Alicia Goon 017: Day one

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It didn't last long, but Alicia gave herself a minute to let it out. Everything had changed so much. She had a new life and it moved fast, and then everything slammed into a wall. Could there be a tomorrow?

Yes.

The bruised wrestler stood up, tossed her singlet in her gym bag, slung it over her shoulder and wiped her tears with her fingers. As she pushed through the painted red dressing room door, the Reinforcements took notice, and the solidly-built blonde brawler rose from where they were gathered on the bench and reengaged, "I was just giving you a- hey!" Alicia brushed past Jill McKill the hard way and put her shoulder into it. "Hey, what's your problem?" barked the woman in camo. Both Bridget and Jaime stood up joined their ringleader storming after Alicia towards the corridor with the star dressing rooms.

This was not the night. The irritated wrestler wheeled around and remarked back, "What's yours?" Even if it was just for five matches, Alicia wasn't about to let herself become the new locker room punching bag. She knew what happened to those.

McKill stood with one hand on her hip. "Hey, I've seen you wrestle. I don't think you want start picking fights around here. I was messing around. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, alright? I wasn't trying to pick on you."

Alicia nodded, happy to have escaped the night without taking a second beating. "It's alright. Sorry for bumping into you. I was mad. It's just... I'm sorry. Nothing went right for me tonight. My debut didn't-"

A barely stifled snicker gave way to belly laughter as Jill and her Two Woman Army shared a get-a-load-of-the-rube look with each other before turning and directing their laughter into their victim's face. "Oh wow. You're not going to last around here at all," she managed between bouts of laughter. For a second, Alicia thought she registered panic in their eyes as they looked over Alicia's shoulder. 

"Jill! So good to see you! How'd the divorce go?" Alicia recognized the voice. Peering over her shoulder, she saw a young woman with flawless skin, a beach tan, and blonde hair with pink tips that hung just past her shoulders. She was adorned in thousands of dollars of pinks and yellows bearing her own brand logo. In her arms, she held a rotund Persian cat. The tips of its orange fur had been dyed pink to match with the everything. It looked just as confused about the situation as Alicia.

"Did you ever find out who he was seeing?" asked Giselle Tillman, her tanned complexion aglow with a camera-ready smile as she flitted her eyes to Bridget Slaughter. The tall, slender, pale brunette shook her head in denial as her expression turned to a furious scowl. "Hm," squeaked the surprisingly-tall-in-person magnate, shrugging her shoulders. Giselle locked eyes once again with her target. "Did you get custody, or did you lose that fight, too?"

It took an Army to hold back Jill McKill as she lunged for the TV star. Anticipating the reaction, the other members of the Reinforcements latched onto the fuming, red-faced woman between them to keep her from attacking the young celebrity. Unspeakable delight filled the multimillionaire's eyes as she knelt to the floor to let her cat down while Alicia took a few steps back. It wasn't necessary. The two mostly calm members of the faction held their friend back, pushing her towards the lockers and out of fighting range. The fashion icon showed off her manicured pink fingernails as she cupped her hands around her mouth for a parting shot, "Good luck on your match tonight! When you see your ex in family court, tell him Bridget says hi!" As the Reinforcements dragged Jill McKill back to the locker room, Alicia stood aside in silent horror listening to the darkness pouring from her mouth.

The rookie turned to look the megastar in the eyes only to find the blonde's attention still fixated on her outmatched victim as her friends almost carried her back into the locker room. Alicia gave the undefeated* wrestler a smile and a nod of appreciation. "Thanks."

Despite looking in Alicia's direction, the pop culture sensation only just seemed to notice the 6'3", 192-lb. professional wrestler standing in front of her. Giselle Tillman reflexively flashed a magazine cover smile in confusion, "For what?" The exhausted wrestler opened her mouth to explain but thought better of it. Polite little wave. She headed for the parking lot.

* * * * *

Sabrina had been excruciatingly right about being useless the next day. The beaten rookie awoke mottled head to toe with angry bruises. When she could bring herself to look in a mirror, her nose had swollen noticeably, and a ring of blood around the left nostril seemed to have leaked out overnight. The shiner on her right eye didn't distract from the purplish-black streak of bruising covering the cleft of her chin and entire right cheek or that her lip had been split down the middle. Save for the couple kitchen trips when she could bear to chew and the several more to refill ice from the bags Robert bought, Alicia remained in bed nearly the entire weekend. She lay stiff and aching, playing back the tape on loop. Wrapped in bags of ice, watching the match on repeat on the popcorn ceiling, she asked herself what went wrong. That list was simple enough - everything - but what went right? My fist into her stomach. She needed a new strategy.

The reruns continued into her morning commute, now soundtracked to the hits from the '80s, '90s, and today. Every strike, every impact, every rough landing replayed in crystal clear detail, reminding her of the aches that still lingered up and down her entire body. Even as Alicia pulled into the parking lot and the Perletta whined to a stop, she was still backstage getting dressed down by her trainer to the hottest summer jam of '93. The slam of a car door in the cool morning air jolted the secret wrestler back into the present.

Each step wracked the office assistant's body with reminders of the battle she had endured. She took a few seconds at the entrance to brace herself. Deep breath, exhale. She turned the knob of a door that belonged on a two-story colonial instead of a dental practice, and stepped inside. Miss Maxine rose from her seat and came through the door like it was a fern emergency. "Oh my goodness, honey, are you okay? Look at you! How could they let this happen? You can have my- Miss Alicia? Alicia. Alicia, it's okay." The young woman walked wordlessly past her worried coworker back into the break room.

Please no Dr. Pupe, please no Dr. Pupe, please no Dr. Pupe.

"Oh my God, Alicia what happened?! What happened to your face?! You look awful! Oh. My God. Were you in an accident? Have you looked in a mirror? Do you need me to call 911?" rapid-fired the wide-eyed blonde woman in medical scrubs. She hadn't even been thinking of Sherry. The young-for-her-age hygienist almost jogged to her badly hurt coworker. "Do you need me to call somebody for you? Do you need a place to stay?" Any other time, the aching office assistant would've been moved by the concern, but on a day she wanted to be invisible, this wasn't how she wanted Sherry to find out.

"Hi, Sherry!" said Alicia with the confidence of someone about to lie very badly. "I'm fine. This was an accident, Whatever you think it looks like, it isn't, unless you think it's an accident, then it is." Sherry threw up her hand like she didn't know what to do. Then she thought of something. Not that. Please not him.

He came around the corner seconds later: hair the color of charcoal, moustache the color of used charcoal, different coffee-stained doctor's coat. Dr. Pupe's expression dropped the instant he laid eyes on his wounded employee. Sherry followed close behind into the break room. The office assistant could tell the hygienist felt at least an iota of remorse when she saw the frustration on Alicia's face. She shrugged uncomfortably. "Sorry! I don't know what else to do."

Alicia threw up her hands in frustration. "Well, not that! Did you tattle on me for hurting my face?"

Her coworker crossed her arms, indignant. "I didn't tattle!"

"Alicia, this isn't about Sherry being a tattle-tale," said Dr. Pupe, playing peacekeeper. "You can't come to work like this. The patients… It looks bad. It's just not the impression we want to make on people."

"That I hurt my face?" asked Alicia flatly.

"Pretty much, yes."

Alicia once again felt ganged up on. She kicked the linoleum floor and stifled a sneer. "You're sending me home until I look better?" The doctor nodded. "Can I come back tomorrow?" Alicia said, shifting her stance, hand on her hip, testing her boss.

For once, he didn't push back. "That's your decision, Alicia."

She turned and lumbered away, each step a shifting kaleidoscope of pains and aches. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." There was just one stop on the way out the door: at the reception desk, beneath a hand-knitted blanket sat the 72-year-old beating heart of the entire office. The young woman's gaze fell to the floor. "Were you there?" asked the still-defeated wrestler.

"Yes, honey. I was," said Maxine. "I'm sorry for how it turned out. You tried your best."

Please don't let that be my best. As Alicia opened the door to the reception area, she met her coworker's gaze for the first time. "Thank you for coming and supporting me," she said, trying to smile. "It meant so everything to me to have someone there, but please don't come anymore. I'm sorry."

* * * * *

"Welcome to your first day of wrestling school! Have you ever been inside a ring before, or are you coming in completely new?" asked Sabrina. Alicia bowed her head slightly, staring at the canvas as even the tips of her hair seemed to burn with embarrassment, eyes locked on the mat. "I'm sorry," mumbled the trainee, knowing the answer was unsatisfactory.

That hadn't been one of the options, so Sabrina chose for her, "Completely new? Okay. Then we're starting with back bumps. 100 of them. Let's go."

Alicia found some of that bravado she had in the break room. "I don't have to take this."

The trainer looked unimpressed. "I don't see anyone else training you," said the veteran matter-of-factly. And there went the bravado. "100 back bumps," she repeated. "Good ones."

The rookie had already suffered this side of Sabrina before. She felt her blood pressure start to rise recalling the month she endured as a human stress ball. The warmup was meant to embarrass her: back bumps, flip bumps, no-contact rope runs - literally day one stuff. Each exercise subjected the young wrestler to more scrutiny and hypercorrection. The ordeal only seemed to end when Sabrina ran out of ideas. Alicia had bottled up the urge to confront her trainer about the hostility. That bottle was nearing its fill line.

They met center-ring while Alicia sucked in air after the workout. Sabrina spoke up in her husky alto. "They're giving you a match next week. You know Kunoichi?"

Alicia's face screwed up in confusion. "Does Japan have a problem with me or something?"

"It's an open contract. You get who you get. Sorry," said Sabrina, not sorry. "I'll just get it out of the way: it's not a good matchup. Longer the fight goes, more it favors... well, not you." She shot a look at the equipment area. "Exercise bikes are over there, by the way."

Fittingly, Alicia felt her heartbeat spike at the comment. "Hey," she said, checking her trainer. She didn't feel bad about disappointing Sabrina anymore. A thousand unspoken retorts boiled in her throat. The rookie wasn't doing this again.

"So we're going to try and end this one quick. You've got size on her, so if you can reverse a submission into a pin attempt, you've got a chance to steal one. We're watching tape and practicing technical pinning combinations out of reversals. Can you follow directions?" the trainee nodded. "Can you remember them during the match, too?" The trainer leaned in a bit and locked eyes with her student to emphasize her next words, "Stick to the gameplan."

She scowled harder internally than she thought possible. She bit back the brunt of the anger, but she couldn't help a tiny bit of sass. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm stupid."

The veteran shook her head. "I didn't say that you're stupid. I said you have a problem with your memory. Stick to the gameplan."

Alicia mentally rolled her eyes. She hadn't abandoned the gameplan–it was the other way around.

Alicia Goon 016: Head over heels

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Alica lay face-down in the middle of the ring. The entire world hurt. And then hurt even more as Connie shoved her prey onto her back and went for the pin. The ref slid into position for the count, "One! Two! Thr-" Shoulder up. Too soon. The wounded wrestler still had strength within her and dug deep into her reserves to push the gifted athlete off and try to get to her feet. This was Alicia's debut match; she wasn't about to embarrass herself.

Barely a heartbeat passed between Alicia rolling onto her stomach and Connie Rocket reaching down, grabbed her larger opponent under the arm and by a braid and hauled her up to a position that could be charitably called "not all that upright" before dragging her foe on rubbery legs to the relative stability of the nearby ropes and slinging her sizable opponent's arms and neck over the middle strand. The wiry competitor grabbed the top rope and sprang up and over onto the ring apron. With signature quickness, Connie ran to the other end of the apron, steadied herself, and took off at a sprint towards her target. 

Time seemed to slow for a moment as Alicia found her strength just in time to push off the rope and fall to her bottom in the middle of the ring just as a meticulously detailed facsimile of a track shoe whizzed past her tender nose. It seemed the runner hadn't figured the possibility of missing into her calculations and barely had enough room left to slow down before colliding with the turnbuckle pads and taking a nasty spill down the steel ring steps. She came to a writhing stop at the bottom, maybe 12 feet from where the former hockey player sat. This was it! This was her window! Alicia scampered to all-fours, half-running, half-crawling towards her downed opponent, heavy limbs churning beneath her. Her feet left the canvas as she took flight towards her downed opponent for some more ground-and-pound. Does she have one eye open? wondered Alicia.

The track star vaulted to her feet and took an interception course to her fast-approaching target from outside the ring. I did something stupid. There was that knee. With a smack that could be heard from the cheap seats, the strike connected flush with Alicia's cheek. The airborne wrestler tried to get her arms up for the worst bump of her life, but just as her forearms made contact with the floor, she stopped in place. Something had clamped down hard on her right ankle and would not let go. From her upside-down position, she looked up or maybe down to find her right ankle ensnared between the jet black ring ropes. The bottom rope had become the middle rope, and the middle rope had become the bottom, and there was her boot in between. The pain in her ankle wasn't excruciating compared to every other part of her body, but it was still at the very top of her "pressing concerns" list. There was a hush in the crowd, and then laughter. Not howling, but they weren't politely stifled chuckles, either. At least she couldn't really see the thousand or so people laughing at her.

Connie didn't quite seem to know what to make of Alicia's predicament, but her first instinct was to start laying the boots in. A dozen or more kicks and stomps rained down on the inverted wrestler's chest, stomach, and skull before the assailant decided to help the referee free her opponent. Alicia could more feel than see the ref trying to push her foot through the ropes or pry them apart, but the cables would not relinquish their grip. Alicia reached up to try and remove her boot when she felt a set of hands reach under her arms and start violently trying to yank her free. After ten or so seconds of fruitless pulling, Connie dropped her cargo, allowing the trapped wrestler's head to slam unprotected into the floor.

Through blurry vision, Alicia thought she saw the half-Japanese athlete shrug her shoulders before rolling back into the ring under the bottom ropes. It looked like she was going to let the ref's count reach 20 and take the count-out victory. "Twelve! Thirteen! Fou-" the ref paused her count and Alicia briefly stopped struggling as something up above cast a shadow. The sustained cheers built to a thunderous crescendo as the Rocket launched herself over the top rope using the referee like a pommel horse, the heels of both feet aimed at the struggling wrestler's chin.

"Oh, buttons!" groaned Alicia an instant before her vision flashed and then exploded into stars. 

Nothing had ever hurt like this. Fortunately, the agony swimming in her head provided an effective distraction from the horrible pain in her back, right ankle, and hip from colliding with the floor. The only other sensation besides pain the motionless competitor could register was of the cool arena air against her black knee-high sock. The force of impact knocked Alicia out of her boot, sending her crashing onto the floor as Connie somehow landed on her feet.

Just as the beleaguered wrestler rolled onto her shoulder, the tight grip on her braid returned. Connie dragged Alicia's near dead-weight up off the ground. As soon as the battered, barely conscious wrestler found her feet, she showed there was still some fight left. The body had given up, but the brain hadn't gotten the memo. The wounded powerhouse shoved her assailant back, but without the track star supporting her weight, the most the rookie could do to try and remain upright was to topple into the timekeeper's table before going hard to the floor and pulling it along with its contents down with her. Alicia considered herself extremely lucky having managed not to take either the ring bell or the hammer to the head as they spilled onto the floor.

The Rocket dragged the larger woman out of the wreckage, but even on her knees, the newcomer remained defiant, beating her fists uselessly against the smaller woman's abs. Connie stood the wrecked combatant up enough to drag her back into the ring–or so she thought. The former hockey player cracked the heptathlete between the eyes with a scintillating headbutt that snapped the Rocket's head back. Alicia stumbled backwards but didn't fall. Last chance; make it count. She rushed Connie, intending to Spear the smaller woman to the floor. Winning by pinfall was out of the question, but maybe she could steal a win by count-out. 

"Owww!!" cried Alicia as she fell to the ground in pain clutching her bootless right foot as she accidentally stepped on the timekeeper's hammer. Of all the humiliation she had suffered during the bout, none cut deeper than the look of pity on Connie's face as she dragged the spent competitor towards the ring and, with great effort, rolled her back inside. The champion runner slid into the ring behind her beaten opponent, bent down and snatched an ankle and a wrist, dragging Alicia to the center of the ring to put her out of her misery. The Rocket released her grip and dropped down on top of her opponent, hooking a leg for a textbook pin. The referee dropped to the canvas for the count, "One! Two! Thre-" The crowd audibly gasped and cheered at the debuting wrestler's shocking kickout as she just barely plucked her shoulder off the canvas in time.

Connie Rocket sat up on her knees, hands on her hips. From the look on the athlete's face, it was clear she didn't really want to do what her opponent was making her do. The rookie knew what came next. Get up. Get up, Alicia. Get up, Alicia! Move! MOVE!! M- Her eyes went wide as the Rocket started the countdown to victory with T-minus-3. The devastating Corkscrew 450 from the top rope connected flush. With a deafening crash, Connie landed flush with the downed competitors's chest, blasting the wind from the thoroughly beaten challenger's lungs as the challenger's limbs spasmed off the canvas and fell inert. The count was a formality. "One! Two! Three!"

Ding ding ding. 

Debut over.

The defeated wrestler lay on her back trying to summon the strength to rise from the canvas. Maybe tomorrow. There was that college marching band music again. She could hear the men of the cheer squad shouting something in Japanese as the pounding drum beat filled the arena. A hand reached into view. Attached to it was the Rocket herself. The victorious wrestler did most of the work of lifting the defeated wrestler to her feet. Once Alicia was steady enough for a conciliatory slap on the shoulder not to knock her over, the human blur was out of the ring and up the ramp to celebrate with the assembled cheer team. The short-haired athlete turned, gave the audience a two-handed wave and a bow, and vanished through the curtain, followed by the rest of the squad. 

Alicia remembered when that was her. There was a tap on her shoulder. The referee handed the beaten wrestler a black and red wrestling boot. The defeated rookie wouldn't be going out the way she came in - the ramp was for winners. For the ones on the other side of the equation, there was the loser's exit. She exited the ring and walked to the right of the entrance ramp, past the at-best indifferent crowd and the mountainous stands, and pushed through a door leading backstage. Every muscle felt sore. Her face was masked in pain she had never imagined possible. She couldn't imagine a worse possible end to eight months of training. Then she could.

It was an ambush Alicia should have been prepared for. On the other side of the door stood a woman with short brown hair, about five-five, five-six, sinewy build, long trench of scars on her forehead, prominent indentation of a split lip. Unfortunately, Alicia recognized her. A complex cocktail of emotions darkened her trainer's face and disposition, but most prominent among them wasn't anger or even disappointment, but betrayal. The beaten rookie grasped for straws, "Sabrina, I-"

"Who trained you?"

Alicia's heart hit her stomach. "I-"

"What was that? Who trained you?" growled the veteran wrestler. No words came to the rookie's lips. "You should be embarrassed," Alicia's trainer continued. "Go home and don't bother coming in tomorrow; you're going to be useless. I work on New Year's. If you're still serious about this, I'll see you Thursday. If not, don't waste my time." 

"Sab-" called the former trainee to her mentor, but Sabrina didn't turn around. For a moment, Alicia wondered if there would be a Saturday. Why was she pretending to be a wrestler? For attention? Who cares. The aching, pain-wracked rookie shuffled one-booted down the wide, mostly lit corridor past the production area and "gorilla position." The hum of the fluorescent lights hurt. After far too long a walk, she pulled open the door to the locker room she had been waiting in. The first person she noticed was Layla Navarro–Phenom–trying not to notice her. The Puerto Rican high-flyer moved to the other side of the locker room as Alicia approached her locker and dialed the combination.

There was a click followed by a clique. Just as she opened the lock, the Reinforcements had arrived: the trio of Bridget Slaughter, "One Shot" Jaime Carlyle, and Jill McKill at the lead. The tall blonde in camo pants approached with a smile and a nod. "Hey, we wanted to welcome you to QoW, so the three of us pitched in and got you something we knew you could use," said Jill, barely containing a grin. "Here," said the blonde, handing the shell-shocked rookie a pair of boot laces as the three broke into laughter. The Reinforcements stood in front of Alicia, awaiting a response. Instead, the defeated woman pulled her gym bag from her locker and walked in silence to an unoccupied dressing room and shut the door.

She fixated a blank stare at the course, red tufted carpet while she changed back into her civilian clothes, feeling both excruciating pain and completely numb as she tried not to think. She turned to grab her wrestling singlet to stuff it in her gym bag. As soon as Alicia saw the ring attire in her hands, she felt her eyes turn warm and her vision blurred. She leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor, face buried in the red Lycra fabric. For the first time since the airport, she allowed herself to cry.