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Descriptions of violence
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Alicia lay face-down in the middle of the ring. Her entire world hurt, and then hurt even more as Connie shoved her 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 powerhouse still had strength within her and dug deep into her reserves to push Connie 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 hauling her up into a position that could be charitably called “not all that upright.” With noticeable strain, she dragged Alicia on rubber legs to the nearby ropes and slung the sizeable competitor’s arms and neck over the middle strand so she faced the crowd. The Rocket grabbed the top rope and vaulted up and over onto the ring apron, ran to the far end, steadied herself, and took off at a sprint back towards her target. Time seemed to slow for a moment as Alicia found strength enough 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 Human Blur hadn’t accounted for the possibility of missing and barely had enough room to slow down before colliding with the ringpost and taking a nasty spill down the steel steps. She came to a writhing stop on the floor maybe 12 feet from where Alicia sat in the ring. It was the opening she had been waiting for. 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 through the ropes towards Connie Rocket for some more ground-and-pound. Does she have one eye open?
Connie sprang to her feet and took an interception course to her fast-approaching target. I did something stupid. There was that running knee. The strike connected flush with Alicia’s cheek with a smack that could be heard from the cheap seats. The world flashed white as the entire right hemisphere of her head exploded in anguish as it snapped sickeningly to the side, leaving a blaring, angry, blunt, throbbing pain unlike anything she had experienced and a deafening ringing in her ears.
Alicia tried to get her arms up for the worst bump of her life. Pain shot through her forearms as they smashed into the floor, followed by her forehead, temple, right cheek, and right shoulder. But before the rest of her could follow suit, something clamped down on her right ankle and refused to let go. From her upside-down position, Alicia looked up or maybe down to find her right ankle ensnared between the bright red 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.
There was a hush in the crowd, and then laughter. Not howling, but not politely stifled chuckles, either. At least she couldn’t really see the thousand or so people laughing at her. Connie didn't 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 Connie decided to help. Alicia could feel more than see the ref trying to push her foot through the ropes or pry them apart, but the cables would not relinquish their grip.
Her ankle didn’t hurt as much as everywhere else on her body, but it was still at the very top of her “pressing concerns” list. 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 several seconds of fruitless pulling, Connie let her go, allowing Alicia's head to once again smack against the barely padded floor.
Through blurry eyes, Alicia thought she saw the half-Japanese athlete shrug and roll back into the ring under the bottom ropes, content to take a count-out victory.
"Eleven! Twelve! Thir-" 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 vaulted over the top rope using the referee like a pommel horse, aiming both heels at the trapped wrestler's chin.
"Oh, buttons," groaned Alicia an instant before her world exploded into stars.
Nothing had ever hurt like this. Fortunately, the pounding in her head provided a distraction from the agonizing pain in her back, right ankle, and hip after hitting the floor. The only sensation besides pain Alicia could register was the cool arena air against her black knee-high sock. The force of the impact knocked Alicia out of her boot, sending her crashing onto the floor while the Rocket somehow landed on her feet.
With Connie back on the outside, the referee restarted her count, "One! Two! Three! Four!"
Just as Alicia rolled onto her stomach, the tight grip on her braid returned as Connie dragged Alicia's near dead-weight up off the ground. As soon as the 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. Alicia shoved her assailant back, but without Connie to support her, Alicia stumbled into the timekeeper’s table and toppled to the ground, pulling the table down with her. She considered herself extremely lucky not to take either the ring bell or the hammer to her skull as they clattered to the floor.
"Seven! Eight!"
Connie dragged Alicia out of the wreckage, but even on her knees, the rookie remained defiant, beating her fists uselessly against the smaller woman's abs. Connie stood the newcomer up to throw her back into the ring–she thought. The moment Alicia found her footing, she cracked the Rocket between the eyes with a scintillating headbutt that snapped the heptathlete’s head back. Once again, Alicia stumbled backwards, but this time, she didn't fall. One shot. Make it count. She raced towards Connie, intending to Spear the smaller woman to the floor. Winning by pinfall or submission was out of the question, but maybe she could steal a win by count-out.
"Eleven! Twelve!"
"Owww!!" cried Alicia as she stepped on something hard and sharp. She fell to the ground clutching her bootless right foot. A piercing pain radiated from the sole of her foot from an accidental step onto the timekeeper's hammer.
Of all the humiliation she had suffered during the bout, none cut deeper than the look of pity on Connie Rocket's face as she dragged Alicia towards the ring and, with great effort, rolled the spent competitor back inside. Connie slid into the ring behind her, grabbed Alicia's right ankle and wrist, and dragged her to the center of the ring to put her out of her misery.
The Rocket released her grip and dropped down onto Alicia, hooking an arm under her far leg for a textbook pin.
The referee got into position for the count, "One! Two! Thre-"
Gasps and then cheers rippled through the crowd at the debuting wrestler's shocking kickout as Alicia just barely plucked her shoulder off the canvas in time. Connie sat up on her knees, hands on her hips. From the look on her face, it was clear she didn't want to do what her opponent was making her do.
Alicia 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 Splash from the top rope landed with a boom! that echoed from the rafters. Connie collided flush with Alicia's chest, blasting the wind from the thoroughly beaten challenger's lungs as her limbs spasmed off the canvas and fell inert.
The referee's count was a formality. "One! Two! Three!"
Ding ding ding!
Debut over.
Alicia lay on her back trying to summon the strength to rise from the canvas. Maybe tomorrow. Brass and percussion blared over the arena speakers while the men of the cheer squad shouted something in Japanese from the stage and the pounding drumbeat filled the arena. Connie offered Alicia a hand and 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 star 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 used to be her.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Alicia turned to find the referee handing her a black and red wrestling boot. She winced as she rolled out of the ring; she wouldn't be going out the way she came in. The ramp was for winners. The ones on the other side of the equation took the loser's exit. Alicia followed the path to the right of the entrance ramp, past the mountainous stands and at-best indifferent crowd, past the security guard, and through the door leading backstage.
Every muscle felt sore. Her face was masked in pain she had never thought possible. Alicia couldn't imagine a worse possible end to eight months of training, and then she could.
On the other side of the door stood a woman with short brown hair, about five-five, five-six, with a sinewy build, a long trench of scars on her forehead, and prominent indentation of a split lip. A complex cocktail of emotions darkened her expression. Most prominent among them wasn't anger or disappointment, but betrayal.
The Hard Times graduate grasped for straws, "Sabrina, I-"
"Who trained you?"
Alicia's heart hit her stomach. "I-"
"What was that? Who trained you?" No words came to the rookie's lips. "You should be embarrassed. Go home and don't bother coming in tomorrow; you're going to be useless, anyway. 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," growled Sabrina before turning and stormed off.
"Sab," pleaded Alicia, 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 newcomer 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 trying not to notice her. The Puerto Rican high-flier 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 arrived: the tag team of Bridget Slaughter and “One Shot” Jaime Carlyle, led by Commander Jill McKill. The tall, blonde-haired woman in camo pants approached, barely containing a grin.
"Hey, we wanted to welcome you to QoW, so the three of us got you something we knew you could use. Here," said Jill, 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, black tufted carpet while she changed back into her civilian clothes, feeling both excruciating pain and completely numb as she tried not to think.
She grabbed 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. 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.
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