My thick, wavy, platinum tresses now drape over my face and shoulders in a tousled cascade, wildly flowing down the length of my back having come loose from its ponytail. My silver-blonde hair's a big disheveled mess, and now, your fingers have sunk into them. Clutching my mane as tightly as ya do makes me wince, makes my scalp cry out in biting pain, causes tears to sting my eyes. But all those lil' pains and aches are trivial, they don't matter. I want this, I need ya to be this close to me. Grab my hair as hard as ya want, baby. Pull it real tight. Talk some more smack to me, why don't ya. Keep thinkin' I'm all yours. Keep believin' that, sugah. Your fingers tighten in my hair and with a harsh pull, ya twist my head back, forcing me to look up at ya.
And, I freeze.
The Viceroy ceiling shines with expansive white lights that frame your head, a dark shadow masking your cold, beautiful face as your eyes stare right back down into mine. Those eyes... they send chills down my spine. My mind was racing as fast as a SVR Coupe until they slammed dead into that daunting, impenetrable, reinforced vibranium roadblock of your eyes. I can't think, can't move, everything goes blank, goes cold as a February morning. It's all because of those eyes, those cruel, unnerving eyes, telling me - SWEARING to me - that you're gonna hurt me. That all ya care about is hurting me. You'll hurt me bad, with no remorse, no mercy.
I shudder in your grip, and for that moment, as ya hold my hair and keep me on my knees and make me look into your soulless eyes, my heart begins to sinks in my chest. A tsunami of apprehension grip me, tightly, swallowing me up whole. Hopelessness and doubt start to haunt my thoughts, every pain and ache that I've ignored now burn alive, screaming vengefully across my battered body. I suddenly lose my breath, it's becoming difficult to focus. My knees dig a lil' deeper into the hard edge of the ring, my lower lip quivers, my hands reach desperately for the hands that are tangled in my tousled hair. Your grip, it's unflinching, like iron fists they keep me from moving. Your death stare continues to burrow into me, making me feel so vulnerable, so exposed.. so pathetic. And the more I stare into the darkness, the more your familiarity is lost on me. I could barely even recognize ya, Rowan. There were moments back in Paris when I'd look at ya and just stop and stare, wondering with ghostly astonishment just what the actual FUCK you really are. I questioned whether you were even human, and now, in this very moment, I'm getting that answer, and it scares me. It's real fuckin' scary.
And it's exactly what I wanted.
My knees tremble only for the moment before they go stiff, pushing down against the apron. My lips quiver, but only for a second before they curve into scowl as my teeth grinds inside my mouth. My claws dig into your hands that are still buried in my hair, cracking the flesh. And my eyes, whatever semblance of fear that lingered in them is gone, replaced with fury. They burn back into yours. I start to push myself up onto my feet.
I wanted this, I wanted to face something that would push me to my limits. Something, that would scare me. Something that would try to hurt me in the worst possible way, without hesitation. I wanted to face something else entirely. And now, it's arrived, it's here, pulling on my hair, silently promising to maim me in front of thousands. This is the fight I've been craving for. You're the one I been wanting for so long, Rowan..
My legs shift, one foot now planted flat on the apron. I breathe in deep, and push myself up, gripping onto your hand now, using you to balance me out, my nails digging deeper into your smooth skin. I rise up to my feet, slow but steadily, because that's what fighters like us do - rise to the occasion, when adversity glares down at ya, looming over ya, blocking your path, we rise up and we face it head on and we go through that bitch without hesitation. I'm standing now on the apron, hurting, disheveled, beat-up - but standing. I'm leaning up against ya, the ring ropes providing the only separation between us. My forehead is pressed firmly against yours, our faces so close to one another our lips almost, almost brush together.
And my eyes, they never leave the darkness of yours. I don't see anything, not the crowds of
cheering, screaming fans, not the lights of the Viceroy, not the ring. Only you. I see you, and what ya are, and I know what ya intend to do to me.
"Ya wanna send a message to the world, at my expense?" I whisper against your sweet lips, breathing hot air over your mouth. "Am I your sacrifice, Rowan? Is that it? I'm all yours, aren't I? You gonna sacrifice me to the whole world, in front of everyone? Well sugah.. I might be your sacrifice.. but tonight, you're MY TROPHY. And once I beat you I'm gonna fuckin' mount ya on my wall--"
I launch my left knee up, rocketing it high with a snap of aggression. Aiming it right into your stomach, hoping that ya won't see it coming, that you'll still be brimming with confidence that I'm still all yours, reeling and disoriented, ripe for the taking. Hoping that once the shot connects, it'll be enough to double ya over. So that once it does, I can grab YOUR hair, and hop off the apron, and fuckin' guillotine your throat over the top rope!
