Appearances By: Darkstar
Mentioned: Darkstar, Zimdela Brudon, Draco, Casanova
Celebrate!
Third Time’s The Charm, Bitch
Canoe Bay Resort
Santa Fe, Wisconsin
Monday, November 29, 2004
I still can’t believe it. You’d think a girl would get tired after four rounds. I guess not. I was too hyped to take a break. The entire time when I wasn’t wrestling, I was buzzing around, pacing and waiting to go back out to the ring. Sure, I’m sore as fuck, - my back and neck being the worse off - but I can’t help but feel… accomplished. To my left was the Sin Trophy, glinting in the darkness of some room with my bra hanging off of it, having been carelessly flung away. Beside that were the World Title belt and the rest of my clothing, as well as Darkstar’s. Beneath me was the same man, pinned by all one-hundred and forty-five pounds of me into a hotel bed.
We were lodged in a room that was called the Heavenly Suite. It was a two bedroom room in the main Inn of Canoe Bay. There were patio doors on the other side of the bedroom that led out onto a private deck that looked out onto a beautiful lake that reminded me of my home. The other room had a large fireplace made of stone, as well as another deck and a living room area. It was a romantic sort of place, I realized, after I peeked into the first of two bathrooms that contained a two person whirlpool and shower.
I had the blankets tugged up against the small of my back. The room was chilly against the sweat across my skin, but the heat from my lover was enough to keep me comfortable. I curled up lightly against his torso, tenderly kissing against the side of his throat while lazily pushing a few of the dreads that had been pulled from the scunchy behind my shoulders. My tongue flickered out, languidly tasting the long, messy mutilation almost all around his throat.
Darkstar didn’t have makeup on, having had a shower before joining me in bed. I could see the stitches across his left eyebrow, crossing over the scar that was vertical down his eye. There were perhaps twelve stitches and two knots on either end. The skin had been completely parted, exposing his brow bone. He always insisted on stitching himself, after all. His skin was marred, scarred and bumpy from years of abuse… but he was beautiful to me.
My fingers moved, gently caressing up his right cheek, touching another scar there. I bet if I tried, I could touch almost all of his body and find a scar. I’d have to put that to the test eventually. I’d seen his back. God… it must have hurt something awful. I’d asked Demonica what happened in shock when I’d first seen his back in the light. His upper back and the back of his neck had been from being thrown on an open flame where he became a literal wick. There were also tiny pin holes from being suplexed onto a bed of thumb tacks. Barbed wire wounds all down his back.
And then the one person I’d heard of but didn’t want to meet. Andrea Raven. She tortured him. Twice… that I know about, anyway. The first time I wasn’t able to find out how, but the second, she had beaten his back with a kendo stick with glass pieces glued to it. After that, he was forced to seal the wounds by burning the pieces of skin back together with a scorching, baking sheet. My boyfriend… refused help and refused a hospital. Not that I could blame him. Had I been conscious, I wouldn’t have gone after my car accident either.
It was that kind of thing that made me have an urge to kill. I may have been a bitch, but I’ve never, ever thought of taking someone’s life. But this Raven whore… there was definitely something wrong in her head from the very condensed and summed-up stories I had heard from Demonica.
I wanted to rip her apart, gouge out her eyes with my own fingers before crushing her chest beneath my knee and strangling her until life left her. I wanted to feel that last heart beat beneath my knee before she left this world and stayed left. I wanted to make her hurt like she had made my lover hurt. I wanted to tear apart her back with my fingernails while ripping out the pretty red hair from her head. I knew she was like Darkstar, Demonica and I. Dead. But even people like us had a final death. I didn’t care what it took. Rip apart and send every limb to a different corner of the world. It didn’t matter to me. Just as long as she didn’t hurt Darkstar again.
I gasped a little bit at my own thoughts in disgust, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. My fingertips paused, pinching lightly against the two rings in his right ear. I knew vaguely what Andrea looked like, just from Demonica. She was a hell of a lot taller than I, and probably much stronger, with crimson, curly hair and pale skin. That could have been anybody. However, I’m sure I would get a vibe when I saw her. I usually had a knack for spotting ass holes and hoes.
I dropped onto my back beside him, wincing, tilting my head up and to the side before my hand reached out to grasp a makeshift ashtray that was formally a soda can and my cigarettes from behind the sleeping form of Zane on the bedside table. The slowly-growing kitten shifted but did not wake. I could feel her purring against my hand as I moved my arms back to the confines of the bed. So much for their no pet policy. Heh, and the no smoking policy, too, now that I thought about it.
“How badly did you wreck the bathroom, chéri?” I asked, brow raising as I peeked over at him, drawing the blankets up over my chest. The ashtray was laid on my stomach as I lit a cigarette. I drew a breath in deeply, the embers at the end of the roll flaring to life. He’d been in the washroom, cleaning the wound over his eyebrow. Of course, not to be one to do it the easy way, he probably dumped the whole bottle of one-hundred and ninety proof Everclear on his face. Thankfully, he had ruined the non-romantic washroom. I had full intent on using the two-person one.
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