Post by Abigail on Aug 20, 2021 11:55:58 GMT
Shortly after Sacrifice went off the air, Abigail found herself at a crossroads, not for the first time in her life and probably not for the last time either. She had some time to reflect, backstage, alone. She wore her black âBorn Badâ t-shirt and denim jeans, her heavy eye makeup seemed to drag her face down a little further, felt a little heavier as she sat on the second to last step in a quiet, secluded arena stairwell. Most of her colleagues and a majority of the venue staff were in altogether busier parts, most likely catering, so it was a reasonable bet that she would not be disturbed by anyone here.
Sheâd made herself a target, the biggest non title target in the entire division. Sheâd drawn the ire of nearly all of her fellow competitors with the things sheâd said publicly, and in doing so she once again cast herself in the role she felt most comfortable in, because ultimately it was the only role that ever seemed to fit her.
The Outsider.
The Rebel.
The Lone Star.
It all fit her, like a well worn glove. There was a certain warmth and comfort to it all. An inescapable sense of familiarity that anchored and grounded her. She wasnât like anybody else around here, and she never would be. For a time, maybe she could have been. Maybe she could have fit in, made more friends, or at least fewer enemies. But to do so would mean having to sacrifice parts of who she was and compromise who she is and always will be, and that just didnât seem worth it.
Pretending to be something other than who she was had been something sheâd tried more than a few times in her life, and each and every time it only ever got her so far and left her feeling unfulfilled deep down in her soul. A feeling she could not ever abide, no matter how hard she tried for the sake of being perceived as normal by everyone else.
She wasnât normal, not by a country mile, how could she be?
Not with her long history of abuse and psychiatric isolation. Normal people didnât feel helpless and abandoned all the time. Normal people didnât have to come to terms with shit like how fucked up her birth family were, or how her biological parents, for as little as she remembered them, had left her with an indelible feeling of never being good enough. Never being worthy enough of their love.
If she had been, Mary Kane wouldnât have found solace in biting down on a fucking bullet, barely a year after she was born, according to the newspapers Spike had shown her.
If she had been, Christopher Kane wouldnât have used her as a masturbatory fucking tissue for several years and discarded her just as carelessly just as she was getting old enough to understand what was going on, realise that it wasnât love. It couldnât be. Love wasnât supposed to hurt, wasnât supposed to feel so fundamentally wrong. Not a fatherâs love, anyway.
No, she was born defective, fundamentally flawed.
That was the nature of her whole Goddamned existence.
An indisputable fact of life concentrated and running thick and black in her perpetually boiling blood. A stone cold truth sewn deep into her pale flesh. An undeniable reality ground into her dreadfully weary bones. She still had more than enough fight left in her for a great many important things, but a fight to be accepted for who she was in the here and now felt so utterly pointless.
A fight against her truest nature was entirely futile.
Few people would ever understand what she had always felt, even fewer would appreciate why she felt what she had felt for most of her life. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending that more people in her life would finally make her normal. Perhaps it was time to stop chasing social acceptance, popularity and worldwide recognition as a genuinely good person. Perhaps it was time to concede that sheâd never be the popular girl, universally adored and held in the highest esteem for her God given talents, and natural abilities.
Not that she had all that many, but the few she did have were undeniable.
Sheâd proven as much since coming back to the Imperial Wrestling Federation over a year ago now.
Sheâd proven that even the Devil Herself could not shatter her divine spirit or break her iron will. Her single reign as the Womenâs World Champion had been longer than both of Rowanâs combined. Not by much perhaps, but enough to prove a point to the woman who had left her for dead three years ago. Whether the Harbinger of Destruction ever admitted it to herself, Abigail drew considerable strength and self assurance from knowing that Rowan MacDonnough felt every damn bit of that particular slap to her face.
Abigail smiled, as she savoured that particular thought.
Sometimes it really was about taking a step back and being grateful for the little things in her life.
Practicing gratitude for every little, often overlooked achievement in her life and her career was still an under appreciated skill that she was trying to refine through her regular therapy sessions with Dr Blackbourne. The good doctor frequently insisted that it was far too easy to get lost in the pursuit of things she didnât have and lose appreciation for the things in life that she did have, most of which could never be taken away from her.
Conquering the literal manifestation of her most professional demons was one such special little thing.
So, she had not earned another shot at the Womenâs World Championship like she had hoped. It was a disappointment to be sure, one that would sting for a little while yet, but sheâd get over it. Sheâd bounce back, sheâd done it so many times at this point in her life, she could do it again. She would do it again.
She wasnât dead yet, that meant she still had time.
Just another little thing to be eternally grateful for.
Abigailâs grin widened further as she fished her phone out of her pocket. Flipped through her camera roll and settled on a picture of her and Eternity together in the rolling hills of Ireland. A picture Eternity had only agreed to take after considerable reassurance and promises that it would never be shared with anybody else. Their cheeks pressed together, and cheeky tongues jutting out to complete the happiest yet goofiest look.
The first and rarest glimpse of who Eternity really was, under all her make up, and divorced entirely from her work. The closest the consummate professional had ever come to truly taking a real vacation and letting her true soul shine through in years.
A precious but fleeting moment of her absolute humanity in a world that so routinely denied it.
Abigail sighed, her shoulders slumped and she suddenly felt dreadfully aware of the empathy which knocked at her rib cage with every beat of her heart. In that moment the special photograph became a painfully transparent mirror. It was clear now that the world would always see the two of them differently.
Because they were different, and it was precisely their mutual differences that made them incredibly special.
She was wrong to try and bring Eternity into the normal world, to do so would be to destroy everything Abigail held so dear to her heart. If the world could not or would not see her as Abigail saw her, maybe it was not something the rest of the world even deserved to see. Maybe, Abigail and Abigail alone saw something special in her as a person because Abigail and Abigail alone was the only one worthy of seeing it. Maybe Eternityâs humanity didnât need to resurface for the rest of the world. Maybe Abigail could learn to bury hers instead.
But she couldnât do it alone. She needed help.
If they couldnât be happy together in this judgmental surface world, perhaps they could be happy together in some deep, dark corner underneath it. Away from all the ungrateful eyes and bitter tongues.
Abigail felt sweaty and a little flushed as she opened the chat window on her phone, her heart and mind racing, on the precipice of a huge decision. She was about to select a path from which she already knew there would be no easy return. She reread her last exchange for a brief moment as she composed herself with a slow deep breath.
You: Iâm sure she will. Iâll make sure she does in fact.
E: Thanks, youâre the best, Abby. đ
Abigail began typing, slowly at first. It took a while for the words to settle into an even and comfortable pace as they left her head.
Fri 22:22
You: I was wrong about everythingâŚ
E: Regrets?
You: No. Not all all. No regrets. I said what I said, and I meant it. Every last damn word. Nobody appreciates you for who you are.
E: You do. All that matters. To me. I donât need anybody else.
You: You need me?
E: We need each other. Donât we?
Abigail felt a flutter in her chest, it was brief but most definitely there.
You: Yes. As I was saying I was wrong telling you to be more open with your feelings around other people. Iâm sorry. I shouldnât have pushed. Your way of doing things, of coping with the stresses of this business have worked for you for so long, I was arrogant to assume things needed to change. Itâs not you who needs to change, itâs me.
E: Not too much, please. I like who you are. Human. A reminder. Thatâs important to us both.
You: I like who I am too, at least away from all this shit. I have no intention of changing who I am around you, hun. Donât worry, but Iâve come to the realisation that I let my emotions get the better of me, especially when itâs about you, or us and our friendship. I need to change that. I need to learn how to keep my feelings in check better so they donât interfere with my work. I know you understand that. You wouldnât have half the successes you do if you didnât.
E: I understand! All too well! How can I help?
You: Teach me how to create emotional separation and detachment, temporarily of course. I just need something I can rely on in certain situations, you know? Something to give me better emotional control so that I donât get overwhelmed so easily.
E: A good psychiatrist , no help?
You: Not particularly. She recommends medication, but then they all do that, donât they? I donât want to deal with side effects and all that BS, not whilst my career is going reasonably well. Besides you know better than most, they wonât clear you to compete on certain drugs. I canât risk that. You cope without medication, donât you?
E: BarelyâŚ
You: Barely 5x WWC is barelyâŚgtfo lol!đ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Ł
E: â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸
You: Will you help me, please?
E: Yes. Absolutely. Anytime, my love. đ¤
You: Good. Thank you. I owe you. â¤ď¸đ
E: Itâll mean more time away fromâŚnormal things, you know?
You: I know. I could use it, tbh. After Legacy, I donât want to distract you from your big title defense, obviously.
E: Sounds good.
You: Bless you & good luck. Give Shelly hell & show her why she doesnât deserve this. I know you can, I believe in you. â¤ď¸
E: đ¤
Upon reflection, Abigailâs heart felt at least a thousand times lighter after that exchange with Eternity. Every exchange between them was like that. Abigail could tell her anything, absolutely anything and she always, always felt so much better for it. As if talking to her alone was enough to kill her doubts and anxieties stone dead on arrival, before they even had a chance to really take hold.
Spike Kane did not join her in the stairwell this evening, even as part of her had expected him to. To tell her that she was being stupid, that she was misreading Eternity altogether, but nothing else happened. She remained alone, in silence, undisturbed.
Every sense of her most recent loss being shed from her like water off a duck's back. It felt insignificant suddenly, and grew more insignificant with each passing second until Abigail realised that things had probably worked out much better this way. If she had won the shot, sheâd have held herself back naturally. There were limits she wouldnât dare ever cross to hurt Eternity especially.
Everyone else though, they were more than fair game to receive a receipt for everything they said, and they would get one in time.
She just had to be patient, as Eternity routinely observed, nothing lasts forever. Not even historic title reigns.
Abigail would earn another shot given enough time. She could wait.
Hopefully until such time that Eternity was no longer champion.
In the meanwhile, Abigail would use the time to refocus, to reset, to grow and to learn from her mistakes under the guidance of the absolute best competitor in this company or any other. Abigail was already so much more than her flesh and blood, and with Eternityâs help, she would be so so much more still.
Even stronger.
Shed been through Hell more than once already, what just happened out there tonight wasnât even close.
Just the stark reminder that she needed. A reminder that sometimes there was no better place to start over than at the end.
Abigail pockets her phone again before she gets up, turns and moves from the stairwell, beginning her climb all the way back to the top, retracing steps that sheâd already taken, not so long ago.
Sheâd made herself a target, the biggest non title target in the entire division. Sheâd drawn the ire of nearly all of her fellow competitors with the things sheâd said publicly, and in doing so she once again cast herself in the role she felt most comfortable in, because ultimately it was the only role that ever seemed to fit her.
The Outsider.
The Rebel.
The Lone Star.
It all fit her, like a well worn glove. There was a certain warmth and comfort to it all. An inescapable sense of familiarity that anchored and grounded her. She wasnât like anybody else around here, and she never would be. For a time, maybe she could have been. Maybe she could have fit in, made more friends, or at least fewer enemies. But to do so would mean having to sacrifice parts of who she was and compromise who she is and always will be, and that just didnât seem worth it.
Pretending to be something other than who she was had been something sheâd tried more than a few times in her life, and each and every time it only ever got her so far and left her feeling unfulfilled deep down in her soul. A feeling she could not ever abide, no matter how hard she tried for the sake of being perceived as normal by everyone else.
She wasnât normal, not by a country mile, how could she be?
Not with her long history of abuse and psychiatric isolation. Normal people didnât feel helpless and abandoned all the time. Normal people didnât have to come to terms with shit like how fucked up her birth family were, or how her biological parents, for as little as she remembered them, had left her with an indelible feeling of never being good enough. Never being worthy enough of their love.
If she had been, Mary Kane wouldnât have found solace in biting down on a fucking bullet, barely a year after she was born, according to the newspapers Spike had shown her.
If she had been, Christopher Kane wouldnât have used her as a masturbatory fucking tissue for several years and discarded her just as carelessly just as she was getting old enough to understand what was going on, realise that it wasnât love. It couldnât be. Love wasnât supposed to hurt, wasnât supposed to feel so fundamentally wrong. Not a fatherâs love, anyway.
No, she was born defective, fundamentally flawed.
That was the nature of her whole Goddamned existence.
An indisputable fact of life concentrated and running thick and black in her perpetually boiling blood. A stone cold truth sewn deep into her pale flesh. An undeniable reality ground into her dreadfully weary bones. She still had more than enough fight left in her for a great many important things, but a fight to be accepted for who she was in the here and now felt so utterly pointless.
A fight against her truest nature was entirely futile.
Few people would ever understand what she had always felt, even fewer would appreciate why she felt what she had felt for most of her life. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending that more people in her life would finally make her normal. Perhaps it was time to stop chasing social acceptance, popularity and worldwide recognition as a genuinely good person. Perhaps it was time to concede that sheâd never be the popular girl, universally adored and held in the highest esteem for her God given talents, and natural abilities.
Not that she had all that many, but the few she did have were undeniable.
Sheâd proven as much since coming back to the Imperial Wrestling Federation over a year ago now.
Sheâd proven that even the Devil Herself could not shatter her divine spirit or break her iron will. Her single reign as the Womenâs World Champion had been longer than both of Rowanâs combined. Not by much perhaps, but enough to prove a point to the woman who had left her for dead three years ago. Whether the Harbinger of Destruction ever admitted it to herself, Abigail drew considerable strength and self assurance from knowing that Rowan MacDonnough felt every damn bit of that particular slap to her face.
Abigail smiled, as she savoured that particular thought.
Sometimes it really was about taking a step back and being grateful for the little things in her life.
Practicing gratitude for every little, often overlooked achievement in her life and her career was still an under appreciated skill that she was trying to refine through her regular therapy sessions with Dr Blackbourne. The good doctor frequently insisted that it was far too easy to get lost in the pursuit of things she didnât have and lose appreciation for the things in life that she did have, most of which could never be taken away from her.
Conquering the literal manifestation of her most professional demons was one such special little thing.
So, she had not earned another shot at the Womenâs World Championship like she had hoped. It was a disappointment to be sure, one that would sting for a little while yet, but sheâd get over it. Sheâd bounce back, sheâd done it so many times at this point in her life, she could do it again. She would do it again.
She wasnât dead yet, that meant she still had time.
Just another little thing to be eternally grateful for.
Abigailâs grin widened further as she fished her phone out of her pocket. Flipped through her camera roll and settled on a picture of her and Eternity together in the rolling hills of Ireland. A picture Eternity had only agreed to take after considerable reassurance and promises that it would never be shared with anybody else. Their cheeks pressed together, and cheeky tongues jutting out to complete the happiest yet goofiest look.
The first and rarest glimpse of who Eternity really was, under all her make up, and divorced entirely from her work. The closest the consummate professional had ever come to truly taking a real vacation and letting her true soul shine through in years.
A precious but fleeting moment of her absolute humanity in a world that so routinely denied it.
Abigail sighed, her shoulders slumped and she suddenly felt dreadfully aware of the empathy which knocked at her rib cage with every beat of her heart. In that moment the special photograph became a painfully transparent mirror. It was clear now that the world would always see the two of them differently.
Because they were different, and it was precisely their mutual differences that made them incredibly special.
She was wrong to try and bring Eternity into the normal world, to do so would be to destroy everything Abigail held so dear to her heart. If the world could not or would not see her as Abigail saw her, maybe it was not something the rest of the world even deserved to see. Maybe, Abigail and Abigail alone saw something special in her as a person because Abigail and Abigail alone was the only one worthy of seeing it. Maybe Eternityâs humanity didnât need to resurface for the rest of the world. Maybe Abigail could learn to bury hers instead.
But she couldnât do it alone. She needed help.
If they couldnât be happy together in this judgmental surface world, perhaps they could be happy together in some deep, dark corner underneath it. Away from all the ungrateful eyes and bitter tongues.
Abigail felt sweaty and a little flushed as she opened the chat window on her phone, her heart and mind racing, on the precipice of a huge decision. She was about to select a path from which she already knew there would be no easy return. She reread her last exchange for a brief moment as she composed herself with a slow deep breath.
You: Iâm sure she will. Iâll make sure she does in fact.
E: Thanks, youâre the best, Abby. đ
Abigail began typing, slowly at first. It took a while for the words to settle into an even and comfortable pace as they left her head.
Fri 22:22
You: I was wrong about everythingâŚ
E: Regrets?
You: No. Not all all. No regrets. I said what I said, and I meant it. Every last damn word. Nobody appreciates you for who you are.
E: You do. All that matters. To me. I donât need anybody else.
You: You need me?
E: We need each other. Donât we?
Abigail felt a flutter in her chest, it was brief but most definitely there.
You: Yes. As I was saying I was wrong telling you to be more open with your feelings around other people. Iâm sorry. I shouldnât have pushed. Your way of doing things, of coping with the stresses of this business have worked for you for so long, I was arrogant to assume things needed to change. Itâs not you who needs to change, itâs me.
E: Not too much, please. I like who you are. Human. A reminder. Thatâs important to us both.
You: I like who I am too, at least away from all this shit. I have no intention of changing who I am around you, hun. Donât worry, but Iâve come to the realisation that I let my emotions get the better of me, especially when itâs about you, or us and our friendship. I need to change that. I need to learn how to keep my feelings in check better so they donât interfere with my work. I know you understand that. You wouldnât have half the successes you do if you didnât.
E: I understand! All too well! How can I help?
You: Teach me how to create emotional separation and detachment, temporarily of course. I just need something I can rely on in certain situations, you know? Something to give me better emotional control so that I donât get overwhelmed so easily.
E: A good psychiatrist , no help?
You: Not particularly. She recommends medication, but then they all do that, donât they? I donât want to deal with side effects and all that BS, not whilst my career is going reasonably well. Besides you know better than most, they wonât clear you to compete on certain drugs. I canât risk that. You cope without medication, donât you?
E: BarelyâŚ
You: Barely 5x WWC is barelyâŚgtfo lol!đ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Ł
E: â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸
You: Will you help me, please?
E: Yes. Absolutely. Anytime, my love. đ¤
You: Good. Thank you. I owe you. â¤ď¸đ
E: Itâll mean more time away fromâŚnormal things, you know?
You: I know. I could use it, tbh. After Legacy, I donât want to distract you from your big title defense, obviously.
E: Sounds good.
You: Bless you & good luck. Give Shelly hell & show her why she doesnât deserve this. I know you can, I believe in you. â¤ď¸
E: đ¤
Upon reflection, Abigailâs heart felt at least a thousand times lighter after that exchange with Eternity. Every exchange between them was like that. Abigail could tell her anything, absolutely anything and she always, always felt so much better for it. As if talking to her alone was enough to kill her doubts and anxieties stone dead on arrival, before they even had a chance to really take hold.
Spike Kane did not join her in the stairwell this evening, even as part of her had expected him to. To tell her that she was being stupid, that she was misreading Eternity altogether, but nothing else happened. She remained alone, in silence, undisturbed.
Every sense of her most recent loss being shed from her like water off a duck's back. It felt insignificant suddenly, and grew more insignificant with each passing second until Abigail realised that things had probably worked out much better this way. If she had won the shot, sheâd have held herself back naturally. There were limits she wouldnât dare ever cross to hurt Eternity especially.
Everyone else though, they were more than fair game to receive a receipt for everything they said, and they would get one in time.
She just had to be patient, as Eternity routinely observed, nothing lasts forever. Not even historic title reigns.
Abigail would earn another shot given enough time. She could wait.
Hopefully until such time that Eternity was no longer champion.
In the meanwhile, Abigail would use the time to refocus, to reset, to grow and to learn from her mistakes under the guidance of the absolute best competitor in this company or any other. Abigail was already so much more than her flesh and blood, and with Eternityâs help, she would be so so much more still.
Even stronger.
Shed been through Hell more than once already, what just happened out there tonight wasnât even close.
Just the stark reminder that she needed. A reminder that sometimes there was no better place to start over than at the end.
Abigail pockets her phone again before she gets up, turns and moves from the stairwell, beginning her climb all the way back to the top, retracing steps that sheâd already taken, not so long ago.
Well howdy there pardner.