Alone
Scene One | Off-Camera
There was a part of her that felt bad. Felt bad that they hadn’t RSVP’d to the wedding. That even after the kindness that Carter had shown to Luna after the passing of her brother, that she wasn’t going to go to their wedding. Alex had said they should go. That it would be a good thing for them to remind people that they were just people too. That beyond it all, that they just wanted to live. She just couldn’t. She didn’t belong there. They didn’t belong there.
That was the problem these days. Everything she felt like she once could do, she no longer felt entitled to. She couldn’t go to that wedding and see what could have been. She wouldn’t change a thing in the world. Their day wasn’t perfect, but it was pure. It was gorgeous because James was there. What was left of him. The last time she’d ever see him alive. Hear that guttural growl of a voice. To hear him call her Lulu, to see Alex’s face light up every time James called him rockstar or daddy. They had their moment, and that was beautiful.
But she couldn’t see someone else living that moment. She couldn’t see them being happy when her own happiness will forever be plagued by such guilt. By such pain. She’d had her first birthday without him, and that hurt more than anything. To turn thirty, and not have her brother there to tell her she was starting to get saggy and wrinkly. To poke and prod, but to hold her when she had knocked back just one too many wines. Six months, some people would say she should move on. That wallowing in the pain wasn’t healthy. It was true, to a point. She was holding on to it. She was turning more to the bottle, throwing caution to the wind. Doing everything she could just to hurt and then cover it up.
To feel something.
She felt so alone. Alex and Adrienne were always trying to smile. To be a rock. To be happy for her. She had been so numb when they’d been to the hospital, that in that moment she’d attempted to be Alex’s rock. She knew how hard it was, and now he was managing that himself. He’d lost his own brother, realistically. They weren’t blood, but they were closer than most families could even dream of. He’d even let himself be fucking possessed by that dream demon. The creature who seemed to have his hands on so many of those around her. Sean, Alex, now he wanted Sullivan. Hell, he’d even met with James apparently.
Now even she was caught in his snare. Her dreams being led to what he said were worlds in which anything could happen. Alternate dimensions, universes, fucking whatever. Showing her happiness in which James was still alive. Showing her more of the vision she experienced with Sean. The baby, the happy home husband, the loving brother, alive and healthy. Worlds where Alex was making music, and not still wrestling. Worlds where she had never stepped into the ring. Every night was filled with things she wanted to see. To see if they could be real. To see if they were possible.
Everything she asked, he could show her.
And yet, she was still alone. Still hurting. Still drunk and still wanting her brother back. Wanting the baby. Wanting her friendship with Sean back. Wanting everything to be happy, to be warm. To be able to go to the fucking wedding.
“They asked if I wanted to do a guest DJ gig this year. Apparently somebody thinks I know more than metalcore and country.” Alex said, his voice cutting through.
She was ripped from her dissociative state, blinking a little. They were sitting in a cafe, somewhere, having brunch. Mimosa number three having just touched down, some eggs and toast in front of her, untouched. Alex looked like he was off in his own world too. He got like this a lot when he had big matches in front of him. Didn’t matter if he was confident, he was just always trapped in his head.
Maybe that was part of it for her now too. Truth is, this was the biggest pressure she’d been under. A world title, the main event. She’d only been doing this for a little over a year. Compounded with everything else, it was just a lot. Maybe she was right to be a little stressed.
“Remind me to go to bed early that night. I don’t need the rioters coming after me too.” Luna mocked in response, sticking her tongue out at him. Alex looked almost hurt. He couldn’t help but hide the slight smile though.
“Apparently after breaking that guy’s nose a couple years ago, I’m not allowed to run another masterclass. Unfortunate really. I could’ve run back to the Old Fashioned for Billy boy again.” Alex said, trying to keep the conversation light. Trying to coax her back into the world for a little while. It was strange being on this side of the fence. To be the one witnessing the nonsense talk. He must’ve learnt from someone good at it.
“Scream therapy for me. Apparently someone caught wind of the fact that I can do yoga, and that I like to scream. Who would’ve thought I could combine the two?” Luna said with a slight shrug. Alex cocked an eyebrow in response.
“Like that video with the guy dressed up like the Grinch?” Alex asked, slowly pulling his phone out. She knew exactly what video he was talking about, and the sudden dread washed over her.
“Ladies, theydys and Gentlethems only, you’re not allowed to come.” Luna said quickly, the smile not disappearing from his face.
“I’m sure I can find an outfit in your size then.” Alex snorted as he said it, the image clearly incredibly funny to him. Horrifying to her. She watched as he picked up his mug, and took a long sip of his coffee, looking around the cafe.
“I’m not wearing no fucking grinch suit.” Luna said a little louder than she meant to. A side-ways glance coming her way from a nearby table. A mother, father and kids. The kids and the dad found it infinitely funnier than the mother did.
“You never do what I want! I wore that fucking Ronald McDonald outfit for you that one time! This is so unfair.” Alex shouted out. He was definitely trying to get her revved up, but it was just what she needed. There were more eyes on them now, more laughter from some. Looks of disgust and annoyance from others. His smile beamed at her. Reminding her of the happiness in the moment. She reached her hands across the table and clasped them over his free hand, looking into his eyes.
“I’ll wear the grinch suit for you.” She said in response. An uncanny amount of cheers going up in the cafe. Others who didn’t find the humour in the situation quickly finished up and tried to leave, throwing the pair of them dirty looks.
It was moments like this. Moments of reality that grounded her. Reminded her that there was happiness in the moment. Even through the pain, he was still here. That even through his pain, he was going to be there for her. And for a moment, she didn’t feel so alone.
If only for a moment.
Managing Expectations
Scene Two | On-Camera
A small, quaint little room. A black leather chair, silhouetting against a neutral grey backdrop. Slowly transitioning blue and green panels in the background. It’s almost like a studio, but a little more intimate. A woman crosses the scene, settling into the seat. Luna Pasilno, a slight smile on. She looks at something above the camera, and nods a little. Taking a cue.
“It’s kind of surreal, you know? I was always just happy to be there. To sit on the sidelines, watching my brother. Watching who would become my husband. Watching others succeed in this industry. Watching them be juggernauts in this ring. Multi time champions, seeing them fight and claw. Watching as they bled, as they buckled, as their bodies refused to keep on going even if their minds were still cognizant. I sat there in the seats, and I watched. Then I made a decision. At twenty-eight going on twenty-nine, I was going to do more than watch. I was going to fight.”We get a close-up of Luna’s face. A faux documentary tight camera angle. Unlike normal, her face is bare. No make-up, her hair simply hanging loose. A raw look at the woman who is always so put together. A pain in her eyes.
“I’m still young in most people’s eyes. I think so too. I might have turned thirty this year, to little acknowledgement or fanfare, but it happened. I made a choice to get into this, to learn how to wrestle much later than the prodigies and the veterans that I’m surrounded by. See I get it, over and over. Every time I open my mouth, the young like to point out how much better they are, and the old like to tell me how much more experience they have. The problem is, I’m always going to be a step slower than those who started earlier, and I’m always going to have less experience than those who had this be their whole life.”
“That’s okay though, truly. It doesn’t bother me. See the difference is, whilst the theatrics and the business may be new to me? The actual technicality of it all? I can throw a punch better than almost anyone. I can scrap better than almost any of them. I can fucking fight better than fucking any of them, and I have proven that. This is the second year of my fucking life taking a punt on myself. This is the second year of my life trying to be those who I idolised, that I watched, that I loved, and for better or worse? I don’t think there is a single other fucking bitch walking around that could say that she has come remotely close to being like me.”
“History says I can win ‘em, I just can’t hold on to them. Roulette champion, beaten on my first defence. Internet Champion, beaten on my first defence. I couldn’t win back the Roulette championship, but I don’t think Jessie would say she walked out feeling like a winner when I got my rematch. I couldn’t win back my Internet championship, but I never begged and screamed for Ariana to give me a rematch. I didn’t throw around my weight, I didn’t cry and scream, I didn’t come out here every week breaking into rants about the same horseshit. I wasn’t a Courtney Pierce, a Juliana DiMaria or a fucking Ariana Angelos. I was making myself seen. I was learning, I was getting better. I was taking my lashes and giving back everything I fucking had. I was showing everyone who the fuck Luna Pasilno is.”She takes a deep breath, her eyes watering slightly. Emotional. Far more than we normally get from the fiery banshee. Seeds of self-doubt manifesting in an attempt to be sure of herself. Her lips pursed in a tight line, a slight shake of the head.
“I earned my way to my championship opportunity. The truth of it? I don’t think there are any other women in this company right now that have done enough to earn what we have. Kayla and I? There’s a reason this match gets the main event. I’ll give props to Juliana for starting a movement. For shaking her fist enough to get the idea of the women being seen as the top draws. Somewhere, and bare with my minor hypocrisy here, between the incessant swearing and woe-is-meisms. She said some truths that were hard to ignore.”
“The women are carrying this fucking company, and the men? They don’t deserve that main event until they can step it up. I beat my own fucking husband to ensure I got my opportunity here. I teamed with, and in turn befriended, the man my husband hadn’t seen eye to eye with. I did what I needed to do to prove that I belong here. Some would say that we had the easier run, and you know what? I’d agree. There was no Bobbie Dahl, or Eiley in my way. There was no Mark Cross or Peter Vaughn in Sean’s way. We had an easier run, but you know what? In the end, we beat them. We won our opportunity to be in the main event on this ship. I won my opportunity to stand across the ring from you, Kayla.”
“And that is what people need to understand. I might be ‘green’, and I might not be the one with the impressive undefeated record in home and away games. But nobody can question my worthiness. Nobody can question that I don’t deserve what I have fucking worked for. Nobody can question that Luna Pasilno is the only woman that deserves a shot at the Bombshell World Championship, and it didn’t matter who it was across from me. I’m glad it was you Kayla, because there ain’t nobody else I think it should be. It didn’t matter if it was though. It doesn’t matter because I know. I can fucking win the big one when I need to. I fucking know that I can be on top of the pile and stand there with my head raised high if only for a minute.”
“I know that I am The Idol of Sin City Wrestling, and when that final bell rings, we’ll all hear the same thing.”“Here is your winner…
AND NEW!
Bombshell World Champion, Luna Pasilno!”
A smile settles on her face, a few tears sliding down her cheek. Tears of joy, of overt emotion. A twitch in her cheeks, a quiver of her eyes. She tilted her head back a little and looked straight up, trying to blink the tears back, raising a finger to gently dab and wipe them away. A long, slow and heavy breath.
“I’m used to being questioned. I’m used to being doubted. I’m used to being spoken down to and made to feel lesser than. I’m used to the fucking disrespect and I’m used to being hated for simply trying to be true to myself. So colour me surprised when Kayla Richards doesn’t spend her every breath trying to talk me down. Not entirely, anyway. A match based on mutual respect, not embroiled in bitter resentment and hatred. No, this? This is simply a match of two people who want the same thing. To be the one holding the biggest belt in our business. To be the one seen as the leader of the Bombshell division.”
“To be the one with the right to fight whoever they deem worthy. To fight off the asinine and ignorant. To fight until they cannot fight anymore. That’s the truth of it. This comes down to the line, and neither of us is going to give. The Conspiracy threw almost everything we had at the Wolves, and it came down to the line. It came down to my body giving out because my mind wouldn’t let me do it willingly. What I realised? That when it comes down to the line, either of us can be the winner. When it comes down to the line, it will depend on who out of us can hold on just a little bit longer. Can I suck in one more breath before getting to the ropes? Can you scramble away before I slice the calf off the fucking bone? Can you blink the daze out of your head before the hand comes down for a third time? When it comes down to it Kayla, this is a game of fucking millimetres. The winner is just going to be whoever wants it just a little bit more.”
“And nobody wants this more than me right now.”A flicker of irritation dashes across her features. An anger bubbling in her eyes, the flaring of the nostrils. The twist of her lips, battling within herself.
“Kayla. I do love you, I’ve told you so. Nobody ever acknowledges my ability to stand on my own two legs. Nobody ever acknowledges the work I put in to be my own fucking person. Nobody, but you. Maybe it’s from hearing the same thing. Living in the shadow of someone else. Only being acknowledged when it comes to being the other half of a team that nobody thinks you are the one fighting to make the best. Truth is, I think we’re a lot alike. No matter how much difference there is, we’re fighting the same things. The same fucking people, saying the same dumb fucking things. Doubting us for the sake of making themselves feel better. Minimising what we do, so that they can feel superior.”
“I’m tired of being seen as less. I’m tired of being told I’m living in the shadow of someone better. I’m tired of being torn down because I happen to be a fucking woman. That’s what nobody wants to acknowledge. Nobody ever accuses the newlyweds of being lesser than the other. Nobody questions who has more authority between our corporate fathers. No, any relationship, platonic, corporate or intimate. Two men? Nobody even thinks to question it. But me? I’m no hanger on. I’m not the lesser half. I’m not some shill who is riding the laurels of someone else. No, I am Luna fucking Pasilno. I am the fucking Idol, the masochist, the former queen of fucking vanity. And I am no less fucking vain. So I respect you Kayla, for not taking the low road. I respect you for not belittling my existence.”
“I’m still going to do what it takes to tear you down, and stand at the top. To prove to everyone that there is no lesser in Luna. That there is no riding the coattails of someone. That I am, exactly what the fuck I’ve said I am for months. That I am, exactly who the fuck I say I am.”Luna stands up quickly, the emotion bubbling over, the camera cutting to a wider shot. She kicks back at the chair, toppling it over as she begins to pace back and forth. Murmurs from somewhere behind the camera, that quickly stop with a sharp look from the now fired up lady.
“Scouting. That’s what they call it. Watching the tapes, watching the matches, being involved. Scouting. I’ve done my due diligence, I’ve done my scouting. I’ve heard the words and I’ve seen the action. You were right in that the Mixed Tag Team championship match was a lose-lose situation, but not for the reasons you think. It was a loss because people got to see a preview of this marquee match a little early. Diluting what they expect. Except, the finish might have been us, but that wasn’t our war. Ironic, after talking about not being in someone else’s shadow, but what people got to see was that Alexander Raven is still good enough to step up to Finn Whelan. What people got to see was that Kayla and Luna have so much more to show. That when they take to the ring in that final match, that when that bell rings, everything goes out the window.”
“We lost, and that stings. But Finn was right. I want this. I want this so fucking much. More than Alex. More than Juliana who is now pretending that she is content with being put on the bench. More than Courtney Pierce who simply fell off the face of the Earth after being devastated. More than Alexandra Calaway, who just couldn’t get the job done. I said that this was going to be my year. I told everyone that this was going to be the year of the Idol, and I am three seconds away from that reality. I am three seconds away from toppling the baddest bitch in Sin City. I am three seconds away from nobody ever questioning me again. You mentioned the pantheon of greats. Alicia Lukas, Amber Ryan and even Mikah. You just had to try and belittle everything I work for. Acting like these women are far greater, and here I stand, ready to be overlooked again.”
“Not this time Kayla. When I won the Internet Championship, I said there were three kinds of people. The inevitable future, the has-beens and the never-wills. I am the inevitable fucking future. Mikah that you are so obsessed with? Has-been. What remains to be seen? Are you going to be the inevitable future with me? Or are you going to be another never-will? Samantha Marlowe’s career is all but over because of me. I’m the only one crazy enough to put my hand up to go toe to toe with Tempest whenever she asks it. I’m the only one batty enough to step into a barbed wire hell with a hardcore veteran, simply to prove a point. I’m the only one confident enough to step to Kayla Richards and Finn Whelan and say ‘I can beat you.’ And I will beat you. I will tear everything down if I need to. I will scrap, I will fight and I will fucking bleed out if that is what it takes to get what I want.”“Because I need this.”
Flashes of different scenes flicker over the screen. Images of Luna with blood pouring down her face, curled up in the shower, covered in paint, a barbed wire crown on her head. Flashes and moments from different matches, her encounters with Jessie Salco, Ariana Angelos, Kim Pain and the aforementioned Tempest.
And then a flash of light. Blinding white.
“I am the fucking Conspiracy.”
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.