MESSAGES

March 29, 2024

The events of the day have irrevocably destroyed my brain. Which part? You could start a checklist.

Could it be the assault, which has apparently resulted in a broken nose? Or could it be RIA saving me? Or me losing my match?

I’m sure there are other potential reasons for this.

Scratch that; there isn’t. It definitely is the assault. Fuck Arthur Pleasant. Ensure everyone knows I said that, just in case I can't for a while. There is a ringing sound in my ears, irritating enough to make me want to claw them out (the ears — though the ringing sound going away would be nice as well). A bright light is forcing me to squint — something I was already doing on account of the swelling and tears invading my eye sockets. No part of this is fun. I want it all to fucking end. Now.

I recognize Jamaal and Cory's faces from time to time but no one else’s. I’m willing to bet Lindsay Troy is in that posh office of hers, laughing her ass off at me. I’m positive David is in Buffalo, ready to defy his doctor's orders not to fly yet to get back at Pleasant. Maybe I wouldn't be in this situation if he’d done that in the first place.

As much as I want to blame him for this, I know it’s not David’s fault. He’d be here if he could. He’s going to be pissed, though, so I guess I’ll have to call him and walk him off the ledge. Same with my Dad. Not to mention figuring out how to explain all of this bullshit to my daughter. Oh, great. Now, I'm making to-do lists in my mind when I'm broken and battered. That's cool, brain. It's not like I have anything else to worry about.

The pain threatens to swallow my head whole. Heat and pain radiate from my nose, confusing my need to sneeze. Out of an involuntary movement, I press my hand against my nose — as if I'm going to sneeze. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That shit hurt. Let's not do that again.

The fucker broke my nose. Fuck Arthur Pleasant.

All I want to do is get the fuck out of here. Fuck all these people. But sitting up only makes them push me down onto the bed again. Thanks, guys; that doesn’t trigger any past PTSD or anything. Women just love being restrained against their will. Just let me go. I promise I'll be a good girl and not rip every one of Arthur's rent-a-teeth out of his mouth. Please, just let me go. I can feel the fury in my chest, begging to be let out, to the point that I fear it will consume me and take over every thought.

Everything hurts like hell. My head. My face. My heart.

Your heart?

Yes, my heart. I feel broken inside. How dare you question me, mind?

Oh, love.

Why are you talking back to me? I didn't invite you to this conversation.

That's what we are here for. For you. To help mend you.

What? Why?

Because you are broken.

April 2, 2024

The pain has been unrelenting since the teef man attacked me brutally. The thought of tearing off my face has crossed my mind. Pain pills were provided, and while nice, they induce more sleep than I can allow since I’ve got a tiny human to take care of.

As I hobble from the bedroom to the living room, I pause to look at myself in the mirror, only to reveal a horror show in the reflection. I can't help but wish a ban was placed on all mirrors at the hotel. As I walk across the three-bedroom suite provided by PRIME, I’m greeted by silence and cream-colored stationery on the kitchen counter.

Rose—

Adeline was getting restless and figured you still needed some time to mend, so I took her for a day in London. We'll be at Hyde Park if you want to join us around lunch. Sending our love.

Love,

Lorelai and Adeline

I glance at the clock on the pastel-colored wall and see it's an hour past lunchtime.

"Fuck!" I exclaim with enough force for my voice to echo off the walls. A well-placed fuck can be pretty satisfying, but having lunch with my daughter would top the list of things that bring me joy (in case you were wondering - and I know you were). My head lowers in frustration, my left hand rubbing my forehead futilely, attempting to reverse time or improve my situation. Unfortunately, neither of those things happens.

I'm failing badly as a mother.

You’re not.

No, I don't have time for you. Go away.

Fine. We'll be here when you are ready for us.

Thank you. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the self-loathing. It's a skill I excel in. Shuffling around the corner, the cold floor sends chills up my bare feet. While opening the fridge, I grab a water bottle. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Grabbing the phone while balancing the icy plastic on my forehead is a disaster as the bottle falls from my hand, narrowly avoiding my foot. I ignore it and check my notification from PRIME Booker auto-text. With a sigh, I press my button and type in my passcode since Face ID can't recognize me with my swollen face. I read the message with growing dread.

You are not booked at ReVival 46.

A deep sigh escapes from my dry and cracked lips. As much as I yearn to fight and struggle for victory, I know I won't magically be healed by then like someone who has been cryogenically frozen on a boat. That privilege is only reserved for the eGG Bandits, and no one wants to be associated with them - even if Coral Avalon is part of their crew. Setting my phone down, I reach for the cold water bottle on the hard floor, pressing it against my forehead—a brief moment of relief. Tilting my head back and shutting my eyes, I allow the silence to seep into my bones.

April 19, 2024

I love the feel of Adeline’s breathing, steady against my chest, while running my fingers through her hair. It is a moment that I cherish and one day will no longer be. On the most challenging days, they calm me. I’d do anything to bottle it up when I need it again.

The pills and my little girl have dampened the pain I’ve been in. Moving her to her mattress, I tuck the duvet around her before kissing her softly on the forehead.

Peering out the slightly cracked hotel window, I glance at bustling London. The city is alive and vibrant as London moves below me. I’m rife with envy and desire to join them.

Instead, I close the window to keep Addie from getting sick and find myself sitting alone in the living room. Lorelai left earlier to go to a pub, embracing her newfound social life in London. Though worrying at times - especially since David entrusted his daughter's safety to me until he can travel next week - I know it’s vital for her to experience life.

Sitting down, my laptop and notebook are open before me. A Google search page opens while I research "endroits minces" and "thin places." The constant headaches and tears have halted my progress these recent weeks. Instead, I’m left with just my thoughts and questions, which repeat themselves.

Where is the village? What is the village? Who is the woman?

The third question holds a terrifying assumption, fueling my determination to find this place. A person’s face enters my mind, someone who might be able to help. Without thinking, my phone is in my hands, and I hover over the option to compose a new message. My mind tells me not to do it, but my heart screams to go ahead. My thumbs hesitate, unsure of what they are doing.

Sighing, I place my phone back on the table and lean back in my chair, reaching for the bottle of bourbon beside me. One sip later, I’m instantly regretting the sting hitting my nasal cavity.

Dumb me.

You're not dumb.

Go away.

Fiiiiiiine.

Hoping liquid courage would help, I reach for my phone again. Then it begins to vibrate. The Caller ID reads David Noble (dipshit). When did Lindsay change his contact name on my phone? I answer, putting it on speaker.

"Hey," I greet him. "How are you feeling? Has the doctor given you any updates?"

"Not until next week," David replies. "And don't try to change the subject."

"How am I changing the subject? You called me, and I answered. That's how conversations work."

There's a groan from the other end of the line, either due to David's annoyance with me (a common theme in our relationship) or from the pain of his cracked skull - which could also be attributed to me (the current pain, not the cracked skull). Either way, I don’t respond.

"The person who calls usually has a purpose for doing so," he says.

Another groan, this time from myself. "You spent too much time with Mary-Lynn," I say, referring to his ex-girlfriend and former manager, hoping to buy a moment.

"Nice try. Why did you think attacking Arthur Pleasant was a good idea?" David's tone is stern.

My eyes roll instinctively - it's a habit of mine.

"And stop rolling your eyes," David chides me. See? He knows me so well. I hate that he knows it, yet somehow love that he truly understands me. And no, not like that. A guy and girl can be just friends without being romantic. It's 2024, people. Get with the times.

"Look," I say defensively, "the man broke my nose and tried to trap me in a boiler room. I had to defend myself."

I can hear David's breathing.

"And you did just that - defend yourself," he agrees. "But it was still risky. You should have waited for me to come out there. I would have helped you handle everything."

"No," I quickly retort. "Enough was enough. I did what needed to be done. He's taken too much from us and caused too much harm. It had to mean something. And it did. Sure, I didn't expect Ivan and the Red Army to take things so far, but I won't turn down their support just because of our ideological differences. If anything, I'm grateful that I was able to get revenge when I did."

"I only wish I could have gotten my revenge after what he did to you," David mutters, his voice in anguish.

"If you want, I'll let someone else attack me, and then you can save me. How about starting with Dawkins?"

David pauses. "Don't joke. I'm serious. You need to be careful around other wrestlers."

I sip my drink, and the pain is less intense. Thank goodness for small mercies. "Are you talking about literal attacks or figurative ones? Because Bryan bumped into me, not the other way around. RIA must have followed my every move, considering how often she showed up. Do you want me to lock myself in my dressing room? Hide out in catering? Not show up at all?"

"Just...stop putting a target on your back."

A smile spreads, one that David can't see. “No matter what I do, a target will always be on my back. My mouth certainly doesn't help, but being a second-generation PRIME star isn't doing me any favors either. I'm the first-ever nepo-baby in PRIME history; people are always watching me."

I don't know if that's true or if I've convinced myself of it, but I say it confidently nonetheless. I could go on about how it feels to walk into a building knowing all eyes are on me, but I don't know if that's just my insecurity or if people think I don’t belong.

"Rose?"

I shake my head, trying to focus. "I'm sorry; I'm just lost in thought."

"Looks like the new card came out."

"Oh, it must have come out while I was on with you. Am I booked?"

"Yeah, against Sean O'Neill."

Sigh.

Leaning back in my chair, gazing out the window, I watch the lights of passing vehicles move with determination.

"Are you okay?" David interrupts.

I nod.

"Rose?"

"Oh, sorry. Yeah. It's just... a year ago, I never would have imagined I'd be wrestling in Paris. And yet here I am, two weeks away from it."

David falls silent this time. A year ago, he was living his own happy life. Now, he's attached to me for better or worse and ends up playing babysitter more often than he probably ever expected.

"What's on your mind, Davey?"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want me to call you what LT calls you?"

"I'd rather not."

"Okay then. What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about your upcoming match. I want to see you win your first victory."

I absentmindedly grab a black pen and doodle.

"You and me both, buddy." I doodle while David remains quiet on the other end.

"Fine," I finally say. "Let's talk about our next opponent."

He starts discussing his scouting plans - I swear, no one watches more wrestling footage than that man - as I pour another drink and prepare for another hour of O'Neill conversation.

Lucky me.

Luck—

No. Go away.

April 26, 2024

My hands grip the cold stone of the bathroom sink in my London hotel room. After days of intense training to prepare for O'Neill, my body aches with pain. I long for an ice bath, but instead, I stare at my bruised face in the mirror - bruises from Arthur Pleasant's attack. I gently press on them, feeling the residual pain as a source of motivation rather than exhaustion. Will it help me win against O'Neill? I can't be sure, but I refuse to enter the match on the defensive.

As I touch my nose, no longer throbbing with pain, I know I'm getting closer to being ready for my ReV 47 fight. Thank goodness.

An unwanted voice interrupts my thoughts. Annoyed, I grab my phone and try to focus on sending a message I've been avoiding all week. But before I can finish typing, I pause and look up at the bright fluorescent light above me.

I delete the message for the second time and dial a familiar number instead. It rings, and disappointment settles in my stomach as it goes to voicemail. My father has not responded to my calls or messages since I arrived in Europe five weeks ago. Panic tries to swallow me, but I push it away—he could be camping or out of service range. He deserves some time off after caring for me and Adeline this past year. That's what I'll tell myself for now.

BEEP.

"Hi, Dad," I say into the phone. I just wanted to check in with you. It's been a while since we talked, and to be honest, I'm starting to worry. I'm sure you're okay, but not hearing from you is strange, especially with everything happening."

I pause, realizing he is probably not even listening to these voicemails. But I continue anyway.

"Adeline is doing great. She loves London. Today, we went to a bookstore, and she spent hours browsing and reading books. Being here, away from our usual routines, has been wonderful for her growth. She's flourishing. When you see her again, you won't even recognize her."

I pace around my bathroom, grabbing a water bottle as I ramble.

"She talks about you a lot at night before she falls asleep. She misses you so much and can't wait to see you again. She starts crying whenever I tell her it won't be long. She has become so reliant on your presence without even realizing it. She loved having you around every day, but this is the first time she's been alone since Br—"

The name catches in my throat. Tears well up in my eyes, and I angrily shake my head.

"Anyway," I clear my throat, holding back the tears. "I have another match at ReVival 47. David has been coaching me over the phone until he can visit next week. He says he's feeling better since the skull fracture, but the doctors want him to take it easy and make sure he's fully healed. They were worried about potential long-term effects and if he would even be able to wrestle again. But thankfully, he's healing faster than they expected. That's good news, in my opinion."

I twist the cap on the bottle and take a sip, trying to compose myself.

"Losing to RIA shook my confidence a bit. I think David has noticed. He's been focusing on my strengths in that match and how to apply them to my match with Sean O'Neill."

Another sip of water.

"David thinks he'll have more confidence in his step in Paris. Can you believe that? I'm going to wrestle in Paris. You've probably wrestled here a bunch of times, Dad. But for me, it's something special."

Pause.

"I need to stay focused, though. Thankfully, my nose is healing nicely. Doctors don't think it'll interfere in my match against O'Neill, which means I've got no excuse. This is my opportunity to show the world. Sean might be flying high after Culture Shock, but I can bring him back down. This is my chance to make my mark on PRIME."

I hope, at least.

"I've been researching thin places and found someone to help me. I need to stop getting in my head and reach out to him."

A beat.

"Right, I should get going. Check-in with us when you get a chance, Dad. I love you. Bye."

As I hit the red button to end the call, I looked at myself in the mirror. As much as I want to have Sean O'Neill's confidence, I feel one step away from adding another loss to my record and being viewed as a joke in PRIME.

Excellent mental health I've got going there.

April 30, 2024

Paris. For some reason, I can never fully relax and enjoy these cities when I'm here for work. Instead, I spend more time in the gym, preparing for my upcoming match against O'Neill. I'm not taking advantage of the moment; I'm squandering it all.

Foolish me.

But as evening falls and Adeline sleeps, I can't help but be captivated by the city lights. Each one adds to the grandeur of Paris, and I get lost imagining who might be living near them, their stories, and why they are there. My mind wanders frequently, and pulling myself away from my thoughts is becoming more challenging.

I have my phone in hand, trying to focus on ReVival 47, but also keeping in mind the other reason I am in France - to find a particular place that has been appearing in my dreams too often. There is someone who could help me, but reaching out to them is proving difficult.

I tap the Messages button and start typing for the third time, then delete it all. I decided to start with something more manageable.

Rose Hi.

I watch as the message is delivered. After a few seconds, a chat bubble with ellipses appears.

Cou-Garçon ……Rose? Or the someone else?

Rose No, it's me. Thanks for answering.

Cou-Garçon It’s fine. TBH, I completely forgot that I gave you this number. ………why did I give you this number again?

Rose Yeah, it was shortly after I got there. You laughed about how funny it was to see Tom drugged on the stage at UltraViolence.

Cou-Garçon Ohhhhhhhh OUAIS, yes, I remember now, bon. The fucking Tom. Ha. Anyway. I assume you send the text to discuss something besides the fucking Tom, non?

Rose Correct. I need your help. I've been dreaming about a village in France but don't know where to begin. It might be easier to explain if we can meet up. Maybe after ReVival 47?

Cou-Garçon ……………you want me to help you with a dream. Oui, yes, of course, I am the man for this job. I’ll send you the pin, I know a place where I can still blend in. 7:00, Sunday morning.

Rose Perfect, thanks, Julien.

As I place my phone on the table beside me, the phone vibrates again. I don't answer it; instead, I reflect on how weird it is that I'm getting help from the Neck Collector himself.

Strange bedfellows, indeed.

Strange ind--

Go to bed.

Fine. Bye.