Post by vhodka on Dec 17, 2022 21:52:05 GMT -5
❝Wake up, there’s a mob outside.❞
Vincent stared down at me with a face as void of emotion as his voice had been. It seemed like such a statement should have been accompanied with a little more flair than he’d delivered it but maybe that was just because he was wearing a tiger print spandex dress that covered less than it should have and more than I wanted it to. I lifted a foot, using my toe to nudge the spandex of the dress up his muscular thigh.
❝I can’t believe you went down there like that.❞ I said as Vincent looked down at the length of his spandex clad body appraisingly. ❝You know orange washes out your complexion.❞
❝Hank was getting weirded out, I didn’t have time to find something in my color palette.❞ Hank was the doorman at our New York place and generally took a lot of weird shit in stride. If Hank was faltering that told me there were things much worse than my husband looking ashen in paparazzi photos.
My eyes scanned the floor beside the bed for something I could cover myself with but came up empty on account of the fact Vin was wearing the dress I had ended the night in.
❝Nothing weirds Hank out.❞ A wad of clothing landed at my feet as I spoke while Vincent pulled on a pair of jeans-sans-underwear underneath the dress.
❝You’ll change your mind when you get downstairs.❞ Vincent warned over his shoulder as he walked through the doorway. ❝Oh and you should put a robe on.❞
He was right of course, because Vincent Black was always right. Had I not loved him more than my McDonalds Happy Meal 101 Dalmatians toy collection that might have annoyed me, but I did so it didn’t. Actually, the fact that he always had the right answer to anything life threw at him, or me for that matter, was one of the things I loved about him – though I’ll never ever admit it to his face.
I spent a lot of my life around people who... let’s just say didn’t quite understand me. My mind would spiral and come up with these insane scenarios and all these questions that snowballed into one another and somewhere around the twelfth or twentieth question the eyes of the person in front of me would start to glaze over as their brain short circuited trying to keep up. That never happened with Vincent. He’d sit there and listen, eyes intent on my own and sometimes interjecting to ask clarifying questions and then by the time I had word vomited all of life's mysteries out of my mouth and gotten so far away from my original point that I’d have forgotten what it even was he’d have already put all the pieces together to form the perfect response. We were an excellent team.
Vin and I were kind of like feet when you really thought about it, and believe me, I had put some time into this analogy. Stick with me here: you have two feet and with those two feet you can do lots of things. One foot can be planted flat on the floor while the other is used to propel someone's teeth down their throat, for example. Both feet are doing their own important jobs but not the same job. Then imagine that after you perform a low-cost dental procedure you want to walk across the room to pick up one of those now newly independent teeth, well, your feet work together to get you there. Mirrored images of one another, both very different but still the same, both working together to move your giant meat vehicle of a body to the land of teeth and promise. Sometimes Vin was the foot planted into someone's jaw and I was what supported him while he did so, sometimes we moved alongside one another to get us where we wanted to go. There were times when we were apart but we always ended up finding our way back beside one another at the end of the day.
As my mind tried to make sense of the hundreds of candles melting on our sidewalk beside crudely drawn pictures of my face I was suddenly more glad than ever that Vincent was by my side.
❝Did I die?❞ I asked, turning to face Vin beside me. My husband looked out over the crowd as he considered my material status in the world.
❝No. They’d be more excited than this.❞ He finally answered.
I opened my mouth to protest but thought better of it. If I were dead I could think of at least six people who would be doing the jitterbug and double fisting margaritas outside our building and I didn’t see any of them as I scanned the crowd so Vincent was probably right about my corporal form still being corporal. But if I wasn’t dead, why the altar?
❝Alright, I concede. It’s weird.❞ I cleared my throat to hawk a wad of flem into my hand, extending it so a satisfied looking Vin could shake it with his own thus sealing the win. Before I even realized what was occurring Vin calmly yanked me back into his body as a woman broke through the security holding the crowd back and dove towards a small wet spot on the ground where my spit had dripped when we shook.
I turned to look at my husband beside me, the slight curling at one corner of his mouth being the only indication that he knew full well what was happening and was enjoying watching me try to work it out in my head in real time. I narrowed my eyes.
❝Spill.❞ I hissed.
❝Absolutely not.❞ He flicked a speck of imaginary dust off the lapel of my robe before stepping back towards the building and out of my reach.
The woman who had done a nose nice for my spit was putting up a hellacious fight with the security guard trying to push her back into the growing crowd beyond. I stepped toward them, reaching out to try to intervene.
❝Hey, back off for a minute. Leave her be.❞ The woman’s hand found my own, gripping for dear life as the security guard stepped away from us but not so far away that he couldn’t step back in if I needed.
As crazy people go, the woman dropping to her knees in front of me while she death gripped my hand looked entirely disappointing. But people said that about Ted Bundy too and look how that turned out.
❝Hello. What the fuck are you doing?❞ I asked through what I hoped was a smile.
The woman looked up at me from the ground with an awe usually reserved for inventive deep fried fair foods. Unnerving.
❝What would you have of me, lord?❞ The woman feverishly gripped my hand, eyes showing just a little bit too much white. I smiled weakly at her as I started the task of extracting my hand from her grip.
❝Annnd that’s enough of that, thanks.❞ Vincent snickered behind me. I whirled, taking a step closer to where he and Hank were standing away from the growing crowd. In the distance I could have sworn I saw what looked like a clown handing out pamphlets to passerbys.
❝They think you’re some sorta God, ma’am. Strangest thing I ever saw.❞ Hank took another step closer toward the building, ducking his head at me just in case the crowd was onto something.
Outside of private time with Vin I couldn’t recall anyone ever mistaking me for some sort of deity. Why the fuck would anyone want to worship me of all people? I was a certified fuck up, not the almighty. Vincent snorted as he watched the knowledge of what was happening dawn on my face. I looked down at myself for a good thirty seconds before I fully realized what I had done.
❝WEAR A ROBE, VIN???❞ Can you believe the audacity of this guy? It be your own people, I swear.
❝Can’t be a prophet without a robe..❞ He shrugged.
It seems like lately that life's been coming at me faster than that wall came Dale Earnhardt Sr. after Richard Childress Racing took that contract out on his head. It’s not just the usual stuff, either. It’s this whole godforsaken season and all the accouterments (that’s French) that go along with it. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. I mean, some people might even call me something of a modern day Santa Claus but that’s beside the point. It’s just, like, ever since I came back from the upside down two years ago messy things have only gotten messier and it’s hard to feel festive when I feel like Rudolph being shot down by drones somewhere over Guantanamo Bay.
See, the last few months specifically have been hot and heavy for me and I am not just talking about all the time I’ve spent getting hot and heavy, I mean, like, a lot of stuff has gone down in pretty quick succession in my life. A new job, a championship win, becoming one of the top faces in a nationally syndicated competition to crown the greatest wrestler in the business and that’s not even to speak of all the personal shit that’s happened in between. But you and I are still sort of new friends so I feel I owe it to you to give you the full five-dollar tour and get you up to speed so you don’t feel as cheated as I did when I found out Outback Steakhouse doesn’t actually serve Australian food. Wait, are blooming onions a native Australian food? I assumed it would be like vegemite and koala skin or something.
Anyways, I digress, we’ll talk about lunch later. Right now is about me and while I have been told I’m pretty tasty in a sort of similar way as to how Lana Del Rey tastes like Pepsi Cola we should probably get to know each other a little better before we get into details like that.
I had turned back to look at the crowd in confusion when I first spotted him. It was like everyone around him was moving in hyperspeed while only he remained still, a pale delicate ghost in the middle of a hurricane.
❝What is Strat doing here?❞ I asked aloud. Vincent suddenly went rigid, scanning the crowd.
❝Where?❞ He asked. I lifted a finger pointing to Stephen Stratford who had broken away from the crowd to stare at us from the sidewalk a few feet away.
❝Over there. Look.❞ Vincent followed my line of sight before frowning and looking back at me.
❝I don’t see him.❞ I wagged my hand, taking a step closer for emphasis as I looked from Stratford to Vin. Vincent shrugged his shoulders, looking back out at the crowd.
❝Must have just been a goth.❞ He responded.
❝What are you talking about? He’s RIGHT THERE..❞ Vincent took a step toward me, putting a hand on my arm.
❝Alright, I was a shit not to warn you about the god-status stuff. Point taken.❞ He placed a kiss against the top of my head. What the fuck was he talking about? This wasn’t me getting even, Stratford was right there staring at us. Was he in on this too? Did they set it up?
I turned back just in time to see Stratford turn and begin off on foot away from us and around the corner. I pushed away from Vin, following in the direction Stratford had gone.
❝Yo! LeStrat, wait up!❞ I rounded the corner just in time to smack directly into a wall that I knew shouldn’t have been there. After all, how often do you turn a corner into a dead end.
A voice with just the barest hint of Australian accent came from behind.
❝That was fun. Should we do it again?❞ Strat purred. I rubbed my nose, turning to find him behind me now dressed in a pure white suit that he hadn’t been wearing just a moment ago. I could feel my brows furrowing together in confusion before it hit me.
❝Not Stratford?❞ I asked despite already knowing the answer, staring at the man before me apprehensively. The corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk as he nodded his head at me.
❝Not Stratford.❞ He responded taking a step forward before he turned my body and linked his arm through my own.
❝Why do you always show up in his face?❞ I mean seriously, of all the forms that God could take why was it that everytime he showed up for me he looked like Robert Smith’s stunt double?
To make a long story short, this isn’t my first rendezvous (that’s French) with Strat-God. When I first came back to the business two years ago he came to me to deliver a message after I drove my ford up through the clouds and to the pearly gates of Heaven like Olivia Newton John in Grease. Turns out the whole thing was a dream and you should never take free crab rangoon from Mr. Wu but that’s besides the point.
Anyway, last time God showed up it was to help me before my very first title match back. If he was here now either he was wicked pissed about the whole upstart religion thing or I had another lesson to learn. Also, I have no idea why my subconscious thinks God looks like Stephen Stratford. I’m sure there's a few thousand dollars worth of therapy needed to unpack that whole thing.
God didn’t speak, simply led me to a door I could have sworn wasn’t there just a moment before. Strat-God used his free hand to gesture for me to open the door. This was very different from last time. Last time he turned into a dragon and sang WAP.
With a deep breath I reach forward and turn the knob, looking to God at my side. He smiles, patting the top of my hand before stepping through into the darkness. What else could I do but follow?
❝Hooooolllly fuck.❞ The words slipped out in a wheeze as I stepped into a room I hadn’t seen in twenty years, doing my best to sidestep a version of myself that was as many years younger. I whirled to God.
❝What the fuck is this?❞ God paid me no mind of course, he merely leaned against the wall and raised his eyebrows pointing at the people seemingly unaware of our presence.
It was this shitty joint outside of Memphis, sometime in the early aughts. We were all in the back just goofing off or whatever before the show, waiting for our call times. Bryan, my ex husband and greatest mistake, has had a few to drink this night and he’s feeling pretty big for his britches and he works up the nerve to come over to me and kind of try to get a little frisky with me. Let me pause here really quick to set the scene for you. Despite us all kind of running in the same group I really didn’t care for Bryan. First of all, dude was fuckin weird. Not like robot serial killer weird like Vin but like don’t leave your drink alone with him in a room weird. The kind of guy who I am sure now sits around sharing memes of the Joker with quotes like “when the nice guy loses his patience, the devil shivers”. Dollars to donuts he probably blew every penny he ever made on a collection of rare casual wear fedoras. This guy was the kind of guy who you could just sense there was something off about. If he ever heard me say that he’d be tickled because he wanted to be known as that kind of guy. Not the booger eating fedora date rape guy but as a “crazy guy”. He wanted to believe he was this edge lord insane violent dude that everyone was terrified of and as insane as he may actually be, it’s not in the manner in which he’s attempting to convey.
The last few weeks he had taken a sort of special interest in me when we were training. Putting his hands in places they shouldn’t have been, squeezing body parts he had no business squeezing. The worst was the day he hooked a thumb in my shorts during a roll over and bared my ass to the entire room. I called him on it then but I couldn’t prove that he had done any of this on purpose and like it or not, he was the name in the locker room. I was just some nineteen year old kid learning the ropes and lucky to have people like him willing to train me for free.
No doubt if Damon had ever known the extent of it he would have immediately put a stop to it but I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ignored it and thought if I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction maybe he would stop. By that night in the back Bryan was feeling pretty bold, he had come up to talk about the card and some shit we were going through with this other group whose name I can’t even remember at this point. Innocent stuff. As we talked he started sliding closer into my personal space but by that time I knew his games so I just brushed it off and continued to brush it off even when the conversation started to turn personal. I was pretty uncomfortable with this level of attention from a man in a position of power over me so I wasn’t really sure what to do, I looked around the room trying to make eye contact with literally anyone else but everyone was so into their own shit they never noticed anything was happening in our corner of the room.
Suddenly, out of nowhere he grabbed my hand and I’m thinking to myself about how I can politely take my hand back because I don’t want to make a scene and I really don’t want to upset these guys and lose my training spot if they think I’m a problem or something. As I’m thinking about a way out of this situation all of a sudden he takes my hand and puts it on his dick. And I’m not talking just on his dick, I mean like down the front of his pants skin to dick action here.
I was shocked. And then as I looked at him he has this stupid fucking smile on his face like I should be flattered or something. That was the tipping point and I absolutely lost it. I dug my nails into the flesh of his junk like a three toed sloth on bath salts and I twisted it as hard as I could. Bryan screamed and went down, he’s whimpering and his eyes are starting to water, but I kept my grip tight even as everyone in the room jumped up trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. He starts telling me to let go, just let go, that it was a joke, right? But I hold fast, I’m not letting up. Everyone in the room is panicking and screaming at us, Damon has a hold of my arm and is trying to get me to unhand his friend's dick, Alexis is torn between whose side she should be on in this instance and then all of a sudden someone starts laughing. Big ol’ belly laughs like I’ve never heard in my life. Everyone looks up and Vincent is sitting there across the room just losing his shit at the sight of my twisting this guy's dick off like the lid on a pickle jar. And that was the very first time I realized that not only did Vincent see me, he liked me.
❝She’s got spunk, that one.❞ I jerked at the sound of Stratford’s voice breaking into my memory.
❝Sexual assault tends to do that to a girl.❞ I huffed. Strat-God shook his head, taking a step closer to me.
❝No, I don’t think that was quite it. Look at you.❞ He said as he pointed to the younger version of myself being forcefully separated from Bryan’s testicles across the memory. ❝Look at this room full of people. You didn’t get here, with these people, because of the likes of Bryan A. Dyamond.❞
God clapped his hands and suddenly we were in the bathroom of a dingy bar called The Dusty Clam. I can see the shift in my own posture as I stand there in my underwear getting just a bit tired of the dumb redneck who had made me strip because of a lie someone else had told. Stratford steps to the side just in time for the memory version of me to charge at the redneck, driving a shoulder into his sternum.
❝This was the night they took you in, wasn’t it?❞ God asked from across the bathroom as if the fight raging on beside us was just background static after the national anthem had played.
❝What’s the point?❞ This wasn’t me being a shitbag, I really didn’t understand what he was getting at.
God frowned and clapped his hands again, my stomach did a heave-ho as the world shifted and we found ourselves in another nondescript locker room. I stared at God, trying very hard to keep my face blank.
❝Why did you bring me here?❞ The words were quiet, measured. He did not respond, merely smiled and walked further into the past.
I did my best not to look at Candice sitting in Vincent’s lap and quietly reminded myself that this memory couldn’t hurt me anymore. My eyes scanned the room, ping ponging back and forth in hopes of finding anything I could look at instead of the first time I saw my husband with his ex-wife. It was only bad luck that they landed on Bryan taking a swig out of a nondescript bottle across the room as he stared at the past version of me as she stared at Vincent and Candice.
Bryan Dyamond, my aforementioned ex husband, looked at all the women like he was in a cheap steakhouse looking to pick out the best cut of meat from a lobby display case. Bryan was the kind of man who wanted women like some men want nice cars, something to show off and lord above the other men around him as if to say “look at what I have and you don’t”.
That’s another thing about this business, the dick measuring contest between the men in the back. It starts with things like cars and houses and expensive watches but everyone can eventually earn enough to compete in that arena and that’s when it becomes about the women. For the most part, women cannot be bought – especially not women in this line of work. No, the women require something different entirely if you hope to be able to compare trophy cases and keep up.
Bryan shifted and seemed to be following my own line of sight to Vincent and Candice across the room. Bryan looked at Candice (or VooDoo, as you know her) like something that would legitimize him in the eyes of the men around him as someone worth even the miniscule amount of attention he so desperately craved. He was a lot like Candice’s former “master” Oss in that way, a stunted little man with a big ego constantly chasing the accolades that his peers came by naturally.
If Bryan looked at her like a cheap steak he was considering for dinner, then Damon sitting beside him had looked at her like she was a piece of artwork he wanted to wake up and look at every morning when he first opened his eyes to the world. He’s always been a romantic in that way, our Damon. Damon is sort of your stereotypical fifties' alpha male, he’ll be the first to tell you that he’s a feminist but truthfully, I think in the back of his mind he has always sort of considered himself responsible for the women around him, like because God gave him testicles that he’s somehow obligated to be the protector of all us frail damsels. I don’t know what it was about Candice that made Damon place her into that category but from that very first encounter something in him shifted and Candice moved from the “stranger” category into the “protection” category.
Damon and I used to be very close back in those days, after all, he was the one who brought me into this business. The man who trained me up to become the woman that you see standing here before you today. It’s weird, our relationship now. You can be so close with someone, feel like they’re more your family than some blood relations and then things get messy and you start to drift and one day you wake up and you hardly know one another anymore. I guess I’m sad about that, losing that connection that we had when we were coming up in the business. I’ve tried not to think about it too hard but... no, yes, I’m sad about it. Isn’t that strange? I didn’t even realize how sad I was about the fracture in my friendship with Damon until I started telling you just then.
Yeah, I know he can be a bit much. He’s hard headed and stubborn and he has this condescending way of acting like he knows just that much more than you do and even when he agrees with you about something you still have this sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t actually agree with you he’s just saying that so you think you’ve gotten the win. It’s downright infuriating. But beyond all that, he’s one of the most loyal people in this business. He gives selflessly without asking for anything in return, the first one on the battlefield when someone he claims as his pack needs reinforcements. There are a lot of reasons why we’re at the place that we are but I’d be lying if I haven’t also laid this body at Candice’s feet and painted her the villain for the degradation of my relationship with Damon.
You’d probably call it jealousy. It just felt like this was another place in my life where I came in second place to Candice, another man who picked her soft hills over my jagged valleys. He was my mentor, my friend, and then all of a sudden, he wasn’t. He was her friend; they were closer than we had ever been. When you hear him talk about the women in this business her name is always the one that comes first with me as an afterthought somewhere behind. It felt like an honor she didn’t deserve when it was what I had worked for so hard. The rational adult part of my brain understands that it’s all stupid and I need to let it go but God, like, do you understand what that’s like? To work hard and do everything right and you try and try to make the right choices and make people proud of you and then it’s all pissed away in an instant as soon as someone new walks in the room.
I turned away from the memory and back to God.
❝Do the clappy thing I want to leave.❞ My voice was unaffected and I was proud of myself for it. God crossed his arms, leaning against the wall beside me.
❝Why does this one bother you so much?❞ He asked.
❝Call me crazy but I don’t exactly have fond memories of finding out the guy I thought I was seeing was dating someone else.❞ Half true.
❝That may be true but it wasn’t what I saw in your eyes just now.❞ He pressed on.
The skin on my bottom lip ripped away between my teeth as I clamped down on a loose flap, hoping that by chewing on my lips it would save me from having to give an answer I wasn’t prepared to give.
❝You’re God. Shouldn’t you know already?❞ I mean it's kind of in the job description, right?
❝I want to hear you say it. I want you to hear you say it.❞ He shot back. I started running my hands along the wall where I knew there should have been a door that for some reason didn’t exist now. God slapped my hand away from the wall, tsking at me. I sighed, turning to face him.
❝FINE.❞ My mind did it’s best to sort through twenty years of repressed feelings in an effort to help me find the words to say it. ❝It wasn’t just Vincent. It was Damon.❞
God clasped his hands together as if he was pleased and nodded that I should continue.
❝This wasn’t just when she took Vincent away from me. It was when she took Damon.❞ There it was, an ugly truth I’d spent the last decade avoiding.
❝Took Damon how?❞ Jesus fuck, he was really going to make me say it, wasn’t he?
❝I was his protege. His legacy. I was supposed to be THE girl. But then Candice showed up and everything I worked for, everything I fought for. It was like they all just gave it to her. And the worst part was that she didn’t even have to do anything for it. She just showed up one day all naked and sexy and all these fucking idiots suddenly forgot I existed. ❞ A rage I thought I had already dealt with coursed through my body.
❝When Damon talks about the greats in this business do you know what he says?❞ Strat-God shrugged his shoulders but didn’t speak. I continued on. ❝He lists the men first, of course. Because everyone in this business always fucking lists the men first. But then once he’s listed even the most mediocre fucking man to ever do it he moves on to the women… do you know what woman’s name is said first? Every goddamned time?❞ I angrily pointed across the room.
❝Candice VooDoo Wolf. That’s who.❞ Bitterness was a copper penny on my tongue as I spat the words out at God.
❝You think she doesn’t deserve it, then?❞ God asked. I shook my head as if I could etch-a-sketch his words away.
❝That’s not what I’m saying. It’s fine. She’s FINE. She should be listed as one of the best to ever do it because she is and she deserves it. It’s just…❞ My words trailed off into silence.
❝What have you done lately?❞ The question was so out of left field it made me mentally stumble.
❝I won the Power Championship.❞ The words were barely out of my mouth before he cut me off.
❝Months ago.❞ God yawned.
❝I’ve been busy with the World Series of Wrestling. Saucy Sixt--❞
❝So has Candice.❞ God interjected before I could finish. I was beginning to see why Atheism was flourishing. I narrowed my eyes at Strat-God who either did not notice or did not care.
❝How many bookings have you turned down?❞ I opened my mouth to answer but he held up a hand. ❝How many times have you declined to returned to Excellence and finish the business you abandoned? As a matter of fact, when was your last wrestling match?❞
Yep, definitely beginning to see the merits of atheism.
❝Tri-Force Heroes. Early October.❞ I said through gritted teeth. God smirked at me and clapped his hands.
The world swam in technicolor vomit before it steadily materialized around us. I looked around trying to make sense of where he had taken us but for the life of me I did not remember this memory.
❝It’s not a memory.❞ God answered as if he had read my mind.
Across the room a tattooed woman stood in the mirror, an emerald green evening gown clinging to an ironing board body that was still remarkably fit for its age. I took a step closer to the woman, straining my ears to make out the words that she was saying.
❝I didn’t come into this business based on passion, like many of you in this room tonight. I arrived here simply by luck. The luck of being in the right place at the right time, the luck of having people like Damon Riggs willing to legitimize me. I didn’t know if I would be any good at it, if I had the tenacity to really make it a lifetime in a business that gives as much as it takes. But as I grew into my talent, this business grew too. I had not only the distinct honor and privilege of fighting wars with many of you in this room tonight but fighting wars alongside many of you as well. People like us do this for a lot of reasons. The fame, the money, the accolades. But for me, it’s always been the people.❞ The older version of myself paused as she stared at herself in the mirror before continuing on.
❝When you are born poor the world is sort of already decided for you. I wasn’t supposed to be here, I was supposed to be barefoot and pregnant in a tin can trailer. No one ever expected that I would ever be inducted into a Hall of Fame of any sort, unless maybe it had to do with shoplifting at the Piggly Wiggly. But here I am. With strangers that turned into family in a business that turned into a passion. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.❞
The sound of a door swinging open on the other side of the room seemed to startle future Vhodka. She smiled at the women who entered the room making polite smalltalk before excusing herself and stepping back through the door. I didn’t worry about whether God was following me or not, I followed the other version of myself all the way through the back hallways and back out into the grand ballroom.
I’m not sure what I expected a Hall of Fame to look like but this was so much bigger than anything I could have ever dreamt up on my own. The second thing that struck me was just how many people I seemed to know in the future. Every single table that I passed there seemed to be someone standing to hug me or calling out to me from their seat. Future Vhodka had to know almost every single person in this room. But not just knowing them, but more importantly, it seemed like everyone that she spoke to loved her. Or, me? I guess? Whatever. There was a fondness there between her and everyone she spoke to that made me smile in spite of myself.
At a table near the stage she finally took her seat beside an older looking but no less handsome version of Vincent. Around them sat Asher Jules, Noelle Rivers, JJ Starfire and most unexpected Pixie Sloane. Our proteges. They were hardly the barely twenty somethings I knew them as in the real world, and in some ways it made me sad. Not because they had aged but simply because they had hardened.
I tore my attention away from the kids to the sound of Damon Riggs' voice from the stage. He looked incredibly old. Like crypt keeper old. But there he was getting ready to induct me into the hall of fame.
❝I don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of talking about my monologues so I’m going to keep this one short and sweet so that we can get to what we all came for. This is a woman who needs very little introduction. She’s a pillar in this business, a phenom, a philanthropist and a friend to everyone she meets. This is a woman who no one ever expected to be here but worked her ass off for the last thirty years to make sure that she would be here. But more than that, outside of my wife and daughter, this is the woman that I am the proudest to know. The world thought that I was teaching you but the truth of the matter is, you were really the one that taught me.❞ I could hear Damon’s voice crack as the tears started to well up in my eyes.
❝I am so incredibly honored to induct into the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame❞ Damon paused, looking out over the crowd. ❝Candice Wolf-Page.❞
It felt as if the very ground beneath my feet had been ripped out from underneath me. Across the room Candice stood, wiping tears away from the corner of expertly lined eyes and she started towards Damon and the stage. I involuntarily stepped forward toward the future version of myself watching as future Vhodka averted her eyes from the stage to stare at her lap.
Asher Jules beside her reached over and placed his hand atop hers on her lap, smiling weakly at the older version of myself.
❝Next year is your year, mum.❞ He whispered over the sound of the crowd as future Vhodka nodded her head, trying very hard to keep her face blank as Candice started in on her acceptance speech from the stage above.
I whirled around to find God moving through the room and broke out in a sprint to catch up.
❝WAIT! What the fuck is this? This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! Answer me, goddamnit!❞ I yelled after him but he didn’t stop, merely walked out of a door across the room.
I hit the door only a moment after but instead of finding myself back in the hallway that we had come out of moments before I found myself staring up into Vincent’s concerned eyes above me.
❝Thought I lost you..❞ He used a hand on my back to prop me into a sitting position.
❝What happened?❞ I asked as I rubbed the back of my head where it suddenly hurt.
❝You passed out after spit lady asked you what time your sermon would be on Sunday. ❞ Vincent frowned. ❝Your phone has been ringing off the hook for the last twenty minutes. Tara Fenix called, said you were late for some sort of meeting and that Page and Vinnie were starting to get antsy? She told me Denzel was going to calm them down but she was sending Sauce Boss with a car to pick you up. Care to explain?❞ His eyes showed suspicion but I couldn’t muster the strength to throw him off the trail. There were much more important things to deal with now.
❝I don’t have time to explain. I have to get to work.❞