Flush and Grow

“–never should’ve come around all this bullshit four years ago!” Bex Savage didn't waver as she paced forward in the halls of Arthur Ashe Stadium, her voice reverberating off the corridor walls covered with images of tennis greats having played in US Open's of years past. “Biggest...biggest mistake of our fucking lives!”

Angel tried to keep up with the strides of her friend, her sister, her ride-or-die, but she was unable; too much space had opened between them, and all she managed to do was step into the trail of blood from Bex's nose that had gushed onto the blue carpet. “Hold up–”

“–naw, naw, fuck holding up–”

If Angel was unable to keep pace with this march, then Ami was hopeless. “--Bex, you need to get your nose–”

Stop. Savage violently veered from her path, eyes quivering, nostrils flaring, the damage left behind from the Pop Culture Phenoms cascading over her lips. A finger stabbing in their manager’s direction. “I don’t remember asking for YOUR two fucking cents–”

Angel had nearly caught up. “CALM–”

“–what THE FUCK we doing here, Ange? Huh? What?” Taut muscle, shaking. “Go out there, get embarrassed–”

Ami tried to intercede. “--your nose might be broke, you might have a concussion–”

“–naw naw naw, my mind is clear as fucking day!”

“–Ami is right, Bex–”

“–they beat our fucking ass and we ain’t even in their league...mistake...one BIG fucking MISTAKE–”

The Merry Mischief Maker was anything but at this moment. “--you need to calm down and take a–”

“–SHUT THE FUCK UP BITCH–”

Angel’s eyes startled wide. Rebecca wasn’t just frustrated; she was drooling with rage, the spittle all the more stark with the crimson from her nostrils. She tried to speak, tried to stop her partner’s tantrum from causing even more damage, but she couldn’t find the words.

Not before Bex was unloading with another volley. “–WE COULDN’T EVEN GET A FUCKING TWO COUNT ON THEM, ANGE! A TWO COUNT–”

Any sense of compassion in Ami Troy was gone the moment she had her head bitten off. “–YOU GOT A PROBLEM–”

A glower in her direction. “–WHY DON’T YOU FUCK OFF ON OVER WITH KERRY AND THE REST OF THEM VAE VICTIS CAN’T SIT WITH US BITCHES–”

Finally, Angel could take no more. “–REBECCA!”

But the dam had already burst, Bex drawing a bead on her. “–a boot on my chest–”

“–STOP–”

“–didn’t pin me didn’t wrap me up just put a boot on my chest LIKE I’M A PIECE OF SHIT–”

Ami would have launched into her if not for Angel pulling her back “–YOU SURE AS HELL AS ACTING LIKE ONE RIGHT NOW-”

“–YOU’RE TOO BUSY GETTING BIG UPPED AND CHEERED MORE THAN ANYTHING WE FUCKING DO JUST BY GRABBING A GUY–”

Quinley was caught in the middle of the inferno, powerless in its wake. “–THIS has gone too far–”

“–it’s YOU and ME, Ange, and the rest of all ya’ll” a twisting of the knife toward little Ami, “AIN’T SHIT SO GET TO STEPPING!” She didn’t wait to see if the invitation was accepted; Bex turned and stormed away, and within a few moments, a door slammed shut. Their locker room.

The anger flooded Ami’s eyes with tears, but they refused to fall as she stood there, quaking, ready to burst. Angel knew it, could sense the scalding hurt her friend felt, and reached out to try and grab hold of her and hug it all away. “...god I’m so sorry Ami...” Her words were soft.

Troy tried to push away, but the attempt was meek. “...Angel…what the fuck, man...”

“–I’m sorry baby, she’s angry–”

“–that’s not right–”

“–you did nothing wrong–”

“–I’m just trying to help–”

“–I know–”

“–fuck her–”

“–I agree.”

Biggest mistake of her life. 

Biggest mistake of their lives.

Four years ago, The New World Trash accepted the invitation to compete in the Milo Flynn Cup. They’d been scouted and applied. The decision might’ve seemed easy…

It wasn’t.

At the time, they were unknowns. Relatively new to the sport. Wrestling wasn’t a full time thing, instead, the dream they chased on the weekends. Angel was working dead-end retail gigs, while Bex kept them afloat with her welding certificate. Everything was so sudden. A big risk. Angel had to quit her job. Bex nearly lost hers.

They took the shot at that Flynn; they walked out having lit the wrestling world ablaze while drinking malt liquor from the cup.

But now...

Alone, Rebecca Savage fumed and raged, wounded, furious…

...but more than that…

...embarrassed.

Never in her life, in any sport, in any contest, had anyone so emphatically disrespected and disregarded her as much as Elise Ares did the moment she stepped on her chest rather than going for a normal pin. She felt so helpless…

...so useless…

Frustration tears a tantrum, and the fuel within her chest was burning rapidly. Soon, it would burn out. But the notion creeping into the back of her head didn’t need the heat to die down; she’d more than crossed the line with Ami, had more than hurt her. And she knew that. She knew and realized it. And even as fury kept her conniption going, self disgust and loathing was already finding purchase in her guts. Sloshing about.  

Fermenting. 

Biggest mistake of their lives.

Sure...

Sure...

“You know you really crossed the line, Rebecca.”

That name. Not Bex. Not Becca. Not even Becky, which just felt gross whenever she heard it. Whenever Angel focused on using her government name, things were serious. An hour later. The rage had burned through. The nosebleed was stopped by a pair of wicks. Savage merely sat in her locker, head hung.

Sense had come home to roost.

There was no honeymoon period.

Angel’s movements were haggard. Loud. Purposeful. Hands stabbing at her clothes, her belongings, throwing them in her bag. “And it’s not like you even care–”

Her head drew upward, watching the manic movements of her sister as she stood there in her comfortable post match wear, all showered and washed. Clean from it all. When had she gotten her change of clothes? Was it during one of those moments when she’d disappeared into the stalls and, with the anxiety having taken full root, emptied her stomach? Three times over. All that had been left was bile.

“–I get being pissed off, I do. I really do. But there’s being pissed off and using it somewhere it matters and there’s launching it at your sisters. And after everything...after all we’ve been through...”

Bex wanted her vape. God, she wanted her vape more than anything. A few drags. Stop the mind from racing. Get numb. It would’ve been so much easier if she still did percs. The four years ago mistake changed everything, and more than just a happy dance and a big jump onto the wrestling scene and contracts and bookings and money...enough money to up and quit everything and just focus in on this…

Benny Colton. Big, dumb, Benny Colton. Everyone, every team, in the makeshift conference room of the Roy Wilkins Auditorium. Of course, there were the sacrificial lambs. The Spicy Bois and Podcaster BF And E-Girl GF. But then there were Sound And Fury and The Crownless Kingdom. 

But then, there were The Coltons.

“Oh la la...”

Angel’s eyes were scanning across the field, but the sound escaping from her sister...“And which one you making eyes on?”

A menacing smirk. “That one.” 

“The brick shithouse stealing your green?”

“No. The other one.” Chipped black nail polish, pointing out the handsome young man who made red his everything. Well groomed brunette hair. Chiseled build. That delicious jawline. The satin jacket across those wide shoulders. Of course, a little foray on the research end made the both of them aware of just who he was and what he represented. An early exit the year before was going to be avenged.

Angel couldn’t help but laugh. “You sure know how to pick them...”

Bex looked down at her partner, her sister, and shook her head. “Maybe just a little bit of mind games. Think we’re going to have to be on the watch for them...”

“Is that the only reason?”

Benny might’ve only been an inch taller than her, but just seeing him made her think of all the ways she could overpower him. “Well Mommy wants what Mommy wants–”

“–don’t you ever say it like that again.”

“–those were your words, Rebecca. Yours. And you just...fuck...” The bag was slung over Angel’s shoulder, her baby blue Chuck’s ready to burn rubber. “You there? You listening?”

Blood. Sprains and strains. Bex was more right than she had any clue she would be. It was The New World Trash and The Coltons in the finals. Every time out, Bex and Angel made it a point to do what their opponents did, to match up with what they were bringing to the table, and devil may care, beat them at their own game. One shot, but all that notion of not blowing it? Hell, go out your own way. Go out in style.

And in the aftermath, as medical personnel worked on the two of them in the back, the exhaustion pouring out of every bit of them, her eyes locked on Benny. Her tongue felt like sandpaper and her saliva was thick and coarse as rope. “Hey, hotshot…” 

His hands gripping his chest, he groaned as he turned his head to her. 

She couldn’t believe how brazen she was about to be. “Do you fuck as good as you fight?”

A chuckle. An awful wince. But the smile...that goddamn smile…”Better.”

Thump.

Thump Thump.

“I’m going to remember that.”

“You owe Ami a big fucking apology. And until you do–”

‘Biggest...biggest mistake of our fucking lives!’

It was. It was and it was and it was. Because if they don’t do The Flynn, she wouldn’t feel this hurt right now. 

No trigger pull? No Benny.

No trigger pull? No sitting in her bathroom, shaking, terrified, mortified, scared. It was Benny’s birthday, and all she wanted to do was surprise him. That dumb boy. That dumb man. He was...he was...he was wonderful. And it was different. And she and Angel were on top of the world, Bang! With Your Friends Champions, the under the table deal with PRIME, just get a little more seasoning…

It was going to be all about him. No. It was going to be all about them. 

The pills were from an old injury. A pulled muscle in her back. But just because the injury was gone, it didn’t mean that she had to stop. Not when all she had to do was pop a few and all sensation floated away. Not when, without them, the smallest little discomforts felt multiplied ten fold. They were just there to keep her normal. To keep her regulated.

Secret little bottle.

Angel took some without knowing what they were.

And...and…

Jake Colton said that if she didn’t tell his son, he would.

She just wanted to surprise him.

She just...this was getting serious…

Before that fucking Flynn, it was all for fun and everything was all good and…

...she didn’t want to stop…

...no…

...she didn’t think she could stop...

…why was he doing this to her?

...a flowing black and green and white cheerleader skirt. Time of their lives. And now it was ruined. Her life was ruined.

Never should have done The Flynn.

Life would be better that way…

“–I’m getting a room with RIA, and I’m flying out with her, unless you get your shit together and make things right with Ami.”

The words registered, but Bex didn’t acknowledge. Everything hit in waves. Worse than getting her head caved in with a stomp. Worse than that wannabe actress Elise Ares and anything she could’ve done to her. She just stared off into space.

She didn’t even flinch when Angel slammed the locker room door behind. By herself. Alone.

But what about her?

What about her feelings?

Did any one of them think about why it all came out like it did? Did they even consider that maybe she had a good reason? No, it was all about them. All about what they thought, and what they needed, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t justified…

Indignant. Defiant. I don’t have to change. I’m right. I’m always right. 

Lay it all out before everyone. Sermonize it and go whole hog. Because you believe it. Deep down, you believe it. Because it’s you against this corrupted world. Because everything that isn’t in you and for you is a lie and fake and a conspiracy against you.

The bottle in hand and you can’t give this up because you don’t want to. Because you shouldn’t have to. Because you shouldn’t have to adapt or change for fucking anything.

...as embarrassed as she was, she knew any self defense was just self indulgence. She made her bed; now, she had to lie in it.

Pour them down the toilet. Watch them swirl and spin. Feel your heart seizing as you know there is no coming back from this.

And flush.

Flush away and grow...

Because nobody grows up wanting to be an Anna Daniels.

Her shoes felt made of cement. New York Mafioso state of mind. Bex had watched The Godfather, but it wasn’t until she knocked on the locker room door for Vae Victis and she saw the look etched across Clay Byrd’s face when he opened the door that it came clear. Luca Brasi, eyes bugging out in the midst of the garrote. This group definitely could disappear her, and even though she thought she was on good terms with Helen, well...they could probably find a Plague Doctor who could season her up nicely so she wouldn’t know she was eating her remains. “...Ami in there?” her tone was meek, wilted. All that muscle, and if the smallest wind blew, she would fly away with it.

The Cowboy Colossus merely grunted, ready to slam the door shut.

No.

No no no.

No, we deal with our problems. We don’t let them fester and rot. Trash motto. Trash lifestyle.

She refused to let him, a fresh bolt of adrenaline pouring through. His eyes grew wide as he realized just how difficult it was to get the door to budge. This...wasn’t the kind of strength he felt in their battle for the Tag Team Titles mere months ago. She brushed on past him, path charted. Inside the heart of the locker room, Ami stood, mere inches from her Emerald Beast. Bex didn’t know what they were doing.

Nor did she care.

With a heavy jerk, she latched onto her wrist and spun her around. The shock in Ami’s face was followed by a heavy glower. Savage didn’t register it, she just held her by the wrist, pulling her from the locker room and past Clay. “Shut. The fucking. Door.” Whether he did or not, she couldn’t say. This wasn’t about VV. In a corridor where anyone could’ve happened on by, this wasn’t even about privacy.

Ami Troy was a half foot shorter than her. How many pounds? How many times could Bex bench press her? How bad could she smash her under the heel of her boot like an aluminum can? She wouldn’t...would she? Because if she was, well, Ami knew how to fight, and she wasn’t going down without a–

Bex grabbed hold of her and hugged her with everything she had. “I’m sorry, babe.” A slow, subtle rock. “I’m so so so so fucking sorry.”

The Merry Mischief Maker’s fists balled instinctively, and she was ready to pull away…

...until she heard the sobs. “I’m a piece of shit and I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any of you. You don’t know how important you are to me. You don’t know what you’ve done to make my life better. You don’t. You don’t and you can’t because I don’t let you, and I’m scared...”

Hands, releasing.

“...I want to be the best me that I can be and I want to be the best I can be for you because you’re my sister...thicker than blood you’re my sister. But I go out there and I embarrass myself and I embarrass you and I embarrass us all and I wish I didn’t I wish I didn’t I wish we’d never have done that fuckin’ Flynn because then I wouldn’t have hurt you–”

“–stop–”

“–I’m sorry, god, Ami, I’m so–”

“–stop!” Troy managed to wiggle herself free, her arms pushing the larger woman off of her with surprising ease. Nearly six feet tall, her white tank stained with her own blood, her entire chest racked with sobs. How pathetic. Ami’s hand flung out, smacking Savage across the shoulder.

Bex didn’t stop her.

If she wanted to slap her, punch her, kick her, she wouldn’t have stopped her. She was entitled. She deserved it.

It was only then that she realized she wasn’t the only one that was sobbing. Ami launched herself into her, wrapping her arms around her. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that, Becca. I’m always there for you–”

“–I’m sorry–”

“–STOP SAYING YOU’RE SORRY!”

“–I’m going to be better I swear it I swear it I swear it I am not going to embarrass you–”

“–you’re NOT embarrassing me–”

“–we should be better I should be better–”

“–we will be. Next time. We will be better next time. And we’ll make them feel it. We’ll make them all fucking feel it...”

Feel it. 

Make them fucking feel it.

This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. 

This isn’t where we are supposed to be.

Four years ago, The New World Trash came to Minneapolis and nobody knew who we were. That changed that weekend. And things were nice and come easy for a bit in the afterglow. But then, Angel nearly died.

And The New World Trash...stopped really doing much of fucking anything. I went to England on an opportunity to expand my fighting skills to benefit the team. Angel was still in recovery. But even when I got home, even where things lined up...all I could think about is how that one weekend, four years ago, was the high water mark.

That we’d been treading on fumes ever since.

Maybe we should’ve struck out when the iron was hot. Told Lindsay to fuck on off with the whole ‘get some more reps, then get your asses in PRIME’ deal. Maybe if we do that, Angel doesn’t take a header on the floor. Maybe we don’t go on more hiatuses than...what’s a band that went on hiatus a lot...um...Gunz N’ Roses. Sure, let’s go with that, Ami.

Wait...there’s not a z in that?

Hmmmm…

But there’s not a lot of good that comes from woulda-coulda-shouldas. We’re here, now. In this moment.

And I’m not going to bitch about it.

I’m not going to bitch about losing the opportunity to be Tag Team Champions, because who is there to bitch about? We didn’t get fucked. We lost on our own. I’m not going to bitch about looking like shit against the Pop Culture Phenoms. There wasn’t some grand conspiracy there. And boy, having a little baby piss fit in the immediate aftermath sure felt like...something…

...but all that something did was make me look like a fucking dumbass. Like an idiot. Like an overgrown child.

No more.

No more of kicking in the dirt.

Fuck Your Tag Team? Pffffffffffft. Naw. Fuck you. Both of us, stuck in the muds, not getting over the tops. Well...one of ya’ll. Robbie Dubs got over the hump without you, Multitudes. Dude is on a hell of a run too. What is it? Does wittle Anna Dipshit need a back pat because the rest of the Whoresmen got gold? Do they need to be lifted up from feeling like a charity case like that isn’t all on them?

Because, Hell, we might’ve started and stopped...but at least we ain’t talking about how the world don’t matter when said world hands you fucking opportunities for belts like you’re on a PRIME Make A Wish list because your condition is terminal from constantly woofing down Dumb Bitch Juice.

I’d rather feel than whatever it is you do.

I’d rather apologize when I fuck up than dig in and act like everyone else is the problem.

Been waiting for this.

This is for me.

This is for Angel.

This is for RIA.

We’re going to do what we have to do with Rob Williams, because that man is a goddamn problem. But you? We’re going to isolate you because you’re the weak link. We’re going to take you apart and leave you with nothing you can cry about on Jabber afterwards.

Time to kill your head.

La la la.

Reality sucks.

And The Trash?

We’re going to drag you out into its light.