I’ma Loser Baby
By: Paul Montuori
Writing Prompt: Yes
Date: 14th Nov 2021
On a fucking boat..
Against Dickie’s fuckboy..
Pft, like it even matters at this point..
After being disqualified I tried to get out of there as fast as I could. I wasn’t ready to be back in the ring. Not so soon. Which was obvious by my lack of control in the ring. Couldn’t keep it together long enough to beat Mr. Fosters. To think not too long ago beating him would’ve been a given. How much things have changed. Mainly, how far I’ve fallen..
I had to get away from the hundreds of eyes staring at me as I walked away from Dickie and the Status Heauxs. I had to get far away. And yet, like a dumb fuck, I came to the realization that I couldn’t go anywhere. I was stuck on a boat in Gawd knows where. Amongst drunken cretins. All pushing and shoving to get near me, to ask stupid fucking questions. To try and get a picture. Pointing and laughing at me. Reminding me about my loss to Dickie. I don’t need some so-called fans to remind me that I’m not the Empire Champ. I’m constantly fucking reminded every time I catch a glimpse of myself. Reminder of how big of a fucking loser I am. Pushing my way through the crowd until I reach the elevator that takes me down to the depths of the ship. To where I’m being housed. Not in one of the suites where the Champions of different promotions stay. Nah..
I holed myself up in that room for Gawd knows how long. Room became completely trashed with bottles that once were filled with alcohol and the random scraps I’d eat through room service. I’d have them leave it at the door, too paranoid to let them see me in this state.. Slowly opening the door to ensure some asshole wouldn’t be standing on the other side, ready to post a pic of me on my journey to self-destruction. Amid the alcohol fueled paranoia, I’d somehow ended up barricading the door. Ensuring no one would get in. Or so I thought..
“Sir, wake up..”
I slowly open my eyes. Brain covered in a fog of alcohol that has yet to wear off. I blink my eyes, trying to activate the part of the brain that makes them work. I slowly sit up, head pounding. I instinctively reach my hand up to hold it, as if that would make it cease to hurt.
“Where am I?” I ask. My brain still unable to process exactly what was going on.
“Sir, you’re still on the cruise ship. You’re actually the last passenger left. Everyone else has disembarked hours ago. I’m going to need you to get your belongings and disembark as well.”
“What?” I say as I begin to make out the figure of a guy dressed in a security outfit. Behind him are a couple more security doods and a cleaning lady, who looks completely embarrassed. I nod my head and slowly stand up, stretching.
“Sir, would you mind putting on some clothes?”
I look down, sure enough, butt ass naked. I make eye contact with the maid and give her a seductive wink, which probably looks more like a seizure due to her laughing. Whatever, like I want her ass anyway. Hands probably smell worse than my career. I get dressed and grab the bookbag I came with, now mostly empty except for my ring gear. I chug a half empty beer on the nightstand. Gross, so warm. Was that even beer?
I’m pretty much pushed off the boat and through the terminal as fast as humanly possible. Flanked by security who make sure nothing keeps me from getting out of their hair. Fucks wouldn’t even let me use the bathroom. If they had any idea how much I’ve probably drank because I have no fucking clue myself, they’d be a little nicer. If I was Dickie Watson they would’ve held it for me.
That’s when I see the fucking potato head belonging to my so-called brother, Joe. He’s walking a few hundred yards away from me, with that strut like he’s the shit. Pft, everyone knows I’m the.. What am I saying, everyone knew I was the better Montuori. Past tense. Joe’s held twice as much gold as I’ve held and we’ve been back in the business just about the same amount of time. He probably fucked me over to get those titles. That fuck. I’m going to get my revenge right here and now. I run after him as I hear the security chasing behind me. That motherfucker is going to get it today. Right here. I catch up to him and grab him by the shoulder, pulling him around, ready to deck him.
“Whoa, take it easy,” the guy says. Obviously not Joe. I apologize, backing up as security catches up to me. I’m grabbed by each side and practically dragged the rest of the way to the front doors of the terminal. I’m pushed through onto the street. I turn around cursing them.
Standing on the curb I look around for my ride. Not a soul in sight. Lose one fucking Empire title match and suddenly everyone abandons you. Pull the red carpet right out from underneath you. I pull out my phone and prepare to call my ride before putting it back into my pocket. Fuck them. I don’t need them.
So I walked..
Continued my path towards self-destruction..
As the days went by, the more substances I consumed. The more substances I consumed, the more the rage continued to build inside of me. That unshakeable rage, deep down in my fucking bones. That all-consuming rage that has filled my life for the last few weeks, the last few months? I don’t even know anymore, what fucking day is it? The days since Ascension blending together into one long, horrible Groundhog Day. One long day full of anger, full of rage. That rage that could only be quenched with violence.
But even with the rage consuming me, even with all of the substances altering my mind, I knew I just couldn’t quench it on the streets. I knew better than to get locked up. Again. Getting locked up again would most likely mean another visit from X. And while I enjoyed our moments together, I knew I couldn’t let him see me in this state. Not again. Not after the last favor he did for me. Paying off the bouncer and the owner of the bar so they’d drop all the charges against me.
So that left me only one real option. I had to go back to FIGHT! Tower, I had to go to Venom. I had to find someone I could put my hands on. Find someone I could use to help me alleviate this rage that burned deep down in my soul. Maybe be lucky and have the opportunity to release this rage on my brother Joe. Ugh, fucking hate calling him my brother. After all he did, after all the lies, after all this time. A real brother wouldn’t do that to someone. Would never put them in that position. Would never lie for so long..
Off to FIGHT! Tower I went. Off to Venom. I knew I had to sneak in, be seen by as little eyes as possible. I couldn’t face anyone yet. Not after Ascension. Not after my loss on that stupid fucking boat. Not after three losses in a row. Fans could be brutal. Fans would be so brutal. Uncaring. When you’re on top, they fucking love you. Adore you. Start losing and they’ll turn on you. With the quickness, no fucks given..
I snuck my way up to my apartment. Opening the door to find it in the same shape I left in. Completely and utterly destroyed. Those feelings of loss, anguish, embarrassment, anger, all come flooding back to me as I look around the room. I spot my phone under the couch. I walk over, sound of glass cracking under my feet. I pick it up and turn it on. I must of shut it off not long after my loss to Dickie at Ascension. With that hundred if not a thousand messages pop up on my phone. From Joe. From Michelle. From Vin and Vhodka. From Alessandra and Devante. From Madison. I don’t bother to read them. Why put myself through having to read their message of condolences. Messages of reassurances. I knew the truth about myself. No number of kind words could help me shake those feelings. Not from Michelle. Not from Vin and Vhodka. Not even from Madison. I knew better..
I waited until the show started to leave my apartment. I sneak my way to the arena. A stagehand sees me and I give him that look like ‘bruh you say anything you’re dead.’ The nod of his head tells me he caught my warning. I pull the hood of my sweater over my head and make my way through the crowd, pushing my way to the front. I hear people curse me, fuck’em. I lay in wait, waiting for the right opportunity, the right moment..
I hopped the railing during the Vinnie Black/Warstein match. I wanted to fuck with Warstein, fuck with the Status Heauxs. That quickly escalated into a brawl with Ricky Rodriguez, yeah that Ricky. I don’t know how it went down, everything happened so fast. One moment I was ringside, next I was brawling with Ricky, then I was walking away. I made my way from the ringside area.
I knew I couldn’t leave the Tower right away. Not with the number of fans in attendance. No way I could sneak out right after the show. No way I could go back to my apartment. After my actions at Venom, for sure someone would come looking for me. Either Status Heauxs or Ricky or someone. At least I’d think right? Maybe not, I’ma nobody now. But yet I couldn’t risk it. So, I hid down deep in the Tower, until I couldn’t go down any further. I found a dark corner and sat down, riding out the fans leaving the Tower. A couple of hours and I could make my escape unseen.
I opened my eyes, finding myself laying on the cold concrete floor. How long have I been down here for? I sit up and pull out my phone. Tons of new messages. Fuck them. 9AM. Holy fuck, I must’ve fell asleep. First real sleep I’ve gotten in who knows how long..
I sneak my way up to the main level of FIGHT! Tower, not a soul in sight. Usually, the days after a show the Tower is dead. Lucky for me. Lucky for my already fragile ego, or what’s left of it. I push my way through the glass doors to the street outside. Streets are already busy. Waddya expect in the City That Never Sleeps. I pulled out my phone and dialed the one fucking guy who’s supposed to be still rolling out the red carpet for me.
“Paulie?” Devante says. “Where the fuck have you been man? Everyone’s been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. Shit got real over here. Between your parents and Madi..”
“Doesn’t matter. Listen, I need you to come pick me up.”
“Oh uh.. I uh.. I don’t know if I can,” he says. Can’t pick me up? The fuck?
“The fuck? Don’t know if you can? Bruh, you work for me, remember?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
“Know what?” Spit it the fuck out..
“Your moms is back. And I sort of work for her now.”
“What the fuck? My mom’s there?”
“Listen, Paulie, I love you cuz. I gotta go,” he says.
“Devonte! Wait..” I say before the line goes dead. I stand in shock, staring at the phone in my hand. Trying to.. My mom’s back? I know she’s alive, but.. It’s starting to become real..
The wait for a fucking Lyft seemed like forever. My mother’s back? I haven’t had a chance to even process. Outside of the fit of rage at FIGHT! Tower, the walkout at Night Two of Ascension and my tantrum on the fucking boat..The weeks after Ascension.. After my fall from grace.. After discovering my parents were still alive, it was hell. Straight hell. I’ve been stuck like a zombie. Finding any substance that could take away the pain. The fear. The anguish. The hatred. The fucking hatred. For my parents. For Joe. For myself. Anything to numb me, I didn’t care what it was. I ingested it. And with that comes the foul wretched souls of the world. The grossest human beings, the fiends, all taking advantage of me. Of my money. And I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t want to be alone. But I didn’t want to be with anyone that knew me. That would give me that sad look. That would pat me on the back and reassure me everything was going to be OK. Easy for them to say. They weren’t abandoned by their parents. Lied to by their brother..
The Lyft finally pulls up to the curb. I get in as a Jamaican dood with dreads looks over at me. The look in his eyes says he recognizes me, but he quickly turns back around to stare straight ahead. Not one word. Car reeks of herb, my kind of guy.
His air freshener in his rear-view mirror catches my eyes. The air freshener has some strange symbol on it. I can’t put my finger on it. I know I’ve seen it before. I don’t know where.
“Aye, what’s that symbol on your air freshener?” I ask. The guy looks up at me from the rear-view mirror and smiles, before focusing his attention back on driving. The fuck? This is why I hate New York, everyone’s fucking assholes. Can’t even respond to a simple question.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out. The match card for Venom. Matchmakers probably have me booked. That’s what they usually do right? Every two weeks. And sure enough, there I am. How I’ve fallen down the card. I used to be a Main Event guy. Now, barely a Mid-Carder. And against Ricky Rodriguez.
Ricky Rodriguez, the nerve of that fucking kid. I gave him a chance, propped his ass up. Pulled him up into relevancy. He was a nobody before me, hanging amongst the curtain jerkers like Dark Tiger and well.. Now me I guess. But I gave him a life. I breathed fresh air into his career. Made him into someone. He won gold because of me. He got to fuck Sahara because of me. Because I made him. And how does he repay me? Repay my acts of kindness? Putting his fucking hands on me at Venom. By putting his nose in my fucking business. By siding with Dane over me. I know Dynasty is dead, I know we’re not a group anymore. But just like that, that fucking kid switches his loyalty. And ya know what?
I’m fucking glad he did. I’m so glad he was dumb enough to put his fucking hands on me. Because now.. Now what? I’m going to hurt him? Going to beat him? Embarrass him at Venom? Who the fuck am I fooling? Two months ago me beating him would’ve been a given. Now? Who even knows? I don’t even know. That swagger, that confidence that helped carry me most of my career has been replaced. Replaced with self-loathing. Replaced with feelings of abandonment. Feelings of well.. Feeling like a bitch. A loser. L 7 Weenie..
Truth be told, I can’t really blame him for his actions at Venom. I was a horrible leader. Unable to pull everyone together for Ascension. Which led to our eventual demise. Which led to my eventual demise. And in FIGHT!, even with groups disbanded, you can’t run solo. Not with all the dangers lurking around every corner. Not with the Status Heauxs running around. You gotta clique up or you end up.. Well, you end up like me. A loser. A proven loser. A despicable loser.
In the end it appears it’s a lose-lose situation for Ricky. If he beats me, it doesn’t really do anything for his career. It’s not like it would be a momentous occasion for him. Everyone’s beaten me lately. Shit, I don’t remember the last match I won. Or even when the last match was. September? August? And if he loses, he lost to FIGHT!’s biggest loser. Professional wrestling’s biggest loser. The world’s biggest loser..
“We’re here,” I hear the driver say as I come back to the present. I look out the window, up at what once was Dynasty Headquarters. That’s when I see people coming out of the building carrying boxes and pieces of furniture.
“Hey! Put that shit down!” I scream as I get out of the Lyft. I run up and try to grab a box out of the hands of one of the movers. “That’s my shit! Put it down!”
“Paulie!” I turn around to see Alessandra coming out of the building. I let go of the box and walk towards her.
“Alessandra, what the fuck?!”
“Paulie, where have you been? We’ve been looking for you.”
“Doesn’t matter. The fuck is going on?”
“It’s.. It’s Zia.. It’s your Mother.”
“My Mom? She’s here?” I ask, knowing what the answer is before she nods her head. “Where?”
“Your office. But Paulie there’s something else. Madi..”
Before she can finish I’ve blown right past her and run into the building. I almost fly up the stairs, five stories, like a fucking animal. I reach the fifth floor, walking into the kitchen, pushing movers out of my way until I reach the doorway of my office.
And there she stands. With her back towards me. My..