+ Bitter : She’s A Freak +

By: Apathy

Date: 10th Sep 2021

La da da da da da da dying

Forced to perform

Its me, Im crying

Make sure you pack your fucking camera

Ive got a lot of things to show ya.




Myah - Circus Freak

 

++Sleep was a precious commodity these days, for me at least. Even when I did manage to fall asleep, my mind was tortured and no rest actually happened. I ached to sleep, but I feared the wasteland of my dreams, fueled by fear and desperation. The razor thin line I was straddling between nuclear meltdown and second coming of christ, was beginning to unravel to where the control was no longer in my own hands. Ever since the incident in my apartment, I was forced to live with him in his flat in the tower. The very tower I wanted to avoid. I felt the soul suck out of me the minute I entered the building. The cameras. The Amish believe the camera can steal ones soul, and being in the trenches at the Tower, thrown on the stage with the rest of them, now forced to dance and sing for the little eye of manipulation. The most aggravating part was that the fault was my own. I put myself in this human bondage. The past few weeks had been anxiety ridden, high strung, and a revolving door of illicit drugs to escape this reality. Eoin and I hadnít talked at all about what happened. He hadnít tried and I wasnít inclined to indicate interest. Eric had been my confidant. I felt so weak and ugly catching him up to current++

 

“MonsterÖ”

 

++I had been muttering that same word sporadically the past few weeks. Usually when I was asleep, in a deep trance like suspension. Eric was always there, curled up next to me, reaching out to soothe me and calm the savage waters. Until tonight. Again I muttered the word and I started to become physically uncomfortable. Once more, no Eric, no protection from my demons. The anxiety was building up inside until I bolted up screaming out a blood curdling, cathartic wail. Eoin had been there the whole time. He sat up from the chair in the darkness and sat on the foot of the bed. Had Eric abandoned me? I felt like after hearing so much and listening to stories that crush the will of man, a part of him died too. I felt like I robbed a sliver of innocence from his already depleted store. Eoin also hadnít touched me since then. No, that task also fell to Eric. Eric was the only reason I was able to maintain the veil between my personal life and the red crusade I was building towards. I was able to keep my mask on and let it appear to those snarling dogs beyond the front door that everything was fine and normal. Keep their nipping at bay. He knew it was important to me that I appear steady and strong in the eyes of The Cure and our certain allies. Meeting with Ani? Just a little morphine to take the edge off, keep me loose. Angry and need an outlet of release? LSD and angry fucking. Now he was missing and instead Eoin. Offering not comfort, but questions++

 

Eoin: Iím thinkiní itís time you and me had a chat lass. About you, what in the fuckiní christ happened in your flat, and the way Iím seeiní it girl, you ainít exactly in the position to say no, yeah? If Iím good enough to share a bed with ya, then Iím good enough to know what to be lookiní for so this doesnít happen again and to know WHY that happened. The first thing Iím gonna ask ya, was it me? Was it something I mighta done to ya lass?†

 

++They grow up so fast. He knew that Sarah had “augmented” the feed in the bedroom. He knew I wasnít in a position where I had to preform for the lens which means I didnít have to answer him or even acknowledge the question. This was MY domain. Yet the way his voice sounded when he asked, the look on his face, I knew it was manipulation, but I was so proud that I let it work++

 

Elizabeth: It wasnít you. It also wasnít Eric. It was me. I…look itís been this way for awhile. It just happens sometimes.†

 

Eoin: I want the truth, girl. Not anymore of your bullshite. When me brother has to suicide dive to knock a gun out of your hands, then you and me has got something to discuss, no? It was you? In what way? Itís happened before? Then thatís some mighty fuckiní pertinent information that me thinkís I should know, yeah? So cut the shite Lizzy, why does it happen?†

 

++I sat up on the pillows and tucked my legs under me. Bravo. It only took the sight of a suicide in progress for Eoin to finally find his balls. It felt good. Hearing him command attention with the tone of his voice. That Irish slang of his. I finally felt something stir inside me. That butterflies feeling when the dopamine hits. I closed my eyes, if this is where he wanted to take the next step, so be it. I just wouldnít make eye contact. I couldnít++

 

Elizabeth: Are you asking, why I had a gun? Why I was going to pull the trigger? Or are you asking how it happened? I need just a little clarificationÖ

 

Eoin: Lizzy me girl, I know you are a bit touched in the head, yeah? You have never really hid that. A bird like you, canít all be there, yeah? Just kind of fuckiní obvious. I ainít sayiní itís bad lass. Youíre brand if crazy, itís grown on me. But what I saw in that room, that look on ye face me dove, that was more than a missed medication, a fit, whatever ye wanna call it, that was somethiní dark girl. Dark and bitter. Now what I want to know is how in the fuckiní hell you got that low. Now ye sayiní it wasnít me or Eric, right then. You said it was you, I fuckiní think thats pretty damn clear, yeah? Now tell me why. You can reject my love all ye want girl but as long as ye have no problems letting me shift you, you raise no complaints bout me fuckiní ya, askiní to feel me inside ye, then I think ye can level with me. Iím worried bout you girl, fuckiní hell Lizzy, just let me in so I can protect ye when ye canít protect yourself. What about Sarah? Does SHE know?

 

Elizabeth: Yes. Sheís my eyes when I lose my sight. I value her close, like the Czarís wife and Rasputin.†

 

Eoin: Right. So it is important for her to know, but not me? You fuckiní what? In case ye fuckiní forgot, it was me who was the one that interrupted you paintiní the fuckiní couch in ye brains. I think me being the first line of defense ye could say, warrants me gettiní to know the whole story. Let me in Lizzy. Please lassÖ

 

++I laid my head back on the stack of pillows, casually stretching my arm towards the night stand and pointing to a small glass bottle, in the shape of a skull. A cork plugged the top, but it was easy to remove. He grabbed the bottle and popped the cork. He knew what I wanted. I wanted to chase that feeling. I needed it like a support to really articulate what it was he was asking. He pulled one of the antique crystal whiskey glasses towards him and the bottle, then grabbed the filigree spoon from inside, setting it across the top of the glass. He opened an antique Turkish metal sugar bowl and removed one of the inconspicuous cubes setting it on the spoon. The anticipation inside me was building. If he wanted to go down this avenue tonight I needed that feeling. It was for both our safeties. I watched, eager, as he picked up the green skull bottle, popped the cork and poured itís contents over the now melting sugar cube. Just watching felt orgasmic. As the cube melted, he topped it off with a little vanilla extract to temper the bitter. He knew exactly how to prepare my libations. A loving gesture. Time spent on something I enjoy. I didnít know. He always left my “vices” to Eric. He handed me the glass and left the bedside, going to turn on the electric fireplace in the bedroom, letting some warm light glow through the room. He returned to his high back leather chair and returned to his bottle of poitin. Irish moonshine, well the closest equivalent. Now it all made sense. He drank down the courage to address it. Not so different are we, a mhuirnŪn++

 

Elizabeth: We know the risks of the fight, non? We know the threats posed. One of the biggest is the lingering affects of head injuries. Iím sure you have had one or two concussions, thanks to a cheap shot or a shoot jab. As have I. Iíve also given one or two, both on accident and on purpose. I mentioned what was done to me by Mr. Stylez during my medically induced coma, way back then, but I never really talked about the injury itself. I think in a way I blocked it all out and chose to just focus solely on what came after, not the injury itself. Typical trauma response. Sometimes I can still feel the barbed wire buried into the back of my head, tugging at the flayed skin, knotted and intertwined with my hair. I can still smell the scent of my blood mixing with the metal wire on the bat. It was pungent, drowning. That cuntÖ..

 

++Some called it smart tactics, others called it cowardly, no matter which side of the fence you sat on to this day I still donít know, why. She had nothing to gain. I wasnít in her way. I was on the way down. Management had soured on me. It always made me wonder if they paid her extra just to do it to solidify her strong position. What better way to announce you have arrived and you arenít going anywhere than to take someone elses career. All I know is that night she came out from behind, buried her friend in my skull and I spent months in hospice++

 

Elizabeth: It felt like hot metal teeth, gnashing into the skull. The skin tore and burned with such an intense feeling that it made me physically ill. I dropped to my knees, giving up the ghost, but she was not satiated. She ripped the bat and the accompanying razor wire and lorded the weapon over me as she gripped with both hands and brought it back down again, then again…and again. They didnít stop her until I was barely conscious. Then she just dropped the bat, covered in my blood, hair and skin, turned and walked off the set. It was as if she was fully satisfied with her handiwork and decided it was time to go cash the paycheck. The thing I saw before I slipped under was the roof of the ambulance and that young man saying “if she doesnít end up braindead, it will be a miracle”. I obviously didnít end up a vegetable. But I also did not recover without issues. I started noticing the voices a few weeks after I returned home. I had been perfectly adjusted on my depression and bipolar meds before the incident, but once I finally returned home, after the incident, the stockholm syndrome, it was as if I had veered into schizophrenia territory. My specialists decided on a PET scan. They wanted to compare it to a few others that had been done over the course of a few years. There was no way to mistake it, there WAS damage. Not significant, but noticeable.†

 

My mental health has always been…fucking terrible. No matter what I used to cope with feelings and thoughts I didnít understand, it was wrong. I was supposed to just suck it up and bury it because of a last name and the amount of dollars in the bank account. If my Aunt could avoid all her problems with high balls, and my uncle could avoid his loveless shame of a marriage, his spoiled thankless son and the whole lie that I was their child, by fishing at the fucking lake, then why couldnít I cope with my monsters with drugs or sex or alcohol? Good for thee but not for me? There was no redemption for me once I got older and reached the age of reason. I became disillusioned quite early. It took half a lifetime but I did it. I started to address those thoughts and feelings that I couldnít process. I began the learning progress of finding out just what WAS the fuck wrong with me. I was making headway. After that incident though…everything changed. I became more than aware of my demons and what was wrong with me. I was forced to confront it in my own head. Returning to normal life after the fact was impossible. Sometimes I get flickers, reminders. Memories come in bits and pieces, like the flashes of a muzzle. Of everything. It is like an internal code that has to remind me, every so often, the lines Iíve crossed, the cost of the dynasty I have been building for myself. That night, was a culmination of those flickering snippets of bitterness, hurt, unresolved hatred and feeling me giving away slips of my humanity as if they were front row tickets to my eventual downfall.†

 

Eoin: I understand what ye sayiní girl. The way you describe it is fuckiní hauntiní for sure. Sends a chill down me spine hearing you describe a barbed wire baseball bat like that. Fuckiní Christ. Not much makes me skiddish but bleediní hell. Thatís fuckiní awful. So whatíre sayiní is they found brain damage after that fuckiní cunt took you out and I believe it after the way you described the way she came at ye. We ainít neediní to rehash the bit with Johnny I think, yeah? So AFTER that is when ye started to feel the real affects then. Alright. Sounds fair. We both seen how concussions can have an affect on a person. Iíve seen plenty of guys I trained with get a grade 3 and afterwards, their personality changed. Itís shite. What I really want to know is what is dragginí you down to that place girl?†

 

Elizabeth: You wouldnít understand! Donít make me do this Eoin. Please? I donít know how to say it so that you could even relate, you arenít a father! Youíve never raised a child!†

 

Eoin: At least let me try, god damnit woman!†

 

Elizabeth: Annika. I can handle a lot Eoin. Iím a strong woman. Iíve endured a lot, seen a lot, but when it comes to my kids…I have set limits. I will never forgive myself for the way I neglected Fionn. I will go to my grave cursing my own self that she died and I didnít when I fucking more than deserved it. If anyone deserved to die like that it was me. I know Annikaís growing up wasnít much more stable. She wasnít well adjusted either. I took to homeschooling her at first. She traveled with me. It was idea at first. She excelled. She was just like me when I was a kid. Then, as usual, shit hit the fan. George and I seperated. Then Tom moved in. He was her “dad” for the longest time. Then she decided she wanted to go to a boarding school in Switzerland as they had a program tract that really interested her. It was hard but I let her go. When she moved to Denver with George because it seemed like he was really trying to build a relationship with her and we were able to co-parent, I went along with it even though I had a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It meant she would be around Joe more. I trusted him and Jose to protect her. They…didnít. The hardest thing I ever had to do was hear her confirm that he violated her. I failed her too. I didnít trust my instincts.†

 

++It also brought up unwanted familiar feelings of my own violations and victimizations. That twisted feeling in the pit of the stomach, turning it inside out. It weighed down my thoughts the whole way home. It just kept lingering like a bad taste in my mouth. No matter what I tried I couldnít rinse it out. It ate away at me day and night. Alone at night I would ball my eyes out at 3am, drunk and trying to cope. Angry, bottles, glasses and whatever happened to be nearby became fodder for the wall, to be thrown. My soldiers canít see me in any shade of weaknesses so it fell on me to deal with the fallout of finding out your dead ex-husbands best friend was a predator and he targeted your own daughter. I became animated, the absinthe and lsd consuming me. I sat up straight, crossing my legs in front of me and leaned forward on my hands, eyes wide as mania washed over me++

 

Elizabeth: This business has taken so much. Itís chipped away at me for years. While there was a time I was a willing participant to the siren song and I danced gayly. Do you know why the top is a dangerous place Eoin? You would think it is because you are always a target. You always have to be on your guard and aware. That all seemed easy compared to watching the separation of my private life and my career cease and all of my demons became ratings. This business has done nothing but put me and all my negative traits on display. It has used me to propel itself for so long. It was exactly WHY I refused to move into this god damn building. Cameras everywhere. If you live here, work here or conduct personal business here, you are subject to preform. State of the art cameras and mics, why? Because they want quality media, sure, sure, but why microphones that are so sophisticated that it can pick up sound decibels most human ears canít. This is nothing more than the Truman show, where we are all Truman, entertaining the masses of marks online that pay for the digital subscription. Weíre living in the professional fighting equivalent to big brother. I mean the legacy behind the man that brought this very experiment to us, carries a lot of scrutiny. He found a way to monetize wrestling in a way that appeals to the IWC and sadists alike. I want my private life to stay that way. Iím not willing to share it anymore. Not with strangers who donít know me, who have never walked my warpath.†

 

++I was becoming more animated as I continued my poorly structured monolouge. I bolted up and slid off the bed, pacing back and forth. He just sat in the chair, shirtless, bottle in his hand. His bare feet were flat against the hard wood floor as he leaned forward, the light from the now lit LED candles and fireplace danced across his skin. It reflected and shimmered in his ginger hair. He ran his fingers through his beard, twisting it and quietly contemplating the string of words coming out of my mouth. My pitch was erratic, so many thoughts trying to come out at once. As I paced back and forth my hands cupped the back of my head, I muttered quietly to myself++

 

Elizabeth: The thought of him making her experience that kind of garbage. So familiar. I could feel how she felt because Iíve felt the same. The sick feeling as he touches your inner thigh, so fatherly and loving. It starts out as just a game and the next thing you know, heís humping you on a pull out couch, grunting, crushing you then letting out a loud cathartic groan and rolling off like heís a godking. She never had to say what he did to her. I knew. This business and the blood thirsty in it can do what they wish to me. I thrive on it. I have adapted and become one with their toxicity, their poison, their politics and bullshit but…not her. Sheís endured enough. I want him to pay for what heís done. George canít protect him anymore. Nobody can. Heís ripe for the picking and whatís more he would never see it coming. He thinks heís gotten away with it. The sweetest tasting revenge is the kind that comes with a side of shock and disbelief. Watching all hope wash from their eyes, their skin flushing of color. He is SCUM. GARBAGE! But it was my fault. I knew better. I ALWAYS had suspicions. I trusted a man and he let me down, his daughter down. He whored both of us out. SHE IS NOBODIES WHORE!!!

 

++Eoin finally pushed himself out of his chair as I stood in the middle of the bedroom, beginning to freak out. The mixture was fucking me all up. I felt his arm wrap around my waist, kissing the back of my head. Next I felt the needle jab into my arm. Morphine. He set the needle aside and stood there, holding me, while the opium settled in. He wrapped his other arm around me and held me close to his chest, the back of my head resting just under his chin. He kissed the top of my head++

 

Eoin: Mo Cuishle. I know you donít want my love. In fact lass, I understand now that you donít believe in love. You love in ye own way I come to find. Youíre a cold woman. Iíve watched ye work. I know exactly who ye are. Iíve seen bits and pieces here an there of what ye are capable of. I knew that day in the desert ye leave nothing to chance. You had ye gun cocked and ready in case Ramsusí sister didnít off herself. If I had turned on me brother when he stepped out of line, I knew ye would have asked for his blood to spill. For me, Lizzy, it changes nothing. I was draw to you the second I met ye girl. You think it had anything to do with the blow job in the bathroom? No lass, that just helped me make up me mind. Youíre a fuckiní force to reckon with lass. I knew it instantly. I knew the second I heard you speak to me that ye was out of me league and I was in way over me head. Point still stands, yeah? There is nothing I would not do for ye Lizzy. Iím thinkiní now is the best chance Iím goní have to prove that to ye. You did me a favor with me dad, Iím thinkiní I owe you huh? Ye right, Iím not a dad. I donít know what itís like to be a father. I canít really tell ye what I would do or how I would feel if I were in ye place, but I CAN feel ye pain. I can hear it in ye voice when it cracks. I see it in ye eyes when you talk about it. I know that you were probably intendiní to have Sarah do something about Joe, given her dislike of the male sex, but Liz, Iím askiní ye let me handle this one. Let me be the one to take this burden away, yeah?†

 

Elizabeth: But that isnít everything…there is so much more. Donít you want to hear everything? Isnít that what you wanted? What this was all about? Eoin??

 

Eoin: In due time. Right now, letís deal with the biggest cause of your misery. Let me talk to him, man to man. Let me prove my worth to you. Let me prove my loyalty. Let me put my love for you to good use, lass. Give me purpose. Give me a reason. I want to help you. I understand now what your goal is, what the goal of The Cure is. I see it now. He has offended my Goddess and that canít stand. Just say the word, Mo GhrŠ.

 

++My head swirled with hallucinations and the sweet warm feeling of opium in my veins. My legs started to go weak and I felt him pick me up and cradle me in his arms. He laid me across the bed, propping my head up with a round pillow. Eoin knew what it felt like to kill. He didnít even flinch when he offed his father. Not even a blink. He watched the moment, lived it. I knew he was capable of cold blooded murder, but it wasnít his war. It was mine. He was willing to go out on a wire to ensure closure for not just me, but my daughter as well. I knew Eric had prepped all the drugs now. It was obvious they were…working together? This game of cat and mouse felt different. It felt good. It was a twist, in a good way. I could feel sleep creeping up on me++

 

Elizabeth: Maraigh ť (kill him). Le faire souffrir. (make him suffer).†

// Can you taste me in your mouth? You sound bitter. \\

// Epilogue \\

//FIGHT Rooftop Conservatory/Greenhouse\\

 

Apathy: Letís cut to the chase Shawn. You were a prime target. You were not selected by happenstance. We all know there are lines being drawn. Armies are being amassed and a war is coming. You know it. It surrounds you. You were no innocent bystander. You slighted one of us. You also happened to be a great bystander carnage. I would also like to be the first to welcome you to our level. First Kasey to your rescue, playing loyal matriarch, and now your sister. Seems to always be women that end up paying the bail. Funny how that works. A party is no fun unless everyone is involved and now you are. You are in the center of it.†

 

Do I owe you anything though? You and how many others think they are the best. They tout it as fact. The truth is, I didnít know you fucking existed before you signed on the dotted line here and just like the old days, we were all supposed to drop everything because they signed YOU. Yet the truth was, a small selection of people actually knew who you were coming in. The rest of us, honestly, didnít give a fuck. I think it is cute that you thought you could ride the hype train all the way to the station based on your name alone, but there are some of us involved in this shindig who donít put value on names. Iím nobody to you. Youíre nobody to me. Just one more fish caught in the net.†

 

I knew once we got started, you would eventually bring in your own backup. It is only common sense. Outnumbered? Call some friends. I mean a man as IMPORTANT as you, clearly has a lot of stans that would gladly step in the line of fire for you. Good. The more the better. Who will you pull out of your ass next Shawn? Your dad? Your third cousin twice removed? Iím anxious to see who answers your call for reinforcements. As for a “fair” and level fightÖ

 

Take a real good fucking look around you Shawn. Do you think HE cares one way or another if a match actually happens? The more chaos, unpredictable carnage, the more of the product is sold. Weíre surrounded by cameras that scrutinize our every move and interaction. They spy on us, they manufacture tension where there is none, because they know it sells. Iím not here to “wrestle”. Iím here to “FIGHT” and that was the whole point of this creation. Iím sorry you came in expecting something more purist, but this is the wild frontier and from where Iím sitting you were just ratings and a spike in viewership. I do want to thank you for settling a bet for me though. We all had our own estimate of how long it would be until you cracked and circled the wagons. I won. I donít give a fuck about your legacy, where you came from, what youíve done, or how many straps youíve won.†

 

Itís almost adorable how you seem to think that my lack of success means anything in the grand scheme of things. You want glory and gold you better take a number, stand in line, and drop your fucking drawers so you can take it up the ass from Dynasty. You think THEY give a fuck about how important you think you are? You think THEY look at you and see an equal? At least you see what you get when it comes to me, when it comes to Brandon and The Cure. We donít hide our intentions. I know I donít. So donít act surprised that in a place that literally ERADICATED an entire family on its debut show, bodies stacked like cordwood, that somehow actual wrestling, that does not develop into extreme bodily harm or a possible ended career, takes precedence here.†

 

FUCK. YOUR. EGO. I donít answer to it nor cater to it. I donít owe you a legit match. Why work harder when I can work smarter? Youíre playing connect four and weíre playing chess, as lame as it sounds. You sound so bitter, because you got caught up in a fight that has been a long time coming? Because The Cure made an example out of you? Because you found after the fact that you signed up for a fucking SIDESHOW?†

 

You sound so bitter. But like you said Shawn, you were still standing no? You “won”. Yes? Why so bitter? What is so important about facing me in a fair fight, on level ground? If you are, as you keenly mention, so far superior than I am, better than me, then what does one lopsided fight matter in the end? I mean it only proves your point, no? Iím clearly shit because I play the numbers game. I have no honor. That is what you mean to say isnít it Shawn? I have no honor. Iím a heathen that manipulates the game board for my own benefit. Yet somehow, the fact I wonít face you legit, strikes your ire. Interesting revelation. Such a high and mighty man, yet so slighted by being shit on by a lesser competitor and her “losers”.†

 

Either you donít care…or you do Mr. Warstein.†

 

Clearly I left in a taste in your mouth, because you sound bitter.†