Page 42 of Botched

It’s really hard to pretend like everything is normal as we get ready to head to the ring. Every time I look at Theo, I feel my stomach clench in such a delightful way. He keeps looking at me with a knowing smirk, as if he knows what’s on my mind.

His theme hits, and his hand immediately goes to rest on my lower back, fingers splayed against my skin as he helps me up the few stairs that lead to the stage.

The chorus of boos that welcome us sends a shot of adrenaline through me, and for a moment, I forgot all about the sex. Boos actually feel good, because invoking the crowd to feel something is the best thing you can do as a professional wrestler. If they hate me, if they think I’m traitor and a bitch, I’m doing my job.

For these few moments, I get to melt into being Aurora Dawn. She doesn’t have of the problems that I do. She’s sure. She knowsher feelings, and those feelings are an obsession and a devotion toward a man who wouldn’t care if she died tonight.

Maybe I’m a lot more similar to her than I originally thought.

Theo climbs into the ring and gestures for a microphone, while I slip into the ropes, coming to stand beside him. Instead of taking in the arena full of people, I turn my gaze to him. I watch him instead of the crowd.

And I’m not sure how much of it is me pretending to be a character anymore.

The confidence that radiates off of him once he’s in the ring is somehow stronger than the cocky prick I deal with on the daily basis. This is who Theo really is. He rolls his shoulders before tapping the microphone with his index finger.

“Now,” he says as the boos grow louder. A muscle in his jaw ticks with annoyance before he rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to talk. You all are being rude. Which I suppose I should expect from people this far south. The lack of education is astonishing.”

Heel Work 101. Insult the crowd. The boos get louder.

Theo shakes it off, but before he can continue, the generic club beat of Austin’s theme song hits. The crowd goes…mild.

Staying on the stage, Austin paces like an animal stuck in a too-small cage. He holds the microphone to his lips, doesn’t bother to look out at the crowd. His nerves are palpable from here. This…isn’t good.

“I don’t think you should be insulting the great people of New Orleans, Theo.” The crowd’s reaction is still mild, but Austin continues. “See, these people are clearly smarter than you and your brainwashed pet slut.” The cheap insult gets a reaction from the crowd, but it’s so…boring.

It’s like a high schooler hurling insults. Sure, that’s a lot of what wrestling is. At least, back in the 90’s. Crowds don’t react to the basics that strongly anymore.

Yet in the ring, Theo clenches his fist, his knuckles turningwhite as the veins pop in his hands. Somehow that makes me want his hands on me even more.

Suddenly, I get my wish.

Placing the mic in the back pocket of his slacks so it’s out of the way, Theo’s hands wrap around my waist. He picks me up, sitting me on the top turnbuckle like he’s placing a porcelain doll on a shelf.

“Stay lookin’ pretty for me, baby doll,” he says when he grabs the microphone again. “I got some business to handle.” He turns away from me, giving me the opportunity to observe how the fabric of his red button-up stretches across his muscular back.

“Austin, Austin, Austin,” Theo says, shaking his head. “I’ve tried, man, I really have. Tried not to put you down like the pathetic dog that you are, but you leave me no choice. You don’t deserve to be out here with me. Hell, you don’t deserve to be in this company. Your skills in the ring are lackluster. I’d rather listen to some grandma straight from the bayou on the microphone than you, and you immediately result back to playground insults. You’re nothing on my radar, on any of these people’s radars. They’d rather listen to me than you, and I think that says a lot. Theyhateme.”

Have you ever watched a person be stuffed in a coffin and buried while still alive? That’s exactly what this feels like. This isn’t far from a typical promo segment from Theo. He has a formula that he follows. Most of his opponents can volley with him. Come back with something just as snarky.

But two things are different here.

One: Austin is not strong on the microphone. I’ve heard indie guys cut better promos.

Two: Theo is immediately going in for the kill. He’s burying Austin, making him look pathetic in front of the fans.

That’s not Theo’s usual MO. He knows how to play his role, make himself look like the prick and the other guy someone the crowd wants to root for.

Austin opens his mouth and yet again, Theo starts speaking before he can. “Don’t bother. Even I think that the New Orleans crowd deserves better than listening to you. Production, hit my music.”

He drops the microphone in the ring before walking over to where I sit. His hands wrap around my waist again, picking me up and sitting me on my feet. “Are you okay?” Theo leans in and whispers in my ear.

His breath tickling my ear sends shivers down my spine. I can’t figure out why I wouldn’t be okay, but I don’t ask. Not now. I nod in confirmation.

Theo exits the ring and I trail after him, following like the lost puppy everyone needs to think I am.

At the top of the ramp, there’s a stare-down between him and Austin. I can almost feel the heat of Theo’s anger radiating off of him before he guides me back through the curtains.

His gaze settles on Nathan, who’s sitting in Gorilla, and Theo pats my lower back. “I need to have a word with him. I’ll see you later, baby doll.”

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