Second Chance

[Abigail]

Like a bunny caught in headlights, Abby Spencer thought.

She sat cross-legged with her back up against the wall on one floor of the Texas rescue center, and stroked one of the latest abandoned Rex rabbits that had been brought in three days ago. She had named her Snowy, because the bunny’s brown mottled face set against a pure white fur body reminded her of a snow-capped mountain.

Snowy had been found left on the side of the road in a cardboard box, and though the shelter was more used to accommodating cats and dogs, the small family operated center prided itself on never turning away an animal in need. An ethos and morality that made it incredibly easy for Abigail to volunteer here whenever she was home and able to spare the time.

Snowy fed on some lettuce from Abby’s hand, whilst Abby herself chewed over the last week’s events at Sacrifice in San Antonio. Cyrus fucking Daniels had returned and swept through damn near all of her family. A hulking human tornado, as devastating as any she’d grown up and personally experienced. Bucky, Jeremiah, Jeb and Ricky had all once again been swept aside and rendered utterly inconsequential going into this year’s Roulette Match at High Stakes.

Being cast aside for the younger and more athletic prospects in the IWF Performance Center was hardly a new or entirely unexpected occurrence for The Spencers. It had taken a few years for Abby to reconcile the fact that if it hadn’t been for Spike Kane’s specific endorsement a year or so before his untimely death, she’d likely be as expendable as at least half the disposable bodies talent in her next match - a second chance Iron Maiden Battle Royale.

After last week’s “Lone Star” exhibition match, Abby’s impulse to march into Roberto Verona’s office and tell him and his mysterious legion of henchmen exactly where to shove his job had been tempered only by both Jeb and Eternity warning her not to make herself an unnecessary target. They had reasoned that Abby’s suspicions that Vivienne had set her latest foreign lover on Bucky specifically could not be proven and she’d serve nobody by throwing around unfounded accusations. Fighting The Murder on principle and throwing herself in the crosshairs of The Legion were two entirely different proposals, both of which would not be in her best interests.

Abby was already regretting the fact that just before coming here this morning, she’d had a heated text exchange with Eternity in which she’d accused her new girlfriend of siding with the Legion against her family just like Eternity had sided with Rowan MacDonnough in The Dark Triad a couple of years ago. Abby’s heart didn’t believe any of it for a second of course, but Abby’s mouth often outran her common sense.

Abby got too hot too quickly, it was an issue she was not only well aware of but had spent the last few years in particular trying to correct under the guidance of her longtime therapist, Dr Blackbourne. It had been a long and arduous journey so far, and some days, like today she felt no closer to being the best possible version of herself than she was when she’d first began her therapy decades ago.

Abby pulled out her phone, opened the message window to Eternity and sighed at the ‘Seen’ messages. An obscene curse ridden one sided venting that had ended on the hard regret of Abby categorically stating that she felt she couldn’t trust anybody. In hindsight, Eternity’s response of assuring Abby that she could always trust her had been more than reasonable, but still in the heat of the moment, she’d typed three small words that Abby shook her head at and cursed herself for throwing at Eternity, even now: The Dark Triad.

She should have unsent the stupid and unnecessary reminder of a time in their friendship that they’d both much rather forget, but it was already too late. Eternity had already seen it, and hadn’t responded in several hours. There shouldn’t be a red heart emoticon today, Abby didn’t deserve it. Abby sighed as she typed out her apology and a quick follow up that she didn’t mean to say what she’d said.

Abby’s heart skipped a beat as the two short messages were registered as sent and seen. Abby almost willed a ‘typing’ notification, she needed it. She needed Eternity to say something, she needed to know they were okay, and that Abby had not just fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to her over something so petty and inconsequential, but there was nothing. No acknowledgment or forgiveness.

“Abs, you okay?” Daisy said as she sat across from her on the floor. “Been staring at your phone all morn’, everythin’ okay at home?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Abby lied, in no mood to discuss her myriad of personal problems with the woman she’d still not forgiven completely for how Daisy and her fiancè had disrespected Eternity a couple of weeks ago. “I’m fine, honest.”

Abby quickly pocketed her phone, part of the reason she had come here today was to confront Daisy on her passive discrimination of Eternity, but she found herself stalling and avoiding the subject entirely. Her thoughts were too preoccupied with not only how she’d snapped at Eternity over something that wasn’t her fault, but also how for the first time in years Abby would be on the road for IWF without any of her four big brothers by her side.

Bucky, Jeremiah, Jeb and Ricky had all been granted a few weeks off and were expected to be fully cleared for the Roulette at High Stakes at the end of the month, though the more naturally pessimistic side of Abby doubted they’d be at one hundred percent, especially Bucky. A combination of stubborn pride and good old fashioned Texas grit would likely have to do most of the heavy lifting if The Spencers had any hope of realising their dream of all competing at a major pay-per-view together. In eleven years, it had never happened, this was likely the closest they’d ever come.

Of course, even if the boys made it to the Roulette, Abby still had to do her part and qualify for the Iron Maiden. She’d only been in one before, and she’d never won and now she worried that she’d alienated the single most important mentor she could have possibly ever had going into the single most important match of her career since her return to IWF over the most trivial of trivial bullshit.

Ding.

Abby retrieved her phone with remarkable swiftness, braced herself for Eternity’s forgiveness, but instead it was Jeb messaging her asking if she’d heard the news about Uriel Black. Black was not a name she’d considered in over half a decade, a relic of an old life she’d left behind in the Age of The Gods faction with Dawn Halliwell and Angel Blake. She’d come so far since then that she hardly recognised the person she was back then.

Abby clicked the TMZ news article Jeb had sent and immediately regretted it. Her stomach turned. The last time she’d been this horrified, the trauma of Vivienne Rodgers’ upbringing had been brought to a sickening light. This news was in such a similar vein that it elicited the same three letter response she’d had back then: WTF!

Ding.

A red heart emoticon from Eternity.

A blessed reprieve from all the horror she’d just digested, Eternity stood in the doorway, in a long black trench coat and wide brimmed hat. Abby jumped up to her feet and almost skipped over to her beloved girlfriend. Abby clung to her as if she was a life raft before she allowed herself to drown in her silent tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry in so long but the news of Uriel Black’s darkest perversion of every faith she had ever been brought up on broke something in Abby and she sobbed openly in Eternity’s wonderfully uncompromised embrace.

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“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves.” - Matthew VII:15

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Abigail Spencer sat among seven grounded candles, her legs crossed, and an arm lazily rested on her raised right knee whilst her left faced outward. She has her head bowed and her eyes closed. She has no makeup and her hair is gathered in a loose ponytail. She is wearing one of her old ‘Born Bad’ T-shirts and a faded pair of blue denim jeans, decidedly less well put together than she typically would have been, had life not been so personally draining lately.

She still had a job to do and an obligation to fulfill. She forced herself to look at the camera and push herself onward, but she sounded considerably more drained than she would have liked going into such a career defining Battle Royale.

Before I get down to the business of addressing how I feel about my match this week, allow me to extend a long overdue olive branch to a couple of old friends whom I allowed to get lost in the shuffle of the last few years of my life.

Dawn Halliwell an’ Warren Harper.

The truth may finally be out on a great deal of things for us all personally, but I’d like to think that even though we’ve never been family, we were always friends. Admittedly, my loyalty to Spike Kane and his dyin’ wish has made me a pretty shitty friend these last half dozen years, and for that I can make no excuses and offer only my sincerest an’ most heartfelt apologies.

I can only ask your forgiveness, my friends.

It is entirely your choice as to whether ya believe me when I say ya don’t have ta face these tryin’ times alone. I am still willin’ ta be a light in the darkness by which ya can guide ya selves if ya let me be. I am only a phone call away, I promise.

Now whilst I await your call, I must answer another this week.

The call of destiny.

Charlotte Shimizu and April Madrox may have booked a date with her at my expense, but as my great love - the single greatest Iron Maiden in the history of this company - will attest to, I ain’t nothin’ if not absolutely committed.

Despite it’s longevity, this company and our division of the greatest female wrestlers on the planet is once again in a state of flux. Somebody in management decided ta take me up on gettin’ more than a little creative when bookin’ this Iron Maiden Battle Royale. A two stage contest, first we have ta separate the wheat from the chaff and survive long enough ta make it ta a final four, and then we have ta endure long enough ta secure ourselves a most advantageous Iron Maiden entry position.

I suppose if we ain’t ever gonna get The Last Rites Match reinstated in our division, this really is the next best thing. A test of mettle an’ endurance unlike anythin’ else we’re likely ta be booked in all year. I would take a moment ta applaud the ingenuity an’ innovation here, but my time is much better served remindin’ the world why I am one of only two women in this match who has actually been ta the mountaintop.

An’ even at my most charitable, Caroline Machado only held the Women’s World Championship for a cup of coffee compared ta my over 200 days as Women’s World Champion, so when it comes right down ta it, the fact of the matter is that of the two most prominently decorated athletes in this match, the only one worth not only her salt but her weight in gold is me.

I ain’t no flash in the pan.

I ain’t no fluke champion.

An’ I damn sure ain’t no transitional belt warmer.

I am the real deal.

For the rest of ya, reachin’ the promised land of bein’ somebody worth a damn in this business for more than a hot second is a nice little pipe dream that ya may someday achieve, but for me it’s a reality I’ve already lived. Representin’ this company at its highest level is somethin’ I’ve already proudly proven once, so I know I can do it again.

If this was any other match at any other time of year, any of ya other fine ladies in this contest may have stood more than half a chance, but unfortunately for y’all I’m comin’ off the single worst week of my professional life an’ that means I’m goin’ inta this match with not only a big ol’ chip on my shoulder but also a Goddamned point ta prove.

Last week my entire family had seven shades of hell beaten out of them by an Aussie. As a family in this business, we’ve never been more humbled, embarrassed or humiliated an’ so now it falls ta me as the dependable little sister ta restore not only my family’s faith in themselves but also some respect ta the Spencer name.

In some respects, that it all comes down ta this feels almost preordained.

Of course it comes down ta me, the one member of my family who was most willin’ ta sacrifice the Spencer name upon the unbearable cross of Kane, ta now fight ta restore meanin’ ta my family legacy. If y’all still need proof of just how twisted an’ cruel irony can be, there it is.

If it were up ta me, my ultimate resurgence wouldn’t be built off the backs of so many reliable hands from the PC. Most of y’all have spent years fightin’ down there for a chance ta be featured on the network in a more meaningful capacity, I know, and like my brothers y’all just want a fair chance ta showcase all your trainin’ an’ learnin’ in front of a real live audience.

I respect that, I really do.

That’s why y’all have my word that when I toss y’all out on your ass, it won’t be ta embarrass any of ya in front of management, both old and new, it will simply be a means ta an end.

Believe me, I have more than a few eliminations in me, but the real statement ones I’ll be savin’ ta the very end. In their own way, April, Mai and Serenity have all spent the last few weeks testin’ my patience an’ pushin’ me ta go above an’ beyond my usual competitive level.

Well, ya know what they say, ladies?

Careful what ya wish for, ‘cause ya just might get it.

It’s been a while since I’ve had ta remind y’all just who the hell I am.

My name is Abigail an’ I’m more than just a survivor.

I am an Iron Maiden in waitin’.

God help y’all, ‘cause I’m about ta help myself.