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Cassidy
Off Camera I'm not alright. I haven't been in a very long time. When my husband was buried part of myself went into the ground with him. The best part. What's left is an empty vessel. A broken soul. My life ended that day. I realize that now. I'm a walking corpse. Cursed with animation, but left unfeeling. A numbness has overtaken me. It's restrained me from release. There are no tears to shed. Instead, my eyes just burn. The lids turn crimson as my vision blurs. My body contorts in sobs that never come. The last semblence of life within me only stirs when my adrenaline spikes. I can't feel alive without putting myself in harm's way. This is how I lost the rest of everything I had. I became uninsurable as a stunt worker. The job my husband and I both once shared. My adrenal addiction, and my living death, caused me to shut out everyone I was ever close to. I burned every bridge I'd ever built. I didn't want to hear their words. See their concern. They were just a reflection of all that I had lost. I felt it better to watch everything burn to ash. Cremation. I tried to find ways to feed my strange needs. Anything I could to increase my heartrate. Base jumping, high speed traffic stunts, and eventually wrestling. A hairline fracture crushed my attempts to restore life to the hollow shell I'd become. So I walked away. From the world. From everything. I holed up in a lifeless shack of a house in a remote area of Montana. This isn't a home to me. It's a hospice. A place I can await the inevitable blessing of Death's soothing touch. Her warm embrace. I wallow in my misery as the wretch that I've become. I chose this place for all these reasons. I chose it because I knew no one would come looking for me. So why is someone knocking on my door? I ignore them in hopes that they'll go away. I have no desire to let the world come through the door and invade my life again. I'm done with it. Instead, I open my bottle of Bushmills and take a swig. As if the alcohol will hold the world at bay. It's futile. The door screeches in protest as it splinters around the edges before violently imploding. I don't cover my face. My body doesn't bother to react at all. My heartbeat doesn't even change. Instead, I watch the dust that was kicked up dance about in the air around where my door used to stand. It's almost pretty in a way. Funny I would notice that. I don't bother to look up at the person entering. I just point out my annoyance with a dismissive word. Subtle. I see a pair of boots and the bottom of a long, tan coat. There's no need for me to look up. I know who it is. Nessa Bligh. My ever so loving cousin. The same cousin who murdered a man in front of me on my 16th birthday and then asked if there was any cake left. The last person in this world I wanted to encounter again. She does the family's dirtiest jobs...which includes keeping my sister in line. Unfortunately, it also includes keeping me enmeshed with a family I have no connection to. A family I ran away from to try and build my own life. I will not enjoy having it pointed out how that worked for me. Her voice sounds the same as it always has. Steely, with a light irish accent. I see you're still determined to be throwing your life away Cassidy. Years of my never being happy to see her and she still can't take the hint. I'd be more successful if I had less interruptions. My words, and the tone layered in them, are completely ignored. She steps in and walks over to the corner of my little shack that serves as a kitchen. She digs through the couple of cupboards. I already know what she wants. Right hand drawer. She pulls two shotglasses from the drawer and walks over. They are set down in front of me with a silent demand to fill them as she takes a knee in front of me. A sigh escapes my drying lips as I pour from my bottle of whiskey. She's obviously here because she has something to talk about. Unfortunately, my family is very traditional when it comes to certain things. Irish customs dictate that first you drink and gather your thoughts before you discuss something important. Very much the opposite of the American custom of drinking after everything has gone to hell. I'm Irish American, so I guess I tend to do both. We each take a glass and recite our family's usual toast.) Blood be thicker than even whiskey. Let it guide us in our endeavors, bury our sins, protect us from those wishing us harm,... ...And destroy those that try. With that out of the way we each drink and set our glasses back on the floor. Now maybe we can get down to it. What the hell do you want Nessa? Why bother to be pleasant? There isn't a visible reaction, but her words are clear. Your manners are still seriously needing improvement. Am I going to have to drag it out of her? Why the hell is she here? This better not be another visit with a bunch of cryptic bullshit. I'm about to start actually being a bitch when she speaks before I can manage to. It's time to begin getting yourself sorted. You're needed in Baltimore. Yeah, let me get right on that. Oh wait, last time I checked I don't work for my family's shady business. I'll pass. Thanks again for stopping by and destroying my door. It'll make it easier for you to walk back out it. Yet, she doesn't move. Even through my numbness I can easily feel the wave of anger that is starting to come over me. It's an easier emotion for my system to process. If she wasn't family, I'd have her on the floor already. Killer or not. That won't be happening. There is no choice to be had in this matter. You're contractually obligated. My confusion over her words isn't enough to douse the fire that is building in me. She doesn't let me get a word in. Her tone darkens in a manner I've heard before. It's the vocal equivalent of a snake coiling up before striking. It's time to start listening. My patience is wearing thin missy. She pauses to make sure I'm heeding her warning. There won't be a second. I weigh my options for a second. I have no fear. Of anything....well anything other than living. Still, even I can see how fruitless it would be for the two of us to destroy the rest of my shack in an empty skirmish. I'll hear her out in hopes that she'll say her piece and leave me to my slow self-destruction. OWF went under and sold your contract. You're being summoned to Carnage. Kyra Mohr's enforcing your contract. Son of a bitch! The anger moves my body against my will. I'm on my feet before I realize it. This is complete bullshit. Isn't one Bligh enough?! She had Kaitlyn there. Why doesn't she bother her instead? I'm ranting at the walls more than talking to Nessa at this point. It's now I notice that I'm pacing. My body is animating itself. She wastes no time in pointing out the flaw in my logic.) I'm afraid she's forcing your sister to resume working again as well. Downright diabolical isn't it? All I wanted was to be left alone. To be forgotten. My desires never seem to be respected. Never have. Everything I've ever done has involved fighting against things that were determined for me without my input. I'm so tired. So fucking tired. It's time you get packing your things. We have to leave right away and join Kaitlyn. Why can't Nessa just do what she does and take care of this problem? Shoot Kyra's puppy or torture her or something....wait did she say... Join my sister? For what? I have no need, or desire, to see Kaitlyn. Why would that be necessary? Just because we're at the same place doesn't mean we need to interact. Kyra is making you and your younger sister a tag team. It's out of your hands little cousin. Motherfucker! My anger is no longer containable. I lash out before the thought to do so even forms in my mind. My hand throws down the bottle of irish whiskey with all my strength. It shatters on my worn wooden floor. Sending a spray of liquid and glass across my bare feet. It's a true shame you're wasting perfectly good whiskey. The thought of being forced to work with my sister has my mind bordering on lunacy. I've done everything I can think of to get away from my blood. I feel as if I'm being dragged back through my father's front door kicking and screaming. The father who hasn't spoken to me directly since my 16th birthday. I'm not like them. I never have been. The more I think about the prospect of what is waiting for me in Baltimore, the more understand I've never been alright.) Cassidy
Off Camera It's said that distances are relative. I, however, believe that relatives should be kept at a distance. At least mine. The closer I come to my forced reunion with Kaitlyn, the more my mood sours. I can already hear the tone that will be in her voice when she pokes and prods at me for a relationship that may never have existed beyond blood. Luckily, during most of the flight, and the drive here, Nessa has kept the conversation to a minimum. I have no illusions that it was for my comfort. There's never been a person who existed that she's been concerned with putting at ease. She tends to only speak when there's a reason to...or something to be gained. What that something is, is entirely determined by the bad wiring she calls a brain. Fine by me. I was happy to have the silence. Unfortunately, that silence is about to end. Kaitlyn will not grant me that blessing. We pull up in front of a ranch style house. Probably a safehouse owned by my father. He probably expanded the business into this area. Like the city needed more criminals. Great, there's a light on. Nessa doesn't announce that we have arrived. I can clearly see that. She turns off the engine and gets out of the car immediately. I find myself hesitating. I'd rather just sit here thank you. I know I can only drag my feet so long though. Eventually, Nessa will start pushing me. With a heavy sigh, I open the door. I grab my suitcase from the backseat. Let's get this bullshit over with. The only problem is, I'm not sure when it's going to be over. It's more like I'm about to get it truly started. I'm escorted to the front door. Nessa unlocks it and motions for me to go in ahead of her. I'm barely in the entry when my younger sister appears in all her bitchy glory. Kaitlyn forces a half smile. Glad you finally made it my dear, big sister. And it's already begun. Fucking fantastic. I acknowledge her existence. Good enough. Kaitlyn... Her smile reduces by a quarter. Apparently, that wasn't the greeting she wanted. I refuse to look at her as the kid sister who used to tag along with me all the time in our youth. She grew up. She's like them. Our time as kids was a different lifetime. Will that always be how you greet me Cassidy? Yeah. Pretty much. Why is it that she always expects something more? What am I supposed to say? There goes the rest of her smile. Good. I can see she wants to say something, but Nessa beats her to the punch. The two of you are needing to resolve some things. Go have a drink and hash it out. I'm going to bed. Also good. I don't have to deal with both of them at once. Kaitlyn nods to Nessa and she quietly stalks off to wherever her room is. My sister turns and starts walking into the living room. Come on. This should be super fun for me. I drop my suitcase in the entry and follow her in. There's already whiskey and shot glasses on the table. My guess is Nessa planned this. My sister and I sit across from each other, recite the family prayer, and take our shots. Then we just stare at each other for too long before she breaks the silence. Can't you even try to be fucking pleasant? I break decorum and grab the bottle rather than waiting for her to refill our glasses. If I'm going to deal with this, I'm going to need more booze in my system. With glass in front of my face I answer her question with my own. Why? I empty the glass down my throat as soon as the sound of words exits my mouth. Jesus Cassidy. Really? I'm so sick of this. This is already the longest conversation I've had with her in the last 6 years. When Nathan was alive he talked to her more than I did. He helped buffer me from family. Yet another reason my life is worse without him. Of which there are so many. I have to stop thinking about him. I can already feel the burning starting in my eyes. I pour myself another shot and drink before I even respond. Before you start in with the whole "our blood is a sacred bond" schtick...just don't. I've heard all of it. It was drilled into both our heads. Not just yours. She's already getting angry. The narrowing of her eyes is always the first thing to happen. Still, she's not too angry to drink. She catches up to me quickly before pouring a new one for each of us. I take the opportunity to state my position further. I'm never going to be what you want me to be. There goes the shift in her eyebrows. All that's left is the setting of her jaw. She'll probably lose it not long after that. What? My big sister? That was low. She is not going to make me feel guilty. She learned that tactic from Mom. You know what I'm talking about Kaitlyn. I'm carrying your burden just fine. My burden? Whatever. My obligations to the family ended when I walked away from it. They're all yours. You be Daddy's little puppet. There's the jaw clench. That struck a nerve. Her tone becomes harsh. A bit of gravel enters her voice. Just because your husband died doesn't mean you'll get away with being a bitch all the time. Normally, she is the one with the short fuse. Not this time. I go from 0 to murder instantly. My body is over the table before I realize it's happening. Then I'm on top of her. My fist slamming into her face. We end up rolling on the ground. Both of us striking at each other endlessly. Crashing against the furniture. Neither of us hold back. We grind out this ground battle for what feels like hours, but I know isn't. All I can hear is the sound of bone impacting flesh and grunts escaping both our lips. Then the sound of what I think is a lamp breaking. We don't stop until we hit the table hard enough for whiskey bottle to fall over and pour on us both. Suddenly getting soaked seems to snap us out of it. That, and our fresh wounds suddenly burning. She rolls off of me. We just lay there on the floor, breathing heavily. For once, I'm the first to say something. I hope that wasn't your only bottle. It's then I hear something unexpected. Laughter. I look over at her. That's your biggest concern? Holy hell Cassidy. Well? She turns her head to look me in the eye. It's not. By the way, your eyebrow is busted open. I can't help but chuckle a little as well. What is it about fighting with family that lightens the mood? So's your lip. Damnit. Cassidy On Camera Cassidy Bligh rests on the floor. Her back against a grimy, brick wall that was once probably painted white. Now it's more various shades of cracked grey with spots of greenish, non-descript grunge. Her brown hair is tied back in a thick braid that hangs over her right shoulder. Her grey hoodie is dark enough to not blend in with the wall. It covers her head to the point of almost touching her eyebrows. Bitterness and frustration etch her features. She doesn't even bother to look directly at the camera. As if to express her disdain. Apparently, I don't have the choice to opt out of talking on camera. What am I supposed to do here? Connect with fans? Have a one way conversation with other wrestlers? Why bother? She takes her time in silently removing a cigarette from her pack before lighting it. She exhales and watches the smoke drift in the stagnant air with all the enthusiasm of a death row inmate eating their last meal. Finally, she bothers to speak again. I'm not here of my own free will. Kyra Mohr is a pathetic, little, wrestling pimp. Looking to make money off the use of my body. Sure, it's not sex, but it's a violation nonetheless. It's much like a parent who can't achieve their dreams that shoves their kid to succeed where they couldn't. Living through my sister and I won't make you feel any less worthless Kyra. So what should I do? Try to sit out and protest? No. Protesting is for the ineffectual. For weak willed individuals to feel like they are doing something. They never accomplish anything. They never will. My only option is to fight. That doesn't bother me. What I resent is not having a choice. Ashes are flicked onto the dirty floor next to her. A watch is pulled from her pocket. Her eyes flash into a glare at its surface. They wanted me to come out here and talk about The Blighs. Tell you all about us. What it was like growing up together. How we mesh as a tag team. It's none of your business. You don't need to know us. Find someone else. Invest in their uplifting story. We're not here for public consumption. The cigarette is crushed down into the floor to put it out. From an inside pocket, she produces a flask. Slowly the cap is twisted open before she takes a long sip. The corner of her eye staring at the time passing on the watch sitting on her leg. The cap is placed back on after and the flask returned to the inner pocket. Her head tilts back and rests against the wall. She stares up at the ceiling. You know what's sad? The cameraman looks like a nose with teeth. Watching him eat must be a nightmare. She exhales loudly before looking directly at the camera for the first time since it was turned on. Kyra, your sister may be the only friend I have left, but I assure you, no free pass will be granted. Your actions have nothing to do with her. Kaitlyn and I are going to make you miserable. You brought us here. I'll ask you later if it ended up being worth it. Her eyes dart down to the watch again. Quickly it's shoved into the front, pouch pocket of her hoodie. Look at that. My required time is up. No time is wasted in her standing up and walking off. Leaving just a wall to be viewed until the feed is abruptly ended.
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