Post by Roxy Cotton on Dec 10, 2018 14:38:39 GMT -5
The increasingly familiar sound of manicured fingernails dancing across a laptop keyboard clicks through the air.
The black screen brightens and focuses in on Roxy Cotton sitting cross-legged on her California King sized bed in a dark purple camisole.
“Finally.”
She gives a little wave into the webcam.
“Hi Sam. Been thinking about me? I’ve been thinking about you. Call it a girl crush, if you want. You’ve been on my mind now since the first day I signed a professional wrestling contract as a competitor. You’ve been on my mind non-stop since July, when we were both going to be on that ill-fated inaugural Lioness Pro show. You remember, I’m sure. I had you shook from the second I created my official account online and started pushing my brand. You and everyone else, obvi, but especially you. I think we both know why that is… I didn’t make it any kind of a secret that I was coming straight for you, did I? No, no, not at all. What’s sad though is that you could have kept it simple. You could have just ben business. See Sam, I didn’t know a god damn thing about you back then. All I knew was that another girl wanted you hurt, and she knew I could get the job done. You were just one of many women who I was going to go after tooth and nail, there was just a little added financial incentive for you. Oh, but you couldn’t handle that, could you Sam? No, you had to be as basic as the rest of them and go for the low hanging fruit. ‘Roxy’s a slut,’ you said. ‘Roxy’s tits are fake,’ you said. And, worst of all, you said I was a nobody who couldn’t get the job done.
I’ll give you credit, Sam. You were right. My tits are fake.
I wonder if you felt a little bit of relief when Lioness shut down unexpectedly. I bet you did, didn’t you? Since we both know you wanted nothing to do with being in a ring with me even then, even though you told everyone that would listen that I didn’t have the ability to get it done in a wrestling ring. I wish I could have seen the look on your face when my name showed up on the LAW roster. I wish I could have been there when it dawned on you that I still had the same goal in mind when I signed my LAW contract as I did leading up to that Lioness event – a goal that finally gets to be realized at LAW #70 in Minnesota. Get my hands on Samantha Tolson and break her. This time I’m not going to do it for money, though. I’m doing it for the sheer enjoyment of it. And also, this time I’m not coming to break you by injuring your bones or your flesh… I’m not going to try and end your career by taking out your knee or breaking your neck… no, I’m going right for your relevancy.
See Sam… when I first started looking into all the girls I’d eventually have to mix it up with, your name did in fact stick out in the beginning. You had a bit of a reputation. People respected you. You were walking around with three titles from three different promotions, after all, you had the goods to back it all up! At least, that’s what it seemed. Then I looked closer, and I started seeing the cracks in your foundation. I knew you and your Chaos Title were my primary goal. The day I signed my LAW contract I told Lucas Dupree that personally. He knew from day one that this was what I wanted, and what I’d have, before I ever turned my focus to bigger or better things. To me, right now, unseating the most undeserving, ungrateful, and unapologetically embarrassing champion in women’s wrestling today is more important than winning a world title, or making a million dollars. And make no mistake, Sam, I took a pay cut to come here. I could have made more money elsewhere, but it was important for me to come to LAW and take away your identity.
Why?”
Roxy takes a sip from a glass of red wine on her bedside table.
“Because of the cracks, baby. The crumbling foundation.
Samantha, everything about you is a lie. This image of a dominant champion. This idea of a successful relationship with your wife. Everything. Is. A. Lie. How funny is it that you tell everyone who will listen what a whore or a slut or a plastic porn starlet I am, yet here I am in the same committed long-term relationship with my partner of three years running, and you’ve been tossed out on your cheating, skanking ass. Isn’t that just karma jumping up and cunt punting you and sending you back into the sad single life with two fat lips? Tell me, Sam, are you going to put FORMER Chaos Champion and FORMER Champion on your Tinder profile now that you’re reduced to trolling the internet for pussy? Then again, I guess you were doing that anyway, otherwise Maggie wouldn’t have given you the boot, right?
But Sammy, the biggest lie of them all has been your run in LAW… I went through everything on Twitter not long ago, but let’s revisit it for a sec, okay? Your Chaos Championship reign has been the most underwhelming and unimpressive title run in modern history. It’s been nearly a year, Sam. Nearly a year since you won that title in a match that no one can seem to remember or produce any evidence of. You may as well have won that belt in a tournament in Rio, baby. Since that time, again, nearly a year ago, you have defended that title TWO times. Oh, I know, you can say that LAW didn’t book defenses, but we all know that as a champion, especially an established, long-reigning one, you have some pull. You can offer to defend, but you’ve been satisfied to sit back and collect a champion’s salary while doing nothing to earn it. You mail in your performances for all your non-title matches show after show, getting beaten by everyone. EVERYONE who gets in the ring with you. So what kind of a champion are you? What kind of a champion is satisfied with losing match after match after match just because their title isn’t on the line? What kind of champion allows her pay per view appearances to include a non-title match against a rookie competitor like my friend Angie, who immediately turned around and beat you two weeks later to make up for it I might add, and also a disqualification victory while defending the supposedly CHAOTIC championship? I’ll tell you what kind, Sam. A fake one. A fraud. A pretender. When I get my belt back from you in Minneapolis, I can promise you that I won’t be disappointing the LAW fans around the world by hiding behind a year’s worth of non-title losses – I’ll defend it at least once a month unless I’m actually prevented from doing so in some way. Guaranteed. The Cool Kids are all about changing the face of LAW and saving the business from the lazy, worthless title holders that have gotten fat and complacent at the expense of ruining wrestling for all of the fans.”
Roxy takes another drink from her wine, emptying the glass. She seems to remember something while still swallowing and holds a finger up to the camera with raised eyebrows.
“Oh! You heard me right, babe… I said I’d be getting MY belt back. You say I stole it from you at the end of LAW #69, but the honest truth is that you stole it from everyone else last year. I’m just taking it back and putting it around a gorgeous waist that the people want to see and can be proud of. As soon as I walked in the door at LAW, that Chaos Title belt belonged to me. It’s got my name on it, and the only one who can’t see it is you.
Sam. Samantha… whatever you want to be called, it doesn’t matter… I want to speak to you from the heart right now. As not only a performer in this company and someone who has made professional wrestling her life’s passion inside the ring but also as a fan outside of the ring... your time is up. Titles are falling off of you like skin from a leper. Your personal life has come apart at the seams. You’ve lost every shred of respect you ever had from anyone in the business.
The cracks are wider and wider.
Sam, baby… do the world a favor and hang it up. Call it a career. Ride off into the sunset after you lose that third belt and after Sativa ruins you in your 4CW match for ‘bragging rights’ or whatever the fuck it is. Go away. Retire.
Please.
Thx bb. XOXO”
Roxy then blows a kiss at the screen and reaches forward, pulling the lid of her laptop closed and ending the broadcast.
BIRTH OF A BOMBSHELL
Kamloops, British Columbia – 2007
“Racquel? Racquel are you in here?”
A knock on the door, quick raps on the wood.
Racquel was sitting at a small purple desk with a vanity mirror in a cutesy bedroom typical of adolescent girls. She stares vacantly into the mirror at her reflection, blinking away an occasional tear.
“Racquel!”
An older woman opens the bedroom door and leans in, calling the young girl’s name again with an annoyed tone in her voice.
“Uncle James is out here, come say hello.”
Racquel closes her eyes and waits a long time before answering.
“I don’t want to, mom, just tell him I don’t feel good.”
The older woman enters the room fully and plants her fists onto her hips, her eyes becoming stern.
“You said that last time. You can’t just hide in your room every time your uncle comes over. He wants to see you, that’s half the reason he comes to visit. You and your little sister.”
“Mom please…”
“No, Racquel. Come say hello to Uncle James. No arguing, unless you want to be grounded.”
Her mother slams the door shut, leaving Racquel alone with her thoughts. She’d been working tirelessly for months to get ahead on her studies, hoping to get into an accelerated graduation program and finish secondary school early. She was carrying a perfect grade average and had been ever since moving up into High School.
Her books were stacked neatly next to her on the desk, near a small makeup case. Since she had been playing with the makeup a little earlier, her face was painted somewhat with lip liner and eye shadow. She knew her uncle loved to see her dolled up, and so she took a tissue from a box on the opposite side of the desk and started wiping away at the cosmetics, leaving her face bare.
Her dark hair was in normal bangs in the front, but tied into careful braids on either side of her head. Racquel took out her hair ties and unraveled her braids recklessly, not bothering to brush them out, choosing instead to leave the hair in messy sheets on either side of her face. She stares at her reflection some more and waits until the shiver of her lower lips goes away. Brave faces only.
Then she walks out of her room and into the living room area of the small home.
“There’s my girl! Racquel come sit on Uncle Jimmy’s lap!”
The 40-something older brother of Racquel’s mom pats his thigh through his jeans, smiling from ear to ear.
“Hi Uncle Jim. I’m really tired from homework, so I’m going to go to bed early tonight. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t sit and talk long.”
Uncle Jim’s smile falters for just a second, but only Racquel notices the momentary lapse of his friendly veneer.
“Well that’s okay sweetheart! I was going to ask your mom is she minded me staying over tonight anyway. I don’t want to make the drive back to Vancouver this late, you know? That okay Mandy?”
“Of course, Jim! You’re always welcome here.”
Racquel’s mom is turned away in the kitchen, washing up dishes from dinner. She doesn’t see the frozen expression on her daughter’s face or the way her hands instinctively curled into fists after her uncle’s self-invite was accepted.
“I’ll get you some blankets and set up the fold out couch as soon as I’m done here in the kitchen.”
“Great, Mandy, thanks! Racquel where are you going?”
The girl stops mid-stride as her mother turns and glares at her. She had tried to retreat back into her own room but was stuck in the icy stare from her mother, no doubt trying to telepathically shout at her for being so rude to her uncle. If she only knew the thoughts Racquel was simultaneously trying to send back.
“Oh, hey, Racquel, guess what? I brought those tickets to Los Angeles I promised you. Looks!”
Racquel’s Uncle Jim, who made a lot more money than her mom, had promised a trip to LA for Racquel’s birthday. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to go to California, see Hollywood, try to maybe get discovered as a model or an actress. It was a pipe dream, really, a fantasy that every teenage girl probably has at some time or another, but she was definitely excited when Jimmy pulled out an envelope from his back pocket.
“Here you go!”
“Honey tell your Uncle thank you!”
“Thank you, Uncle Jimmy…”
Racquel stepped forward and reached for the envelope, and when she did so Jim quickly reached out and wrapped an arm around her slim waist, pulling her around and plopping her down onto his lap. She froze again, and when h planted a lingering kiss on her cheek that ‘accidentally’ slid to her neck for just the slightest second, she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out.
“You’re welcome… anything for my beautiful niece.”
His hand squeezes her knee.
“You have such pretty hair. I hope you always keep it this color and don’t bleach it like some whore. You’re a good girl, right Racquel?”
“Yes Uncle Jim.”
She whispers it so quietly that she doesn’t even hear herself over her uncle’s own breathing. Her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums doesn’t help much either, especially when the pad of his thumb starts to rub on the top of her thigh. Why did she wear shorts? What was she thinking?
“Yes Uncle Jim. I’m a good girl, like always.”
“Good. Good girl, Racquel.”
With a burst, Racquel pops up from his lap and turns to face him. Her breathing is too quick, practically hyperventilating, and she has to get some distance before she loses it in front of her mother.
“I’m really tired… I… I need to go to bed. Goodnight Uncle Jim. Thank you so much for the tickets.”
“Racquel!”
Her mother calls after her as Racquel hurries back toward her room. Her Uncle Jim smiles and holds a hand up to his sister though.
“It’s okay Mandy, she’s been working hard, let her get some sleep. Besides, I’ll see her in the morning. Goodnight, princess.”
Racquel rushed to her room, closing the door hard and leaning against it as she began to sob. Her entire body shook as she heaved with gasping cries, trying her best to keep them as quiet as possible.
After taking a few seconds to allow weakness, she composed herself and started getting ready for bed. She changed into an ugly pair of heavy flannel pajama pants and a tee shirt several sizes too large for her, then turned her bedside radio to the classic rock station she enjoyed. Getting under the covers she made sure to tuck them around herself like a safety cocoon.
Pulling the chain on her bedside lamp plunged the room into darkness. On the radio, Steven Tyler of Aerosmith was wailing about a girl named Janie, and Racquel lay in the dark with her eyes wide open, knowing she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep that night.
When the door to her bedroom quietly opened two hours later, she tried her damndest to pretend to be asleep, but her tears gave her away.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
