Post by DistortedAmber on Oct 11, 2020 7:30:03 GMT -5
*click*
Light. In a darkened space it's almost blinding at first, however the lens adjusts and settles focus on a metal folding chair- perhaps once used as a weapon or maybe it's just seen better days, there's a sizable dent near the top edge and a few scuffs and scratches but otherwise it's entirely unremarkable.
Behind the camera come footsteps like sneakers across concrete followed by the faintest echo in the space, the cadence faintly uneven as though deliberately spiteful to the OCD audience. A light adjustment, little to the left but then back a little further to the right- it's not perfect but it doesn’t need to be.
Five seconds of silence follow before a familiar female figure steps out from behind the camera, not acknowledging it but just coming into the space and taking a seat. Amber Ryan looks a little dishevelled like she hasn’t slept much, her plain black t-shirt showing a tear at the neckline and her jeans ripped to the point of offending baby boomers. Thick tresses of red hang loose, controlled chaos falling around her face as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
“It was never supposed to be this way, you know?”
A soft chuckle follows, the knowing kind like a thought that isn’t quite funny enough to be verbalised.
“I’ve always maintained that I wasn’t a good person. I’m not the kinda gal you want your kids looking up to- I’ve always said that it's not my face that should be plastered across posters on bedroom walls, that my career is more of a cautionary tale rather than a path to be followed- there's a damn good reason it isn’t as well worn admittedly though I’ve only come to learn those lessons in the hardest way.”
Amber shakes her head slightly.
“That being said, I like to believe that I’ve tried to do better… Tried to be better.”
She shrugs, making eye contact with the camera and allowing a small trademark mischievous smile to cross her features.
“Seems like a crock of shit I suppose- anyone who knows me well enough would be trying to hold back laughter if they heard those words falling out of my mouth.”
Straightening up, Amber leans back over the chairs edge trying to stretch her back out briefly.
“... and yet here we are…”
Seems like a long way from 2017 when I first came into Carnage… At that point of my life I didn’t think the the universe could have kicked me any harder while I was down- I’d been ghosted by a man who promised the world, and only showed up again to take the World Title I’d spent two fucking years earning my shot at… Within a week the place had closed and I was drifting aimlessly again.
My god, I was angry. I was hurt and I was alone… I went into the first Monarchy of Anarchy tournament carrying this chip on my shoulder like I was goddamn Atlas and all I wanted was for everyone around me to hurt in the same way I was…
I guess it worked somehow, cause I became Carnage World Champion.”
Momentarily distracted, Amber pauses trying to find the right words.
“… it's at this point Jack Michaels enters my story.
Maybe this is the point where people start tuning out, where the torches and pitchforks get dusted off and everyone starts trying to get clever on social media. Express your opinion provided it's 140 characters or less kiddies, but his… this is important, even if it's just to me cause I’m sick to my fucking stomach and through the floor of watching people rant and rave about something they have such little understanding of that it makes me openly cringe.
All the questions, the snide comments, the verbal jabs. It makes me wanna actively scream into the void if only cause at least the void doesn’t have the wherewithal to argue blindly back cause it happens to have found it's opinion between the couch cushions.”
A moment's breath follows as the redhead tries to measure her words.
“I shouldn’t care so much… However our relationship runs deeper than a match and some decidedly poor decision making on both our behalfs. Theres so much blood and history between us that it's a wonder either of us are still upright- but I won’t take you back to the beginning…”
Amber folds back down onto her elbows, her head dropping slightly as the weight of memories seem heavy on her mind.
“... instead, at least for me, it starts where it very well should have ended.
I’m known to have a bit of an addictive personality, I obsess about things I can’t control. I desire far beyond what I deserve and have no qualms about tearing the world down around me just to bring it within reach- hell, I’d tear down the skies if I thought it might mean I could touch the moon.
I lost that title for the same reason I won it- I couldn’t control the way I felt and I allowed myself to fall into this obsessive and destructive downward spiral.
Really, things should have been looking up- Paragon was gaining traction and Jack and I had already been tag champions, but what you need to understand was that I wasn’t satisfied. I wasn’t prepared to simply let go of what I’d had… I was willing to throw everything we’d built away for another shot.”
Amber runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face long enough to capture the glimpse of something knowing in her eyes.
“Sound familiar, doesn’t it?
Jack did his damnedest to keep me on track, but I was just looking for a reason to derail. I was distracted in the ring, making mistakes and getting lost inside my own obsessive state of mind… and realistically it should have ended my career.
I don’t remember a lot of the details now, the faces get blurred and everything sounds like it's been spoken underwater but it was a tag match- I’d already been far too reckless and it was a wonder I hadn’t already cost us the match, I got distracted on the apron and next thing I know I’m falling… Never saw that German Suplex coming- to this day I don’t think I’ve ever fallen so slowly, hanging in the air like time had stopped…
Until I hit the guardrail.
I don’t even remember the impact… only that almost immediately I lost feeling in my legs.”
Amber attempts to clear her throat, the painful memory getting caught somewhere along the way.
“Everythings blurry for a while after that- tests and machines, I thought I was dying. Drowning in this fog of pain meds and disinfectant, I couldn't even tell you which way was up at that point- but there's one afternoon I remember so very clearly...
Jack's outside the room talking with doctors- the docs look at me, and back to Jack. Jack looks at me and back at them- I’m staring through them at the vending machine behind them cause I just really wanted a chocolate bar.”
Half-heartedly she chuckles at the vague absurdity of it, her hands loosely clasped and fidgeting.
“Jack walks in and to this day I will never forget the look he gave me- it was like someone had, in that moment, just torn his heart out of his chest and thrown it on the floor. He sits next to me, takes my hand and squeezes it all reassuring like- meanwhile I’m still just thinking about this stupid fucking chocolate bar and he starts talking…About surgery, about risks and possible outcomes about the fact that I might not regain feeling unless I agree to it. This whole time he just squeezes my hand just trying to hold it together- I found out much later he had volunteered to give me this news over the doctors , if only because he didn’t think I’d take hearing it from anyone else.
That I’d shut down entirely.
I mean could you blame me? I was stuck and didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel- there were no guarantees, no reassurances. Even if I got back on my feet there was still a good chance I wouldn’t wrestle again- what the fuck else did I have to live for if I couldn’t wrestle… you know?
He reminds me of this sometimes though, that I possibly put more fear in him with what I said in that moment than anything I’d done before or since…”
Under the lights there's a glint of a tear welling in the corner of her eye, balancing precariously.
“I told him to make the decision cause I didn’t fucking care anymore. I put him in that position, I put my future in his hands cause in my mind I no longer had one.
Was it selfish and irresponsible? Absolutely, probably just like everything else I seem to do.
… but he never gave up on me, even after I had.”
Amber looks up slightly to stare at something off camera, trying to find a moment to regroup.
“Fast forward a surgery and some months of rehab and I try to make a return to Carnage.
Everyone tried to stop me- even Jack more than once tried to turn me away but I was relentless cause I was fighting for the only thing I thought had any meaning. There was no way in hell I was ready to return but they gave me the clearance- physically I could do almost all the things I used to… But emotionally, mentally… I tried to be who they remembered me as, this dominant force they’d grown to respect- I tried to be the ‘Distorted Angel’ they expected and when I couldn’t…
I crumbled and I disappeared.”
Her tone softens in that moment, her expression tenses a little as the corner of her lip twitches upwards into something resembling an attempted knowing half smile.
“The first week or two- my phone wouldn’t stop ringing, message after message of love and goodwill flooded through every avenue. A few people showed up on my doorstep hoping I might just relent- when really all I wanted to do was drink until it stopped hurting. Until I wasn’t anyone anymore.
Time passed and the calls stopped, the messages stopped and the visits stopped. Out of sight, out of mind it seemed…it was everything I thought I wanted.
Except for fucking Jack Michaels.
Every couple of days. Every family or friend's birthday. Every holiday. I’d watch the call ring out and the voicemail notification pop up. God I fucking despised it though- I’d sit there and cuss him out until I couldn’t breathe, yelling and scremaing that I just wanted to be alone, crying in pure self-loathing that I hated him for what I’d become.”
Dislodged, the tear starts rolling slowly down the side of her cheek as the pure raw emotion crackles through her voice.
“Thing was, in spite of how I felt… I never deleted any of those voicemails. I listened to every single one, sometimes throwing my phone across my apartment afterwards just cause the sound of hope in his voice triggered me, that the idea he hadn’t given up on me in spite of everything was somehow poisonous. That maybe, just maybe it wasn’t actually real.”
Amber drags her phone from her jeans pocket, a fingerprint lock and a flick across the screen… Amber rests the phone in her hand as the familiar albeit slightly tinny resonance of Jack Michaels voice rings out.
… “Happy 4th of July baby girl! Yeah, Lil Amber, Kyra and Adina are all here getting ready to head back down to Fremont again. I uh… Was thinking about when we were down there last year and how much fun we all had. I’m sure the beer vendor is going to miss you more than anything but you know… Heh… Bad joke I know. Anyways I just wanted to know I’m thinking about you and I… Well, I miss you kid. If you need anything, or just want to talk, give me a call. Regardless of what anyone says or thinks about us, you will always be family to me. Be safe Amber… Talk to you soon.”...
A generic beep signals the end of the message as Amber scrolls down a little further into the messages.
… “Hey Amber, it’s Jack. I was watching TV and saw a program that made me think about you. Apparently it was strange food combos in America and someone made a donut taco with a sweet coffee bean drizzle. I felt my arteries clogging just looking at it but you know… I figured you’d eat like 10 of them just to spite me. I hope you’re eating enough wherever you are and you know you can always come by for dinner if you wanted to uh… eat or um… chat or you know, whatever. I’m always here for you baby girl… Just call if you need anything from me. Love you kid, be safe. Bye.”...
That one elicited a small laugh as though she’d forgotten how typical it was of their conversations. Another scroll leads to another message.
… “Happy Hanukkah Amber! I heard the weather is brutal on the east coast right now but man, we are enjoying a typical Las Vegas winter over here. 55 degrees and the sun is shining like we are in the islands. Also, apparently Ken from the Barbie doll series is able to beat me up in Adina’s fantasy wrestling world. She took his doll and my action figure and performed some sort of jumping Tanahashi style Slingblade spinning sit out sleeper slam that I seriously need to consider adding to my arsenal. Okay, maybe she just threw my figure in the air and then slammed Ken on me but either way really. *chuckle* So I hope you are doing okay and you know you are always welcome to stop by if you wanted to. Love you baby girl, hope to talk soon.”...
A shrug this time, her expression softening into some contemplative and content, the happier mental images dampening perhaps some of the fire inside her veins. This time though, instead of scrolling Amber specifically moves towards the end of the list- choosing one of the final voicemail messages archived… perhaps having listened to this one more than any other.
… “Hey baby girl. Just was thinking about you today. Kyra says I’m wasting my time calling you every week and I should leave you be but I like to think maybe you are hearing these. I don’t know… I just want you to know that regardless of what you might think… Not everyone is scum in this world. There are still people out there that really care about you and well… I’m one of them. I hope you are listening and I want you to know that no matter what… I’m going to be here for you. I love you Amber… I honestly do.”...
Roughly, Amber shoves her phone away back into her pocket as though trying to hide the memory lost in her eyes.
“A year and a half I spent away. A year and a half of voicemails. A year and a half Jack never stopped trying. Every fucking time I thought I hit rock bottom all I found was that there was further to go… Eventually I couldn’t fall any further and I dragged the husk of a former Carnage world champion from Atlantic City to Las Vegas, to his doorstep half expecting that he’d just slam the door in my face like I’d so thoroughly deserved and instead he hugged me like he might somehow put all the pieces of me back together if he tried hard enough…”
Amber wipes her hand across her cheek, smudging the tear across the side of her face.
“... None of this excuses any of the things we’ve done, nor the decisions we’ve made. I’d go back and change a thousand things a thousand times if it meant avoiding the place we’re at now. I’d change everything if I thought I could, and I’d take back all of that hurt I’d caused and just fucking stay dead if it meant everyone else was better off for it.
I can’t though, as much as I try, as much as I want to. I just can’t.
I try not to linger but the past is unforgiving and it's brought up out of spite, like it defines more about us than the wrong things we’ve done- I can’t sit here and apologize for things anymore… Instead I have to pick up the pieces that I can and we move on, hoping that everything I’ve got left to give is enough to see us through for a little longer.”
Her expression hardens somewhat, her normally acerbic edge returning moment by moment.
“Here we are though- questioning honour, questioning whether this is some fucking attention grab from someone just craving the spotlight they’d walked away from, questioning whether a man can or cannot be trusted on the word of protecting and fighting for those they care about.
Those people ask me if I believe what he says- all those things about honour and family, about defending those we care about with our lives as though anything that's happened might somehow change the way I’ve always felt…”
Something resembling a genuine smile mixed with something almost heartbreaking.
“I owe more than I can ever repay, he’s given me more than I ever deserved so to the question of defending me… all I can really say is he’s the first person who ever really has.”
With that- Amber gets to her feet, scraping the chair across the concrete a little as her odd converse sneakers pad quietly across the floor as the scene cuts out without a further sound.
*click*
Light. In a darkened space it's almost blinding at first, however the lens adjusts and settles focus on a metal folding chair- perhaps once used as a weapon or maybe it's just seen better days, there's a sizable dent near the top edge and a few scuffs and scratches but otherwise it's entirely unremarkable.
Behind the camera come footsteps like sneakers across concrete followed by the faintest echo in the space, the cadence faintly uneven as though deliberately spiteful to the OCD audience. A light adjustment, little to the left but then back a little further to the right- it's not perfect but it doesn’t need to be.
Five seconds of silence follow before a familiar female figure steps out from behind the camera, not acknowledging it but just coming into the space and taking a seat. Amber Ryan looks a little dishevelled like she hasn’t slept much, her plain black t-shirt showing a tear at the neckline and her jeans ripped to the point of offending baby boomers. Thick tresses of red hang loose, controlled chaos falling around her face as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
“It was never supposed to be this way, you know?”
A soft chuckle follows, the knowing kind like a thought that isn’t quite funny enough to be verbalised.
“I’ve always maintained that I wasn’t a good person. I’m not the kinda gal you want your kids looking up to- I’ve always said that it's not my face that should be plastered across posters on bedroom walls, that my career is more of a cautionary tale rather than a path to be followed- there's a damn good reason it isn’t as well worn admittedly though I’ve only come to learn those lessons in the hardest way.”
Amber shakes her head slightly.
“That being said, I like to believe that I’ve tried to do better… Tried to be better.”
She shrugs, making eye contact with the camera and allowing a small trademark mischievous smile to cross her features.
“Seems like a crock of shit I suppose- anyone who knows me well enough would be trying to hold back laughter if they heard those words falling out of my mouth.”
Straightening up, Amber leans back over the chairs edge trying to stretch her back out briefly.
“... and yet here we are…”
Seems like a long way from 2017 when I first came into Carnage… At that point of my life I didn’t think the the universe could have kicked me any harder while I was down- I’d been ghosted by a man who promised the world, and only showed up again to take the World Title I’d spent two fucking years earning my shot at… Within a week the place had closed and I was drifting aimlessly again.
My god, I was angry. I was hurt and I was alone… I went into the first Monarchy of Anarchy tournament carrying this chip on my shoulder like I was goddamn Atlas and all I wanted was for everyone around me to hurt in the same way I was…
I guess it worked somehow, cause I became Carnage World Champion.”
Momentarily distracted, Amber pauses trying to find the right words.
“… it's at this point Jack Michaels enters my story.
Maybe this is the point where people start tuning out, where the torches and pitchforks get dusted off and everyone starts trying to get clever on social media. Express your opinion provided it's 140 characters or less kiddies, but his… this is important, even if it's just to me cause I’m sick to my fucking stomach and through the floor of watching people rant and rave about something they have such little understanding of that it makes me openly cringe.
All the questions, the snide comments, the verbal jabs. It makes me wanna actively scream into the void if only cause at least the void doesn’t have the wherewithal to argue blindly back cause it happens to have found it's opinion between the couch cushions.”
A moment's breath follows as the redhead tries to measure her words.
“I shouldn’t care so much… However our relationship runs deeper than a match and some decidedly poor decision making on both our behalfs. Theres so much blood and history between us that it's a wonder either of us are still upright- but I won’t take you back to the beginning…”
Amber folds back down onto her elbows, her head dropping slightly as the weight of memories seem heavy on her mind.
“... instead, at least for me, it starts where it very well should have ended.
I’m known to have a bit of an addictive personality, I obsess about things I can’t control. I desire far beyond what I deserve and have no qualms about tearing the world down around me just to bring it within reach- hell, I’d tear down the skies if I thought it might mean I could touch the moon.
I lost that title for the same reason I won it- I couldn’t control the way I felt and I allowed myself to fall into this obsessive and destructive downward spiral.
Really, things should have been looking up- Paragon was gaining traction and Jack and I had already been tag champions, but what you need to understand was that I wasn’t satisfied. I wasn’t prepared to simply let go of what I’d had… I was willing to throw everything we’d built away for another shot.”
Amber runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face long enough to capture the glimpse of something knowing in her eyes.
“Sound familiar, doesn’t it?
Jack did his damnedest to keep me on track, but I was just looking for a reason to derail. I was distracted in the ring, making mistakes and getting lost inside my own obsessive state of mind… and realistically it should have ended my career.
I don’t remember a lot of the details now, the faces get blurred and everything sounds like it's been spoken underwater but it was a tag match- I’d already been far too reckless and it was a wonder I hadn’t already cost us the match, I got distracted on the apron and next thing I know I’m falling… Never saw that German Suplex coming- to this day I don’t think I’ve ever fallen so slowly, hanging in the air like time had stopped…
Until I hit the guardrail.
I don’t even remember the impact… only that almost immediately I lost feeling in my legs.”
Amber attempts to clear her throat, the painful memory getting caught somewhere along the way.
“Everythings blurry for a while after that- tests and machines, I thought I was dying. Drowning in this fog of pain meds and disinfectant, I couldn't even tell you which way was up at that point- but there's one afternoon I remember so very clearly...
Jack's outside the room talking with doctors- the docs look at me, and back to Jack. Jack looks at me and back at them- I’m staring through them at the vending machine behind them cause I just really wanted a chocolate bar.”
Half-heartedly she chuckles at the vague absurdity of it, her hands loosely clasped and fidgeting.
“Jack walks in and to this day I will never forget the look he gave me- it was like someone had, in that moment, just torn his heart out of his chest and thrown it on the floor. He sits next to me, takes my hand and squeezes it all reassuring like- meanwhile I’m still just thinking about this stupid fucking chocolate bar and he starts talking…About surgery, about risks and possible outcomes about the fact that I might not regain feeling unless I agree to it. This whole time he just squeezes my hand just trying to hold it together- I found out much later he had volunteered to give me this news over the doctors , if only because he didn’t think I’d take hearing it from anyone else.
That I’d shut down entirely.
I mean could you blame me? I was stuck and didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel- there were no guarantees, no reassurances. Even if I got back on my feet there was still a good chance I wouldn’t wrestle again- what the fuck else did I have to live for if I couldn’t wrestle… you know?
He reminds me of this sometimes though, that I possibly put more fear in him with what I said in that moment than anything I’d done before or since…”
Under the lights there's a glint of a tear welling in the corner of her eye, balancing precariously.
“I told him to make the decision cause I didn’t fucking care anymore. I put him in that position, I put my future in his hands cause in my mind I no longer had one.
Was it selfish and irresponsible? Absolutely, probably just like everything else I seem to do.
… but he never gave up on me, even after I had.”
Amber looks up slightly to stare at something off camera, trying to find a moment to regroup.
“Fast forward a surgery and some months of rehab and I try to make a return to Carnage.
Everyone tried to stop me- even Jack more than once tried to turn me away but I was relentless cause I was fighting for the only thing I thought had any meaning. There was no way in hell I was ready to return but they gave me the clearance- physically I could do almost all the things I used to… But emotionally, mentally… I tried to be who they remembered me as, this dominant force they’d grown to respect- I tried to be the ‘Distorted Angel’ they expected and when I couldn’t…
I crumbled and I disappeared.”
Her tone softens in that moment, her expression tenses a little as the corner of her lip twitches upwards into something resembling an attempted knowing half smile.
“The first week or two- my phone wouldn’t stop ringing, message after message of love and goodwill flooded through every avenue. A few people showed up on my doorstep hoping I might just relent- when really all I wanted to do was drink until it stopped hurting. Until I wasn’t anyone anymore.
Time passed and the calls stopped, the messages stopped and the visits stopped. Out of sight, out of mind it seemed…it was everything I thought I wanted.
Except for fucking Jack Michaels.
Every couple of days. Every family or friend's birthday. Every holiday. I’d watch the call ring out and the voicemail notification pop up. God I fucking despised it though- I’d sit there and cuss him out until I couldn’t breathe, yelling and scremaing that I just wanted to be alone, crying in pure self-loathing that I hated him for what I’d become.”
Dislodged, the tear starts rolling slowly down the side of her cheek as the pure raw emotion crackles through her voice.
“Thing was, in spite of how I felt… I never deleted any of those voicemails. I listened to every single one, sometimes throwing my phone across my apartment afterwards just cause the sound of hope in his voice triggered me, that the idea he hadn’t given up on me in spite of everything was somehow poisonous. That maybe, just maybe it wasn’t actually real.”
Amber drags her phone from her jeans pocket, a fingerprint lock and a flick across the screen… Amber rests the phone in her hand as the familiar albeit slightly tinny resonance of Jack Michaels voice rings out.
… “Happy 4th of July baby girl! Yeah, Lil Amber, Kyra and Adina are all here getting ready to head back down to Fremont again. I uh… Was thinking about when we were down there last year and how much fun we all had. I’m sure the beer vendor is going to miss you more than anything but you know… Heh… Bad joke I know. Anyways I just wanted to know I’m thinking about you and I… Well, I miss you kid. If you need anything, or just want to talk, give me a call. Regardless of what anyone says or thinks about us, you will always be family to me. Be safe Amber… Talk to you soon.”...
A generic beep signals the end of the message as Amber scrolls down a little further into the messages.
… “Hey Amber, it’s Jack. I was watching TV and saw a program that made me think about you. Apparently it was strange food combos in America and someone made a donut taco with a sweet coffee bean drizzle. I felt my arteries clogging just looking at it but you know… I figured you’d eat like 10 of them just to spite me. I hope you’re eating enough wherever you are and you know you can always come by for dinner if you wanted to uh… eat or um… chat or you know, whatever. I’m always here for you baby girl… Just call if you need anything from me. Love you kid, be safe. Bye.”...
That one elicited a small laugh as though she’d forgotten how typical it was of their conversations. Another scroll leads to another message.
… “Happy Hanukkah Amber! I heard the weather is brutal on the east coast right now but man, we are enjoying a typical Las Vegas winter over here. 55 degrees and the sun is shining like we are in the islands. Also, apparently Ken from the Barbie doll series is able to beat me up in Adina’s fantasy wrestling world. She took his doll and my action figure and performed some sort of jumping Tanahashi style Slingblade spinning sit out sleeper slam that I seriously need to consider adding to my arsenal. Okay, maybe she just threw my figure in the air and then slammed Ken on me but either way really. *chuckle* So I hope you are doing okay and you know you are always welcome to stop by if you wanted to. Love you baby girl, hope to talk soon.”...
A shrug this time, her expression softening into some contemplative and content, the happier mental images dampening perhaps some of the fire inside her veins. This time though, instead of scrolling Amber specifically moves towards the end of the list- choosing one of the final voicemail messages archived… perhaps having listened to this one more than any other.
… “Hey baby girl. Just was thinking about you today. Kyra says I’m wasting my time calling you every week and I should leave you be but I like to think maybe you are hearing these. I don’t know… I just want you to know that regardless of what you might think… Not everyone is scum in this world. There are still people out there that really care about you and well… I’m one of them. I hope you are listening and I want you to know that no matter what… I’m going to be here for you. I love you Amber… I honestly do.”...
Roughly, Amber shoves her phone away back into her pocket as though trying to hide the memory lost in her eyes.
“A year and a half I spent away. A year and a half of voicemails. A year and a half Jack never stopped trying. Every fucking time I thought I hit rock bottom all I found was that there was further to go… Eventually I couldn’t fall any further and I dragged the husk of a former Carnage world champion from Atlantic City to Las Vegas, to his doorstep half expecting that he’d just slam the door in my face like I’d so thoroughly deserved and instead he hugged me like he might somehow put all the pieces of me back together if he tried hard enough…”
Amber wipes her hand across her cheek, smudging the tear across the side of her face.
“... None of this excuses any of the things we’ve done, nor the decisions we’ve made. I’d go back and change a thousand things a thousand times if it meant avoiding the place we’re at now. I’d change everything if I thought I could, and I’d take back all of that hurt I’d caused and just fucking stay dead if it meant everyone else was better off for it.
I can’t though, as much as I try, as much as I want to. I just can’t.
I try not to linger but the past is unforgiving and it's brought up out of spite, like it defines more about us than the wrong things we’ve done- I can’t sit here and apologize for things anymore… Instead I have to pick up the pieces that I can and we move on, hoping that everything I’ve got left to give is enough to see us through for a little longer.”
Her expression hardens somewhat, her normally acerbic edge returning moment by moment.
“Here we are though- questioning honour, questioning whether this is some fucking attention grab from someone just craving the spotlight they’d walked away from, questioning whether a man can or cannot be trusted on the word of protecting and fighting for those they care about.
Those people ask me if I believe what he says- all those things about honour and family, about defending those we care about with our lives as though anything that's happened might somehow change the way I’ve always felt…”
Something resembling a genuine smile mixed with something almost heartbreaking.
“I owe more than I can ever repay, he’s given me more than I ever deserved so to the question of defending me… all I can really say is he’s the first person who ever really has.”
With that- Amber gets to her feet, scraping the chair across the concrete a little as her odd converse sneakers pad quietly across the floor as the scene cuts out without a further sound.
*click*