Post by Holden Ross on Jul 23, 2020 23:18:51 GMT -5
He sits on the balcony, enjoying the cool night air while smoking a blunt in his boxers, as the nameless brunette snored softly under the covers. He met her while standing in line to pay for gas. She gave him a bashful little smile and he knew he had her before he even introduced himself. Her ex boyfriend was a “huge” wrestling fan and will be “pissed as all get out" when he gets the selfie she snapped over her shoulder with Holden behind her; her bare ass snuggled up against his waist left nothing to the imagination. He chuckles to himself thinking back on the moment and takes another hit from the blunt. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he checks it to find an email from P.C.W. The match listings for the next Trauma.
“The fuck?!” he asks his phone when he sees the match he is scheduled for.
He rises from the old beach chair and leaves the balcony to return inside the young “lady's” apartment. He slips into the bedroom and both quickly, and quietly, dresses with his mind set on fleeing the domicile…. Until he looked back. He looked back and saw her sleeping on the bed, the moon highlighting the curves of her body just right….. What was he mad about? Whatever it was, it can wait, he decided and undresses before slipping into bed.
He slipped out the following morning while she was still asleep. Insatiable, he could have gone again, but then he would have to contend with her after-the-fact, while he was sober. As he pulled away from the curb in his convertible sixty-eight Mercedes, (the Impala threw a rod the second day he had it,) the email he read the night before surfaces in his memory. One line in particular; “Number One Contender for the Genesis Championship." Sitting at a red light, he puts the top down and lights a joint, and replays that line in his head.
The light turns green and he remains idling, shaking his head and getting angrier the more he thinks about it, and inhales deeply on the joint. The blat of a horn jerks him into the present and he steps on the gas, tearing through the intersection just at the light turned yellow, drawing a middle finger from the driver who honked. “Number One Contender" was what he beat that pile of whit at the Pay Per View for and now they're making him do it again. He continues on to his apartment where Cesar greets him with a fresh churro.
“I got two, see?! One for me and one for you!” he excitedly gushes while offering one to Holden, who takes it, and takes a bite. “Is it good?”
“Best one I’ve ever had….better than Costco’s….” he lies but it makes the boy happy. Soon enough, Holden is in his apartment and the rest of the churro is in the trash. He takes a dab (not the stupid dance move made famous by *potentially Autistic children) and spends the next few minutes trying to recover. Ultimately, he calls in to the “Canvas Crawlers Podcast” and vents his frustrations with the Company.
“Lay it on us, Holden, what’s your gripe?” host Chris Seger ponders.
“This week I'm facing our resident enhancement talent, Razor Blade, for the Number One Contendership to the Genesis Championship!”
“Ok…why does that have you so pissed?” Chris asks.
“I beat Hunter Benjamin for the Number One Contenders shot at “Return to Glory.” I made him look like the third rate chump he really is! And now, as a reward for taking out the trash, I’m fighting for something I already won, against someone who has no business lacing my boots let alone competing against me….” Is Holden's reply.
“You looked like you were trying to kill him! I watched the whole pay-per-view; that diving elbow drop slash chair shot….like Ace said….I thought I witnessed a murder.” is all Chris can say.
“I wanted to kill that fat piece of shit! He had no business getting into the ring. His injury, and all the others at the hands of myself, and Pandæmonium, is on management’s heads! We will not be held responsible for what has and is going to happen.”
“What-what's that supposed to mean?” there is concern in Chris's voice. Genuine concern.
“Whatever happens to Razor is on their heads. Period….”
And with that he disconnects from the Skype session. His point has been made. The warning issued. If Razor shows up….it’s his head on the platter….
“The fuck?!” he asks his phone when he sees the match he is scheduled for.
He rises from the old beach chair and leaves the balcony to return inside the young “lady's” apartment. He slips into the bedroom and both quickly, and quietly, dresses with his mind set on fleeing the domicile…. Until he looked back. He looked back and saw her sleeping on the bed, the moon highlighting the curves of her body just right….. What was he mad about? Whatever it was, it can wait, he decided and undresses before slipping into bed.
He slipped out the following morning while she was still asleep. Insatiable, he could have gone again, but then he would have to contend with her after-the-fact, while he was sober. As he pulled away from the curb in his convertible sixty-eight Mercedes, (the Impala threw a rod the second day he had it,) the email he read the night before surfaces in his memory. One line in particular; “Number One Contender for the Genesis Championship." Sitting at a red light, he puts the top down and lights a joint, and replays that line in his head.
The light turns green and he remains idling, shaking his head and getting angrier the more he thinks about it, and inhales deeply on the joint. The blat of a horn jerks him into the present and he steps on the gas, tearing through the intersection just at the light turned yellow, drawing a middle finger from the driver who honked. “Number One Contender" was what he beat that pile of whit at the Pay Per View for and now they're making him do it again. He continues on to his apartment where Cesar greets him with a fresh churro.
“I got two, see?! One for me and one for you!” he excitedly gushes while offering one to Holden, who takes it, and takes a bite. “Is it good?”
“Best one I’ve ever had….better than Costco’s….” he lies but it makes the boy happy. Soon enough, Holden is in his apartment and the rest of the churro is in the trash. He takes a dab (not the stupid dance move made famous by *potentially Autistic children) and spends the next few minutes trying to recover. Ultimately, he calls in to the “Canvas Crawlers Podcast” and vents his frustrations with the Company.
“Lay it on us, Holden, what’s your gripe?” host Chris Seger ponders.
“This week I'm facing our resident enhancement talent, Razor Blade, for the Number One Contendership to the Genesis Championship!”
“Ok…why does that have you so pissed?” Chris asks.
“I beat Hunter Benjamin for the Number One Contenders shot at “Return to Glory.” I made him look like the third rate chump he really is! And now, as a reward for taking out the trash, I’m fighting for something I already won, against someone who has no business lacing my boots let alone competing against me….” Is Holden's reply.
“You looked like you were trying to kill him! I watched the whole pay-per-view; that diving elbow drop slash chair shot….like Ace said….I thought I witnessed a murder.” is all Chris can say.
“I wanted to kill that fat piece of shit! He had no business getting into the ring. His injury, and all the others at the hands of myself, and Pandæmonium, is on management’s heads! We will not be held responsible for what has and is going to happen.”
“What-what's that supposed to mean?” there is concern in Chris's voice. Genuine concern.
“Whatever happens to Razor is on their heads. Period….”
And with that he disconnects from the Skype session. His point has been made. The warning issued. If Razor shows up….it’s his head on the platter….