It Doesn't Matter...

Time is supposed to heal all wounds. So we watch that clock and wait. And wait. And wait some fucking more. All the while our blood is dripping on the floor, creating a design of misery and... and pain, dirtied by the muddy footprints of 'friends' and 'family' waltzing on by. Just... mucked up by all the people who offered their pity and promise and... love.

It hurts. Because every minute that goes by our hope is dying, like leaves in the fall... drifting off of a tree that was once flourishing with aspiration and assurance, now drooping low with broken promises and... hate.

You can say that optimism is the key to unlocking the door of the prison others have put you in. You can say lifting your head and keeping it held up high is what will help you stay afloat. You can say whatever you want. Waste your fucking breath. It doesn't matter. Words only exist to express emotion... sympathy, specifically. Empathy if you've been through something similar... which is funny, as no situation is exact, and all victims handle things differently.

So tell me you care.

And watch me laugh in your goddamn face. But hey... at least I'll have a smile on mine, right?

......


It was cold and dreary. So obviously I was in England. Specifically Sheffield. And what adventures had the Baddest Bitch and her idiot 'manager' begun that day? 

Nothing.

"I didn't like her."

My voice was quiet, stoic. It was one of those days where I didn't really know who I was or what I wanted. Floating by, really. And Jen Ryette and I... we were kind of just... walking around. I had a hot tea in my grasp, which I had not so politely requested not to have any goddamn sugar and milk in and yet somehow it had both. Fucking Brits...

"I didn't like her wifey." Jen piped up, slowly putting a hand absently to her cheek. There was still a slight bruise from where Emily (Constance Chapin's... ugh... 'wife') had hit her. Some women just have a mean slap. I prefer utilizing my actual abilities. Or my title, if necessary.

"Cheating. Is that what it's called?" Before Jen could answer, I took a reluctant sip of my disgustingly sweet tea before answering myself, "That's what everyone is calling it, anyway."

"I call it usin' your head. Or uh belt, hehe."

"It was a cheap victory. But it was a victory." I paused, shivering slightly. Was never a fan of the cold. And even in my darker jeans, simple black shirt (the words 'Illuminati This, Bitch' in bold lettering), and leather jacket (one of four seasonal leather jackets, this one slightly thicker and actually big enough to zip up)... I was still cold. 

"Ya made money either way." Jen takes a gulp of her own hot beverage (cocoa), which she'd specifically asked for extra sugar... only to end up with a chocolate milkshake.

...I'm still trying to figure that one out.

"Money. Eh. I have plenty of that..." I paused, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand and sighing, "I just... couldn't stand her face. The blank look is so overdone."

"So's the angry biatch."

"Yeah but at least I admit I'm trying too hard." A bemused smirk twitched at my lips, and Jen giggled as well. This was probably the most peaceful the two of us had been lately. Having found out that Jen had been going behind my back to try and get Matt Slater to 'save' me... well I didn't react well. She was pretty shocked that I found out too... until I pointed out that it was on the VoW shows... you know, the on-camera recorded Breakthroughs........

"Where're we goin' anywayz?" Jen interrupted my thoughts, offering me a questioning look. She brushed a strand of her long, chestnut hair out of her face, the winds blowing it all ways, her colorful dress pressed against her because of it as well.

I squinted up ahead, before awkwardly looking over at her, "I don't really know. Just felt like getting out of the hotel. Claustrophobic and a bit depressing to stay holed up there..."

"I don't think walkin' 'round and avoidin' training for your bout wif da Hard Hawk is doin' much better though..."

"I'm not avoiding anything." That came out a bit angrier than intended, but luckily Ryette didn't even seem to notice (or was just used to the angry tone I tend to use with her).

"I'm just sayin'... he beat Judy-kinz. He almost got Cassie-Cakes. You're kinda hoverin' between those two in ability... soooo..."

"So I just need to be better than Dathyn. Not that hard, considering his head's in the clouds most of the time."

"Yeah but he's good at talkin', ya dig?"

I stay silent, thinking about that for a moment as we climbed a small hill in the most rural part of Sheffield. After a few minutes of Jen lazily humming what I think was Arctic Monkeys, we managed to get near enough to the top to see a small part of town. Right in front of us was a Victorian style church (which you see a looooot of in England), and something about it made me catch my breath.

There had been so much plaguing my mind recently. Putting aside my matches, everything between was... slowly killing me. Matt Slater trying to force his way back into my life... to... save me or whatever he was trying to do. I always admitted to being a bad person, but it isn't just because of my violent tendencies and hateful personality. There's always been something deeper; a poison in my blood. And that alone made my muscles tense as I stopped cold, dazed gaze locked onto that old building.

"Cera Bear~? Earth to.... uhm?" Jen cocked her head, watching me with the slightest bit of worry as I suddenly dropped down to my ass, crossing my legs 'indian style' and whispering aloud...

"Do you think... there's power in prayer...?"

"...uhm, say what now?"

Jen sat next to me, bringing her small legs up to her chest and turning her head slightly to eyeball me. I wrung my hands together in my lap, staring ahead at the building. We fell into silence, for a couple minutes, before I opened my mouth. Closing it immediately after, I clenched my jaw and hesitated... then tried again.

"Amazing grace... how sweet the sound... that saved a wretch like me..." I swallowed, as my voice broke at the end there. With weak, sardonic laughter, I spoke up again, "Time. Prayer. People. They're all supposed to be able to heal. But they don't. And I'm not..."

With a bitter shake of my head, I pulled out my cellphone and opened up my recording app. My finger was shaking... I wasn't sure why. Emotion. Cold. A bit of both, maybe. But it... didn't matter. Clicking play, I spoke as clearly as I could...

"Faith."

I paused, allowing the word to sink in, before continuing in that same quiet, calm tone that I'd held all day, "Do you have faith in a higher power? In your friends and family? In your partner? In yourself?"

The whistle in the wind echoed within the recording, and I stared toward the church for a second, then kept on, "Everything seems to rely on that, doesn't it Heath? Faith... hope. The confidence in yourself and others, and the belief that they'll pull through; that everything will work out. It's very important..."

Letting my thought trail off, I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly, "What if you don't have that, Heath? What do you do? God.... how many fucking times have I asked that over the last couple of years? I've been doing this for half a decade and I still haven't figured myself out. But I guess you've accomplished what I can't seem to. You know who you are, right?"

"A man who refuses to live in the past. A man who keeps his chin raised; who confidently steps up to the biggest and the baddest without a bat of his eye. A guy who walks into a federation and within a mere couple of weeks, people know his name. The motherfucker who nearly beat the World Champ, defeated another title holder, and could easily stand amongst those who supposedly rank above him. You are Heath Williams. And we all want to be you."

Jen had lifted her head at this point, and was watching me with a bewildered frown. But I pressed on, slowly moving to my feet as I spoke into the recorder with a firm yet worn voice, "Let me tell you something. We all have our demons. We all fight against the monsters of our past, in one way or another. Insecurities. Addiction. Abuse. A bad childhood. We've all fucking been there. And the skeletons that gather dust in our closets aren't always so easy to ignore. Some just do that better than others. Even if it creeps on you, peeks over your shoulder... you push it back. You keep going. You, Heath, are the type to brush shit under the rug and move on, with a powerful walk and a hungry look in your eyes."

"Cera..." I quickly cut Jen off, continuing, my voice moving from that steady and quiet tone to a harsher, shakier one.

"I'm not like you. I'm not like Bickerton or Casanova or Storm or Iser or... or Slater. I don't have that special... 'thing'... that makes people want to know more or watch more. That's why the people I fight usually just shrug it all off. Glance at a picture of me, make a snap judgment, and move on. Even with a strong record, I'm still a second thought..."

I laughed again, this one sadder than the last, before it suddenly twisted into anger... but not just that, my voice even reverted to the menacing tone I'd become accustomed to using, "Ohhh isn't it funny how this works. A title to the face, a warhammer to your skull... or knee... a thick boot to your fucking balls. There have so many times that I'd attempted to jump into the race to the top of the mountain. Rather than get trampled, people ran right through me. I tend to fly under the radar, then snap up when you least expect it."

"Take yo' money, snatch up yo' hoes." Jen added with a mischievous grin, and I rolled my eyes at her and smirked. But even with the cold, arrogant grin, my eyes were still hazy as they stared out toward the dreary gray sky.

"It doesn't matter." I stared at the recorder, swallowing back any nerves I had as I spoke in a louder voice, feeling a pang in my chest as I went on, "While you have depth and confidence, I just play the cookie cutter bad bitch who looks really good in leather. We'll put aside the sister I shove away because I fucking failed to protect her in the end. We'll put aside the scars from not only years of physical and emotional torment, but the ones I gave myself to taint my own blood. We'll just wave off the whole yearning to be a better person, but inner demons always dragging me back down in the end. We'll... we'll just wave off the goddamn child I could have raised to... to be more than what I FUCKING AM! We..."

My teeth hurt, I was tightening my jaw to the point that I wasn't sure I could open it again. Tears stung at my eyes but I fought them back, all the while expecting Jen to be upset with me for being so... human. But when I glanced over at her, my small companion was clutching her arm and staring away, lower lip trembling ever so slightly. And that's when whatever bit of heart I had left... broke.

"I'm sorry." I was back to the quiet, melancholy tone, "This was supposed to be about our match... wasn't it? A fight to determine... what exactly? Who's stronger? You're up and fighting, and here I am breaking down. Who's more talented? I'm useless on the mat, and my kicks aren't what they used to be. Who's going to stand at the top of the mountain? You're already halfway there... I haven't left the ground."

"He's strong. In a lotta ways..." Jen murmured, and I exhaled again, blowing upward and watching my visible breath dissipate in the air.

"But... I wanna break your face." Ryette blinked, lifting her head to look at me as I grinned slightly, still speaking into the recorder in my phone, "Pity me, right? I'm just a miserable old hag and you're a sprite young thing. Right? And yet here I go again, with this wicked grin and cocky demeanor. You'd be fucking right if you said this was a mask. You'd be on the mark to tell me I'm hiding a shitload of vices and pain, that drag me down day after day. You would simply be stating facts to say that I try too hard to live up to this silly little moniker I'd given myself... the Baddest Bitch?"

"You don't know bad..." Jen was looking hopeful, watching me as I stepped forward to the edge of the hill. People near the church glanced over at us, but didn't really pay much mind to my antics as I continued fiercely. 

"It. Doesn't. Matter. The miserable, gut-wrenching feelings that have me curled up in the fucking fetal position every other day of the week... the memories that just don't wanna fade no matter how much I drink. None of that even matters!" I laughed and threw my free arm up, "We'll be in the wrestling ring! I'll be decked out in revealing leather, you'll be oggling me. The bell will ring and we'll go to town with punches and kicks and I'll try to avoid the mat, you'll try to focus on my legs because obviously I would never expect people to immediately go for those... and then I'll show you why Seth Iser considers me a veteran in this line of work!"

One final pause, as I lower that arm and smile slightly, my wild eyes softening slightly, "Heath... empathy aside... all of these things I've been through, anything you might have too... we'll leave in the past, focus on the present to move forward in the future. That's your niche, isn't it? To keep your mind on the metaphorical prize... but what do you win at Darkest Hour? Bragging rights? To say 'look what I overcame', not that you seem to care much to know who I am... because you'll learn that it's never just win or lose with me. There's a battle that I've been in since I was very young... not against anyone who's hurt me. Not against any struggles or hard times."

"I... even as my boot makes contact with your fucking face..." I took in a breath, the cold air making my throat hurt as I finished off in a calm and quiet tone... "Even as I force your shoulders to the mat. Even as the bell tolls to signal my victory... even then... I'll still be fighting. But that doesn't matter, does it?"

I lowered the recorder, feeling my heart throb in my chest. If a burden had been lifted after saying all that, I hadn't noticed. My shoulders still felt heavy... my eyes still stung. Rubbing at them for a moment, I eventually managed to expertly pull out a cigarette from it's pack in my pocket with one hand. I put it between my lips and pulled out my lighter, flicking it... only for the wind to blow it out.

Exasperated, I moved to put my phone away so I could block the wind, but I halted when Jen came over and cupped a hand near the lighter. She locked gazes with me, before her lips twitched up into one of the most sincere smiles I'd ever seen on her face. Allowing her to protect the flame from Sheffield's winds, I lit up my cig and almost immediately took a drag. 

"Ah sweet nicotine..." I mumbled through the cancer stick in my mouth. As I enjoyed the moment, Ryette leaned down to pick up our drinks, and soon enough we had begun walking again, away from that church and the oblivious patrons hovering inside and out.

As we moved, I noticed my phone had gone black. Tapping the button atop it, I watched tiredly as the screen flashed on... and the app restarted itself. Within a couple of seconds, I stopped dead in my tracks as realization came over me...... I hadn't ended the recording, nor saved the file.

After standing there, defeated, with Jen having turned around impatiently, I released a sigh and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I then glanced back over my shoulder at where we had been, knowing now that the only remnants of my heartfelt speech were being carried along with the rolling English winds...

We are not at war with flesh and blood, but with ourselves and our own self-delusion...

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~This has been a V rp, thanx for reading and have a great f*cking day!~