Post by Deleted on Apr 13, 2013 19:56:13 GMT -6
“I have gotta start booking my own hotels. Jesse loves sticking me in these dumps.”
The muttered grumblings about my hotel room are well deserved. While a majority of the NEW roster has been booked into nicer hotels, a few of us who he had taken a special interest in had been placed in less than comfy surroundings. In fact, the room was downright grungy. Having put up with it all week, Ignite could not get here fast enough. The next city’s hotel room had to be nicer.
Even having just gotten out of the shower, the filth around me makes me feel unclean already. Next week, I am definitely staying somewhere nicer, whether I have to pay for it myself or not. The questionable accommodations even come down to the towel around my waist which has some questionable stains on it and is worn nearly to threads. The self-pity is interrupted with a banging from the door.
“Who would come looking for me here? They must really need to see me.”
I hope the person on the other side does not mind my slackened attire. If they do, the person can then wait for me to get dressed. Before opening the door, I look into the peephole to check who is on the other side of the door. For all I know, it is just a drug dealer or other delinquent looking for an easy target. There seems to be dirt and other grime blocking my view. Nothing can be seen through the piece of glass in the door. Surely, I can handle whoever is on the other side.
As the door opens, the last person that I would ever expect to see is standing there. Well, she is not standing at all. Instead she is spinning into action while I can just stand there shocked at seeing my opponent for the week. Before I can compose myself or react, Cera has managed to place a gun in my hands, put the end of the barrel under her chin, and press my finger to the trigger.
Her eyes are locked on mine. The wild look in hers penetrates feels as if it penetrates deep into my mind and soul. The rest of the world is lost as her gaze holds my attention. Minutes seem to pass with only the feel of cold steel in my hands, the slight pressure of the trigger on my right index finger, and her eyes on mine. Then, her voice quietly, but roughly and seductively, joins my reality.
“Shall we play…?”
The words work into my brain. The cold, calculated nature freezes my brain. The shock of being put into such a vulnerable position by someone that I never expected to see until Sunday when we entered the ring for a brutal match has broken through my normal calm manner. Now, I have no control over the situation. She could easily force me to press the trigger until the revolver fired into her head. That realization finally shocks me enough to try and remove the immediate danger.
I struggle to pull my hands away, but she has them held in a way that the only way out is to pull my hands toward myself, which would depress the trigger and presumably discharge the firearm. Even if she is my opponent for a weapons match this week, sending a bullet into her brain is not something I plan on doing.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The sheer desperation of the situation gives my voice back, causing me to yell the question at her in fear and bewilderment. She responds by smiling with an eerie coolness for someone who has the business end of a revolver a mere trigger pull from splattering her grey matter over the foul hallway of a hotel which likely has seen its share of bloodshed. Beyond the smile, her only answer is to glare coldly back into my eyes.
That look scarily turns to a smirk as she looks down. With a shake of her head, she pushes me away, the gun still in my grasp. I quickly press the cylinder release, push out the cylinder, and dump the six bullets from their chambers before tossing the firearm away and onto my bed.
“What’d ya do that for?”
The higher pitched, almost childish voice snaps me out of the terror-induced tunnel vision that Cera had caused. Looking down, I see the source of the voice on one knee with a camera in her hands, snapping pictures. Cera’s odd manager Jen continues her photography, the reason for which eludes me. Then she rummages in her rainbow colored bag before pulling out a cloth tape measure and scoots toward me. At this moment, I finally realize my towel has fallen off at some point, and Jen has been taking pictures of my completely exposed body and genitalia. I quickly retrieve the fallen towel and re-wrap it around myself, ruining her view. She looks up at me pouting.
“Ya meanie-face. First ya empty and throw my gun, and now you stop me workin’.”
“The hell are YOU doing?!”
I quickly step back from the weird pair. My fear and shock from Cera has been nearly matched by my confusion and surprise at Jen. Her fascination with what she had seen was just weird. Was it really that different? I did not think so, but maybe I lacked the wealth of knowledge about other guy’s penises that she had.
“Ok…I have no clue what you two want, so I’d like to know. That gun stunt was pretty fucking insane, and you just took some very odd pictures.”
With my eyes back on Cera, I move back enough to allow her entrance into my room. Cera did not appear to have any evil intentions for me since she had turned the gun on herself. Ryette seemed to be more interested in some sort of research involving my manhood. Neither woman seems to want to harm me, for now. Cera undoubtedly will try to nearly kill me Sunday, assuming she restrains herself from actually ending my life with those weapons. She very well could pull Jen’s revolver in our match and put those six bullets on my floor into my body.
“Cera-bear wanted ta see ya, and you’re a total cutie. Ya got a nice disco stick.”
“Wait, what? Disco stick?”
My confusion with her choice of words causes a low chuckle to come from Cera. Glancing to my left, she has circled around opposite of Jen, placing me in the middle of these two women. Not wanting to fail whatever test this visit seems to be based on her first words to me, I stay steady before looking back at Jen who is giggling.
“Yeah, disco stick. Your noodle.”
To further clarify her point, she points at my crotch. Shaking my head, I decide to ignore the experimentally focused Jen. I turn around to eye Cera. The look in her eyes makes me feel like an animal before the gaze of a researcher. The previously untamed look in her eyes as focused a bit. She still looks like she is on the verge of a manic outbreak, but madness has been tempered with purpose.
“And what was your gun trick all about? Were you wanting to get a bullet in the brain?”
The questions bring a smirk to her face. She definitely must be feeling a level of control of the situation. She has come into my room and taken control, so I cannot blame her for being sure of her position.
“You are too weak to kill another person. You are a foe who has not nearly reached a sufficient level to truly challenge me. With the tools I shall have at my disposal, your weakness will be proven.”
The very methodical and confident words come out as a statement of fact. Cera believes what she is saying. Still, I feel like my response is paramount to not being seen as a failure. Her demeanor worries what will happen if she does decide that I am totally inadequate.
“Cera, did you watch Terror Dome? I’m sure you did. You must have enjoyed the pain that you saw inflicted. I was in that match. I felt that pain. I survived that pain. Do you really think a weak person would still be standing after being taken down 20 feet to the ring or having a C4-laced chair smashed into my face?”
My answer to her accusations seems to intrigue her. She brings her left hand to her mouth in a universal expression of contemplation. Deciding to press my advantage, I risk stepping close to her. Now within a single yard of the deranged woman, I continue my self-defense.
“Would a weak man have continued through having his face pressed against barbed wire? Are you really so sure of my frailty?”
To emphasize the point, I bring my right hand up with the index finger extended. The extended finger traces along the healing wounds the barbed wire had inflicted on my face. Her eyes break from mine to follow my finger. The information, both what she has been told and what she is seeing, is clearly making her rethink.
The seriousness of the situation is interrupted when I feel a hand wrap around my right. Looking in the direction of the touch, Jen has wrapped the tape measure around my upper arm at the thickest point. The utilization of my right hand to point at my face had flexed the muscle. The diminutive Asian checks the number her measurement has given, and a slight moan can be heard escaping her lips.
Looking back towards Cera, not sure how to react, I am met with a roll of the eyes. Cera must be used to this behavior, but she does not like how her manager acts. Since she does not seem to think anything is out of the ordinary for Jen’s behavior, I ignore it.
“Do you still think I am weak?”
“Weak…weak may be too strong, Jones. Nothing can save you though. Your destruction and failure is inevitable.”
Cera does not pull any punches when it comes to how she thinks of me. From this close range, I can see how confident yet unstable her body language is. The woman is assured of her power, but that same power has her on the edge of doing things which are the essence of nightmares. Our stares are again locked to one another. Jen disrupts this stare down though.
I feel my towel removed and the hand on my bicep darts downwards to the object of her original intentions. Trying to spin away quickly, Jen matches me, somehow able to keep the tape measure in control and in place near my “disco stick”.
As I jump back from her, she looks at the measurement. She giggles and smiles, giving me a look that indicates that the number is to her satisfaction. To add to my issues, a knock is heard at my hotel room door. Then the voice of Jenny Pezzini comes through the door.
“Patrick?”
Without waiting for an answer, she walks pushes the door, which had not really closed, only swung nearly closed without latching shut. The look of shock on her face at seeing me standing naked with Jen Ryette smiling at a measuring tape and Cera behind me must be close to what mine was at having a gun pressed into my hands by Cera.
“I…I’ll come back later.”
“No! Jen, don’t go! Err…wait, outside for a second. Please? This…it’s…just wait. Ok?”
I quickly snatch up the towel to re-cover myself for the second time in the last few minutes. Pezzini looks unsure, but nods once before shaking her head on the way back through the door.
“I think she liked it too! I bet she’d love to play with your disco stick. I sure would…”
Jen starts to reach between my legs again, but I slap her hand away, which makes her whimper and look up at me disappointedly. The glare I give her causes her to back away a step. Then I turn to Cera.
“We can handle this ‘weakness’ issue Sunday. Get your perv of a manager out of here. Make sure you’re ready though. Whatever you think, I will not be an easy fight.”
My assertive tone only elicits another smirk from Cera. She clearly finds my manner amusing. Standing toe to toe with her in a battle of wills, I simple glare at her. This stand proves to be enough though. Like a predator allowing her prey to have this small win before becoming the meal, Cera walks from the room, roughly grabbing Jen by the wrist and yanking her along with her.
Not wanting to make Dave’s cousin wait any longer, I quickly open my suitcase, having not trusted the sanitation of the provided dresser, and grab boxers, gym shorts, and one of those stupid zombie PB&J t-shirts. Pulling the clothes on, I sigh, trying to think of how I can explain what Jen just saw.
“Jen…please come in.”
She walks back in, looking very suspiciously at me.
“Pat, what was that?”
“I…I really don’t know. That Asian woman likes to do her weird little experiments, and she’s more than a little open about sex stuff. They caught me just out of the shower. I promise, what you saw was as big of a shock to you as it was to me.”
As I explain, she nods. Finally, she licks her lips and sighs, apparently deciding to accept my explanation.
“Ok, well, I just wanted to stop by to see how you’re doing. Terror Dome was pretty rough, and last time we talked you were still recovering.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…I need some time. Cera has me…thinking. Sorry.”
I give a weak smile, hoping she does not take this as brushing her off. I had really missed seeing Jenny, but she had happened back into my life at a weird time, and not just today. A lot of things were going a lot of different ways. The loss in Terror Dome, along with the physical pain experienced inside the structure and because of it, had hurt. Cera’s words, even if I had refuted them, had also hit home a bit. After a momentary look, Jen nods.
“Monday. We are having a long talk Monday, Patch. You still have things to fix.”
The last line is said with a smile, even if it is a bit forced. She surprises me by stepping in and giving me a tight hug. As I return the gesture, I feel her relax a bit before pulling away. Jen gives me another smile before turning to leave.
As she walks out, I flop down back-first onto my bed. The filth of the room is ignored as I just let go. The tenseness of the encounter and its interruption had put my mind through the ringer. Those strains mounted on top of the normal ones to go with entering a hardcore match with a mentally unstable and violent woman combined with the past few weeks of events, which range from Terror Dome to Drake’s continued issues, had created a mountain that would not be easily scaled.
No matter what, I have to put those distractions out of my mind. This Sunday, it’s time to Enter the Zone.