[Rowan Chance]

Wasn't exactly my Greatest DDT Evar!!!! but it did it's job. Got you away from me.

I landed with my back against the turnbuckles, watched you stumble away then fall on your ass. Excellent. Time to finish off Lil' Miss Wanna Be My Mommy.

I grab the second ropes--with one hand on either side of the turnbuckle--and give myself a little rope-assisted kip up. I'm ready to crack my knuckles and...


shit

no


not

* * *

ROWAN CHANCE JUST COLLAPSED TO THE MAT!

And by the look on her face, I'd guess it was that cotton candy back of hers, Brinks.

Rowan is seething in agony!

And I don't think this is her playing possum. She's too smart for that. Labelle's hurt. She should be capitalizing!

* * *

They're right. I'm not playing possum. My back just gave me a spasm like I haven't felt since...

NO! NO!

I can feel it. Starting in my muscles. It's a low, dull throb. Then, the speed increases. And the pain. Until it seems my muscles seize my spine and twist it.

* * *

"I can't recommend you wrestle any time in the near future, Ms. Chance. Your back just isn't ready for it."

---

it's ten hundred thousand million splinters of white hot agony up and down my spinal column as it shatters into a billion pieces and makes my weak body scream like i've only screamed twice before and once was for Dare when she smashed me on the apron over and over again and the other you were there for Dow when those bitches tried to break my back and both of them tried oh how they tried but this time this time someone finally succeeded and it was you yeah it was you Dow you sick pathetic bitch you finally did it as my body arches over your knee like a strung bow with my hands and feet hitting the canvas hard and my body snapping like a rubber band as it falls off your broken knee like a ricochet like a bullet that missed its target but you didn't miss the target Dow you got everything you needed you hit it perfectly and you see my body flop forward like a Stretch Armstrong doll that's been pulled too tight and my face smashes into the canvas and there's no movement no nothing at all.

---

"Your back may feel healed, Ms. Chance, but it's important to remember the damage you suffered in Paris...."

---

LVK: OHMYGOD! SHE'S BROKEN! SHE'S GOT TO BE BROKEN IN HALF!

RP: (Groggy) That's got to be it, Van Keel. I've never seen a wrestler's spine bend like that! This is over!

LVK: It has to be. That scream, it sounded like a banshee.

RP: The herald of death, Van Keel.

* * *

Fuck...

...no.

My legs are tingling.

I pound the mat with my fist, knuckles first. Punching it.

Get up...

The base of my spine throbs and burns and throbs and burns.

Get...the fuck...up.

On my knuckles, my legs a tangled mess behind me. I look up at you.

Your eyes are starting to focus. Pulling yourself to your feet.

SHE didn't break you.
SHE didn't break you.
SHE didn't fucking break you.

GET
THE FUCK
UP

[Vivianne]

The ringing in my ears starts to subside and my vision starts to clear. Pulling my hand from my forehead, I see you on the mat, propping yourself on your knuckles, your legs folded behind you as if not properly attached to your body any longer. I blink hard and then I see it. There, in your eyes. Pain…agony…fear. Yes, fear. Not of me, but of the signals your back is sending you now. Reminders of the past, come to revisit you again. Still fighting HER, even as you fight me.

I pull my legs under me and start to push up to my feet. My left leg sending warning signals this is bad idea, but I tell it to fuck off. On my feet now, my left leg quivers as I am still bent at the waist, hands on my thighs, wincing and choking down the pain. Taking a deep breath, I straighten up to my full height, grimacing as I do. Looking down on you as you are trying to will yourself to get up.

You did worse than poke the bear, Chance. You fucked with a Labelle. I’ve spent my young career trying to apply mom’s lessons, but in a more rule abiding way. Fans loved me for it, and I became the babyface of GLPW. Well, the time has come for me to fully embrace the lessons mom taught that were not so…rule abiding. This was all your doing, Chance. You fucked with a Labelle...and now you pay.

I move toward you, steps with my left leg tentative, but growing more steady with each one. Moving to your left, I reach down and grab a handful of your hair with my left hand, pulling your upper body from the mat, lifting you to about 45 degrees…

Raising my right arm, I drop my right fist hard into your back, letting go of your hair as I do…adding a slight slam to the mat to my hammer blow to your back.

Reaching down, I grab your hair again…raise my right fist again…and hammer/slam you a second time.

I love how your body flops when it hits, supple legs, limp as your upper body flops.

Once more I reach for your hair, but this time instead of holding you at an angle, I prop you as best I can on all four…well sort of all two as your legs are still not quite cooperating with your body. Still…this will do. This will do nicely.

Letting go of your hair, I enlace my right hand fingers with those of my left, lifting both hands above my head, holding them there for just a few seconds as the crowd cheers what they know is coming.

I drop to one knee...my right knee of course, and swing a double axe handle toward your back with as much force as I can muster. Toward the same target I hit before.

Unbreakable? We’re about to find out, aren’t we?

[Rowan Chance]

Your fist hits my back and my body almost bounces off the ring. A scream erupts from my lips. A desperate, wild scream. My hands are shaking.

Then, a second time. My back arches and my fingers try to grip the mat. I try to turn away from you but I can't. Try to roll to the ropes. Reach out. But nothing works. My hands are shaking now.

The third time. Double axe handle. I make the softest, weakest sound. And stay flat on the canvas.

I can't move. I need to move. Need to do something. Need to stop this woman from hurting me anymore.

Need to hurt her back. Hurt her hard. I just...just...need to get my body to move...

[Vivianne]

I push myself up to my feet, reaching out to the ropes to steady myself as I do. Ok Rowan, lets see how much this back of yours can really take.

Bending over, I grab your left wrist and start to drag you from the corner, intent on pulling you to middle ring. Only problem is I forgot for a second about my left leg. It buckles after I take just two steps, and I fall to my right knee, still holding your wrist and basically turning you parallel with the ropes. Fuck! Well, this will have to do.

Sitting on my ass, I DIG my right boot into your left side, transferring your left wrist to my left hand and reaching forward, for your left domme boot.

Grabbing your ankle I sit back up, then lean back, pulling your wrist and ankle hard, bending your body around my extended right boot. Putting yet more strain on that Unbreakable back of yours.

You scream.

Oh, do you ever scream.

I smile.

A smile the GLPW fans have never seen on my face before. Sinister. Devilish. Evil.

I look at the ref and true to my ring gimmick, I HISS at him.

“Assssssk her! Assssssk her ref!”

Give it up Chance…before La Vipére breaks you in two!

[Rowan Chance]

“Assssssk her! Assssssk her ref!”

The referee bends over, doing just that. I tell the ref, "Go to Hell!"

That's when the bitch really pulls. And that's when I really scream.

My body stretched out. Breasts pushing against the leather of my faux-corset. My long legs bent, hips pushed forward. My head snaps back, wet hair slapping behind me. Wet lips screaming out.

The referee asks again. I shout, "Straight to Hell!"

Labelle adjusts her grip for another pull. I thought I could get myself out of this. Thought I could outpower her. My legs are strong. Break her grip. But right now, my legs aren't cooperating. And my back muscles are seizing up. Her boot in the base of my spine isn't helping.

I see the ropes. I don't want to use them. I want to beat this bitch. Getting free of the hold is another dagger in her delicate brain. If I swing my free leg over, I could reach the bottom rope and break the hold. But then what? I don't know if I can get to my feet, let alone wrestle. My legs are tingling like I fell asleep on them for an hour and suddenly woke up. What happens after I break the hold?

Tap out, a voice tells me. Inside my head. Tap out and fight another day. Your plan won't work if you can't walk. Take the hit and rest like the doctors told you.

I shake my head. "No," I mutter. The referee must think I'm talking to him. I'm not. I'm answering that voice in my head.

About to twist my wrist and ankle for another pull... I swallow hard...

... and throw my leg on the bottom rope.

[Vivianne]

I love how your body is bending for me now, Chance. Love the way your leg is crooked back, causing that crease at the top of your thigh, just below your boy shorts. Love the way your fingers are curled in agony as I yank on your arm. Love the way your hair is a sweaty, matted mess behind you, and how your curves stress the fabric of your suit. Most of all though, I LOVE your screaming. Your body has become my instrument, and its melody is your voice as it fills the Target Center. Oh yes, I love this.

SCREAM FOR ME, CHANCE!!!

The ref asks you twice if you will give, and of course you don’t. That’s why your back is such a problem for you… you don’t know when to give up. I let up for a second or two, just long enough to give my arms a breather, and just as I am about to pull back the ref starts telling me to break the hold.

You’re on the ropes, huh? So?

I CRANK  back with all the strength I can put into it, hearing you scream even louder, the ref counting as your leg lays across the bottom rope. Fine…I break the hold…but not until he reaches four.

I let you go and push myself back from you on my ass, watching you almost curl in on yourself, your back is in so much pain. You’re hurt. You’re struggling, and we both know it. Your time is up…if I can capitalize on it.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. You hear stories all of the time about people who lift cars off others at accident sights, spurred on beyond normal limits by their body’s adrenaline. Seeing you down and hurt, mine kicks in. I push myself to my feet, my left leg barely quivering as I stand and reach down for you. Not even limping as I haul you to middle ring on all four by your sweaty hair. I can tell my knee is swollen, but it’s like the pain signals have been turned off temporarily, just long enough for me to finish you.

I tuck your head between my thighs, your neck snug against my crotch as I bend over and wrap my arms around your firm waist, locking my left hand over my right wrist against your lower tummy. Leaning back, left knee protesting only a bit, I HEAVE, spinning you up so your legs go over my shoulders. My hands move to your thighs and I hold you there. I feel your upper body flop with your breasts over my head. I turn in spot 180 degrees, taking in a full breath of your womanhood in my face as I do. I can tell by your moaning you know what is coming…and you are in no position to do anything to stop me.

I have the spot on the mat all picked out. Right in the center, between the L and P of the GLPW logo. That’s the spot Rowan. The spot where I intend to plant you with my favorite power move…

…the powerbomb…

[Rowan Chance]

My brothers were tape traders. Once a week or so, they'd pack up a bunch of VHS tapes and send them to places like Austin, Atlanta, San Francisco, and even Japan. And when they'd get a new box of tapes, they'd sit in front of the VCR all weekend watching them. Their little sister--that's me--would sit with them and watch all those tapes, right by their side. And I will never forget the moment that I saw the powerbomb for the first time.

Big Van Vader vs. Sting for the WCW world title, Great American Bash 1992. Vader lifted a helpless Sting up over his head, Sting's body wavering, his arms weak at his sides. You had to make someone really helpless to put them in that kind of position, and that's exactly what Sting was: helpless. And as Vader threw Sting down to the mat, his body hitting so hard, Vader rolled Sting up, bending him in half for the pin.

I couldn't believe what I was feeling. Watching Sting helpless. Watching Vader manhandle him. And while Vader held the title over his head, Sting lay motionless in the ring.

Something clicked inside me then. I watched that match over and over again. My brothers thought it was because I had a crush on Sting. Well, I did, but that wasn't the point.

The point was watching Sting helpless. And little girl Rowan had no idea what was going through my mind and my body. But big girl Rowan does.

In a word, it was HOT.

Flash forward a few years. Pro wrestler Rowan is in the ring. And Viv Labelle lifts me up in the same position.

My body swaying back and forth. My arms limp at my sides. My head tilting. Body covered with sweat. My hair wet on my face and on my naked back.

Then, the swinging impact of the move itself.

My shoulders hit first, my arms outstretched. My breasts heave under the faux-corset. My arms bounce off the mat, cross over my chest, then come to a rest, my palms up. I don't scream. I don't shout. My face makes a single statement: an indication of pain. Cheeks blown out. Eyes shut tight.

I feel the impact. Like being hit by a recreational vehicle from behind while someone throws you into the blow. A powerbomb isn't a single hit: it's two. The person throwing you into the hit and the hit itself. The stronger they are, the bigger it is. And this one is pretty big.

Like I said, my arms flop down to the canvas, palms up. My head drops to the side. My legs are bent, the left crossing the right. The parts of me that jiggle do that, too. As I lay on the canvas in the same pose Sting fell into with Vader holding the title over his head.

And there's nothing else.

[Vivianne]

The way your body bounces when it hits the mat and then comes to rest is simply delicious. There you are, Daughter of Darkness, spread out on your back in front of me. Eyes closed, arms out, palms up. Unbreakable? Hardly…

I move to your left side. My left knee is sending signals it is starting to remember how messed up it is, but I ignore it and lay my body on top of yours. My left arm hooking your right leg, pulling it up as my chest pancakes your breasts in your faux-corset. My right forearm lies across your face, turning your head to your right and pressing against your left cheek. This is it Rowan. This ends here.

The ref drops and quickly checks your shoulders, raising his hand and slapping the mat. I nod my head along with him, hair flowing around my face as I do.

“ONE!”

His arm goes up a second time, and my head bobs in accompaniment again as he slaps the canvas.

“TWOO!!”

This is it Rowan…

Say good night!

The ref raises his hand a third time, the crowd cheering me as I prepare to bob my head along with his count one final time…

[Rowan Chance]

Laying on the canvas, Viv's weight on top of me, holding my shoulders down, I'm barely there. I hear the count. "ONE!" But it doesn't register in my mind. I'm not sure what it is.

"TWO!"

I feel the impact of the referee's hand hitting next to my head. But again, I'm not sure what it is or why it's there.

And for some reason, I remember what happened backstage before the match...



Rowan
Walking backstage, my bag in my hands, everything is wet. It's raining outside and I must look like I'm on  a porn set. My hair is damp, my thin black tank top is stuck to my skin and I can't imagine what my yoga pants are doing. Luckily, I'm not wearing my good boots. Those are in the bag. I turn the corner on the way to the dressing room and -- boom. There he is. The big, bad Red Enforcer. And I have that moment of, "Did he see me? Can I dodge him? If he did see me, can I still dodge him?" I haven't talked to him since... yeah. He called. I didn't respond. He called a lot. I didn't respond a lot. So I duck my head and keep walking. Maybe he won't say anything.

Enforcer
I almost didn't recognize her. She was dressed down and it'd been...too long since I saw her. She ducked to avoid me. I could've said something then, but I wanted it to be private. I turned and mentally noted where you went. And yes, my eyes couldn't help but watch you in those soaking wet yoga pants. Once I got done with the chat I was in with some old foes in this area, I made my way to your locker room. Standing at the door like a big dork, debating on whether to knock or leave. Finally just shaking my head and bringing my fist up to pound on the door.

Rowan
I spend about three seconds debating whether or not I should answer. I know who it is. I know what he wants to say. I don't want to hear it. But something inside me--something stupid says, "Yeah?" in the most curt tone I can summon.

Enforcer
If I was a vampire, that wouldn't have been enough for me to pass the threshold. The fact she didn't tell me to fuck off is all the permission I need. That tone tells me she knows it's me. So I just bull my way in. I'm too old to worry be nervous, so why do I feel so anxious. And there she is. I wanna smile. I wanna go up and scoop her in my arms and hug her. I wanna tell her how much I've missed her. How much I still care. I know if I did any of that, she'd drop me on my head. So I just close the door behind me and say "Ro?"

Rowan
Sitting down in front of a mirror that reaches all along the room (the place used to be an old theater, and this was the makeup room), seeing him in that mirror, my reflection gives him a long, wicked grin. "Red." I reach down one leg and unzip the boot that reaches all the way up to my knee. I slide it off. Slowly. Let it fall with a heavy, leather sound. Then, I turn and say, "You wanted to see me?"

Enforcer
I take a deep breath as I see that grin. And then the slow removal of your boot. If you were standing up and bending over to do that, I probably would've lost my mind. As t is, I have to struggle to focus. "Yeah. You never called back. I'm concerned Ro." I casually shift my weight from one foot to the other. Habit. Always keep on your toes. In this case a pair of Chuck Taylors. My palms feel a bit moist so I wipe them on the front of my lucky jeans. Really if it weren't for the mask you'd think I was a fan. I'm hoping nothing goes down here as I'm wearing my favorite Horsemen shirt that's older than most of my opponent's these days. "Very concerned."

Rowan
"Oh are you now?" I shake my head like a wet dog shakes his tail, letting drops of water splash on the mirror and around us. Then, I give you a playful look. "You should be concerned." I lean down again, this time unzipping my other boot. Taking my time doing it. Letting it drop to the floor. Slipping off the socks, I'm in bare feet now. Still sitting, I slip my thumbs under the waist band of my yoga pants. I lift my hips so they roll down my thighs. My black bikini underwear stuck to my wet skin. I roll the pants down to my ankles, then kick them off. They land in a wet heap on the other side of the room. "You should be concerned for Vivianne. She has no idea what she's in for."

Enforcer
Any other time, this teasing would make me grin like a madman. But now, after Paris...after Vegas...seeing you attack Vivianne...this playful you is more the mask than anything else. When your hands go to your yoga pants, I feel my throat tighten. You know exactly how my body reacts seeing you like this. And in the past, this would be just a prelude to other things. But not this day. This is you reminding me of what was and maybe telling me what I'll never have again. I can't tell how deeply your anger with me runs. My eyes don't watch the yoga pants, just focus on the word inked just above the top of your bikini underwear. "I know she doesn't. I don't think I do. But I'm not here for her. It's still too soon Ro."

Rowan
I stand. Very slowly. Keeping eye contact with you. All I'm wearing is that thin black tank top and my black panties. I step up close. Even closer. And when I get close enough to touch, I turn. So my back is against your chest. You're still facing the mirror. Now, we both are. I put my hands up so they're reaching behind your head, my fingers gripping the fabric of your mask as my hips press against your hips. I arch my back, just a little. Just enough that my breasts press against the thin fabric of the tank top. I lower one arm so it reaches behind your hips and one of the spaghetti straps falls over my naked shoulder. I close my eyes and suck air through my teeth, a little moan escaping my lips. "Too...soon...for...what?"

Enforcer
Gawd. You know what buttons to push. You know how you look. How that makes me feel. I try to look ahead, and I see how you arch. I feel you next to me.  Wet from the rain, but still so very warm. I feel your hands on my mask, your hips..pressing back.... THROB and you arch, my eyes seeing your slight tank stretching...those nipples outlined by the soaked material. The strap falls and my heart races. I see your eyes shut...hear that sharp inhale..the moan...that whiskey soaked voice of yours...my arms move on their own and wrap around your waist. "Your....back..."

Rowan
My hips swivel, just a little. Maintaining the pressure. "Does it feel like you should be concerned about my back?"

Enforcer
You...you have to know..to feel...to feel me against you...heart racing...throbbing...arms around your waist...warm hands sliding under your top, resting on your defined abs. My head bowed...resting against your head. "No..doesn't feel like..not physically...but Ro...too soon?" My head is a haze. I'm...so...

Rowan
That's when I STOP. Just STOP. My eyes open and I'm looking at you from the mirror. That dark gaze in my eyes. My chin lowers, just an inch. A strand of wet hair falls across my brow. "Your concern has been noted. Mr ___." And the name I use does not include the words "Red" or "Enforcer." Then, I step back to the chair I was sitting in before. Sit down. "Now, if you don't mind. I need to change."

Enforcer
Hearing my name, my real name, shocks me back. And I see that cold look. Brown eyes turned black. I watch you walk back to your seat. Dismissing me. "That's how it is? Fine. " my head drops and I pull my mask off for a moment. "I'll be there after. For you. To try to put you back together again. Because you know I love you." I put my mask back on and turn. Grip the doorknob, open the door and slip out without another word.



"You know I love you."

That phrase echoes in my brain. Over and over again. Even as the referee raises up for another count, the last count, I keep hearing Red's voice.

And that's when I know I want to make him pay for saying it. Not because it isn't true. It is true. Red does love me.

He just loves HER more.

And that's when everything becomes clear. That's when I know...



"OHMYGOD! ROWAN KICKED OUT! ROWAN KICKED OUT!"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! I THOUGHT SHE WAS FINISHED!"



No. I'm not finished. I haven't even started.


(Thanks to The Red Enforcer for helping me write the flashback. Love you Red!)

[Vivianne]

"OHMYGOD! ROWAN KICKED OUT! ROWAN KICKED OUT!"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! I THOUGHT SHE WAS FINISHED!"

I can’t believe it either. You kicked out. Sunofabitch! You kicked out!!

I lean back on my knees and slam my hands on the mat in frustration as the crowd boos, then almost immediately resumes their cheering for me. They know what I know. You are still down. You are still hurt. You are still…mine…

Running my hand through my hair, I push up to my feet. My mind picturing you locked in my Porch Swing submission finisher as I take a step toward your legs. That’s when it happens…

Adrenaline is a funny thing. You hear stories all of the time about people who lift cars off others at accident sites, spurred on beyond normal limits by their body’s adrenaline.

What you do not always hear about is the crash that often happens after an adrenaline rush like the one I had. Lying on you as the ref counted apparently gave my body enough rest to think I no longer needed shielding from the pain in my knee. Hell, it seems as though my body decided I no longer needed a functioning left knee at all…

POP!!!

“Aaarrrggghhheee!!!”

I take a step toward your legs when my knee suddenly pops. I drop to the mat, holding my left knee and screaming in pain, eyes clenched shut, rolling back and forth. The ref a little unsure what to do, so he does nothing. We are both down, but he doesn't even start to count.

NO! No! No no no!

I know you are still hurting, but now so am I…and worse than before. The pain signals in my knee were turned off just long enough for me to finish you…but I didn’t finish you and now I am the one wondering how I will continue. Wondering how I can wrestle when I don't think I can stand. I was so close...less than a count away...

Fuck…

[Rowan Chance]

Instinct. That's all it was. Instinct.

Hearing the referee shout "TWO!" and feeling the hand hit the canvas. You do this long enough, it becomes muscle memory.

My legs are still tingling. At least I can feel them. I shake my head. The match is still going but you haven't...what's happening?

I turn my head. I see you. Clutching at your knee. Sitting up, bent forward, your hands holding that knee I worked on for so long. That's when I understand. And with your back turned to me...that's when I know it's time to strike. You think I'm still out. You think I can't hurt you.

Oh, baby. I can always hurt you.

I get up on my elbows. Then, my knees. The fans are already screaming. But your screams are drowning out theirs. Your panic. Your fear. So you don't hear me crawling toward you. You don't see me on my hands and knees. And when I'm in the right position...just behind you...so close maybe you can feel the heavy breath from my burning lungs...

See, I do my research. Not just on you. On another Labelle. I went all the way back to when you were a little girl. Me, too. Got my brothers' tape collection because I remembered seeing it. I watched it again on an old VCR. The film was crap and there was no sound. Color washed out like someone ran it through a bleach bath. But there she was. Your mom. Defending the Women's Title just across the river in St. Paul. November 2nd. And I watch the end of that match over and over and over again. Why? You're about to find out.

I reach around your torso and grab your wrist. Pull your arm up. Slide my arm between. A tight little knot around your throat. I pull you in tight. So tight, you can feel my corset against your back. Feel the insides of my thighs against your hips. Feel my lips close to your ear.

And that's when I whisper the date.

"November 2nd." And give your ear a little nibble.

You remember that date, Labelle? I know you do.

November 2nd is when your mother dropped the women's title in St. Paul.

All because she couldn't escape the cobra clutch.

[Vivianne]

I’ve never been injured in a match like this, and I am panicking. Gawd this hurts! What do I do? I don’t know what to do!!

Vivianne! STOP! Settle down! You know what to do.

Mom…my knee…I don’t think I can stand. What do I do?

Vivianne! You will act like a Labelle…and keep fighting. Do you hear me? A Labelle never gives up!

Yes mom, I hear you…

I stop screaming and sit there, holding my knee and heaving. That’s when you strike.

The inside of your thighs feel warm against my hips as you kneel behind me. Your breasts are firm against my back as you lean your corset into me. Your breath is hot on my ear as your lips part against it, causing me to shiver even as you pull my arm into position and lock in your Cobra Clutch!

I immediately start to thrash and kick with my legs…well my right leg…and paw at your arms with my right hand, my left trapped around my neck. I feel the muscles and bones in my neck straining against your grip, and I know it will only be a matter of time before the fears of that cute doctor at HCMC will become reality…if I do not escape.

Then you whisper in my ear. “November 2”

Yes, I remember the date. Yes, I remember what happened over at the old Civic Center in St. Paul. I remember seeing my mom caught in a Cobra Clutch. I remember her thrashing about, trying to break free. I remember knowing she would not tap out…a Labelle never quits.

She didn’t tap out…she passed out…and lost her title that night.

Of course, her opponent was set only winning the match, and nothing more. There was no bounty on mom’s head to motivate her opponent to cause permanent damage.

I consider tapping out, though I know you will not let me go even if I do. You have $50K reasons not to, but maybe the ref will interfere in time. No…I don’t think he will be able to pull you off me before it’s too late. Mom’s words, ringing in my ear now…

A Labelle never gives up!

I know mom…but I am beginning to feel my neck crunch…

[Rowan Chance]

I feel my own arms tightening, cutting off the blood supply to your brain. You're trying to fight, but your hands are useless.

She doesn't know the escape. And even if she did, she can't stand. Can't put any weight at all on that leg.


I give her ear a gentle laugh. "You could tap, dear. Deny me that fifty thousand dollars. But what would your mommy think?" I let my tongue roll over your earlobe and laugh harder.

My tingling legs wrap up and around your waist as I pull you down to the mat. Locking my ankles together. My legs are weak, but not helpless.

Not like you.

"What's more important, Viv?" I ask with a cruel cut in my voice. "Your neck or your mommy's love?"

We're in the center of the ring. There's nowhere to crawl to, even if you could. Your leg is useless. Your eyes are fading.

I've got you, Vivianne. And the only escape is surrendering to the black waves of unconsciousness crashing in your mind.

Feel my breasts high and powerful, pressed against your back. Feel the leather. Feel the heat of my skin. Feel the leather of my boots wrapped around your waist. Feel my arms pressing harder.

It's over. You've lost.

The only choice you have now is whether I get my fifty grand or not.

[Vivianne]

If only I was on my feet and my knee wasn’t wrecked. I could lean forward, lift your feet from the mat, and ram you backwards against the post until that back of yours forced you to let go. I’m not on my feet though…and with my left knee blown I have no chance of getting there. You have me…and the worst part is you KNOW you have me.

I feel your body envelope mine. Legs around my waist. Breasts against my back. Arms around my neck. The suppleness of your leather corset and boots. The heat of your creamy, dark skin. The power of your womanhood, overpowering mine…

“You could tap, dear. Deny me the fifty thousand dollars.”

Even as my mind begins to get fuzzy I know this is a lie. No way the Rowan Chance who showed up for the sole purpose of collecting the money she covets so much is going to stop until she cashes in…and that means breaking my neck.

My body spasms, more a reaction than purposeful action as survival instinct tries to kick in, only to be denied by your vicious hold.

“What’s more important, Viv? Your neck or your mommy’s love?”

***************

Two years ago…in MY locker room. The third match of my GLPW career was earlier tonight, and I am icing my sore left shoulder. There is a knock on the door, but the person knocking does not wait for an answer before entering.

“How’s the shoulder, Vivianne?”

I let out a long breath before answering. “It’s sore, but it will be ok, mom.”

“Yes, it will be. She got you pretty good. You have some work to do before your next match.”

I nod, my eyes leaving hers and looking at myself in the mirror. “Mom…I’m sorry. Sorry I lost tonight.”

I feel her step close to me, and see her face in the mirror behind me as she strokes my hair. “Oh Vivianne, ma chérie, don’t worry about that. I will love you, no matter what. Understand?”

***************

It’s over. I’ve lost. I am powerless to escape your hold, and the bounty you came to claim is surely only a few jerks of my neck away. I place my right hand against your forearm, not squeezing, just placing it there.

“LABELLE IS GOING TO TAP! SHE’S GOING TO GIVE UP!”

As I slip into darkness, three words escape my lips. So soft as to be inaudible by everyone, except perhaps you. They come out in a sigh as my body goes limp, free arm falling to my side, my mind fading into darkness…

“Je t’aime, maman…”

[Rowan Chance]

Your body goes limp and I smile.

"Went out swinging, Viv. You should be rewarded for that." I give a wicked cackle. "I said, 'should.'"

The ref puts her finger in your hand, waiting for you to squeeze it. She asks, "Can you continue?" All you give back is a gurgle.

That's when the referee raises up and calls for the bell. And the crowd starts its uproarious jeers.

"YOUR WINNER...BY KNOCKOUT...THE UNBREAKABLE...ROWAAAAAAAAN CHAAAAAAAAAANCE!"

And this is about the time I'm expected to let go of the hold. And I could. Easily.

But I wouldn't collect that $50,000 now, would I?

So, instead of releasing the hold...I tighten it.

The referee tries pulling my arms free, but I don't let go. He tells me to release the hold and I tell her to go straight to Hell. He pulls at my arms, but I'm as tight as a deadbolt. Nothing is getting me loose until I say so.

The referee asks again and I shake my head. "NO!"

The announcers are screaming at me to release the hold. I laugh at them.

The referee doesn't know what to do. The announcers don't know what to do.

You're helpless in my arms, Vivianne Labelle. And tonight, I'm ending your career. Ending it.

Your body twitches under my embrace. And that's what it looks like. I'm holding you from behind, like "making spoons." And just a few more inches of pressure, your neck is going to SNAP. Drool rolling from your lips. Your eyes closed. Arms twitching. And just to make things interesting...

...I roll us both. Roll until you're under me.

Roll until I can mount your back while pulling your head up with the cobra clutch. Arching your spine, putting even more pressure on your neck and your back. Pulling you into a combination of cobra clutch and camel clutch. My Lord Tantalus calls this "The Long Kiss Goodnight." Stretching your breasts out under your chin. Your arms limp at your sides. The sweat of your skin shining in the spotlights. Your face on display for all to see.

My Lord Tantalus' finisher. For him. To show him I'm not weak. I have no mercy.

I'm unbreakable.