Page 2 of Botched

Alex is not me.

“Leaving Veronica’s.”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before he asks, “Yeah? She see the pictures?”

“Yeah. I’m not engaged anymore.”

“You don’t sound upset about that.”

I pull onto the street, thinking it over. Am I upset? I mean, Veronica’s gorgeous. Having her on my arm was nice. We had some good times together. The companionship was good. But she wasn’t exactly the most supportive woman. She didn’t like that I was constantly gone, didn’t like that I had a lot of attention on me. I hear it in the locker room all the time, the boys complaining that their girls don’t understand. Veronica didn’t either, but I’m going to miss her, I think. Not enough to regret my decision.

“It is what it is. Girls come and go when you’re me, man. I could have three girls on my dick by tonight.”

Alex sighs, likely questioning why he even deals with me. While he didn’t make it like I did, he also settled down. Married his high school sweetheart. She’s pregnant, I think. Maybe she had the brat already. I don’t keep track.

“Anyway,” he says. “Are you busy tonight? It’s C1W’s big anniversary show. Thought you could maybe make an appearance. It would really motivate the locker room, seeing someone who came from here who actually made it in a big company.”

C1W, or Championship One Wrestling, is the local indie. It’s where I got my start, where I spent most of my time honing my craft after training. Alex still wrestles there, although his main focus is producing matches. I haven’t once considered going back since I got signed to the biggest wrestling promotion in the country, Global Revolution Wrestling, or GRW.

Noting my silence, Alex sighs again. “What if I make it worth your while? I’ll throw in some beers. Sara isn’t expecting me home until late anyway.”

Sara! That’s his wife’s name! I think about it. I don’t have to fly to Seattle for our next show until Monday, and with Veronica effectively out of my life, I don’t have anything else to fill my time. It’s a Saturday night, so why not?

“Yeah, all right. I’ll be there. And I don’t want your cheap-ass beers. We’re going somewhere decent, and you’re buying me real fucking alcohol.”

“You got it, man,” Alex responds, and I think I can hear a smile in his voice.

Chapter Two

AURORA

Every bit of my energy is focused on getting in the zone as I sit in the rundown locker room of the venue that C1W is using tonight. It’s not much better than the locker room of a high school gym, which I’ve wrestled in those countless times. However, it’s a step above the Porta Potty that we had to use to change in at the fairgrounds last fall.

The tile floor has seen better days. The white is permanently brown at this point, scratched and peeling in spots. What was once probably grass green paint on the wall is faded—and also peeling from years of humid showers. The lighting is a gross orange color, and I had to do my makeup in the car so I wouldn’t look like a clown.

That’s not my gimmick.

I kick my foot up on the faded white bench across from me, checking the laces on my boots and making sure they’re tight. No one wants to lose a shoe during a match.

Wrestling is a performance. When I go out there, I’m not the Aurora that everybody knows. I become Aurora Dawn. Corny?Maybe. But Aurora Dawn is a badass who doesn’t take shit—who’ll kick ass with a smile on her face.

The locker room door opens and someone enters. I pay them no mind as I kick up my other boot, checking the laces on that one too. I can’t hear anything. Wireless headphones are in my ears, blaring music from my pre-show hype playlist. My head bobs along to the beat.

“Rory!” I barely hear someone call out to me, but I don’t acknowledge them. Not at first; not until they plop down on the bench next to me.

With an eye roll and a sigh, I pop out one of my earbuds, rolling it between my fingers. “Is there something that you need, Kai?” I ask.

Kai grins over at me. He knows better than to bother me before a match, so this has to be important. His black hair is slicked back perfectly. I can smell his ocean-scented body wash as he sits next to me, propping his feet up on the bench across from us, mimicking my posture.

“Have you seen how Jules has beenkillingit lately?” he asks, clearly gushing over her. He has always been a little in love with her.

My eyes drop from Kai’s face and down to the earbud in my hand. Jules got signed to GRW a couple of months ago, and she’s been killing it. Making a huge impact on screen, touted as one of the company’s best signings in years. Evidently, she got scouted at some West Coast indie show by Weston Hext. Everyone knows Weston Hext; he’s a legend. A veteran in the industry, Hext is one of the first indie guys to make it.

Jealousy washes over me. It happens. Every time another person gets that coveted contract, envy squeezes my heart and makes me want to throw up. When will it bemytime? I’ve been chasing it since I turned eighteen. Working during the day and busting my ass at night, living off Ramen for weeks at a time because indiewrestling doesn’t pay shit. You put your body—and sometimes your life—on the line for a hundred bucks, and if you’re lucky, the promoter will buy you some booze and ask you to come back. C1W is one of the better indies, and that’s not by much.

Jules is good. I can’t deny that. It’s not like she isn’t as talented as they say. It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it. But I deserve it too.

“Mm,” is the best response that I can muster right now. I take another second, swallow down some of those feelings, and finally produce more words. “That’s awesome.”

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