The last time I saw Cherie Von Allen, I was walking out of the Capital One Arena in DC with her in tow. I was angry. Can’t really say that I was angry at her, but she’s the one who caught all of the venom that I had to spew. She was looking out for me, like she only ever was, and I had to ruin that like the regular jackass that I am… that I can be sometimes.

I sat in my motel room for weeks pondering what I had done… what I said to her… and most importantly… why I had said it. I came up with nothing… exactly zero answers as to why I decided it was her fault that Amber couldn’t come to my shows anymore. I was just pissed off at a lot of things… many of which being my situation within the company and how nothing that I did up to that point seemed to feel right. But these were my problems, not hers. I brought most of them on to myself. Four weeks of relative exile gave me a lot of time to sit and think about my sins. I hated it. It gave me time to heal… time to simmer… time to think… time to feel like what it would be like sitting in that cell again…

Maybe Bridges was right about me.

Cherie told me a few days ago that she had some news from me… over a text message of course. It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, but she had mentioned preferring to share the information in person. At first, I was skeptical. I figured I’d either be walking into an assbeating by some CW hired thugs or being handed my walking papers. Then again, maybe not. Cherie’s never lead me down the wrong path before… and this… this generalistic cynicism was exactly what got me in trouble the first time. It’s not like anything couldn’t happen in CW at any given moment. But this was the best opportunity I’d ever get to mend fences with one of my few, true, friends… if I didn’t already fuck it up beyond all repair.

So I said yes. I had invited Cherie over to the old rat-infested motel with water generously seeping down through the wallpaper to join me for a glass of wine or two. I was more than excited that she actually accepted. I waited for her, the entire time thinking that there was a good chance that she wasn’t really going to show.

I was genuinely surprised to see the Carnage limousine pull up outside… I’ve got a few memories with that vehicle, but I was pretty sure that Cherie had her own car. Turns out I was right. I walked out to greet whomever this mystery person may be, and sure enough it was Cherie. But something was wrong. The driver opened her door and helped her exit, and it wasn’t until then that I knew that Cherie had something wrong with her. She stood up straight and there it was: a sling on her arm. Cherie thanked the driver and turned towards me… and my eyes gave me away.

A hug… a handshake… neither seemed appropriate or right. “Hey Cher,” was about the best I had to greet her with.

“Hey Mags,” she replied. Her cheeks were red. She lowered her head and looked off to the side. She wasn’t there two seconds and already the situation felt more awkward than it probably should have been.

“So uhh, you have some news for me?”

“Yeah…” her voice trailed off. “Amber’s ban has been lifted.”

“Really? That’s great!”

I didn’t know what to say. Amber’s ban from any arena that Carnage was having a show in was the topic of the argument that I had with Cherie back in DC. I strictly remembered telling her ‘not to bother’ as I slammed a door in her face. Looks like Cherie took the Highroad on me.

“I told you that I’d have it taken care of,” she muttered. “So I took care of it.”

“Cherie…” I exhaled. “You didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t a big deal… ”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Please don’t do that.”

I nodded my head… mainly because she was right. I didn’t have any right to play that card. I should have just said thank you and moved on. Instead, well, I had no idea what I was thinking at the time.

“So, are we going to get drinks or…?”

“Oh, yeah… the drinks… right. You can come in… I just hope you don’t mind the room. It’s really not much,” I said, referring to the place I’d been pining away in for almost a month. “Actually, the place is a total shithole and the wine’s cheap. I hope you didn’t have high expectations for someone making minimum wage.”

She chuckled.

“No. I don’t mind…”

“But?”

“No buts,” she smiled at me. “I’ll come in if you want.”

“Hey, I’m doing the best that I can here. I wasn’t expecting you to roll up in a stretch limousine to my most humble-est of abodes.”

“Well… It was the least Jason could do… after…” she looked down at her injured arm.

“Wait… what?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you saying Bridges did that to you?”

Cherie didn’t answer.

“I don’t mind your place.” she finally replied. “It looks… nice. But maybe we should go to the bar instead. It’ll be my treat.”

“Cherie…”

The guilt of what I had said to her rising up… I could feel it in my throat.

“…I… uhh…” I stammered. “Thank you. I would gladly accept.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“What? Saying thank you?”

She nodded.

“Actually,” I pondered for a brief moment not knowing the response. “No… I guess it really wasn’t.”

 

 

We hopped into the limo and drove off in the direction of a bar/restaurant of Cherie’s choosing. I didn’t know where we were going at first… and I wouldn’t find out until we got there. Turns out Cherie picked a place that was so high above what I could afford at the moment that it honestly made me feel a bit guilty that I couldn’t offer to help pay. Maybe this was her subtle way of getting me back… and maybe it just a nice gesture. It’s not like I was in any position to decline.

We walked in together and got seated at a table. The staff there were over-the-top nice to the girl with her arm in the sling… as well they should be. We made our order, I tried to keep it cheap… but Cherie insisted that we choose high-dollar drinks if for no other reason than our designated driver was sitting in the stretch limo outside. I was in no position to turn down her hospitality, and even if I was, it’s been a while since I’ve had something to help take my mind off of business for a while.

A few sips in, and I already started to feel the buzz. This was good stuff, and as I said, it’s been a while. But the more I drank, the more my mind drifted back to the things that I hoped that it wouldn’t. Chaos 79. Jason Bridges. The upcoming match with Myra at Season of the Witch. Maybe it was because I knew Cherie through work, or maybe it’s because that’s all I’ve really had to think about… besides whatever Amber was doing. I couldn’t wait to tell her that she had been officially allowed back to the shows – as a matter of fact I had sent her a few dms as soon as I found out – but Am hadn’t answered them. It wasn’t anything that I was worried about at the time, it was typical of her to be busy during shop hours.

“Cherie. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” She asked, picking at the edge of her glass with her fingernail. “What is it Mags?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it… and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my shit out on you. I was just in a really bad space… but I don’t want to make any excuses about it. The things that I said… not only were they not true… they were just flat out wrong.”

Cherie dipped her head as she calmly smiled at me.

“I know Mags,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot. But guess what? If anyone knows what you’ve been through lately, it’s me. Just trust me on that. Okay?”

I nodded. I really didn’t have much to say or to add to that. I felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. I only dealt with Jason Bridges for minutes at a time… Cherie had it much harder than I ever did.

“I do… and again, I just hope that you’ll give me another chance. I want to prove that I’m better than all of this shit that’s been happening lately. I don’t want to be the person who pushes everyone away.”

“What are you talking about?” Cherie asked with a confused look.

“Oh… well… you know. That’s what Bridges said… during that rant when he told me that he loves me like a daughter.”

Cherie shook her head in what I can only believe is disgust. Something was definitely off to me; it seemed like every time I mentioned Bridges that Cherie would readjust her injured arm.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“No no,” she came back quickly with a smile. “I’m happy that we’re finally having those drinks we’ve always talked about.”

“Me too,” I said right after taking another sip. “I just wish you’d tell me what really happened.”

She looked up at me with fear in her eyes.

“With my arm?”

“Yeah. I tried to ask you about it earlier but you never answered me.”

“It… it was nothing. Just an accident… is all. I should have been more careful.”

“Cher, what are you not telling me?”

Cherie looked around the restaurant as if somebody was going to jump her. The more I asked about it the more it seemed she reacted with fear.

“If something happened… you need to tell me.”

“…and what are you gonna do?”

“I… don’t know.”

“It was him…” She finally said with tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “…but it was just an accident, okay? I should have been more careful.”

Cherie proceeded to explain to me that Bridges bumped into her at the top of a flight of stairs at Carnage HQ… though she was explicit that it was ‘only’ an accident. I wasn’t sure what to think, mainly I suppose because I wasn’t too sure about anything anymore. It could have been an accident… or maybe Bridges did it on purpose. My mind was trying to process possibilities and motives… but for now all I had was a gut feeling.

…and it wasn’t a good one.

 

 

I wrote earlier in this journal about how sometimes we end up right back where we started and how it doesn’t necessarily mean that we’ve went nowhere.

Well…

Sometimes it still feels like it does.

Granted, I’ve been through a lot. I’ve busted my ass to make good on a promise to earn my way back into the UltraViolent championship picture… and that much I’ve done. I’m grateful – in a way – for the opportunity to learn more about myself through the myriad of personalities I’ve stood toe-to-toe against in the last, oh, two months or so. Sebastian Steel. Zaia. Modern Day Joker. Melody freaking Lennox.

Each competitor couldn’t be more different. Each competitor pushed me in ways that no one else could. It wasn’t easy, as all good things in life never are. Yet one by one they stood, and one by one they fell. It couldn’t have gone much better, save for a few beatings here and there. A lot of the pain I’ve endured in this trip to the bottom of the barrel was my fault… one bad choice followed another… and through it all I find myself somehow victorious despite the challenge. My prize after all of this is a Carnage Wrestling UltraViolent championship opportunity… another opportunity… against Myra Lynwood.

Feels like I’ve been here before.

Seems so familiar.

And I can sense it now, almost as if someone were tapping me on the shoulder… breathing down my neck. Ms. Lynwood is gnawing at the bit, with bated breath, waiting to hear what I have to say. Twitter comments? Saw ‘em. Something something, highroad, something something, World Championship. I didn’t respond on Twitter, but surely I have something to say now. Right?

Sorry hun. You’re gonna have to wait.

My focus this week is on my opponent… as it should be.

Phoenix LeStrange, I just want you to know that I’m not overlooking you. I’ve been in your position before, and I’ve had debut matches in places against reigning champions. I know the value of focusing on what matters, and despite the fact that I don’t know much about you, what matters is that I don’t walk into Chaos 79 expecting anything less than the best out of you. You could be a future Carnage World Champion for all I know, you could be a future Hall of Legends member too. But even if that ends up being true, what I do know is that your first test is going to be against me… and I’m not going to take it easy on you by taking you lightly.

I’ve spent the past few months building up momentum… and I’m not about to let that all go by the wayside by somebody who bemoans her self-image because her breasts never grew in. Felicity… Phoenix… whatever you want to call yourself now. I hate to break the news to you but I’m not a social worker… and I’m not a psychiatrist, either. You have your problems, and I have mine. If you want to make me care about yours, then I suppose you need to find a reason to. Otherwise, you’re a fresh face trying to make a name for herself at my expense… and I’m just not in the mood.

At Chaos 79, I’m going to do my job. I’ll take your winning privileges away. You want to rescue me from my disease? I’d like to see you try… If you even bother to show.

It seems like jerking the curtain is my job around here now. But even if that’s true… that’s fine.

I’ll curbstomp them all.

Look at what you just made me do.