After the DDT, I don't move. In fact, I don't leave the ring under my own power. They bring out a board and a neck brace. A crew of four medics moves me to the board and carries me out.
Not the first time I've been carried out of a ring. And I remember the last time.
I spend a full five minutes in the back before I'm conscious enough to answer the doctor's questions. "Do you know where you are? Do you know what day it is?" The standard. I only offer him one answer.
"Give me my phone."
He tells me, "Rowan, it's important that..."
"GIVE. ME. MY. PHONE."
Here I am, on the board, in the ambulance. They're testing if I can feel my toes. Yes, goddammit, I can feel my fucking toes now GIVE ME MY PHONE.
They've got security on me, just in case those two women try something again. I'm not exactly in the best position to stop them.
NOW.
GIVE.
ME.
MY.
FUCKING.
PHONE.Finally, the doc goes into my bag and hands it to me. My hands are shaking so bad, I can barely hold it with both. There are tears in my eyes and that makes finding the number in my contacts not at all easy. I haven't dialed it in a year. I used to know it by heart. I pull it up and my thumb hesitates over the "CALL" button.
If she answers...
...okay, if she answers, then someone is fucking with me. That's a whole new set of problems. Two women coming after me and I don't know who they are but they know who I am and they know how to fuck with me.
If she doesn't answer...
...that means...
that means...You have to know. You have to know what all this is. If it's someone fucking with you or...
I hit "CALL."
My lips tremble. My hand shakes.
...ring...
...ring...
I want her to pick up. I don't want her to pick up. I want her to pick up. I...
"Hello..."
My lips barely stammer the name. "M-Megan?"
"...you've reached the home of..."
no.
"...we can't come to the phone right now because we're too busy fucking each others' brains out..."
ohfuck no.
"...please leave a message and we might get back to you."
I look at the phone with tears streaming down my face.
"NO!"I smash the phone against the metal bar holding me into the board. I smash it again. And again. Screaming
"NO!" each time. When there's nothing left of it, I throw the mess away. Put my hands over my face. My messy face, full of tears and snot.
"It's not her..." I whisper. "It's not... it's not..."
Shaking my head. Saying it over and over again. As if wishing would make it so.
THE END?