Lilith / Mya versus Mordecai / Shadowcat - HELL IN A CELL

[thisisemerge]

DEADLINE 1 - 3,500 WORD LIMIT 2359 EST 15TH MARCH 2019

DEADLINE 2 - 750 WORD LIMIT SHOOT / SEG 2359 EST 17 MARCH 2019

GOOD LUCK

[Kas]

((OOC Note: Timeline wise - Sabrina Bello RP comes first, with the start of Gwen's happening concurrently. Then this one. All should stand alone, however))

Backstage EMERGE #19

It was nice talking to Sabrina. There’s a little spark there, something that, with careful nurturing, could turn into a wildfire. She seems to feel it too, otherwise she wouldn’t be asking for advice. And although I’d never tell anyone, it’s a way to stick two fingers up at Danny, a chance to succeed where he failed. We’ll see if this is something that she wants to continue, or if I want to take her under my wing .

At the moment though, worry pools in the pit of my stomach. My boys came and retrieved me, and are now hustling me quickly through the building in a tight knot. Chris stayed behind to explain to Sabrina, I presume, and Gwen is leading the way, acting as a distraction or diverting us where appropriate. 

They claimed that it was something to do with Mordecai, but as I think back over the conversation, they actually didn’t say anything. I jumped to the conclusion that it was Mordecai, and John just breezed over it. It seemed a logical enough guess at the time, after everything that happened tonight. But if it’s not Mordecai, what could it be?

There was the match for control of EMERGE tonight, between Dexter and Drew. I have no stake in the match, I don’t particularly care who comes out on top. Unless they dragged myself or Mordecai into it at the last minute. I shoot a sidelong glance at John, but he’s cool and composed. They can’t have tried to fuck Gwen over then, otherwise we’d already be wading in blood.

And they’re not taking me to the room where I left Dante and Mordecai being treated. Which suggests to me that I jumped straight to a conclusion that I shouldn’t have.

So what could this be about?

Much to my irritation, no one answers my questions as they sweep me along hallways, and out towards our vehicle. Mordecai is already there, bruised and battered, but there’s no hint of smugness at his victory tonight, nor any anger at what happened afterwards. Instead, he looks worried.

About me?

There is no fighting against this tide, and I let Josh take the wheel as I slide into the backseat beside Mordecai, Mark tucks himself in against me, pressing closer than our space requires. His eyes are dark with the worry that they hold, although he fights to keep a straight face. John is handing Gwen her helmet, and kicking his bike into life. Our speed home is just the wrong side of safe, but we get back successfully, and once more I am guided out of the car and into the house without getting a chance to ask questions.

Finally though, we’re mostly all assembled. Chris is still absent, but everyone else is gathered around. Unusually, Mordecai has taken up a different spot to his usual lurking place behind me. He’s lurking behind Gwen now, while the rest of my boys fan out in front of me. John steps forward.

“Is it time for explanations now?” I ask him, unable to keep the bite entirely from my voice. 

“There’s no easy way to say this, Lindsay,” he says softly, gruffly. “Just glad we caught you before you heard it yourself. The matches for Invasion were announced. You and Mordecai are teaming up together against Lilith and Mya.”

That doesn’t sound too bad. I’d really rather not wrestle, I left that part of my life a long time ago, but a one off in support of my mystery might not be too bad. So why are all of my family looking as if 

“In a Hell in a Cell match.”

Time.

Freezes.

And.

The.

World.

Distorts.

There are bars all around me, linked with sharp mesh to tear my flesh and rend me apart. Cold ice runs through my veins, and the taste of blood is rich in my mouth. Distantly I can hear the screaming of the crowd, baying for blood. My blood.

Vanilla is already climbing up the side of the cage, trying to get higher, or to gain some respite. She wavers in my vision like a vindictive mirage, turning her head to sneer at me.

The steel is as cold as her eyes as I grasp it, pulling myself upwards in pursuit. 

My heartbeat thrums in my ears, and sweat stings my eyes as I climb, feeling every inch of my body complaining. Pain stings my wrist, a staccato pattern of dots picked out precisely, out of place and out of time. Ahead of me, Vanilla pulls herself onto the top of the cage, and waits.

Again, the dots come, painfully clear, digging into my wrist, like nails. Over the smell of blood and metal, I can smell something else, rich and musky that teased me with familiarity. Vanilla wavers in my vision again, fading out as my head swam and sickness churns in my stomach.

The crowd below whisper words that I can not understand as the cage beneath me starts to fade. The wire turns translucent and my hands pass through it. I frantically try to hold onto something, but it is like trying to grasp smoke.

And then there is nothing to stop my fall.

Reality crashes over me like a breaking wave, and the carpet beneath my knees is rough through my trousers. John holds me tightly, kneeling beside me. His hands are threaded in my hair and my head rests on his shoulder where I can breathe in the scent of his skin. Mark holds my wrist, stiletto blade in hand, and through my wavering vision I can make out the beading drops of blood on my skin. My code, my reminder of what's real. Love. Tapped out in morse code, marked in pain and blood. 

It hurts, hurts to breathe, hurts to think, hurts to exist, and I want to push everything away. I want to be numb, but John won't let me. His heartbeat rattles through me, and his calm breathing forces my own lungs to mimic their pattern, whether I want to, or not.

Gwen is weeping, tears staining her cheeks and glistening in her eyes. Josh holds her, giving what comfort he can. 

Mordecai... I can't read him, and even as I look at him, the cage threatens to steal me again. I force myself to look away from him, and instead focus down on the form. The carpet is a plain dark blue, but the longer I look at it, the more I can see in it. Different hues pulse and sparkle, whirling in my vision like dust in shafts of light. I want to lose myself in the patterns, retreat into their mystery, to try and work out what they’re trying to tell me, but John won’t let me. His heat radiates through me, driving away the ice that I’m trying to summon.

And as I slowly start to thaw, I start to shake as everything snaps back into a bright and painful focus. Sensation floods back into me, and I go limp in John’s arms as I try to process everything. His grip never slackens, as he lowers me to the floor. As his arms let me go, Mark is there, and I heard the loud clatter of the stiletto as it is cast aside before Mark lies down beside me, stretching out so that every part of his body can touch every part of mine, anchoring and steadying me. 

I can hear John whispering to Gwen, calming her, explaining to her, and every syllable is like a nail in my brain, though I cannot make out the words. Josh kneels beside me, and his hands cover my ears, muffling the sharp sounds. I close my eyes to block out the light, and feel another tense muscle in my body give way. Footsteps echo through the floor as someone leaves the room. 

I slip into a half doze, exhaustion starting to take its toll, but I know the cage is ready to make a comeback. I fight true sleep, focusing on the weight and the warmth of my boys around them, accepting their protective concern. Not that I could fight, even if I wanted to.

I’m shaky, but coming back into myself properly, when the footsteps return to the room. Gwen, her face serious, bears and armful of bed linens, and John, behind her, carries sleeping bags. Gwen glances down at me, and I blink lazily back at her, forcing my mouth to curve faintly in reassurance. She huffs out air, and smiles back, setting her load down on the edge of the couch, before stripping it of its cushions.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, and this time the words don’t threaten to punch a hole in my head. “Mordecai, would you pick her up for me?”

It seems like my mystery is grateful to be given something to do, as no sooner has Gwen spoken then I’m being lifted bridal style into the air.

“Don’t you pop a stitch,” I mutter, and I can hear the way that the words slur off my tongue. So I’m not back to my usual self yet. Not that anyone here could blame me.

Now that I’m off the floor, Gwen covers it with couch cushions, John adds the unzipped sleeping bags, and within minutes, we have a nest taking shape on the floor, and I smile again, possessively to myself. My family. They know that the nightmares will come tonight. They know that I can’t be alone tonight. And without my asking, they’re here for me.

***

It’s late. How late, I don’t know. All around me are the soft sounds of even breathing as everyone has slipping into sleep. Mordecai rests beside me, Gwen lying behind him. Mark is on my other side, spooned up close behind. Josh lies across my feet, and John is at my head. Chris has returned, and took a spot next to John. Its warm, comfortable, and relaxing.

But I can’t sleep.

If I sleep, I’ll be back in the cage again, back to facing Vanilla with that malicious smile. Back to falling into the darkness with the screams ringing in my ears. Back to pain. 

Even the thought of falling into another flashback draws the breath from my lungs, and sends a river of ice flowing over me. I shiver, trying by force of will to drive it back, but although it pauses, I can still feel it creeping over me. 

A warm arm slides under me, and pulls me in tight, almost uncomfortably so. Heat and pressure spread over me like a sunrise, driving away the cold and the memory of the steel. I tilt my head back and look straight into Mordecai’s eyes. The only light is the reflected glow of the streetlights around the edge of the curtains, and so his eyes are shadows in shadows. He leans forward and rests his forehead against mine, lifting one leg to throw it over mine, pinning me down even more to the floor, and not by my own volition, I go boneless.

From behind Mordecai, Gwen makes a soft, sleepy noise of question, and shadows move. Mordecai twists, and uses his free arm to pull her in closer to him, and I hear a faint silken rustle as he strokes her hair. 

I hear the faint hitch in John’s breathing, and know that he’s awake, checking and listening to all that’s going on around him. 

“I used to think I was immortal,” I murmur softly,  and feel the sense of ears listening to me.  This is not something that we've ever discussed in so many words.  By the time that Gwen joined us,  what happened was known,  and all that was left was to deal with the fallout. 

“Vanilla and I,  there was a lot of bad blood between us. I went into the match to humiliate her,  and prove that I was better than her.  She admitted later that she went into the match to cripple me.”

It helps to speak about it in this cold,  dispassionate way.  But Mordecai's warm weight stops me from dissociating entirely. 

“She succeeded. I fell from the top of the cage.  I injured myself badly, and was in a coma for a long time.  I had amnesia,  but all of that healed.  What didn't heal were the mental effects.”

I can feel John's hand now, sliding down over the crown of my head to rest on my cheek.

“Nothing surfaced at first, not while my memory was coming back. Then the night terrors started, and the nightmares. Until one day, Josh said something to me, and pitched me straight into a flashback...”

I want to describe how it affects me, what I see, but my throat closes over and my tongue freezes, and I can't.

“Ain't no joke,” John quietly picks up the thread. “It takes her out of herself, and straight back to that time. She tried to deal with it by cutting herself off from everything, but we didn't let her. Used to be even the thought of going near a ring set her off, but she worked on that. Now... it’s just the cage, and any match involving a cage.”

I can still feel Mordecai watching me, holding me. 

“Ain't no chance you're going to be there. We wouldn't let you,” he says directly to me, and I feel something in me relax. Apparently I had wondered subconsciously if they would force me into it.

“Sorry,” I manage to croak out, and I am not quite sure who I am apologising to. Whoever it is though, they take my apology and stay silent as sleep catches them all again. Except for me.

***

I am so tired, and it’s not just the jet lag catching up with me. Since I was told, I’ve not slept more than four straight hours without being woken up by nightmares of some sort. And yet, despite my tiredness, I’m alert, vigilant, flinching at shadows. I think that’s why my boys chose to fly us into Edinburgh airport. It’s an easy commute for Gwen and Mordecai to get to London, but it’s far enough for me that I don’t have a panic attack the moment I set foot outside the door.

Incidentally, that was not a fun experience.

In Edinburgh, I feel like I can breathe again. 

I’ve just finished a Skype chat with my therapist, trying to get a handle on this resurgence. I hate feeling like this, I hate having the shadow of the cage looming over me, waiting to fall and trap me again. I hate that I can’t be there for Mordecai in the ring, I hate the fact that I can’t wipe the smiles from the faces of Lilith and Mya. I hate the fact that by not showing, I’m going to be making this weakness known.

And I know damn well that there are those in EMERGE that would not hesitate to use that weakness against me, if they got half a chance. 

After a session, my mind is always jumbled up, my feelings are raw and painful. The world seems to distort, and I have to keep tapping out my pattern on my wrist to help me focus on the here and now. 

Staying in the rental house is not an option,  I have to get outside,  where the open sky is about as far away from an arena as possible. 

Gullane is a sleepy little town on the coast just to the east of Edinburgh.  Utterly unremarkable, unless you like golf.  Being the middle of the day,  and the middle of the week,  the car park is empty,  and I doubt that anyone else will have walked with me. 

Mordecai walks behind me,  but not out of deference.  He's taking his time,  taking in his surroundings,  and the part of me that is still calm is desperate to know why he has this wistful look on his face.  

We slip and slide our way through the dunes,  the rough seagrass catching the fabric of our clothes.  Gulls swoop and dive overhead,  dancing on the stormy wind currents. 

The sea is grey under the grey sky,  and the white foam on the waves crashes onto the beach.  The tide is coming in, sweeping the beach clean. 

I wish that it could sweep me clean,  as I take off my boots and shoes,  rolling up my trousers to step into the surf.  It's ice cold and shocking to the system,  bubbling around my toes as I sink slightly into the sand.  

The breeze blows my hair back from my face,  tainting my lungs with salt that stings as I breathe it in. 

I exist. 

Mordecai comes to the edge of the surf but no further, staring with hypnotised fascination at the white froth as it sweeps in and out. He's acquired a piece of driftwood, a long weatherbeaten branch, carved into whorls and knots by scouring sand.

I step back from the water, feeling the sand clinging to my feet, gritty and rough. The wet sand at the water's edge holds my footprints, until the next wave obliterates them. For the first time since the match was announced, under the grey and cloudy sky, I feel at peace. I can think of the match as a distant object, separate and apart from me. The shadow of the cage does not loom over me beside the storm tossed sea.

“I wish that I could be there for you,” I speak the words to the tide, but they are meant for his ears. “I want to help, but I can't.”

There is a soft scraping sound behind me, barely audible over the hiss of the water.

“You can more than hold your own,” and I know that as truth. “You don't need me in the ring. But it's the principal of the thing. It feels like a betrayal.”

I know about betrayal. I've done it, and been the victim of it. But I have never betrayed my family, and this is what it feels like.

Coldness rushes over me in a wave, and I turn away from the sea. Probably best to head back to the cottage before we catch a cold. But as I turn to face the beach, my eyes fall on the sand. 

Carved out at the tideline are letters, broad capitals. They were not there when I made my way into the water. Mordecai is walking further up the beach, the driftwood stick lying abandoned. 

ACCEPTANCE

The tide sweeps in and destroys it in white froth, but the message still remains. It could mean anything, it could be from anyone, but I know, as sure as I know my own name, that the message is for me.

I head back towards the car park, and out of the corner of my eye I see Mordecai changing direction to intersect. 

Everything will work out.