Post by Malice on Apr 18, 2017 15:03:08 GMT -6
Malice: When my mother was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease I came across a notebook and saw my name in it. I couldn’t help but read it. It said “IMPORTANT: Tell Cordy to never…” and then some scribbles.
I did everything in my power to let her remember me. She was often lucid and we were able to communicate fairly decently, but times arose where she treated me like the delinquent child that my father raised me to be. When I was with her I was the perfect example of a daughter. I can’t deny my shortcomings but with her I was perfect.
She was my rock growing up. And then she left. She was in too much trouble from him. He was violent and rude. She had many a black eye that the doorknob gave her. But because she had no money and no job, and she never was brave enough to file a police report, my father got custody of me, and when he remarried and I got my extended family. In the end I was probably in the better situation as while my father went out and philandered and made money through his extracurricular activities my Step-Mother was the most loving and caring person I had ever met, aside from my biological mother.
But when I turned 16 I found out that my mother was taking a turn for the worse. She was living in a hostile with a few other people that I didn’t know. We spoke on the phone at times but she was never able to get back on her feet. Can you fucking believe it? What bullshit that this woman who did nothing but care for me growing up and sacrificed her career and her childhood to take care of me ended up living in a slum at the age of 36.
Yes, 36. She was 20 when I was born. Not overtly young, she was certainly no teenage and pregnant, but my father never let her finish school. She was a college dropout and at first things were fine when the drug smuggling was good. But as the cops cracked down on Cleveland, Ohio my father’s business suffered. And in turn my mother’s wellbeing did as well. He beat her, he choked her, and he had his way with her. It wasn’t rape because they were married, but those weren’t screams of joy coming through the paper thing walls of my 8 year old bedroom.
What did I learn?
Good guys don’t win. I’m not a good guy. I know that you all cheer for me as I fight people like Petrov and Ray Burnett and Demarcus Jordan, but please don’t look at me like I’m your friend. I’m not looking out for anyone but myself. Petrov was thought to be a Russian affiliate. He could have been extremely dangerous. And even though he ended up being harmless I was just doing my job. Nothing more, nothing less. I wasn’t trying to impress any of you; I was trying to keep MY ASS safe.
The scene fades off and Cordelia Malice is seen sitting on a steel folding chair in the middle of the ring. Her shirt and her jacket are torn and her body looks like she’s been through hell. It was after Overload 4-10-17, and she came out to the exiting crowd and a loyal few remained as Miss Malice’s music played and she entered, came down to ringside and sat in the ring.
Malice: DeMarcus Jordan was a victim of circumstance. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He got in my way while I was fighting Petrov and he became a causality of war. He hates to admit it but he knows that it’s true. I whooped his ass at Infiniti and even though I couldn’t compete that night I made sure that my name was known, because I was NOT going to go down without a fight in the biggest event of the year up until that point.
He was scared, and he was nervous. He never felt power like mine. He never felt what it’s like to take a shot to the head by a bitch that just don’t give a shit about you. He was always the alpha male, the big dog, but he’s stepped out of the pound and into my hood now, and I’m the HBIC when I step into this ring. There ain’t no one that can dethrone me and keep me down.
You can knock me down, and you sure have, over and over and over again. You continue to use that numbers game of yours to keep me down a peg, and you think that because I’m a woman that it’s ok. I didn’t ask Bonnie Blue to come out and help. She’s the good guy in this scenario. She saw someone getting ganged up on and tried to stop the gang warfare. Yet when I came down to the ring tonight after the show you all cheered me.
I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t deserve it. I’m not living an illusion here. I’m a gang leader. I work for an unnamed organization that doesn’t exactly follow the rules when it comes to getting shit done, and if any of you think for a second that I would punch a man in the balls, gauge their eyes, or pull their hair if I thought it would give me an advantage you’re dead fucking wrong. Because where I come from you don’t pull your punches, you aim for the back of the skull.
You don’t worry about having a fair fight; you worry about keeping your ass safe. And that’s why I’m not mad at Jordan and Burnett for constantly jumping me to get their revenge. An eye for an eye, right? He’s been dominating me with the help of a friend, but if you recall when I knocked him the fuck out I had a friend of my own. A 2x4 owned by Hacksaw Jim Duggan.
The crowd chants the infamous ‘HAUUUUUH!’ chant from the late 80s and Malice simply shakes her head in contempt.
Malice: I didn’t come to UCI to make friends. I’ve got all the friends that I need. I came on a mission and as far as I can tell that mission is complete. Now I’m here for myself. Now I’m here to take that exhilaration and excitement that I’ve felt kicking the ass of people like Bolas de Arana, and Albion Enigma, and Damien Kingston.
I came for the job and I’m staying for the joy…
Later that Week
Becky: Please come, I got Chad take Ronnie so…..
This bitch sister of Cordelia’s insisted that because she had a child that she was way busier than Cordelia was. She loved Ronnie with all of her heart, but every time Becky stood on the ‘Mother Pedestal’ using her sweet and innocent daughter as ammo it fired her up. Her Grandfather’s 106th birthday was looming and she had tried her hardest to get out of it.
Becky: … Come on. You HAVE to go. It’s important. It’ll be good for you.
Cordelia: If you don’t mind, I don’t like to attend parties where the guest of honor has no idea what’s going on.
She walked into her room and closed the door behind her, careful not to slam it despite the frustration she was feeling. Mack began to take his clothes off.
Mack: Finally, you’re here.
Cordelia: Not now, Mack.
He stops removing clothing.
Mack: Yea, I wasn’t in the mood anyway.
Cordelia: I don’t know why she can’t just let me live my life. All I want to do is…
Mack: Not go.
Cordelia: Why should I go?
Mack: Listen, I gotta agree with her. I usually do, she’s smarter than you.
Cordelia took a swing, and could have sworn it landed but as she looked up Mack was evading the blow.
Mack: I’ll stand back here as I finish.
Cordelia: Good idea.
Mack: She’s right. She usually is. She’s your sister, she loves you and she only wants what’s best for you. Has she ever steered you wrong.
Cordelia: It’s not the point. She’s out there acting like she turned her life upside down to gather me and make me do something I don’t want to do. I feel like I’m 14 years old again and she’s the honor student and I’m in detention. And I feel like you’re acting like the Principal saying ‘be more like your sister.”
She’s not even my real sister anyway.
A whimpering cry is heard as Cordelia turns her head to the door and sees it shut.
Cordelia: Fuck.
She rushes out into the common area where Becky is holding back tears and standing as tall and brave as her 5 foot 3 frame could hold her.
Becky: I know that we’re not blood related, but I ALWAYS think of you as my REAL sister. We’ve known each other for 14 years, and I like to think that we love each other too.
Cordelia: You do… WE do. Come one, sis. Don’t act like this right now.
Becky: This could be the last time we ever see him!
This bitch was always making things about her, and now the guilt trip about the old man. She didn’t want to go for my own reasons, and now Becky was crying. How could she say no to her now? Fortunately, she didn’t have to as Becky stormed out of the apartment and into the hallway. Cordelia went to go follow her but Elizabeth Shaw stopped her.
Elizabeth: I don’t think that’s such a good idea.
Now she was telling Cordelia what to do. She was getting sick and tired of people treating her like she was broken. She just didn’t want to go, and she didn’t see what the big fucking deal was about this whole thing.
Cordelia: She’s being unreasonable.
Elizabeth was treating Cordelia with kid gloves as she put her hand on Cordy’s shoulder and squeezed just enough to let her know she was there.
Elizabeth: She’s concerned about you. This is a big deal and she just wants to make sure that you’re okay.
Cordelia: I’m fine. I want to stay home and prepare for Beyond, is that too much to ask. I finally get a featured match at their biggest event of the year and I’ve got Becky and now you up my ass telling me what to do and where to go and when. Can’t you just please let me be?
Hacker: Cordelia…
Fuck, now this mother fucker is going to chime in. She turned around and in her best fake smile replied.
Cordelia: Yes Hacker, how can I help you?
Hacker: You should do whatever you want.
Cordelia: See, the fucking robot gets it, but you and my sister can’t see the bigger picture here, can you. I’m THIS close to breaking out. I’m this close to becoming the star that the company wants me to be. The crowd loves me; the roster hates me, what more can they ask of me. I want to do my job, and kick ass and come back and sit on the couch and watch the fucking Challenge on MTV while eating goddamn Doritos. Can you let me do that, please? Can you let me prepare the way I need to prepare instead of distracting me with minutia?
Elizabeth: This isn’t minutia. This is important, and maybe you’re not feeling the same way. Maybe you’re so coldhearted and broken that you don’t feel the same way that others do about it, but Becky wants to go and I’m going to go with her.
Dr. Shaw never spoke to Cordelia like this before. She was always so quiet, calm and collected. But this passion and intensity; she must really have connected with Becky in the past few days since she came to visit.
Becky had been staying with her for 2 days, and while Cordelia was reading briefs sent back from the last mission and watching countless hours of tapes preparing for her match; hitting the gym and running 10 miles a day around the neighborhood as the weather got more and more beautiful outside Becky and Dr. Shaw have been enjoying tea, playing Gin Rummy and probably gossiping about who’s wearing what on E!
She could understand how Becky and Elizabeth could befriend each other. They were both so similar. They were both so kind and loving. They cared so deeply for others and always put themselves second. And it dawned on her that she didn’t have to go to this stupid thing for her, she was going for Elizabeth.
Malice thought about how when she was down on her luck and how Becky let her in without even questioning it. How when she got out of prison Becky picked her up and brought her back to her house and had a bed and room ready for her. She was always an amazing sister, and if going to this stupid thing was going to make her happy she should just suck it up and go.
Elizabeth: If you don’t want to go and want to leave yourself behind I can’t force you. You’re bigger than me, you’re stronger than me… you can stay. But I’m dressed and it’s getting late. I’m going to go.
Cordelia: Fuck, gimme 5 minutes to clean up. I’m coming too.
She went into the bathroom and turned the water on. She waited for it to get to the perfect temped temperature and put her head down, cupped her hands, filled them with water and tossed it on her face. She could taste the salt from the sweat and tears from the day and with another splash of warm water on her face she tasted nothing but slightly over-treated water and knew that she was cleaner.
She kept her hands on her face and wiped the water away from her eyes and when she opened them up she saw Mack staring back at her in the mirror. She didn’t even bother turning around as she stared at the smiling face of the ruggedly handsome Italian man.
Mack: You’re doing the right thing.
Cordelia: I know.
She washed her face one more time and this time when she opened her eyes she was alone again. She put on deodorant and clipped her earrings in before exiting the bathroom. Becky was waiting in the living room, returning after storming out, and gave her a big hug. Cordelia returned the embrace as they exited the room, went down the elevator and stepped into the bright spring day in Chicago.
The venue was close by so they walked. They all remained quiet, and Malice was hardly paying attention to where they were going. It was odd is such a violent town to see no one on the streets and to hear no one screaming for help. The town was crumbling around her, and the former Mayor certainly had something to do with the downfall of the city.
They turned and stepped on the beautifully manicured grass and headed towards the crowd of people.
Cordelia: Alright, I’ll compliment Grandpa’s hat, he always those cool fedoras. So you can tell him how good he looks.
Mack: Good one.
She felt his hand on her shoulder.
Becky: Huh?
Elizabeth: Cordy… where do you think we are?
The hand left her shoulder and when she turned around there was no one there. Her eyes seemed to open up for the first time as she saw about a dozen people standing around a casket in front of a hole on the grassy knoll. 15 chairs were placed in 3 rows of 5 and she took a seat in the middle of the front. She recognized Sgt. Dudley, her immediate in command, and Beth Hawkey, his supervisor. She saw Hacker standing there wearing a suit and could even swear she saw a tear in his eye. Becky and Elizabeth flanked either side of her.
A minister stood in front of them, in front of the casket wearing a long cream colored robe and a maroon sash. His hair was perfectly set and slicked back. He was a young man and he spoke quietly yet sternly.
Minister: We are here today to celebrate the life of Ryan MacDonald…
Then the week came soaring back to her.
Thursday
Hacker and Dr. Shaw returned from the mission in ruins. Hacker’s computer was destroyed and Dr. Shaw was sporting a black eye. They couldn’t even speak and Cordelia didn’t ask any questions.
Friday
Shaw and Hacker explained what had happened. There was a huge explosion at the Russian Drug Den. They knew they were coming and ambushed them. They blew up the van but Mack was already inside the complex. Shaw and Hacker were made to leave without Mack. Direct orders. Cordelia insisted that she go and find out what happened but again, direct orders topped her from checking.
Saturday
Not much time passed when the dreaded manila folder came and Elizabeth read the contents. She read them aloud, but Cordelia couldn’t hear them. She knew what they said. Ryan MacDonald was killed in action. His body was to be returned as soon as it can and be disposed of according to their manner. A symbolic service would be held for him on the following Wednesday.
Sunday
Becky came to console Cordelia and tried her best to distract her about how they were going to miss Grandpa’s birthday party, but it was okay because he was suffering from Alzheimer’s and wouldn’t even know that they weren’t there.
Monday- Tuesday
Cordelia watched tapes, worked out, and ate junk food. Any attempt to talk about Mack was ignored and attempts were then withdrawn.
The oddest part was that she felt Mack was with her the whole time. She could see him making faces behind the girl’s backs. She could feel his touch, and smell his cologne. But now as reality set in she realized she was seeing what she wanted to see.
Mac was gone. She was alone again.
Well…
She looked to her left and her right. Both of her hands were being held by Becky and Elizabeth. She felt at ease. She knew what she had to do. She didn’t shed a single tear. She had love ripped from her in the past and it hurt far more than this. Maybe her heart was too callused to feel what a normal person would feel, but when she felt hurt like this she turned it into focused energy.
She was hurting, and she needed to make someone else hurt real fucking bad…
Overload 4-10-17
Malice… I get joy from winning. It’s an amazing thing. On the streets I won all the time and I felt like a winner. I was doing things that losers do but every night I fell asleep feeling like a fucking champion. Fast forward and now I’m here in UCI. I’m in the ring where Champions are born. Where our esteemed GM at Beyond Crow McMorris won the inaugural title after a career of disappointment. Where Celeste Mallory showed the world that women can do it to; where Kevin Bishop has been raining terror on the division since wrangling the gold off of her waist.
Champions are not born, they are made through hard work and dedication, and that’s why DeMarcus Jordan lost his Television Title just a few short weeks ago. He does not work hard, and he is dedicated to no one but themselves. He won the title from a man he viciously beat down the week prior to gain an advantage. And as I stated I have no problem with that.
If I’ve learned anything in my time here in UCI it’s that Gang Mentality reigns supreme. It started with The Guardians doing whatever the fuck they pleased as Alex Richards dominated the division, and now The Brotherhood are running rough shot over their division as they have amassed the majority of the gold that they can.
And here I am, by my little ol’ lonesome trying to make a name for myself. I’ve got no backup, and I’ve got no friends. I’m here by myself with my damned cat to show the world that I’m more than a pretty face, and I’m more than a gangbanger turned wrestler. I’m more than a not-so secret operative.
I’m a fucking champion.
The crowd cheers and Malice pulls a pack of cigarillos from her coat pocket.
Malice: Hope you don’t mind if I light up.
She takes a drag of the mini- cigar and blows out a luxurious wave of white smoke covering her beautiful tattooed face. Her eyes are the first thing you see as the smoke clears with determination and ferocity showing in them.
Malice: I’m sick and tired of being passed over here in UCI. I’m told I’m not good enough for title shots, I’m told that I’m not ready to be in the Infinity Match, I’m kept out of the Golden Ticket Tournament. Why? Because no one fucking believes in me but myself. I was told that my fragile and delicate sensibilities wouldn’t be able to handle such a crushing defeat.
For anyone who has seen me fight for more than 10 seconds, to anyone that has heard me speak for more than 5… to anyone who knows me even the slightest bit… you all FUCKING know that I’m more than you bargained for. Anyone with half a fucking brain can tell you that I’m as vicious as I am beautiful and there ain’t a single person in the back, including the UCI World Champion Kevin Bishop that can fucking stop me.
And that includes you, DeMarcus. I was hoping that you would be able to hold onto that TV Title for when the time ultimately came when our paths would cross, but you were a fucking loser and couldn’t even hold onto it for one more week. You couldn’t handle was Fausse had to bring just like you won’t be able to handle what I have to bring. This week at Beyond I’m going to go beyond your wildest imagination to beat you. And as Ray Burnett hovers above us crying like the little bitch he is I’m gonna make sure that his spirit too comes crashing down on you like… well like a fucking handing thousand pound shark cage!
She finishes the cigar with one last puff and puts it out on the steel chair between her legs. She licks her fingers and puts out the burning ember completely and puts the remains in her pocket. She breathes out the remaining smoke and when her eyes blaze through the mist this time the ferocity is there but a twinge of kindness seeps through those desolate pupils.
Malice: When I found that notebook with my name in it I read it aloud the first time. ‘Important: Tell Cordy to never…’ and then scribble. I never found out what she wanted to tell me never to do. And she didn’t leave me anyone behind to ask. She died at the age of 37 from ‘way too fucking early onset Alzheimer’s’ and the brain degeneration that goes along with it. But she wanted to tell me something.
Did she want me to never fall in love?
Did she want to tell me to never be scared?
Did she want to tell me to never let a man treat me the way that my father treated her?
I’m sure she wanted to tell me all of those things. Hers was a life of heartache, and tragedy. But she didn’t have to write those things down because she knew that I knew all of those things already. She already knew that.
So I’ve finished that statement myself, and I live by it every fucking day. I hear her sweet gentle voice every time I repeat the mantra to myself.
‘Cordy… never surrender.’
I’m a fighter. It’s all I have. All the other things are BECAUSE I’m a fighter. I made it to this age BECAUSE I’ve FOUGHT to be here. I made it through prison and I’ve made it through dangerous missions because I never gave up on who I was or what I believed. I never gave up while I was being tortured, and when the times were the toughest I NEVER FUCKING SURRENDERED!
And that ain’t changing. I will never give up, and when I finally get to go face to face with the man who has been trying his fucking hardest to get me to give up to him and admit that he’s better than me I’m going to make sure that it’s him who leaves there the broken and beaten man he is on the inside. And I’m not here to do it for you out there; I’m not here to do it to prove anything to anyone in the back… I’m here to do it for myself.
Cheer me… boo me… I don’t give a shit really. But know this for sure.
I will NEVER SURRENDER!
She exits the ring as the remaining few crowd members clap and chant her name and she walks off to the sound of nothing but a smattering of applause and her heels clicking on the concrete exit path towards the backstage area.
