kitty inhaling and exhaling pain and an angry expression. The gun teetered in her hand and lowered. Thirteen nodded seriously and turned on the car.
“Of course.”
The momentary lapse of selfishness gone, Thirteen searched for her GPS she hadn’t hooked up yet. Bad Kitty watched with annoyance and breathed to ease herself. After long, aggravating moments of Thirteen trying to understand how to make the device work, enough pain wracked the woman seated beside her, and Bad Kitty’s arm shot over and gripped Thirteen’s wrist tightly and gave her an angry look.
“JUST. FUCKING. DRIVE.”
Thirteen’s wince didn’t last. She nodded with the acquiescence reserved for those suffering tremendously in an awkward position.
“Fine. Screw it. Not like I know where a hospital is.” Thirteen said, shifting the car into reverse as Bad Kitty grit her teeth.
“I’ll direct you.”
And they were off driving in silence. Thirteen’s mind raced at the circumstances and how they’d veered the plans for her day off-track. She wondered if she’d have time to get a workout in after she’d driven her passenger to the hospital. After all, Thirteen thought, she didn’t know this person. “Bad Kitty”, as she’d introduced herself and never corrected, was effectively just a financial backer who’d expressed an extreme interest in Thirteen’s wrestling career. It wasn’t until they’d made past the first set of lights that Thirteen remembered the details of their last meeting.
“I thought you were 6 months pregnant. Isn’t—“
“Maybe it’s 7? I miscounted? I have no fucking clue. Either way. This thing’s coming whether I want it to or not. Turn right here.”
Thirteen gulped again and did as directed watching as Bad Kitty beside her clutched the arm of the door tightly, white-knuckled with a cringe that looked like it owned her entire body.
“Can I get you some Tylenol… or…”
Bad Kitty’s head turned with a look that answered for her, as if to say, ‘I don’t think Tylenol is gonna cut it, bitch.” Thirteen gripped both hands to the wheel and floored it as much as traffic would allow.
“Tell me… something.“ Bad Kitty sighed trying to master the pain of her pregnancy, “Anything. Get my mind off this.”
“I, uhm, well, I... cut a promo without realizing it. Almost put the kibosh on a sponsorship deal, but —“
“Yeah. That’s great. Tell me who the hell you’re defending your belt against at Monarchy.” Bad Kitty breathed quickly in step with a mind apparently traveling faster than the Prius’ top speed. Thirteen’s face lightened a little, happy to get her mind off the forecast of what Bad Kitty giving birth really meant to her.
“Alexis Terry.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. How the fuck many Terrys are there and why the fuck has nobody shot them all, yet?” The news seemed to ease the pain a little. Bad Kitty relaxed in the passenger seat. Thirteen chuckled.
“She’s not that bad. Honestly, I can’t believe I’m actually facing her. She’s practically a living legend.” Bad Kitty looked bemused. Thirteen marveled inwardly at the match before her.
“Left here.” And Thirteen turned the car and maintained her excitement.
“It’s funny how things come full circle. It was a Terry who claimed the Monarchy Championship at Monarchy’s first big event. Now another one is here to try to claim it again at the federation’s second. And it’s Alexis Terry to boot! God, I was such a huge fan of hers back in Galveston.” Bad Kitty guffawed loudly then winced and gripped the armrest in pain. Thirteen looked to her with concern. Bad Kitty shook her head.
“Was?”
“I don’t know. It’s a lot different to see her now than it was 4 years ago.”
“Do tell.”
Thirteen watched the road open up before her. She drove in earnest, a wistful smile forming on her lips…
-------
January 15th, 2012.
Dingy is the word for a locker room like this. Rusted lockers hang open and empty. A mounted television with poor reception blares loudly.
RILEY STEVENS:
“What a match this will be. Alexis was after Faith the moment she entered this company and now we finally see these two fight for the belt here tonight.”
OLIVER THIBODAUX:
“And Alexis is going to tear it away from this scrawny little girl.”
“What a match this will be. Alexis was after Faith the moment she entered this company and now we finally see these two fight for the belt here tonight.”
OLIVER THIBODAUX:
“And Alexis is going to tear it away from this scrawny little girl.”
Thirteen watched the blurry screen as she slid the tape calmly between her fingers, and wrapped her knuckles. Both hands taped, her back straightened, and rested her palms on her knees and watched Faith Simpson and Alexis Terry square off with a deep, thoughtful inhale.
Outside that locker room waited her own match up in a local ring, with a bare-bones crowd of faithful and seedy all at once to behold her performance.
This was not Galveston Island Wrestling by a long shot.
Thirteen wondered what that must be like. The big time. She wondered what Alexis Terry’s locker room must look like, what it felt like to have that many eyes on her, to feel that spotlight, to be on the cusp of huge career-defining moment.
Inspired, she stood and began to shadow box, throwing trained kicks into the air, careful not to strain herself, listening to the match as she did, imagining it was her fighting Faith Simpson. Thirteen pictured breaking out of Faith’s armbar submission and slamming her face to the canvas. Thirteen bounced in place feeding her adrenaline.
“There she is.” Thirteen felt her back bristle, her body tensed at the sound of his voice. It was so typical of him to walk in on something private. She didn’t need to turn to see him or who was with him.
Gary Weston.
He was something like a promoter, but far worse. Two men stood behind either of his shoulders like dreadful, violent pillars as he stalked towards her.
“Remember what we talked about?”
She gritted her teeth and turned finally to regard him coldly.
“I can’t do it.”
She swallowed hard and fearful as he glared at her, stepped forward and cupped her mound through her boxing trunks firmly and possessively. Her whole body trembled with the thought of what would happen here and now. He glared at her knowing she was all bark and no bite. He was the jailer and he’d thrown away the keys.
“You will.” He loomed and intimidated easily. Thirteen’s eyes fluttered and she cringed. She’d tried to fight back before. Gary Weston could see the thought crossing her mind before he stepped back and straightened his collar.
“You’ll take the dive. Cause that’s what you’re here for.”
JAMAL JACKSON:
“Here is your winner…and NEW GIW LEGACY CHAMPION…ALEXIS TERRY!”
“Here is your winner…and NEW GIW LEGACY CHAMPION…ALEXIS TERRY!”
Thirteen looked cross down to the floor and nodded a grudging assent. Alexis Terry never had to take a dive, she bet.
“Good girl. Now come on. Let’s get you out there.”
Resignedly she nodded.
“All right. I just need something from my locker.”
Gary Weston bowed his head with sardonic grace and allowed her enough room to move to her locker. She swung the door open, trying unsuccessfully to hide her frustration. The sound of the metal clanged off Gary’s face just as Faith Simpson rolled from the ring clutching her nose.
With a knowing cringe, Thirteen slowly moved the rusty locker door aside to see what she already knew. Blood leaked down Gary Weston’s face, the two men behind him had propped him up.
“Oh…” Thirteen’s heart sunk, watching as Gary Weston stood under his own power clutching an obviously broken nose.
-------
“That’s funny. I was actually at that show.” Bad Kitty muttered. “Wasn’t as impressive or memorable, really.”
“Maybe not. To be fair, that was the night I got charged with assault. So, maybe it was memorable on account of the domino that fell and brought me to prison.”
The car had stopped behind a back up of vehicles. Thirteen’s fingers tickled the tips of her knuckles as she palmed the steering wheel fighting off a sense of sudden bitterness at the thought of divergent paths, and bad luck and how unsavory this upcoming match could turn out. Bad Kitty adjusted herself in her seat, readying for a well-thought out diatribe.
“So here’s what you do, k? Match strategy time. Alexis Terry goes for her stupid Superkick Party bullshit, and… VOILA, you sidestep it, turn the leg sideways and SMASH your fucking elbow down into the side of that bitch’s knee so the bone splinters, leg turns sideways into a funny looking L; then wrench and twist the leg from the socket, bingo-bango that drunken bitch never walks again.”
Bad Kitty swiped her hands together as though ridding her palms of rubbish. Thirteen eyed her.
“That’s illegal.”
“All part of the show. You wanted full circle. Do the damn world a favor and send that bitch to permanent rehab. Now what the FUCK is taking this traffic so long?” Bad Kitty’s fingers clenched the car seat. The contractions appeared to be increasing.
“Know what your problem is?” Thirteen looked worried, about to open her mouth. Bad Kitty continued.
“You’re too damn soft. You need to get angry. What good does it do when you shake everyone’s damn hand before you fight them? You’re like the GUMBY of wrestling. Trying to make friends with these people? Going easy on them? Go for their damn throat. That’s what you do. No mercy. You looked ridiculous in that 4CW promo. You always look ridiculous. You could be breaking backs, and ending careers. Instead you go around hoping the best person wins. Wishing them good luck? What fucking cloud do you live on? Is good will and the threat of bad luck the only spark you have?”
“You said you admired that about me.” Thirteen pointed out.
“Yeah well, that was before I had a human being threatening it’s way out of my vagina. Fuck. It’s ironic you see this upcoming match as some sort of revolution in the space-time continuum. Why the hell are you named Thirteen, anyway?”
“I don’t really know. I can’t remember everything before I was brought to America. It was already my name. They said I was bad luck. That’s all I know. The name stuck ever after.”
Bad Kitty’s fingers clenched and unclenched from obvious pressure. The traffic jam slowly began to clear.
“I got news for you. It’s a stupid fucking name.”
“Well, it’s the only one I have, so—“
“Ever thought of CHANGING it?”
“Of course I have. But I have no idea what else to call myself.”
“How about Debra? Karla? Minerva? There’s hundreds of names. Use your imagination.”
The aggravation in the vehicle was only tempered by the mutual knowledge that stress occurs during pregnancy. Thirteen’s fingers gripped the wheel with the same level of tension as Bad Kitty’s did her car seat.
“Maybe so. But this name sets me apart. It tells a story at the same time as issues a challenge. It’s as if God--"
“Yeah, stop right there. There is no such thing as fate, or karma, or God, or whatever. You really believe in that shit? Like your name denotes you as some singular experiencer of bad luck the likes of which never before seen by the millions and billions of people all having a bad day?”
“Maybe we should talk about something else, you’re getting worked up—“
“Did you know that diamonds aren’t actually rare?”
Bad Kitty eyed Thirteen matter-of-factly. Thirteen sighed and tried to accelerate down the lane-way.
“That’s right. It’s simulated need. There’s tons of the damn things. There’s not a single special thing about a diamond. DeBoers or whoever withholds the supply in order to justify charging thousands of dollars for something anyone could readily find on their own. Hell, some man eager to prove his love to his girlfriend isn’t doing something special when he buys her a diamond. He’s just wasting money. You aren’t special, chickadee. Right now, like Alexis Terry was 4 years ago, you’re the flavor of the federation’s month. Wait till the bigger, better deal shows up. Than that person will be the thing everyone needs until the next thing comes along. It isn’t until you realize that nobody’s special that you’re able to transcend the bullshit business your hearts so dead set on competing in. You’ll end up just like Alexis Terry is. Then, finally, you’ll know there is no God. End of story.”
Thirteen pressed down on the accelerator and changed lanes feeling more tense than her passenger who continued.
“You are unlucky, but not any more unlucky than anyone else. What, 4 years ago while some loser who ain’t shit kick started her career with a lucky break while yours floundered? Turn left here. I sure hope you’re not using some foolhardy notion of karma to fuel your career? Bad luck is your gimmick, is that it? Well, I got one for ya. Do you want to know what bad luck really is?”
A darkly serious look switched onto Bad Kitty’s face, the pain seemed disappear as the traffic thinned out.
“4 years ago, while you were going to prison for an accident. A bright, talented young wrestler was being raped live in a ring before a 50,000 strong pay-per-view audience, not counting the millions watching at home, all of whom thought it was all part of the show. THAT is bad luck.”
Thirteen blinked and eyed her passenger who looked out the window vacantly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. There’s no such thing as bad luck or whatever. Only decisions. Some are forced upon us. Some aren’t forced. They told me to make of it what I could. I decided to spend the rest of my wrestling career doing to men what that one man had done to me. And I was good at it. And now look at me.” Bad Kitty’s hands gently cupped her distended tummy. Thirteen watched a placid look of sadness creep over her face.
“Once again, beholden to a man and left with no decisions.”
Thirteen gulped again, remembering the rest of Bad Kitty’s words to her in their last meeting.
“You know, what you said before?”
“Huh?” As if awoken, Bad Kitty frowned and thought about it.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“What if that’s a decision you can make? I mean, my career is just ramping up, you know? I’m in no position to raise a child.” A sigh. Bad Kitty slid her palms soothingly over her tummy in contemplation of what was coming whether she wanted it to or not.
“I know.” A pause. It wasn’t as though there’d been a breakthrough, but Thirteen had learned an awful lot more about Bad Kitty in this one car ride than she had previously known. She looked to her with sympathy as she saw the H road sign denoting an approaching hospital.
“Did you have a name picked out?”
Bad Kitty shook her head. Thirteen could see the vaguest hint of a tear pooling in the corner of her passenger’s eye. Thirteen reached over carefully and softly massaged Bad Kitty’s shoulder. Bad Kitty was almost startled by it, her eyes drifting from the hand slowly being removed from her shoulder to eye Thirteen.
“I was going to abort the baby. I didn’t.”
“That’s great.”
Thirteen offered her a look of congratulations. Bad Kitty’s head hung, and she gave a sniffle. They drove in silence, Thirteen watching the hospital approaching in the distance.
“I came here to rub salt in whatever wounds I thought you had.” Thirteen bit her lip and glanced back at the now second replica Championship belt in her position. Bad Kitty sniffled again.
“I held you at gunpoint for no reason. Every time I’ve approached you I’ve tried pushing you, testing you, seeing if you’ll erupt. I’ve tried to make you more like me, tried to reshape you in my image.” It was Bad Kitty’s turn to gulp loudly, visibly tensing from a contraction she managed to hide.
“And in the end it’s more like you’re making me more like you.”
“How do you mean?”
“So much anger at the world and all it’s done is… it’s meaningless. Then there’s you. It doesn’t matter what happens, you keep smiling, keep shaking hands, and wishing asshats good luck. I don’t get it. Fuck’s sakes they have you facing some bitch that doesn’t even deserve the shot for a title you rightfully won the first time around and STILL you don’t flinch, or waver. And now you got me thinking I actually can raise the kid who’s going to end up looking like He Who Shall Not be Named.”
Thirteen had swung the Prius around the traffic circle near the emergency entrance to the hospital and put the car into park. She looked with a winning grin to Bad Kitty.
“Out of lumps of coal can come diamonds,” she winked and got out of the Prius leaving Bad Kitty to consider. Moments later she arrived with a wheelchair and eased Bad Kitty onto it while an orderly stood by. Thirteen stepped to the side as Bad Kitty looked up to her with a smile, perhaps the first she’d given to Thirteen since they’d met.
“Thank you.” Thirteen blinked and watched the orderly wheel Bad Kitty through the automatic doors.
“I’ll be here.” She called and felt that feeling of contentment return, interrupted by a momentary frown.
“I don’t even know her name,” she muttered to herself and wandered into the emergency waiting room to find a seat.
The gym, the match, everything took a back seat as she finally glanced at the clock after hours of quiet moments devoid of much else other than a celebration of the miracle taking place.
It worked without even trying. The whole reason she’d continued in the wrestling business was currently giving birth. She’d inspired and influenced, and made someone who had every reason to despise it feel like maybe the world could be a good place to raise a child. Thirteen sat, and stretched and watched the television mounted on the wall and smirked at Bad Kitty’s advice on how to deal with Alexis Terry’s superkick and felt, of all things, a kinship with a woman who’d twice now held her at gunpoint.
Bad Kitty, as irredeemable as she’d seemed suddenly seemed redeemable. Anything seemed redeemable. Maybe Alexis Terry could turn around and make this championship bout into something the fans would never forget?
There was a god. There was karma. There was purpose. Thirteen felt sure of it as the nurse approached her still in her surgical scrubs.
“The baby was delivered successfully. It’s a girl.”
Heart warms. A smile. Happy tears.
“But there was a complication.”
The nurse’s face had darkened. Thirteen watched the nurse’s lips move but didn’t hear the first part.
“…an aneurysm. The mother could not be saved.”
Thirteen, like a trend that continued, gulped and felt her face numb. The rest must’ve been a blur because Thirteen found herself alone once again in the emergency room however many hours after agreeing with Bad Kitty, or whomever she’d been, that the terribly underweight baby currently being nursed and observed behind closed doors could be raised by the two of them.
The nurse had left a lot of the information with her to figure out in such a difficult time. No name. No details. Nothing to outline a next of kin, and Thirteen began to realize exactly who that was.
“THIRTEEN?!”
Glum, she looked up from the tiles to see a face amongst the haze that had suddenly populated her vision coming towards her. She shook her head without recognition.
“It’s me, Jack. Remember? Tried to shoot a promo with you like a month ago, remember?” Thirteen blinked with a slowly settling remembrance of her first shoddy attempt to cut a promo. She rubbed her head still numb.
“Oh—hi. What are you doing here?”
“Just wrapped on a news piece. What are you doing here?”
“I… uh…” She mumbled something about visiting a friend and felt guilty having downplayed something as significant as today and all it had brought.
“Oh, well, it’s really coincidental running into you, regardless. Been thinking about you, actually.”
Her face momentarily brightened, able to remove the unwanted thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Felt bad about what happened with your promo. Never seen anything like it. You know, we got some extra time now. We can get you that promo we tried to get you for your first Monarchy show. How’s that sound?”
Full circle, indeed. Bad luck will find you in the end. Thirteen searched herself and felt nothing but anger and despair. A promo. Now? Jack had already motioned his cameraman over.
“It’ll be no big deal. We’ll edit up for you and send it in to Challenge ASAP.”
She shifted where she stood. Why is it courage to stand up for yourself only comes when you need it the least, she wondered. She looked up and squinted in the bright light that now shone on her, the recording light turned on and Jack giving her the signal thumb’s up off to the side. Thirteen inhaled and looked into the camera once used to the lighting, and felt nothing but anger.
“Alexis Terry…. you don’t deserve this match. Out of all the people that do, you’ve once again managed to connive, cheat, and wiggle like a snake into this match for a championship your niece couldn’t hold on to. Artemis Kaiser deserves this match. Ryan Lecavalier deserves this match. Leon Cashmere deserved this match. Mister Walking Triple Crown himself deserves this match.
But you?
You didn’t deserve this match 4 years ago.”
She slowly shook her head at the camera, at Alexis Terry.
“Alcoholism has a lot of side effects. Any addiction does. But let’s talk about the legal one for sake of protecting the shred of dignity you have left.”
Thirteen lifted her hand to list with her fingers.
“Chronic alcohol abuse causes cirrhosis, but I’m hoping you know that. So let’s talk about the many things you probably don’t know. Heavy drinking can cause a form of nerve damage known as alcoholic neuropathy, which can produce a painful pins-and-needles feeling or numbness in the extremities as well as muscle weakness, incontinence, constipation, and other problems.
Then there’s the Cardiovascular conditions which increase your risk of stroke. Couple this with the reduced ability for your blood to carry oxygen means; frankly, you do not medically have the stamina required for this match. Based solely on what you yourself have freely admitted, no doctor in his or her right mind, without a bribe, would clear you after the history you’ve so blatantly advertised.
I won’t even get in to the fact that chronic alcoholism can lead to dementia. You’ve proven that on your own when you randomly attacked Jan Van Der Roost, a man you’d previously cast as beneath you, becomes suddenly the only target worth your notice.
I won’t go into all this, because it’ll become a lecture I don’t feel fit to give.”
She looked down with a disappointment before glaring at the camera once more.
“Two weeks ago Artemis Kaiser once again laid you out and worse, and a week before that you didn’t even make it out of the first round at the Coronation. That Piper Terry did was literally a stroke of Terry luck, and nothing else. I repeat: you. Do. Not. Deserve this. And you want to know what’s really sad about that, Alexis?
You know it.
You said so on Twitter 5 days ago in response to someone asking how losers can receive title shots. This isn’t a losing skid though, Alexis. This isn’t some grand re-ordering of the cosmos either. This is just reality finally catching up with a coke addict.
I used to want to believe the best about you. I really did. I actually followed your career. At one time I actually wanted to emulate it. But… the more I’ve looked at it, the more it’s starting to look like your career is emulating how mine USED to be. Bounce around from place to place, perpetually flushing yourself out once stark reality catches up to you again.
You’re not good enough for this belt. You’re not good enough for this business. And, really, if you do take this belt from me, I wouldn’t be surprised to see every single member of the roster once again line up in protest at another worthless Terry claiming a throne too high, too big, and too regal for your less than stately bearing.
Speaking solely for myself, I’ve been through far too much hell to accept you as… anything.
At best you’re a disappointment.
And I really doubt that’s going to sink in for you.
And that makes you even more disappointing.
I find myself almost hoping this is a trap. A cunning ambush. Some brilliant Terry master-plan tat might validate my previous faith in you. I honestly hope this is something more than what it is: a has-been challenging for something so far out of her reach.
Cause if it isn't...
Then what’s the point of this match?
Proof.
Again.
And inspiration for the real competitors in this company to genuinely step up like Ryan Lecavalier did last week.
Ryan, you want competition?
Come and get it.
Cause I think I’m already tired of the dead fish I have to fight this week.”
She shook her head, the camera waiting a moment before turning off. Jack smiled and made sure the lens cap had been off.
“Didn’t want a repeat of the last time!” Jack laughed, patting her gently on the back. Thirteen feigned a smile.
“Right. Wouldn’t want things to come full circle.”
