Post by Mia Stone on Mar 13, 2014 18:09:37 GMT -5
“MIA, GET DOWN HERE NOW.”
I stood on the landing of a typical two up two down British home. The whole building was depressing, from the external brick work through to the drab wallpaper clinging on to the plaster. I had been sent to live with my uncle Steve, who was a total idiot. He was a typical thug - 5 stone overweight, bald head, tattoos that could only have been acquired through years of imprisonment and no social skills outside of beating his chest and dragging his knuckles like a caveman.
In short he was a tool.
“MIA, YOU FUCCKING HEAR MEE?”
Yeah, I heard him.
“I need you to go to the shopsssh...OI MIA”
If the question was, was I listening, then the answer was no.
“You don't want me to tell your mummy...
DO YA?
KEEPING QUIET ARE YA, YOU STUCK UP BITCH.
MIA YOU FUCKING IDIOT.”
He shouted from the living room of the house raising his voice to emphasise his anger. His words were slurred due to hours of drinking, which you would imagine at 10.30 in the morning they would be. It was the same routine every morning, called downstairs, thrown money, go to the shop to buy cigarettes and beer, come home hope that he drinks himself stupid and passes out, contemplate smothering the useless piece of shit with a pillow, go to bed and it starts all over again.
“Mia love, please go to see him.”
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder and looked up. Steve's wife Becky had appeared from the bedroom. She was wrapped tightly in a dressing gown and her eyes seemed to sink back into her head. She was exhausted, scared and beaten.
“He won't stop shouting unless you do as he asks.”
She pleaded with me, she knew that this was the only way to an easy life and she was obviously too tired to fight him any longer. Rumour had it that two weeks earlier Becky, fell into the fireplace. The fall reportedly caused her broken rib, which would have been worse if she hadn't put her hand out as she fell. I called that rumour bullshit. I saw Becky's black eyes first hand, I could hear as she cried herself to sleep and woke up as she screamed in her dreams. I made the decision right there and then that I would never allow myself to become a victim of someone else’s self worthlessness. I knew that if nothing else I needed to protect this frail woman who had long since given up.
I was living a nightmare in London, and to save me they sent me to hell.
…
…..
Ever since I can remember I never really had a place I called home, it was more somewhere to rest my head and that lifestyle suited me fine. I didn't need a big house surrounded by landscaped gardens, priceless jewels and fast cars - which was incredibly lucky given what the average OCW wage was. So being out on the road was familiar to me, moving from dingy hotel room to hotel room suited me fine as long as I wasn't expected to travel with some of the more special members of the roster.
I had to admit my first match could have gone a lot better and wasn't exactly to plan, but I was able to leave the arena holding my head high, unlike Syren who I think just was high. I didn't stick around after the show, there were more than enough glory hunters and attention seekers aimlessly lined up in the halls to make the backstage area look like an alcoholics rehabilitation centre. As soon as the match was over, I was out of there. But by all accounts it sounds like I missed an absolute treat.
I was more than happy to be heading back to my hotel room with the knowledge that my second match for OCW was going to be a show stealer. A fatal four way against none other than one half of the team that caused a monumental upset on Massacre, Alice Knight was the actual team member that managed the pin to be exact. The less than formidable force of Angelle Laree, possibly the most pointless entrant into the Battle Royal last week and the unknown unpredictable danger of The Harlequin. A ladies that fight, fight to the finish.
I flung my training bag to the floor and began rummaging in my coat pocket for my room key, but as I looked up I noticed the door was slightly ajar. My extreme OCD told me the likelihood of me leaving it open was rare. As I pushed the door open slowly it was clear that my whole room had been ransacked. I stood for a moment accessing the disaster before me as a trainer flew past my head. Whoever had paid me a visit was still in the bedroom and about to get the shock of a lifetime.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I asked a very startled young woman who looked up at me from the floor.
“I...erm...I...I was looking for something.”
She quickly exclaimed, I laughed, part disbelief and part amazement at her sheer audacity. I travelled with nothing more that two suitcases and a gym bag, I knew that there was something seriously wrong here. I didn't know what she was looking for but unless she started talking and quickly, she certainly wasn't going to be leaving this room with anything more than her teeth intact.
“Looking for something? Oh please tell me more, maybe I can point you in the right direction...”
I answered sarcastically as I kicked shut the door behind me. I began to walk further into the room, picking up clothes and throwing them on to the bed.
“The management...”
I almost chocked with laughter as she attempted the explanation as to why everything I owned was covering any previously unoccupied floor space. She stood up and with every step I took forward she took two back, without either of us realising I had backed her into the corner of the room.
“You have got some guts, i'll give you that!”
As she suddenly became aware that she had no where else to go she stretched her arms out behind her and felt the stability of the hotel room armchair. There was a slight sigh, possibly in relief more than likely a whimper of anxiety as she flopped down like a rag doll, shaking as she spoke.
“What are you going to do to me?”
I lunged forward slightly just to see her raise up her legs and curl up like a frightened animal.
“We...we know who you are.”
She managed to stutter. I think she was trying to gage a reaction to see if I was going to hurt her. Winding me up was a brave move, but then the woman has just been searching through my frillies, I didn't think she was too worried about pissing me off anymore than she already had.
“I know your type. Every where you go, trouble follows. You are like a magnet...”
“Ahh now I thought we had an attraction.”
I answered casually. She didn't laugh.
“Nothing, seriously? Attraction, magnet...come on!”
Putting my arms either side of the chair I sank down to her level. I swear I could literally hear her heart pounding in her chest as I began to lean forward, I stroked away a strand of hair that had fallen over her face and whisper into her ear.
“What I love about these hotel rooms, is that no one can hear you scream.”
“Please don't hurt me.”
She quickly replied, the terror in her voice a direct correlation of the fear on her face.
“You should have thought about that before you started snooping through my stuff.”
Her breathing became rapid and her face suddenly clammy as the fear literally ran down her face. I took a step back.
“What are you even looking for, I clearly have no money or I wouldn't be staying in this shit hole.”
“A woman reported something had been stolen, the thief matched your description...”
“OH right and let me guess, the travelling fighter has to be guilty. This is bollocks.”
This was typical stereotyping at its best. Chances are this woman hadn’t lost a thing other than her dignity which seemed to be a common theme with the people I was encountering lately. It was exactly the same issue that seemed to plague the majority of women in the OCW.
I couldn't wait to see how my all female fight would play out, to see how the hype leading up to this clash would shape the contest to come. All too often I have heard women fighters lose their self respect and down right refuse to face another woman in the ring, proclaiming that they only face men. To me that’s a huge sign of weakness and a loss of the strength that defines you. If you've got to actively separate yourself from others, then you shouldn't be fighting at all. Unless you can stand toe to toe with the best of the best regardless of gender, then you are in the wrong job. This industry isn't here to pander to the needs of a premadonna, this business is here to crush your dreams and make you wish that you were dead at the end of the night and if you aren't man or woman enough to deal with it...Then leave.
It was already obvious that this match wasn't going to be straight forward. From what I briefly knew of Alice, I wasn't 100% sure her mental state was going to be lucid enough to compete. To be honest I wasn't massively certain that she should be outside in public on her own, but that was an entirely different story. She had proved that she was a fighter and word backstage of her pinfall win was hot gossip within seconds, but it still didn't alter the fact that this chick was borderline mental with a side order of lunatic.
“Don't be stupid I am not going to hurt you. But seen as though you know so much about me, tell me everything you know about Angelle Laree.”
“Who?”
“Exactly...”
“Am I supposed to know the name?”
“I doubt it. All I could find out was that she once referred to herself as the Midnight Angel, which I really hope isn't true, because where I am from they prefer to be called ladies of the night. Which lets be honest is grim, which ever way we look at it.”
There was no other way to sugar coat it and for a split second there was a slight smirk. Kicking my shoes off I pushed aside the clothes thrown across the bed and sat momentarily with my head in my hands. We both jumped as there was a sudden loud knock on the door.
“Sally are you still in there, we think she might be back.”
They knocked again, this time with more urgency as the began to try the door handle.
“Sal, what are you doing?”
I couldn't believe security were at my door, I pushed my finger against my lips to signal for her silence. I couldn't let her go yet, she looked like she had seen a ghost and I needed to get my head straight because out of nowhere I was suddenly in the middle of what could only be described as a hostage situation.
“Tell them you're fine.”
She looked at me puzzled.
“I said tell them you are fine and you will be down in a minute.”
Nervously she stood up.
“I am ok guys, I won't be long.”
“Are you sure? The door is locked let us in Sally.”
“No, I am, erm, just going to tidy up. Be right down, see you in a minute.”
I wanted to give her a little fright to teach her a lesson, but the plan was to find out why the hell she felt it necessary to be routing through my stuff and let her be on her way. We both listened as the muffled voices behind the door drifted off. She half attempted a smile as she sought reassurance in her believable performance, but my head was spinning. This wasn't the keeping out of trouble I was supposed to be doing but really what sort of place openly allows their staff to go routing through their guests belongings.
Sure it might not have been the Bellagio but I also wasn't staying in the Bates Motel.
I stood on the landing of a typical two up two down British home. The whole building was depressing, from the external brick work through to the drab wallpaper clinging on to the plaster. I had been sent to live with my uncle Steve, who was a total idiot. He was a typical thug - 5 stone overweight, bald head, tattoos that could only have been acquired through years of imprisonment and no social skills outside of beating his chest and dragging his knuckles like a caveman.
In short he was a tool.
“MIA, YOU FUCCKING HEAR MEE?”
Yeah, I heard him.
“I need you to go to the shopsssh...OI MIA”
If the question was, was I listening, then the answer was no.
“You don't want me to tell your mummy...
DO YA?
KEEPING QUIET ARE YA, YOU STUCK UP BITCH.
MIA YOU FUCKING IDIOT.”
He shouted from the living room of the house raising his voice to emphasise his anger. His words were slurred due to hours of drinking, which you would imagine at 10.30 in the morning they would be. It was the same routine every morning, called downstairs, thrown money, go to the shop to buy cigarettes and beer, come home hope that he drinks himself stupid and passes out, contemplate smothering the useless piece of shit with a pillow, go to bed and it starts all over again.
“Mia love, please go to see him.”
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder and looked up. Steve's wife Becky had appeared from the bedroom. She was wrapped tightly in a dressing gown and her eyes seemed to sink back into her head. She was exhausted, scared and beaten.
“He won't stop shouting unless you do as he asks.”
She pleaded with me, she knew that this was the only way to an easy life and she was obviously too tired to fight him any longer. Rumour had it that two weeks earlier Becky, fell into the fireplace. The fall reportedly caused her broken rib, which would have been worse if she hadn't put her hand out as she fell. I called that rumour bullshit. I saw Becky's black eyes first hand, I could hear as she cried herself to sleep and woke up as she screamed in her dreams. I made the decision right there and then that I would never allow myself to become a victim of someone else’s self worthlessness. I knew that if nothing else I needed to protect this frail woman who had long since given up.
I was living a nightmare in London, and to save me they sent me to hell.
…
…..
Ever since I can remember I never really had a place I called home, it was more somewhere to rest my head and that lifestyle suited me fine. I didn't need a big house surrounded by landscaped gardens, priceless jewels and fast cars - which was incredibly lucky given what the average OCW wage was. So being out on the road was familiar to me, moving from dingy hotel room to hotel room suited me fine as long as I wasn't expected to travel with some of the more special members of the roster.
I had to admit my first match could have gone a lot better and wasn't exactly to plan, but I was able to leave the arena holding my head high, unlike Syren who I think just was high. I didn't stick around after the show, there were more than enough glory hunters and attention seekers aimlessly lined up in the halls to make the backstage area look like an alcoholics rehabilitation centre. As soon as the match was over, I was out of there. But by all accounts it sounds like I missed an absolute treat.
I was more than happy to be heading back to my hotel room with the knowledge that my second match for OCW was going to be a show stealer. A fatal four way against none other than one half of the team that caused a monumental upset on Massacre, Alice Knight was the actual team member that managed the pin to be exact. The less than formidable force of Angelle Laree, possibly the most pointless entrant into the Battle Royal last week and the unknown unpredictable danger of The Harlequin. A ladies that fight, fight to the finish.
I flung my training bag to the floor and began rummaging in my coat pocket for my room key, but as I looked up I noticed the door was slightly ajar. My extreme OCD told me the likelihood of me leaving it open was rare. As I pushed the door open slowly it was clear that my whole room had been ransacked. I stood for a moment accessing the disaster before me as a trainer flew past my head. Whoever had paid me a visit was still in the bedroom and about to get the shock of a lifetime.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I asked a very startled young woman who looked up at me from the floor.
“I...erm...I...I was looking for something.”
She quickly exclaimed, I laughed, part disbelief and part amazement at her sheer audacity. I travelled with nothing more that two suitcases and a gym bag, I knew that there was something seriously wrong here. I didn't know what she was looking for but unless she started talking and quickly, she certainly wasn't going to be leaving this room with anything more than her teeth intact.
“Looking for something? Oh please tell me more, maybe I can point you in the right direction...”
I answered sarcastically as I kicked shut the door behind me. I began to walk further into the room, picking up clothes and throwing them on to the bed.
“The management...”
I almost chocked with laughter as she attempted the explanation as to why everything I owned was covering any previously unoccupied floor space. She stood up and with every step I took forward she took two back, without either of us realising I had backed her into the corner of the room.
“You have got some guts, i'll give you that!”
As she suddenly became aware that she had no where else to go she stretched her arms out behind her and felt the stability of the hotel room armchair. There was a slight sigh, possibly in relief more than likely a whimper of anxiety as she flopped down like a rag doll, shaking as she spoke.
“What are you going to do to me?”
I lunged forward slightly just to see her raise up her legs and curl up like a frightened animal.
“We...we know who you are.”
She managed to stutter. I think she was trying to gage a reaction to see if I was going to hurt her. Winding me up was a brave move, but then the woman has just been searching through my frillies, I didn't think she was too worried about pissing me off anymore than she already had.
“I know your type. Every where you go, trouble follows. You are like a magnet...”
“Ahh now I thought we had an attraction.”
I answered casually. She didn't laugh.
“Nothing, seriously? Attraction, magnet...come on!”
Putting my arms either side of the chair I sank down to her level. I swear I could literally hear her heart pounding in her chest as I began to lean forward, I stroked away a strand of hair that had fallen over her face and whisper into her ear.
“What I love about these hotel rooms, is that no one can hear you scream.”
“Please don't hurt me.”
She quickly replied, the terror in her voice a direct correlation of the fear on her face.
“You should have thought about that before you started snooping through my stuff.”
Her breathing became rapid and her face suddenly clammy as the fear literally ran down her face. I took a step back.
“What are you even looking for, I clearly have no money or I wouldn't be staying in this shit hole.”
“A woman reported something had been stolen, the thief matched your description...”
“OH right and let me guess, the travelling fighter has to be guilty. This is bollocks.”
This was typical stereotyping at its best. Chances are this woman hadn’t lost a thing other than her dignity which seemed to be a common theme with the people I was encountering lately. It was exactly the same issue that seemed to plague the majority of women in the OCW.
I couldn't wait to see how my all female fight would play out, to see how the hype leading up to this clash would shape the contest to come. All too often I have heard women fighters lose their self respect and down right refuse to face another woman in the ring, proclaiming that they only face men. To me that’s a huge sign of weakness and a loss of the strength that defines you. If you've got to actively separate yourself from others, then you shouldn't be fighting at all. Unless you can stand toe to toe with the best of the best regardless of gender, then you are in the wrong job. This industry isn't here to pander to the needs of a premadonna, this business is here to crush your dreams and make you wish that you were dead at the end of the night and if you aren't man or woman enough to deal with it...Then leave.
It was already obvious that this match wasn't going to be straight forward. From what I briefly knew of Alice, I wasn't 100% sure her mental state was going to be lucid enough to compete. To be honest I wasn't massively certain that she should be outside in public on her own, but that was an entirely different story. She had proved that she was a fighter and word backstage of her pinfall win was hot gossip within seconds, but it still didn't alter the fact that this chick was borderline mental with a side order of lunatic.
“Don't be stupid I am not going to hurt you. But seen as though you know so much about me, tell me everything you know about Angelle Laree.”
“Who?”
“Exactly...”
“Am I supposed to know the name?”
“I doubt it. All I could find out was that she once referred to herself as the Midnight Angel, which I really hope isn't true, because where I am from they prefer to be called ladies of the night. Which lets be honest is grim, which ever way we look at it.”
There was no other way to sugar coat it and for a split second there was a slight smirk. Kicking my shoes off I pushed aside the clothes thrown across the bed and sat momentarily with my head in my hands. We both jumped as there was a sudden loud knock on the door.
“Sally are you still in there, we think she might be back.”
They knocked again, this time with more urgency as the began to try the door handle.
“Sal, what are you doing?”
I couldn't believe security were at my door, I pushed my finger against my lips to signal for her silence. I couldn't let her go yet, she looked like she had seen a ghost and I needed to get my head straight because out of nowhere I was suddenly in the middle of what could only be described as a hostage situation.
“Tell them you're fine.”
She looked at me puzzled.
“I said tell them you are fine and you will be down in a minute.”
Nervously she stood up.
“I am ok guys, I won't be long.”
“Are you sure? The door is locked let us in Sally.”
“No, I am, erm, just going to tidy up. Be right down, see you in a minute.”
I wanted to give her a little fright to teach her a lesson, but the plan was to find out why the hell she felt it necessary to be routing through my stuff and let her be on her way. We both listened as the muffled voices behind the door drifted off. She half attempted a smile as she sought reassurance in her believable performance, but my head was spinning. This wasn't the keeping out of trouble I was supposed to be doing but really what sort of place openly allows their staff to go routing through their guests belongings.
Sure it might not have been the Bellagio but I also wasn't staying in the Bates Motel.
