Well, it was time.

I wrestled sober since 2018, but I still felt sluggish, like I lost my prime. I was convinced that I was a shell of my former self. The back that I used to land on finally became my downfall. Sure, I had a great match in March, but it was a fluke, right?

That match, on July 7th, made me love pro wrestling again. I’d swore I’d never admit it, but it was because of Carter and our other dance partner James Wright. Or his performance name James Pain.

James was a fine-looking British man. He was slender with long flowing hair that touched his shoulders. He had a ton of piercings, which worked with his punk gimmick. With the tattoos, the mean glare with his dark green eyes, and the patchy facial hair.

That afternoon, my body was whacked with anxiety. Yuya called me that morning to offer support. She said how proud she was of me, and she wished she had been there in person. She also mentioned my parents planned on watching the stream. I wanted to say something, but I knew the dreaded question would be brought up:

‘So, how are things?’

I knew this was the last show of the year for MMW. The protocols would be too costly for them, so they opted to shut things down after Independence Bash. I would be out of a job, only getting paid so much after rent and other bills. I couldn’t lie. I wouldn’t say everything was okay because it wasn’t. I was slowly slipping, and on top of that, I was the co-main event of the first MMW cross-gendered three-way dance. This would be live-streamed, on top of the 130 people allowed to see us in person at the small but passionate crowd in Minneapolis.

I was getting dressed, with people like Anthony chilling around in the locker room. He was the main event, defending his belt against the dastardly Karl Storm. It was 80’s Good Guy Vs. Foreign Heel shlock, but it worked with the local crowd. I was shocked when I was offered the match, but Carter, who I just recently hooked up with at the time, put a word in for me. I just wore my simple purple and gray tights, outlining the Rockstar logo at the front. I was looking at a small mirror and putting on make-up when I heard a remarkably different voice behind me.

“You put that on quite well.”

I turned to see James Pain, dressed in his attire. He wore black and blue, wearing overalls like his idol, the Hitman. He had his hair tied in a ponytail. I chuckled as I finished up my eyeliner. “Thanks. Took like, two years of practice.”

“Oh, I know. I gave up a long time ago.”

I turned to face him. “Really? Come on, James is it?”

He nodded, a smirk forming on his thin lips.

“It’s real easy. But never mind that, your look is sick regardless.”

James scoffed as he sat down, inviting me to do the same. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass, mate.”

I rolled my eyes. “I like people who can’t take compliments,” I said sarcastically with a smile.

Getting friendly, he tapped my shoulder. “Could say the same for you. What’s your name?”

“Kris.”

“Well, Kris, you excited for the match?”

My smile faltered, as Iying would prove useless. “You could say I lost my mojo a bit.”

“You’re kidding,” James’ mouth went wide, legit surprised that I’d lose confidence. “Your last match was fire.”

“Ah…” I scratched the back of my head, shying away at all the compliments I was getting. Especially from a stranger. “I didn’t feel good. Like I felt so sluggish.”

He nodded placing a hand on my shoulder it felt warm, strangely comforting. “I understand. I felt that way too when I was healing a few things…I learned to just let things go. Don’t think. Do.”

“Don’t think?” I scratched my stubble. All I ever did when I wrestled was think. I thought about the spots, the moves I made, the next dives, everything.

He seemed to have read my mind. “I know, easier said than done, but just watch, let it all happen, and go with your gut.” We heard the bell ring in the distance. “Almost call time, don’t let me kick your ass,” He taunted, taping my chest while giving me a shitty smirk.

I gave it back. “You wish.”

All three of us waited in guerrilla position, drinking water, looking at the crowd, masked up, but still happy to support the wrestler.

“Boss said no blood,” Carter said first, adjusting her America-themed gear, equipped with shiny tights and a sports bra draped with the flag. She even had a flag as her cape. She didn’t care for the gimmick, but it gave her bookings.

I groaned. “I know. Lame ass pendemic.”

James was jumping in place, warming up as he adjusted his leather jacket. “I even had a blade and everything.”

“You a blood boy too?” I teased. I knew from my days in a UK promotion that was an insult for hardcore wrestlers.

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He flipped me off, smiling. “Piss off, will ya? What, you wrestled in Britain or something?”

I nodded. “Lion’s Ring.”

“No shit, me too, for a time.”

Carter scoffed. “Hate to ruin your bonding, but you’re up, James.”

A few seconds after the bell rang, the announcer walked in the middle of the ring. “This next contest is a THREE-WAY DANCE!”

Jack Off Jill’s Losing His Touch came on. (He said he had to practically beg the promoter to ignore the lyrics.) James jumped out to a few boos, as he flashed the rock symbol, He kept a mean mug, smiling to the camera, and taunted every fan who jeered at him.

“Coming down to the ring, from Liverpool, England, weighing in at two hundred thirty-seven pounds…..JAAAAMESSSS PAAAINNNN!”

That charming smile never left his lips as he opened his arms to embrace the boos. To make the conservative crowd hate him just a little more. He took to the top rope and screamed at the top of his lungs. “I’M GOD.”

“Edgy,” I whispered in the back as I stretched.

Carter tied the flag cape tighter, leaning against the table. “Well, that’s the punk boy for you.”

“It’s kinda cute,” I responded, looking out as James removed his jacket.

She looked back at me with a look and rolled her eyes. “You must not want what’s under these tights.”

I scoffed as I smacked her ass, enjoying the feedback. “Showtime.”

Carter’s theme. Kickstart My Heart by Mötley Crüe popped next. She let the song rev for the first few seconds before hopping out with her million-dollar looks She saluted the crowd, which clapped to the music and chanted in full support of Hulwater’s very own.

“Next up, From Hulwater, Minnesota, weighing in at one hundred ten pounds…CAPTIIIIINNN CARRRTERRR!”

She had the crowd in the palm of her hands, with every movement she got a roar of praise. She did one last salute at the top rope and landed in the ring, waiting for me.

I was in the back, hearing my heartbeat like it wanted to escape my chest. I looked at my glasses. The circular shades I’ve worn since I was the Rockstar. When I was 19, I changed gimmicks and never looked back. The memories of my days in the UK hit me like a wave. My training, the fights with my father, the struggle, holding the North American Championship, the downfall, the pills, the shit I said high out of my mind…

My head hurt. I wanted to throw up when I remembered the hospital beds and the anger I felt at losing my career. I gripped my glasses and equipped them, whispering to my song, Famous by Muddle Of Mudd, came on.

I ain’t losing this moment again.

I walked out, hearing the warm reception from the crowd. This was another return match for me. Another chance to prove I hadn’t lost it. Anxiety wrapped my brain as I made my way to the ring, but I kept it under control, smirking and doing my usual fanfare.

“Lastly, from Oakland, California, weighing in at two hundred forty-two pounds…THEEE ROCKSTARRRRR!”

I removed my entrance gear and walked to my corner of the ring, taking looks at my opponents. The air felt thick like I was diving into the deep end on my first day of swimming. Just like that, the bell rang.

All three of us charged into the center. James was running too fast, allowing Carter to scoop him into a powerslam, rocking the ring. I stepped up to face the woman, letting the crowd get some anticipation. I promised I wouldn’t hold back, so I launched a forearm into her neck, crumpling her to the ground. Credit to her, she stood up and fired up her forearm, staggering me. She launched another and another, and one more for good measure. Once I was properly stunned, She sent me to the ropes, but I ducked her clothesline go her behind her. Once I was there, It was easy to grab her waist and fire her across the ring with a German suplex. She landed square on her shoulders and flipped.

James was right on me, hitting me with hard punches as I got up. I tried to block them, but it was no use. He kept the assault as he kicked me as I got into the corner. I pushed him away, but he responded with a dropkick, sending my back into the turnbuckle. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought, making me a little confident.

Carter snuck from behind and grabbed James, picking him up for a back suplex, putting the crowd in awe. I took a chance, running to bounce off the middle rope for my first springboard move since 2016. I launched off and spun in mid-air to connect her with a forearm uppercut, the impact rocking Carter’s chest. I landed and popped up, feeling the adrenaline rush through my body. I didn’t think, like what James said. I felt alive, and the crowd felt it as I shook my fists in excitement as I ran to the ropes for another springboard, hitting a backflip in midair and landing on both Carter and James with my moonsault. I kept up the high energy, feeding off the audience, and got James up while Carter rolled out of the ring. I threw him hard into the corners and kept killing him with wicked forearm uppercuts from post to post, feeling like I was 21 again, but admittedly a little gassed thanks to the smoking. On the last post, I dragged him out and picked him up in the suplex position, then floored him with a sit-out slam, completing the falcon arrow. I grabbed his legs to pin.

“One!...Two!...”

Kickout.

I was annoyed, but not surprised. I threw him off, but as I got up Carter was right there to launch a kick to the side of my head. I was stunned, and she took advantage by coming from behind to lock me in the full Nelson position and launching me over into a harsh dragon suplex, landing on the back of my head. James was quick once she got up herself, kicking Carter in the gut and lifting her up in a powerbomb position, only this time he slammed her on top of me, both of our bodies crashing into each other at an uncomfortably high speed. He kept her held, and did another ring-rocking powerbomb, sitting and keeping Carter for a pin but only getting a two count.

James got me up, but I countered with a forearm strike and a kick to the midsection, hitting him with a mean combo. He tried to punch me, but I dodged, countering with a flipping kick right on the neck. Once I got up, I wanted to punish the stunned punk some more by throwing him into the corner post shoulder first. I heard skin hit metal, but I gave him no break as I grabbed his (admittedly firm) ass to grab him into a huge German suplex, bridging into a pin.

“One…”

Carter rolled in, groggy, but was quick after hearing the count.

“Two…”

Desperate, she kicked me right in the dick, as my legs were right open. My knees buckled, falling as the pin broke, holding my equipment in pure agony. She threw James outside and dragged me near the corner of the ring. After that, it was time for Carter to perform her finisher. She went to the top rope and pointed to the crowd, smiling as she sucked in some air to recover. She jumped, pressing her knees to her chest while performing a backflip to complete the shooting star press, but she called it the Liberty Star Press. The move wasn’t complete, as I had my own knees up as she landed, slamming her ribs into my shins. As she rolled in pain, I got up and decided I needed to end things myself. I kicked her midsection to bend her over, then slid my arm underneath hers and grabbed her legs. Finally, I lifted her and dropped her right on her head to finish the package piledriver or my finisher, the No More Heroes. I ran to pin her, feeling the win.

“One!...Two!...”

James came in and launched a kendo stick right into my chest. I hadn’t taken a shot like that in a long time, so the pain was almost crippling. James didn’t stop, as he made my back and chest red with strike after strike until it broke. Carter tried to strike, but she was hit with his finisher, the Punk Kick, which is just a huge boot to the face. She flew across the ring, allowing James to pick me up, and attempt his Punk Kick. I dodged and had him into my grasp to hit a nasty No More Heroes. I crawled over, exhausted, for a pin.

“One…Two…Three!”

The bell rang, making my limbs feel like jelly when I stayed on top of James as the fans chanted and cheered at the amazing match. I panted, staring at the lights as I fully absorbed what I did in that match.

“I told you,” James whispered, laughing while sucking in as much air as he could. “You still got it.”

I smiled at him, tears in my eyes. He couldn’t help but smile back, surprisingly making my insides feel warm. I had to get up eventually to address the crowd. Standing in the center of the ring to feel the applause and appreciation from the fans. My story was no secret. The overdose was ugly and public. They didn’t see that man that night. The junky looking for a match. They saw me, Kris Knight. That’s what sparked my love of pro wrestling again. That’s what makes me want to perform. I did a bow and walked up, waving them off.

Carter showered me with kisses as we reached the back, proud of me. I was sure Yuya blew my phone up about the performance.

I hit the locker room with James. Before I said anything, I burst into tears, breaking down from all the emotion. On instinct, He rushed in to hug me. This man I barely knew, was kind enough to comfort me in my emotional episode. All I could muster was repeating thank you as I cried into his chest, my big arms wrapped around his waist. It was like I could tell him everything and it would be ok. I didn’t think about it too much, I just cried, letting it all out on his chest.

I recovered and apologized, offering to pay for dinner to reconcile.

“Would love to, but my flight is tonight. Sorry,” He said.

I shrugged, chuckling. “It’s all good man…Just don’t tell anybody about this.”

James laughed a bit back, pretending to weigh his options. “I won’t…If you give me your Instagram.”

“Deal.”

We exchanged usernames and he was off to catch a flight. I hoped to see him again. He was a good person. For now, I was thinking about celebrating with Carter…