Crush You Whole II
__@lockdownI felt the crushing blow of someone hitting me from behind. Sharp pain ran through my midsection as someone else kicked me. I was being thrown around the ring like a ragdoll, but on the inside, I was fighting. I was cursing. I was yelling.
Fuck you faggots. Fuck the world.
Someone tried to intervene and stop the madness, but he was also taken down. When the ring is clear again I see a few others scattered on the floor in heaps. They manage to make it to their feet. I don't. I'm helped up and I feel absolutely pathetic. Then everything fades.
"Cecile, Cecile," came a voice to me from out of nowhere.
My body felt cold and utterly still. I was laying on my back with my arms limp at my sides. I don't think I could feel my legs, but I wiggled my toes to make sure they were still intact. There's this awful ringing sound giving me a headache, making me close my eyes and frown.
"Cecile, Cecile," the voice comes again.
I don't want to answer, but it's familiar. It's someone I know and possibly love.
"Peter," I answer and my eyes flutter open slowly.
"No, it's me Andrew."
"Andrew?" I say unsurely and finally I turn to look at my friends face.
"Do you want me to get Peter?" he asks.
"No, no...it's ok. Where am I?"
"Still at the prison. Your match is over. You won but you took a nasty beating afterwards. You had to get some stitches on your head. Your eye is swollen. They think you have a concussion. The Warden is deciding whether or not to send you to a real hospital."
I listen carefully to what he has to say before turning my head to the side to cough harshly, an action that makes my head that much more dizzy. I cough again and this time red comes out, causing Andrew to run out of the room. I hear some kind of commotion going on with nurses and doctors speaking urgently in Russian. Someone grabs my head and turns it to the side but I can't see their face as everything is slowly bleeding to blackness.
The last thing I hear as I finally close my eyes again is Andrew calling my name.
"Cecile..."
----
__plotting revenge
I woke suddenly in a foreign room. The walls were too white and clean to be the prison. I heard the sound of a television nearby and I smelled alcohol and sterile antibiotics hospitals always seem to have an overabundance of for employees to steal. I hated that smell. There's an IV sticking out of my arm that's connected to a bag of water. I look to my left and my friend Peter is sitting nonchalantly in an uncomfortable stiff chair eating something out of a small bag.
"If there's maggots in that you had better get it away from me," I tell him despite the growing headache with every word and receive a puzzled glare for my trouble.
"You finally wake up and that's what you say?" He stands up and walks towards me. His long blonde hair is short and hacked, like he cut it with a knife instead of scissors. His clothes are sort of disheveled and messy, completely out of character for him.
"Mon beau, what the hell happened to you?" I ask, shocked at what I was seeing. This wasn't the Peter I had come to know.
He ran his hand through his hair like he missed those long blonde locks and smiled shyly. "I should be asking you that."
"Your hair." I reached out to touch him and he gave me his hand. It was warm and rough, the way I remembered it.
"I had an accident. It had to be cut," he explained curtly and switched the subject. "How are you, mon petite?"
"Not so good. My mouth is sore. And Andrew...where's Andrew?"
His face fell at my mention of the other man. "Why do you care?"
"He was with me after the match."
"He's with his girlfriend," Peter told me and continued, "What? You didn't know he had one?"
I didn't want things to be awkward between me and Peter after our sexual rendezvous, but it looked like that's where it was headed. I thought he was a gorgeous guy it's just, well, when I wasn't a sodden whore dying of lust in a prison, he just wasn't my type.
I could almost taste his jealously in my mouth as I turned to my head to see where the television noise was coming from--it was directly across the room in my line of sight. I guess they want me to see how good celebrities have it as I lay sick in a hospital bed. Great motivation.
"Did I make you upset?" he asked and placed a gentle hand on my sore face. "He sent his best regards if that makes you feel better."
"What about Maggie?" I asked and looked back at him with sudden interest.
"Ah yes. She's good. She's actually resting at my house now. Tanya is looking after her."
"Can you send her to the prison for a visit when I get out of here?"
After months of absence, Peter and Andrew had managed to find my best friend Maggie. They said she'd been hurt-- how, I still didn't know, but like most things in my life the Harlequin were slowly but surely taking care of it. I had to trust them. Noone else was looking out for me.
"Mon dieu, she is in bad shape, but we'll see. It may be a while before you see her again."
"As long as she's safe," I respond bleakly.
Peter caressed my face more. "Cecile, what am I going to do with you? I love you, and I can't stand to see you hurt like this."
"Has the card for next week been announced?"
"Why? Are you worried you'll get a week off or something? God forbid," he scoffed and frowned.
"I want revenge damnit," I shrieked and instantly regretted it as my headache resurfaced. "I want those sonsofbitches to bleed for what they did to me? You hear me?" I told him through gritted teeth.
He was reluctant to respond to me, but eventually he said, "Your lips, Satan's ears. You'll get them next week my dear. You and your buddies Andrei and Marcus will take them on. At least it'll be more even then."
"More even? I beat Dmitri, or did you miss that small fact?" I asked him in an angry tone.
"Oh really? Then why are you the one in the hospital bed?"
"Touch� Peter, but remember our creeds; an eye for a motherfucking eye." I all but spat my words.
---
__locked down
HAHHAHAH
You're all so damn pathetic with your small penises and overloaded egos that it makes me want to cackle. Yes, you, I'm talking to you. And if you don't know that this is about you, you're going to know very soon.
Dmitri; I told you I'd pop that cherry, did I not?
How did you like it? Was it too rough? I see you and your friends got angry afterwards. Maybe I made your first time a little shocking. Now I almost feel guilty, but not really. If you thought it was that bad last time around, just wait till the end of this week. You're going to get raped you little he-bitch, and thanks to the Warden it's turned into a motherfucking gangbang that's going to make the porn industry worship us for years.
So you little boys managed to attack me when I wasn't looking. Poor little me. You think that's something for you to brag about? Think again. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of taking a week off. I don't need time to recuperate from these injuries. I need anger management to stop me from committing mass murder.
Besides, I've got Andrei Sorokov, the champ, on my side. Marcus Doyle's there too. I think he's alright. He might be butt hurt over our match last week, but I consider him shifty just for the fact that I don't like him the way I like Andrei. Regardless, he's a hell of a lot more reliable than the lot you've got on your team.
Titan; not that you're name isn't clich� enough, but you just had to be a seven foot retard with an evil sidekick that does all the talking for you. Haven't we seen you and fifty others like you before? I'm the only one around here cool enough to belong to a cult. Get off my swagger, bitch.
Exile; another name from the bank of unoriginality. What should I say about you? I don't know why you're hanging out with this bunch of losers, but you picked the wrong time to enter SW.
If I hadn't been on the other side of your anger I would've said that your power was impressive. Yes, Dmitri, Titan, Exile-- I admit that you have power-- enviable oodles of it at your fingertips.
What you don't have though is, respect. And when noone respects you, power is pretty pointless. It's like being on a pedestal above everyone else with people constantly throwing food and sharp objects at you. Yeah, you're up there, but everyone just sort of wants you to die or go away so someone more relevant can take your position.
I don't know about anyone else but you have my complete attention. That's mostly only because you used dirty tactics to get it. Now that you've got me looking though, I'm seeing what you really are; a group of pathetic cowards seeking your way to the top of SW by attacking the meat of its talent. It's been done about a thousand time before in other federations, and in better form, but everyone has to start somewhere sometime. Too bad this'll be the last stop on your bullshit tour for a long while. You mothercunts are as good as dead. I can already taste your filthy blood in my mouth.
I hate to sound stereotypical, but it's better than a shot of straight vodka.
----
__plotting revenge ii
"The press conference you did last week was...awful."
The Warden spoke in a formal manner as he leaned on the edge of his desk. His room was large and ominous with old Russian statues, thick carpeting and a wall stacked with books. The window directly behind the desk was gated with long red curtains on both sides, but the sun still managed to sneak through and shine on me. "I had heard rumors of it, but, when did you join a cult?"
"It's not a cult, Warden, it's a religious group," I corrected him and the chains in my ankles jingled as I did so. I stood in-between two tall guards with my hands cuffed. There was a bandage wrapped around my head to cover the stitches I had to get after my match. I probably looked hideous but it wasn't like I was in a beauty contest.
He swatted his hand at my statement. "Bullshit," he sputtered. "They're a bunch of murdering bastards that should be in my prison." He sat down in the big leather chair behind his desk with a plop and folded his hands.
"What does it matter anyway? I thought you didn't get involved in that type of stuff?"
"You can do whatever the hell you want, as long as you're still wrestling for me at the end of the day. I'm warning you though, don't get too involved with these people. If I find out you're behind a serious crime-"
"What? You're going to try and feed me to the wolves? I'm one of the biggest draws this company has," I laughed and the guard shoved me, throwing me off-balance. I stopped laughing and gave him a dirty glare over my shoulder. Bastard.
"No Cecile." The Warden stood to his feet and came at me with his arms behind his back. I would've tensed up, but I didn't think he'd attack me when I looked so...weak.
"They're going to shoot you until you're a pile of meat, bones, and flesh. Then, I'm going to feed what's left of you to the wolves."
His words danced in the back of my head as I went about with the rest of my day, like a bad toothache I just wanted to ignore. The truth was, I didn't know what the Harlequin were really up to when I wasn't around, and I really didn't care. I liked it that way. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
All I wanted was revenge on the three stooges that attacked me the day before. I wanted them to pay for the bruises on my pretty white skin, for the lacerations on my skull, for the missing teeth in the back of my mouth. Someone was going to suffer for the sake of my vanity. I just didn't know who to start with. I did however, know who would help me get my revenge.
Surprisingly, the line for the phone wasn't all that long. Some of the other ladies like to have phone sex (and God if that isn't funny). When I picked up the black receiver I kind of wished I had a bleached Kleenex to wipe it before I put it to my ear, but the gauze covering most of my head fixed my problem.
I dialed information so my call was free, and then, I heard a familiar voice on the other end.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Marcus? It's 'Cile, what's going on?" I happily greeted him.
"Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?" he asked in a groggy voice and I could picture him looking at the clock with a baffled look on his face.
Marcus was an old ex of mine. We broke up on good terms in 2005 when he went off and joined the French legion, but, that didn't stop him from doing his illegal shit on the side. If anything, it made him a better criminal.
"About twelve in the afternoon there?" I respond with sarcasm, a natural trigger he always got out of me.
He paused. "I'll be damned..."
"I need something."
"Like what? If it's drugs it'll cost you," he explained immediately and coughed some mucus up.
"Think you can make it to Russia some time in the next four days?"
"Russia?" he repeated slowly and quickly added, "Ce-Cecile?! You're calling my phone from prison, asking me to do something illegal?! Oh you fucking bitch! Are you trying to set me up?!"
"Shut up, Marcus you delusional ass," I yelled and attracted the attention of some of the other ladies. I continued in a much more inconspicuous tone of voice. "You know your phone is untraceable. What are they going to do to you? I'm the one taking the blame here, and to be honest, I don't give if I go down for it. You just make sure you get what I ask you to get, understand?"
I heard him breathing heavy on the other end of the phone, probably thinking hard about the situation. "Fine, fine. What do you want?"
I smiled and told him exactly what I wanted, along with the precise address of the prison.
"Shit...you planning a war or something?" he asked with disbelief in his voice.
"Or...something. How much will it cost me?"
"For you my dear 'Cile, it'll be free, and by free I mean sweaty hot sex free."
"Thanks, but I'd rather pay hard cash than have sex with you ever again."
He sucked in a breath and made a tsking noise with his mouth. "You're so harsh."
When I hung up the phone I had a feeling of accomplishment wash over me. One down and two to go, I thought to myself and strolled down the hall whistling a cherry tune, like I wasn't planning a massacre.
----
__epilogue
Magedelegna watched Peter lurch forward, whip in hand, sinister smile on his face. He had just told her that he was going to kill her, but they often said things like that when they came back and forth through the basement. It was all apart of the game they liked to play.
Peter laughed heartily as he watched numerous expressions pass on Magdelegna's face. It was fun to taunt her every once in awhile, but if he did it too often Andrew would get angry with him. The chinky bastard was always angry with him about something, he thought, and lurched forward some more. They'd been keeping Magdelegna in the basement of Tanya's old house for about a month and a half now, slowly but surely breaking the bond she and Cecile had held for a number of years. Now it was almost time to put an end to it all.
"That's enough of that," Peter said as he tossed the whip to the side and sat next to her on the bed.
He caressed the side of her face and then began unfastening the ropes that held her to the bed. When she was free she tried to run for the staircase, but Peter gave her one hard chop on the neck that caused her to fall to the floor with an audible thud. He lifted her up over his shoulder and took her in the bathroom, her body completely exposed as he turned the knobs in the shower to the right so it could fill with hot water. He gently placed her inside the cold white tub as hot water shot out of its faucet and touched her face once more before turning to gather necessary materials.
Andrew came walking down the stairs with a scowl on his face. "What happened between you and Cecile?" he asked as he entered the bathroom.
"What ever do you mean, mon cherie?" Peter responded dryly.
"Something's not right between the two of you. Did you fuck her?"
"Quoi? She lives in a prison, duh," Peter retorted and grabbed the bottle of pink bath wash on the shelf above the toilet. "How was I supposed to fuck her there?"
Andrew stood there for a moment and gave Peter a lengthy contemplative glance before turning his attention to Magdelegna. "Make sure she's clean for the ceremony tonight. Marcus wants her tonight. I'm getting so sick of his fetishes," Andrew says bitterly and releases a deep breath.
"She'll be as pristine as a rose, I promise."
Peter watched a still angry Andrew exit the bathroom and listened for his steps on the staircase. Then he began to unzip his pants. Behind him, Magdelegna grasped the pair of scissors he neglected to notice on the dirty floor.
