BETRAYAL

I - Week of Colossus 2023

The rhythmic sound of clothes shoved into a leather bag echoed through the hallway, a staccato beat matching the pounding in David's chest. Rounding the corner of Rose's house, he caught sight of her determined expression—a mask of steel barely concealing the tempest raging beneath.

"What are you doing?" David inquired.

Rose's eyes flicked up, a spark of her usual wit dancing in their depths. "I thought it would be obvious," words dripping with sarcasm. "I'm preparing for a swimsuit competition. What does it look like?"

David's jaw tightened. "Fair enough. But my question still stands. What are you packing for?"

"Well," she said, her gaze fixed on the shirt she was folding with unnecessary precision. One of us has a match at Colossus. You know, the event we've been working towards? The one circled on my calendar in red for months?"

"Yes, and considering the... circumstances," David chose his words carefully, "I assumed you wouldn't be heading to New Orleans after all."

Rose's hands stilled for a moment, a tremor running through them before she resumed packing. "Look, I understand you have reservations about New Orleans, given your past in DEFIANCE, but Colossus is happening in New Orleans, and that's where I'm going." Her voice lacked its usual warmth.

"Rose—"

She whirled around, eyes blazing with a fury that made David take an involuntary step back. "What?!"

"You don't have to go." His concern evident in every line of his face.

Rose shook her head, her black locks a chaotic halo around her face. "I do, I really do. Thanks, though." The words were clipped, final.

She glanced around, her gaze landing on a cosmetic bag. As she brushed past David, he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to stop.

"Come on, no one would blame you, considering your mental state."

Rose's laugh was hollow, sending chills down David's spine. "No one would blame me? I would. That's all that matters, David. So either support me or get out of my way. I'm not continuing this conversation if you're against me."

She pushed him away, her movements sharp and angry as she snatched up the cream-colored bag and shoved it into her travel bag.

David watched, his heart heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke the silence with a question that hung like a guillotine blade. "You were here with him that night?"

Rose froze, her body becoming a statue of ice and dread. The world seemed to shift into slow motion, every movement exaggerated and elongated. A profound sense of foreboding washed over her, an overwhelming desire to flee from this conversation at all costs. The thought of engaging in this dialogue was unbearable, and Rose yearned to escape its clutches.

"You'll have to be more specific." Her voice barely above a whisper.

"Rose..." David's tone darkened, no longer in the mood for games. They both knew what was missing from his top drawer when he returned the day after it happened.

"Yeah," she spun and locked eyes with him, a silent acknowledgment of the truth they both knew about the events of three nights ago, of what was planned to happen without her knowledge.

"Did you get a chance to talk to him?" David asked, his voice gentle but insistent.

Rose's mouth went dry, her throat tightening as if invisible hands were choking her. Her bottom lip began to tremble, and for a moment, the mask of determination slipped, revealing the raw pain underneath.

David didn't need to hear her answer. The silence spoke volumes, filling the room with unspoken grief and regret. At that moment, the weight of what had transpired hung between them, a shared burden that neither knew how to bear.

II - Two Weeks Ago

The French doors exploded outward in a cacophony of shattering glass and splintering wood. Rose burst onto the balcony, each shard a mirror to her fractured mind. The cool Pacific breeze whipped her hair into a frenzy, matching the chaos within her.

She gripped the railing, knuckles white, barely tethering her to reality. The metal was cold beneath her palms, real in a way nothing else seemed to be. Her wild, unfocused eyes scanned the horizon where ocean met sky. It was too vast, too endless. She felt she might fall into that abyss of blue and never find her way back.

Dead. Buried. Nearly a year ago.

The words echoed in her head, each repetition a hammer blow to her sanity. How could she not remember? How could she forget burying her father? The memories—or lack thereof—were like fragments of glass in her mind: sharp, dangerous, impossible to piece together without cutting herself.

"No, no, no," she muttered, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "He was here. He was just here."

The solid and real memory of Craig in the gym flashed through her mind. She still felt the warmth of his embrace and his presence. But now, that memory wavered like heat rising from sun-baked asphalt. It shimmered at the edges, threatening to dissolve entirely.

Was it real? Am I real?

Rose looked down at her hands, half-expecting them to be transparent. They looked solid enough, but could she trust her own eyes anymore?

David's voice cut through the fog, a lifeline she wasn't sure she wanted to grasp. "Rose, please. Let me help you."

She whirled around, her eyes wild and unfocused. The world spun, fragments of reality whirling around her like a kaleidoscope of broken glass. David's face, etched with concern, seemed to multiply and distort.

"Help me?" Her voice was raw, scraping against her throat like sandpaper. "How can you help me? I'm losing my mind, David. I'm fucking losing it!"

Her laughter was sharp, brittle, teetering on the edge of hysteria. It echoed across the balcony, bouncing off the walls and returning to her, distorted and alien. Was that her laugh? It sounded like a stranger's.

"I saw him. I talked to him. How... how is that possible if he's dead?"

The realization hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. Hallucinations. The past year... had it all been a lie? Her mind reeled, grasping at memories that now seemed as insubstantial as smoke. Each recollection was a shard, beautiful but treacherous. She tried to hold onto them, but they slipped through her fingers, leaving only cuts behind.

"Oh god," she choked out, the words barely audible over the roaring in her ears. "Lorelai. In Spain. I told her about Dad. As if... as if he was alive."

The memory of Lorelai's face swam before her eyes. That fleeting look of concern quickly masked by a smile. It had seemed so insignificant then, but now it was another piece of the puzzle she hadn't even known she was solving.

Rose's legs gave out, and she slid to the ground, her back against the railing. The cold metal pressed into her spine, an anchor to the physical world as her mind threatened to float away entirely.

"And Addie," she whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. Each word cut her as she spoke. "I kept telling her about Grandpa. She... she would tear up every time. I thought it was because she missed him, but..."

The implications crashed over her like a tidal wave. Had she been tormenting her daughter with stories of a man who was no longer there? The thought was another crack in her already fractured psyche.

David knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. Rose could see the pain in his eyes and his desperation to help. But his presence felt unreal as if he might disappear if she blinked.

"Rose, it's okay. We'll get through this."

"Okay?" Rose's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a fury born of fear and confusion. "Nothing about this is okay, David! I've been living in a fantasy world for nearly a year! A fucking year! How do I know what's real anymore? How do I know you're real?"

She scrambled to her feet, pacing the balcony like a caged animal. Her reflection caught her eye in a shard of glass from the broken door. It was distorted and fractured. Is that really me? she wondered. Or is that the real Rose, trapped behind the glass, screaming to be let out?

"Maybe this is the hallucination. Maybe Dad's alive, and this... this is the nightmare."

The words hung in the air, another piece of broken glass added to the kaleidoscope of her shattered reality. Rose's mind raced, trying to make sense of a world that no longer followed any rules she understood.

David stood, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Rose, listen to me. You're not alone in this. We're here for you. Me, Jamaal, Cory... we're all here."

But Rose was lost in her fractured reality. Memories flashed through her mind, a whirlwind of moments she couldn't trust anymore. Each one was a shard of glass, beautiful and dangerous:

Dad on the balcony after the new year. He looked healthy; he looked alive. He said he would train me. Was that real? Or was my grieving mind giving me what I thought I needed?

Dad, on Valentine’s Day after she lost it on Valentine’s Day at David for everything with Arthur Pleasant. A figment of her imagination? A desperate attempt to feel his support?

Dad, on the phone, after Pleasant attacked David. Someone there to console her?

Her father supporting her in taking Adeline with her to Europe. A hopeful thought?

"I can't... I can't do this," Rose gasped, her chest heaving as panic clawed at her throat. The world assaulted her senses—too sharp, too bright. Every sensation amplified: the wind on her skin, the taste of salt in the air, the pounding of her own heart. It overwhelmed her, a sensory onslaught threatening to shatter what little composure she had left.

"How do I live with this? All the pain I've put her through?" The questions tumbled out, each a jagged shard she had to navigate. "How do I tell her Mommy's just sick? That I thought Grandpa was still alive, but it was all…"

She couldn't finish. The word "lies" lodged in her throat, another piece of glass she couldn't swallow.

David stepped closer, his voice low and soothing. "You haven't been lying, Rose. You've been coping the only way you knew how."

But Rose wasn't listening. She was unraveling, years of repressed grief and trauma bursting forth like a dam finally giving way. The flood of emotions overwhelmed her, each feeling a shard of glass cutting into her soul.

"I'm broken, David," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm so fucking broken."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Rose collapsed into David's arms. Her sobs echoed across the balcony—a primal sound of loss and confusion. It was the keening of a wounded animal, the cry of a child lost in the dark.

And as David held her, murmuring words of comfort she couldn't hear, Rose felt herself fracturing further. Reality and fantasy blurred, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The world around her became a kaleidoscope of broken glass, each shard reflecting a different version of reality.

She didn't know which one to believe anymore.

III - Week of Colossus 2023

Rose's mouth went dry, her throat constricting. Her bottom lip quivered, the mask of determination slipping to reveal raw pain underneath.

David didn't need to hear her answer. The silence spoke volumes. But as he opened his mouth, something in Rose's eyes changed. The pain crystallized into something harder, sharper.

"You knew," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You knew everything, didn't you?"

David stepped back, his face a mixture of concern and guilt. "Rose, I—"

"Don't," she spat. "Don't you dare try to explain. You knew Dad was dying. You knew about his plan. You knew everything, and you kept it from me!"

Her voice rose with each accusation, fury spilling from her. David stood there, absorbing each word like a physical blow.

"Rose, please, try to understand. Your father—"

"My father?" Rose laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Don't you dare speak about my father. You lost that right when you decided to play God with my life!"

She advanced on him, eyes blazing. "Did you two have fun, David? Plotting behind my back, deciding what's best for poor, fragile Rose? Did it make you feel important, being in on the big secret?"

David's face crumpled, the weight of his decisions visible. "It wasn't like that, Rose. We were trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Rose's voice cracked. "By lying to me? By robbing me of the chance to say goodbye to my father while he was still here?"

She turned away, hands clenched. "Do you have any idea what this feels like? To know that the two men I trusted most were conspiring behind me?"

David reached out uncertainly. "Rose, I'm so sorry. We never meant—"

She whirled back, eyes glistening. "Save it, David. Your intentions don't change anything. They don't change the fact that my father died, and you were going to help him do it."

She stormed into her bedroom and came back with a bag filled with pills, throwing it at David. He looked at it, then back at her.

A heavy silence fell between them. Finally, Rose spoke, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.

"You know where Dad would want me to be right now?" she asked. "In the ring. Wrestling. That's what he did when Mom died, and that's what I'm going to do now."

"Rose, you can't be serious. After everything that's happened—"

"After everything that's happened," Rose cut in, "I need this more than ever. You don't get to make decisions for me anymore, David. Not you, not Dad, not anyone."

She moved towards her bag, movements sharp and purposeful. "I'm going to Colossus. I'm going to wrestle. And I'm going to win. Not for you, not for Dad, but for me." Before David could answer, she stormed to her bedroom, rage covering every inch of her body before she slammed her door shut.

IV - Present Day

Rose stalked her hotel room, each step a barely contained explosion of rage. Her fingers raked through her hair, nails scraping her scalp as if trying to claw out the doubt festering in her mind.

"I'm fucking done. Everything's crumbling and I can't—"

Don't you dare finish that pathetic thought. We're not some simpering weakling ready to throw in the towel. That's not us. That will never be us.

"Dawkins and his goddamn pineapples. It's like they're burrowing into my brain."

Pineapples? That's what's eating at you? Wake up. Dawkins is nothing but a sad, insecure little man desperately clinging to relevance. Embarrassed by being nothing more than a sperm-donor instead of stepping up and being a father. His fruit-based assault is as impotent as his ring skills.

"He made us look like fools. The whole world saw it."

The whole world saw him for the coward he is. Using props because he can't face us head-on. He's so terrified of a fair fight he's resorted to playground tactics.

"He's playing the victim card. Milking that injury for all it's worth."

His 'injury' is as fake as his commitment to this sport. He's spinning a narrative because he knows he can't beat us fairly. He's manipulating the crowd, the promoters, anyone who'll listen. And for what? To avoid facing the truth – that he's washed up, outclassed, and utterly outmatched.

"Maybe we did go too far. Maybe—"

Listen to yourself. This self-doubt bullshit ends now. We didn't go far enough. Dawkins wants to cry foul? Let's give him something to really whine about. Let's expose him for the fraud he is.

"I don't know if I have it in me anymore. Not after Ivan..."

Ivan thought he could break us with brute force. All he did was show the world how desperate he is. They’re trapped with fragile egos, so they resort to thuggery. And Dawkins? He's next on the chopping block.

Rose's hand went to her throat, phantom fingers still pressing against her windpipe. "He made me feel... powerless."

Powerless? No. He lit a fire in us. A raging inferno that's going to consume Dawkins and anyone else stupid enough to get in our way. Remember what we did to Stetson King? That was just a warm-up.

"That was... releasing."

It was justice. And it's just the beginning. Dawkins has no idea what's coming for him. We're going to dismantle him, piece by piece, in front of everyone.

"What if we can't follow through?"

Can't follow through? We're Rose. We don't back down. We don't give up. Dawkins is nothing but an obstacle, and we crush obstacles.

"The pressure is crushing me."

The pressure ignites us. Fuels us. Dawkins wants to talk about what's coming to him? We'll show him. We'll show everyone. They think they've seen us at our best? They haven't seen anything yet.

"I just want it to stop. All of it."

Stop? We're just getting started. Ivan, Dawkins, they've awakened something they can't control. We're going to tear through this industry like a force of nature. They wanted a villain? We'll give them a goddamn apocalypse.

"What if we're the ones who end up broken?"

We don't break. We shatter others. That's who we are. That's who we've always been. Dawkins, Ivan, the whole fucking roster – they're about to learn what true defeat feels like.

As the internal war raged, Rose's eyes blazed with cold fury. The voice of doubt withered, consumed by an inferno of rage and determination that would reduce everything in its path to ashes.

V - Week of Colossus 2023

The air grew thick as David stood frozen outside Rose's door. The soft click of the latch was a gunshot in the silence, the final bullet in an execution he'd helped orchestrate.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Then came the first crash.

Glass splintered, a crystalline scream tearing through the stillness. David flinched, his body jerking as if the shards had sliced into his own flesh. His fingers clawed at the doorframe as the tempest of Rose's anguish began to howl.

The cacophony swelled, a symphony of destruction conducted by raw, unfiltered pain. Each impact reverberated through the walls, through David's bones, painting vivid images of devastation:

A mirror exploding, Rose's fractured reflection multiplying infinitely as she hurled herself against her own image.

A lamp shattering, darkness blooming in its wake as Rose tried to extinguish the light that exposed her vulnerability.

Picture frames splintering, memories distorted and torn as Rose's faith in those captured moments crumbled.

David's knuckles bleached white, splinters burrowing into his palms. Blood welled, warm and slick, a pitiful echo of the emotional hemorrhage happening just feet away. He could taste copper on his tongue, having bitten through his lip in a desperate attempt to stay silent, to not offer comfort he had no right to give.

His muscles screamed to move, to burst through that door and gather Rose's broken pieces. But the weight of his betrayal anchored him in place, each lie he'd told, each truth he'd hidden, now chains binding him to this spot.

A guttural howl pierced through the chaos, raw and primal. It was the sound of a heart being torn apart, of trust evaporating like mist in harsh sunlight. David's chest constricted, lungs burning as he forgot how to breathe.

Then came a new sound – flesh and bone colliding with unforgiving wood. A dull, meaty thud that spoke of self-destruction, of pain turned inward when there was nowhere else for it to go. The sudden silence that followed was deafening, a void that threatened to swallow them both.

David strained his ears, desperate for any sign of life. The faintest whimper drifted through the door, so fragile it might have been imagined. It was the sound of a spirit crushed, of a strong woman reduced to something small and wounded.

Tears burned David's eyes as he finally retreated. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, the weight of his complicity threatening to drag him under. He closed his own door, the soft click an echo of Rose's earlier action – a period at the end of a sentence neither of them could ever take back.

In the darkness of his room, David slid to the floor. The taste of blood filled his mouth, mingling with the salt of silent tears. He pressed his forehead to his knees and allowed himself to break, shoulders shaking with the force of soundless sobs.

Because he knew, with a certainty that carved itself into his soul, that nothing would ever be the same again.