1
MARGEAUX
I fuckinghatered lipstick.
I ignore my body’s natural revulsion to the color as I stretch my lips into a taut o-shape and apply the deep, matte stain. A final lip pop and check for smudges—none. The small, silver stud in my cupid’s bow draws my eyes to the curve of my upper lips. This is my newest piercing, and I love it.
The red lip really does pop against the combination of my fair, mid-western skin tone, and my jet-black hair. My hair is shining in dark waves that took forever to create under the heat of a curling wand and bottles of hairspray. Once I start sweating, all this body will leave me with my boring, pin-straight locks.
“Ten minutes, Margeaux,” Dahlia, my coach, says as she struts into my dressing area. “You good on the plan?”
Dahlia’s been my coach since I joined Professional Entertainment Wrestling, or PEW. I’m starting my second year with the organization and I have Dahlia to thank for a lot of my initial success. When I was first trying out, I clicked with her coaching style immediately. If I didn’t meet her at tryouts and training camp, I would have sworn she was a super model or something. The woman is a total bombshell withher blonde hair and busty chest. The only give away that she’s not a model is her muscular physique.
I nod, loosening my neck and shoulders. “Yep. I’m excited for my new kick,” I tell her, standing up from my chair, bringing my knee up, and testing the weight and feel of my knee-high boot. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks training in these, and they’re nice and broken in.
She gives me her trademark smile, which earned her tens of thousands of fans back in her day. Her wrestling career was cut short for some reason. She was at her peak and about to become the most popular women’s wrestler, but mysteriously stopped. Her quiet disappearance in her early twenties is one of the organization’s most popular rumors. Fortunately, for me, she came back about ten years later to be a coach. “Fuck yea. The crowd is going to love it.”
“You meanhateit,” I correct her, slipping into character.
“There ya go! They never expect moves like that from us bigger girls. They think we’re all brawn, no grace.” She rolls her eyes as I continue to stretch out my hips and hamstrings.
She’s not wrong. I’ve spent a lot of time this season working on my agility and practicing more sleek maneuvers. This is my first time making it onto a televised match.This is huge!I’m on my way to becoming the premier event.
Everyone wants to be in the premier event– be featured as the highlight match. It can take five years of ruthless competition before that happens, and some people don’t even last that long. The match directors are always looking for new talent, and personalities that appeal to fans. Athletes get injured. The owners of the organization are only willing to sign so many people. We’re all fighting for a seat at the table. I’m hoping to make a big splash this year and solidify my place in this organization.
The first year as a rookie is overwhelming— the crowds, the intense training, and learning who you can and can’t trust. Only six people from the group of twenty-five that I tried out with were offered contracts. And from those six, only four of us were invited back this season. Three women and one guy. Like I said:fucking cut throat.
I’ve been lucky. The directors want to fill the ring with more “eye candy” as they love to say. I fucking hate that term. I’m not a piece ofcandy. My looks and appearance may have got me in the door, but I’m a great athlete. I’m here to compete and make a name for myself in this sport. I’m on my way to making that happen.
I get along with everyone, and Dahlia is my favorite coach. She’s honest and pushes me to be my best. It doesn’t hurt that she’s a fellow giantess, and she was a beast during her hay day as a wrestler. Being a taller woman isn’t easy. And when I say tall, I mean we arefucking tall. I even have a couple inches on her. It’s never been my style to take up less space, which suits my wrestling persona, as one of this season’s worst villains.
“This outfit is so fucking hot. You’re gonna have them drooling for you. They won’t be able to boo you.” This is her style before every match- she boosts my confidence, highlighting my outfits and strengths. I eat it up. I wouldn’t say I require validation, but I’ll never turn down a compliment.
“I’m definitely feeling myself in this,” I smirk, running my hands down my long torso. Tonight, I’m rocking a tight, single-strap, black singlet with silver trim, leaving half my ass peeking out. Most female wrestlers go with a bikini, or shorts and a bra. I think the singlet helps me stand out. Not like I need help with that as a woman over six feet tall, and a massive amount of body art.
I still remember when I came home with my first tattoo. It was during winter break while I was a freshman in college. My suburban mother literally clutched her pearls and tried to ground me. It wasn’t even that big. I considered getting my volleyball number, but it proved to be the unluckiest number of my life—14. So, I had it reversed and tattooed behind my right ear. My version of rewriting a script that took a plot twist I never saw coming.
My twin brother, Jacky, nicknamed me the ‘rebel’ of our family after that, and I think it just stuck. Needless to say, I’ve leaned into the role. I quit volleyball the next season, found a wrestling school to train at, and continued with thereclamationof my body- one new piercing, one more tattoo at a time.
“Five minutes, girl. Let’s go,” Dahlia says, pats my shoulder, then smacks my ass. It’s our pre-match thing.
I walk out of my dressing area, ignoring my phone as it vibrates onmy vanity. The only thing that matters right now is this match. My fans. The haters. The lights.
The MC’s voice blasts through the sound system, filling the entire arena. An icy chill of excitement makes my body shiver. I never got this kind of rush when I played volleyball- too many rules. That life wasn’t for me.Thisis.Theseare my people.
“Who is that entering the arena?” the MC says. The crowd is already going wild with a mixture of cheers and jeers. I wave my arms like I’m happy to see them, then kiss my hand and slap the underside of my ass cheek as I strut down to the ring. “Oh! It’s Margeaux Wild! Everybody’s new favorite bad girl of the ring!” My walk-out song, Vicious by Halestorm, starts blaring.
The shouts and boos only spur me on more. If I could give them the middle finger, I would. However, this is a family program at its core. Everybody loves a heel, a villain. It’s like I give them permission to go against the grain, to question authority, to resist following the status quo.
Eva Sanchez mean-mugs me as I hop up into the ring. She’s medium height and jacked—a former gymnast who is known for flying around the ring. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up. I thought you got scared and finally wised up. You know you’re no match for me,” Eva says in her perfectly perky, yet condescending way. She and I actually get along pretty well outside of the ring. We have to, if we’re going to be able to coordinate these matches and our moves.
I snatch the microphone from her, towering over her, letting my size do most of the talking for me. She flinches briefly, which gives the crowd the subtlest form of drama they crave at these standoffs. I flip my hair off my shoulder and bring the mic up to my mouth.
“The only thing I’vewised upto is that this match is a waste of my time and energy.” The crowd shouts, desperate for us to start body slamming each other.Not yet. “Myonlyinterest is to show you, and the rest of your Glam Squad, that you picked the wrong crew to mess with. Below Zero is here to freeze you out, once and for all.” I keep my voice steady, letting a cold silence brew between us.
She looks up at me with her dark brown eyes. I’m more than half afoot taller than her, especially with my boots on. She mouths ‘whatever’ to me, snaps her fingers in my face, and spins around fast, whipping me in the face with her dark, curly hair.I wish I could get my hair to stay in a style like that.She struts to the end of the ring, making it seem like she’s going to stand on the ropes to rally up the crowd. Except, she does two back handsprings and crashes into me, and I fall to the floor in a practiced fall.
The crowd screams as the bell rings.
