GONE GIRL

He waits outside the entrance doors for ten minutes, every morning, directly after they open. It’s been four weeks now but nothing has changed. He remains a believer. He doesn’t abandon a friend.

Dan Celetti is a good man, who approaches life with a positive attitude. Over the past two years he’s found a solid bond with the strange, wiry kid from Folsom. The kid uprooted his life to the wild and unpredictable silver state, from BRAZEN to PRIME, anonymous to stardom, nothingness to champion.

Dan watched the kid grow into a person of reasonable substance. He looked forward to their workouts. Now, however, Dan merely gazes into the empty parking lot as the sun rises behind him.

The kid doesn’t come around anymore.

He’s aware; he’s followed the story. Dan’s become quite the fan. Even when she tried to intervene during their sessions, and often she did, his support would never waiver.

Dan looks at his watch, sighs and heads inside. One more workout to himself; he was foolish to think otherwise. After all, there’s no her without him.

And no him without her.

“Godspeed, brother,” Celetti mumbles softly into the morning sky. “I hope one day you can finally understand…”

His voice trails as the automatic doors close behind him.

“You never needed her to begin with.”

—

GONE GIRL A true love story An honest friendship “We’re so cute, I wanna punch us in the face.”

—

The man on the other side of the mirror, who does he resemble? Most importantly, what has he become? Life has a way of defining us beyond ourselves, through work, family and relationships. The man on the other side of the mirror stares back, into his own cold, dead eyes. Oh, they are dead. Lifeless. Barely a blink, not even a tear. Fluid left his eye sacs a long time ago. There is emptiness, a nothingness rummaging throughout his body. Months ago someone reached into the back of his head, sunk a hand down deep into the pits of his chest and tore as ruthlessly as possible. Heart, lungs, kidneys, it didn’t matter, each organ is vital. But in order to leave permanent damage, it takes two people, and four hands to tear real fucking hard.

Conspiracy.

In the end, these two pairs of hands left damage. The delicate female fingertips, laced with pink nail polish, weren’t so delicate anymore. The other pair of hands, well, for the longest time he didn’t know who they belonged to. He thought they were fingers made of glue. The pure, babyface stallion with the sleek mustache, ripping away at his insides, in cahoots with her this entire time. Then he thought the fingers belonged to the man who took his championship away. The crownless king, cheating on his own Amazing Life Partner. The irony.

The man in the mirror went through the entire roster and considered everyone as the suspect.

Needless to say, the only person he didn’t consider was the culprit.

But that is a story for another time. For now, the man in the mirror can’t seek vengeance. Next week, his opponent is looking to collect his own payback from a third round loss in the 2023 Almasy Tournament.

The man on the other side of the mirror doesn’t care. Go ahead, emerald child, seek your revenge, give this tormented soul another battle scar. Internal, external, the damage all blends together these days. He can no longer feel a heart inside his chest or blood pumping from organ to extremity. When you step into the ring with the man in the mirror, oh apex of wrestling, you will see the physical scars. Clumps of hair loss from pulling out patches in fits of frustration. He is punishing himself for believing the people who loved him the most wouldn’t hurt him.

How fucking foolish.

A black eye. Gouges scattered across his arms. Purple welts on his legs. These are in plain view as the man in the mirror looks himself over, standing idly in his black wrestling shorts.

Most of these injuries are self-inflicted. Others belong to the Red Russian Man. The communist ruler requires excellence and fights with an iron fist.

But this is what the man in the mirror wants. It’s what he’s asking for. It’s what he deserves. Pain and physical abuse.

The man in the mirror demanded the truth reveal itself. He NEEDED to know who slept with his wife. He got what he asked for.

A harmless kid from Warrensburg, Missouri castrated him in front of the world. The man in the mirror hasn’t spoken to a soul in weeks. He doesn’t have a clue where he is. But he knows he’s booked. He’s going to wrestle. He will find a way to Reno. It’s a plea for the end. Maybe this is how he goes out with a whimper. End him, Kerry. Woe to the vanquished, like your motto.

Finish what he couldn’t.

He was never a great wrestler to begin with. Like the misguided kid from Warrensburg, maybe the man in the mirror won’t fight back. Instead, he will let the Pacific Blitzkrieg tear him apart. Dissect him limb from limb. It’s only fair. It’s a pending receipt.

Not just for the Almasy. But to be so foolishly in a love that was never there.

Kuroyama would never fall for it.

He can still hear her. Her voice bounces in his skull. So the man in the mirror slowly raises his hands, wrapping fingers around strands of hair and starts pulling.

Out come the follicles, one by one. But the man realizes, unlike the black eye and marks on his arm, he’s not doing this to inflict self-harm.

It’s to get her out of his mind.

Hopefully, for good.

— — — — —

Jonathan-Christopher Hall’s iPhone 8 Plus

Gaming Guy iMessage 10/20/24 07:13

-Hey, bro! -You there!? -Mr. Wall of Text Man COMING THRU like the Kool-Aid dude LOLOLOL -Haven’t talked to ya in a while. Wanted to see how you’re holding up?

13:22

-Okay well get back to me whenever -I’m here if you need a friend -I’m not the most “serious” guy in the world but what you’re going through has to suck -Whenever, whatever, just shoot me a text -Oh yeah I saw you’re booked against Kerry. Awesome you’re still wrestling -If you need help or anything well, uh, I actually don’t really know Kerry well TBH -My brother does. I could give you his digits??? -Then again my brother doesn’t really “text” or anything -He might not even wanna help you lol -Okay kinda forget I said anything. My bad

16:06

-Listen, you ever wanna talk, I’m here

— — — — —

“Jonathan-Christopher, you’re probably the most hated man in PRIME right now. Are you the reason your wife cheated on you?”

Everyone told us, marriage is hard work. But it wasn’t hard for us and Vickie. She was the first person who ever paid attention to us. Ever listened to us. Welcomed us. Our marriage wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone said.

You remember the night we met her father? How nervous was she? She despised going. We stayed in a hotel, she told us about her family - her entire family. She said she was going to disclose everything once and never wanted to bring it up again.

You honored this request.

You told her mother died from an overdose. Don’t remember much else, we were too young. Jumped around in foster homes, until your grandfather took us in. Befriended your cousin, Tristan, and ultimately didn’t know what to do with our life. Bounced from low income job to low income job.

Met her.

PRIME was supposed to be a love story. A Hallmark movie come to life. The boy with the sad internal demeanor, saved by the woman who wanted true love.

IT’S IN OUR LAST NAME.

From night one, it was the opposite, a nightmare. Brandon Youngblood kicked us out of the tournament so fast, our collective heads were spinning. We begged and begged for another shot at the top. Our direction stalled and stalled.

Until it didn’t.

We were nurtured.

…Or were we?

For months you’ve spoken about this journey in a positive light. Everyone knows what happened.

Do they?

Do you?

I do. I know exactly what took place.

Your Amazing Life Partner told you to prove your love by winning the tournament. That’s not love. She demanded you win it all or else. Or else what?

She put unfair pressure on you to do something you weren’t supposed to. Was she simply unlocking your potential? You did end up winning.

NO. WRONG.

I said this has been a nightmare from day one. Sure, you achieved the trophy, defeated the world champion and became the focal point of this organization. That SHOULD be success. The story is written with a happy ending.

Then why are we here, Jonathan-Christopher? We are left with nothing.

Defeating Hayes Hanlon didn’t do shit. Win or lose, nothing changes. You’re not wrestling for her when she’s a million miles away.

What’s the point?

You can’t answer this, can you? It’s a nightmare, Jonathan-Christopher, and you’re the star of the show.

But nightmares are only realized when we wake up. Then we can address them.

Are you awake now, Jonathan-Christopher?

Or are you still sleeping?

— — — — —

Jonathan-Christopher Hall’s iPhone 8 Plus

Dora iMessage 10/21/24 09:22

-hey JC -tried to call a few times, left a couple messages, im worried -i know u said u felt awkward hanging out again -but ur my friend

12:27

-ur allowed to have friends JC -i told u before and i’ll tell u again i dont care that u lied about ur addiction i am not here to judge -my whole life everyone judged me for my addictions they think its easy to quit and i can just walk away from meth -easy to be on the outside looking in JC -easy to judge -so easy -i dont care if u go back to your wife or not -im here if u want to vent -in person, text, facetime -whenever -thinking of u -take care

— — — — —

April 8th, 2022. Las Vegas.

It wasn’t always like this.

In the late hours of the night, inside their new penthouse suite, he sobs uncontrollably while she wilters into a tiny little ball. They moved here only three weeks ago and yet the hope and joy has been sucked out of the bedroom rather immediately. The harsh realities of life… of wrestling. They thought he was ready. A 1-2 record says otherwise.

He sits on the edge of their bed, head in his hands, trembling. Failure. Cold and factual. Often sports are black and white. You win or you lose. Period. First, the Almasy Tournament. Second, the Five-Star Championship.

You lose. Period.

She sits at the upper end of their bed, feet nestled tightly into her body. They haven’t spoken since they got home. It’s the first time he’s truly felt negativity from her end. And yet, this might be in his head. She’s always been loving, nurturing and understanding. They’ve never had a hiccup.

It’s got to be his insecurities speaking.

It has to.

“Hey,” the voice is familiar and reassuring, as a small, dainty hand wraps around his shoulders, “don’t worry…”

He slowly removes his head from his hands and looks directly at her. He can tell she realizes how much this loss means and how hard he’s trying for her. Of course, it’s all for her.

She smiles.

Relief. It’s going to be okay. So this is what it feels like to be cared for?

“It’s a lot harder than it looks…” she lets out a light huff, “but that’s alright.”

They could watch film of the match and she could carefully point out the areas for improvement. But there’s a time and a place for this. She isn’t going to push.

“A loss is never final,” she exclaims, starting to run her palms across his back. “The great thing about wrestling is there’s always another match around the corner. Plenty of room to grow.”

He can hold on to this moment forever, if he could. He thought he was doomed. He thought they were doomed.

“Effort does not always equal results, my love,” she smiles politely again, resting her head on his shoulders. Such great insight.

“I’m here for the good and the bad.”

— — — — —

Life is finite, while time is limitless. But we are often pulled into the trap of believing our lives will go on forever. The people we are with will never leave. They will be who we need them to be, without exception. We fight so hard for a happy disposition and it is going to remain.

The man kisses his wife on his way out the front door. He waves goodbye to his three little children in the window, knowing he will see them when he comes back home from work. He clutches his favorite briefcase, gifted to him by his mother, who remains alive and well at the ripe age of eighty-four. He wears his lucky baseball cap, the Boston Bruins of course, for the fifteenth time this month. We fall into this pit of familiarity, we think time will afford us these opportunities for as long as we desire. Probably forever. In reality, how many times will the man actually kiss his wife goodbye? There’s a number, it is limited. He can only wear that lucky hat x-amount of times, too.

Time is infinite and yet tomorrow is never guaranteed. Because we, the human race, are actually fragile.

It’s anxiety-inducing to consider. It’s existentialism. The man assumes he will come home to his wife and children but there’s no promise. The man’s mother, at the age of eighty-four, could die tomorrow, or live to be one-hundred-and-seven.

Exact certainty isn’t possible, although we fall into the trap thinking it is.

Jonathan-Christopher stares in the mirror. How long has he been there? He thinks of the night he lost the Five Star Championship. He thinks of slow dancing in a Vegas hotel room before the start of his PRIME career. He remembers BRAZEN. Watching extremely talented athletes like Oscar Burns, Kerry Kuroyama and Gunnar Van Patten. He dreams of falling into Vickie’s arms while they scour over footage of his wrestling matches, nitpicking appropriately, and fine tuning his abilities so he could break away from developmental and become his own man.

This seemed like eons ago.

In the depths of Jonathan-Christopher’s mind, he knew to cherish what he had. That’s why he tried hard. There is an end to life. The man who commutes to work will one day watch his eighty-four-year-old mother die. He will die. Optimistically, the man will outlive his three children, but it’s not a promise. While statistics are on his side, there are exceptions to the odds.

They say 50% of marriages end in divorce.

Jonathan-Christopher believed he was doing right. He did everything she desired. He tried hard. He cared. He loved. Selfishly.

If only he knew there were a finite amount of times he’d kiss his wife. If only he could have seen the number dwindling down to single digits.

Hit one.

He could’ve done something about it?

Back to pulling out his hair.

— — — — —

Jonathan-Christopher Hall’s iPhone 8 Plus

Dad iMessage 10/22/24 04:11

-Son! -Yooooo!!! -First off, did you see my boy Freddie Dick has a title shot against Coral Avalon!? -He’s going to avenge YOU, son! -We talked and he’s going to wrestle this match FOR YOU! -I got the gimp mask from your closet, I hope it’s OK for me to use! YOU’LL SEE! Bahahaha! -I gave Freddie lots of ideas for a super kickass promo! He’s going to DRIVE the fans to the door! PRIME will make hand over FIST money now! -Fuck yeah energy! -OH, son, brother, I haven’t heard from you in a while! I saw you pump Adam Ellis good, that dipshit had it coming! I tried looking for you after and couldn’t find ya! -Get @ me this week, kiddo! We can iron some stuff out!

06:00

-Oh yeah top of the hour, go get them at the gym, son! -PUT IN THAT WORK!!! -BOO

07:00

-YA

08:01

-KASHA!!!!!!!!

— — — — —

Silence isn’t so bad after parts of her voice have been removed from his mind. He continues standing there, at the mirror. He can barely recognize who he sees.

Maybe that’s the point.

Defeating Hayes Hanlon did nothing. Beating Kerry Kuroyama also won’t matter. Wrestling matches are not going to be the answer. He has to change his physical appearance, hoping it will shift his mental disposition.

She physically left and this shifted his mental disposition.

Enjoy your success while you can, Kerry. A solid championship run, friends and family to count on. Nothing lasts forever. Soak it up.

He finally pulls his head away from the mirror and peers towards the ground. Clumps of blonde hair cover his feet. Yes, her voice still sneaks inside his head, once or twice a thought. But it’s not the only thing he hears anymore. There are audible cries from Adam Ellis. Ginny, whom he’s never met, has somehow found residence. She yells and screams, begging for the truth she most recently discovered are lies. The Red Russian Man, with his bellowing voice, finds a way in there as well. Threatening. Imposing. Relentless.

He kneels, rolling his hand through strands of dead hair.

Did he do this to himself? He didn’t feel shit.

He closes his eyes to seek clarity. All of the voices need to go. Because the only sounds Jonathan-Christopher wants to hear from now on…

Are his.

— — — — —

Jonathan-Christopher Hall’s iPhone 8 Plus

Gaming Guy iMessage 10/24/24 23:33

-Hey dude -I found something. -Uh… it’s interesting. -REALLY think you should see it!

23:55

-Yo bro, I know you prolly don’t wanna answer ATM but I think you should REALLY see this! -I typed REALLY in ALL CAPS twice so you know it’s serious -Oh I guess 3 times ALL CAPS lol

10/25/24 00:11

-In fact… -I’ll come to you. -Stay strong, buddy. It’s gonna be okay!

— — — — —

By the way, how is she doing?

Behind the steering wheel, blonde hair flowing freely, driving at a reckless 85mph without a fuck in the world. Devilish, scheming look on her face.

Initially, she was blindsided. But no one takes advantage of her. Now, she’ll develop a new plan. She will win and get everything her little heart desires.

Nobody makes a fool of her.

She knows him too well, so she knows what he’s doing. He’s probably tearing himself apart, mentally and physically.

She’d bet on it. Wouldn’t even need daddy’s money, either.

Existentialism? Fuck outta here with nonsense. She lives in the moment, the future is pointless if you can’t bask in the present. Life is about right now. Immediacy.

Give in or get left behind.

Which is exactly what she’s doing. Leaving behind.

Goodbye, sweet prince. She will drive away, never to be seen again. Vanish into the abyss. Effort does equal results. She ran out of patience. And he simply wasn’t good enough.

She’s gone.

Gone for good.