fear
n.

1.
A feeling of agitation and anxiety caused by the presence or iminence of danger.
A state or condition marked by this feeling: living in fear.
2. A feeling of disquiet or apprehension: a fear of looking foolish.
3. Extreme reverence or awe, as toward a supreme power.
4. A reason for dread or apprehension: Being alone is my greatest fear.



The room was filled with people there for the same reasons, some clad in leather, some clad in black and others clad in tight denim as the sounds from the loud, pulsating speakers engulfed them, hypnotising them, like a herd to the kill. They stood and they worshipped as if the vocals where words of salvation. The man on stage was tall, his muscular shoulders glistening under the heat of the large overhead lighting system, his bare torso inked with various designs describing his lifestyle as he grabbed the microphone and fell to his knees in front of his congregation, soaking in their adoration.

Kendell stood there, unfazed, drink in one hand cigarette in the other watching the man, an amused smirk on her face as she brought the glass of vodka and ice to her lips, pouring the bitter liquor down her throat. It had become a pre-match routine. While others where busting their asses in the gym training she was out relaxing with a drink, letting tomorrow nights events slip her mind. She leaned against the bar, letting the ash from her cigarette fall on the tiled floor. Her long shapely legs where covered in dark denim while a dark t-shirt clung to her chest and torso, the Pink Floyd refracting prism visible on the front. She placed her cigarette in the ash trey on the alcohol stained bar, watching as the lead singer of the band wrapped up, bowing and immersing himself in the crowds applause before walking off stage. Kendell could barely hear herself think, the crowds applause drowning out her own thoughts. She decided she had had enough of a crowd that gave a standing ovation to a band that sounded like the drummer was Phil Collins.

She pushed her way through the drones of sweaty, unhygienic men, and women who pretended to like music in hopes of getting themselves a rock star husband or at least a good deep dickin’. Before she could move any further, however, she felt a strong hand on her arm. She turned around, half curious, half ready to floor whoever was man handling her. In front of her stood the singer who just a few moments before had been busy relishing in the attention from the crowd.

Dylan: “Leaving so soon?”

Kendell Smith: “I’d be leaving sooner if you weren’t attached to my arm.”

A spark of amusement glistened in his green eyes as he laughed.

Dylan: “I’m sorry for being so forward I just felt it would be polite of me to buy a drink for the best looking woman in the place.”

Kendell Smith: “Is this where I’m supposed to swoon? I’m sorry but I don’t fuck Lemmy wannabes who front bands that sound like Slipknot on speed.”

Her obvious attempts to get rid of him weren’t working in fact much to her annoyance they seemed to be encouraging him to try harder.

Dylan: “C’mon, one drink? I’m not trying to get you on your knees I just want to sit in the company of someone who doesn’t have hair on their upper lip.”

She thought about it for a second, deciding this could be a quite amusing experience, so she let him take her by the hand and lead her across the bar through the jealous glares of the women around her. She couldn’t see the fascination with this man.

Kendell Smith: “I suppose women will fuck anything once they’re in a band.”

Dylan: “Sorry? I couldn’t hear you?”

Kendell Smith: “I said double whiskey, on crushed ice.”

He looked back at her over his shoulder smiling, before letting go of her hand and leaning on the bar, shouting his order at the barman over the loud music. She decided he was quite good looking, although not her type she could see why he might assume he could have every woman in here. The chances where he could, but he had chose the one woman he couldn’t. The men Kendell slept with had one of two things, Power or something she wanted, Dylan however had neither. He turned to face her again, passing her drink to her and picking his bottle of Budweiser up from the bar. Budweiser, no wonder she didn’t like him. He took her by the hand and began to lead her to the other side of the bar where a small table sat in the corner, a red velvet rope blocking it off to the rest of the crowd. She looked at the red velvet rope and cocked her eyebrow, this was hardly Whiskey a Go Go, whoever put the velvet rope in place must have had a sense of humour.

Taking her hand he directed her into the booth ahead of him before sliding in beside her, casually draping his arm across the back of the chair where she sat.

Dylan: “So what’s your name?”

Kendell Smith: “Jessica…”

Dylan: “Pretty name for a pretty girl. My names Dylan, I was named after Bob Dylan.”

Kendell Smith: “How interesting.”

He must have missed the sarcasm in her voice and her bright blue eyes rolling up into her head because he continued to go into full detail of how his mother and father where hippies in the 60s and even hung out with Jimi Hendrix, he said he was called Dylan because his mother went into labour while she was watching The Byrds playing live. She held back all her urge to turn and tell him she didn’t give a shit where he was born, instead opting to take a large sip of her whiskey.

Dylan: “So, do you come here often?”

Everything about him was so cliché that she wanted to throw up on his fake vintage Zeppelin t-shirt.

Kendell Smith: “First time, it was close to the hotel.”

Dylan: “Hotel? So you’re not from around here then?”

Kendell Smith: “I would have assumed my New York accent gave that away.”

He laughed again, she wasn’t sure why she was laughing, any man with half a brain would realise at this stage that he was getting no where and he just wasted twelve dollars on a drink.

Dylan: “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

Kendell Smith: “Business.”

Dylan: “Oh you travel with work? Are you like a stewardess, you’re hot enough to be.”

His verbal diarrhoea made her visibly cringe.

Kendell Smith: “No. I’m a wrestler.”

Dylan: “Wow... a wrestler huh? Like Hulk Hogan?”

Kendell Smith: “….sure, why not.”

Dylan: “That’s really cool. I didn’t know women could wrestle. So, could you like, kick my ass and stuff?”

Kendell Smith: “Probably…”

He laughed again, letting his arm slide from the back of the chair and across her shoulders. She looked at him then looked at his hand resting on her shoulder, then back at him again. He was too busy drinking his bottle of Budweiser to notice her disapproving glare.

Dylan: “So you wanna get out of here?”

Not with you.

She picked up her drink and downed it in one. Standing up and pushing past him to the outside of the table while he sat there looking up at her. She stared back at him apathetically holding back what she really wanted to say and instead saying;

Kendell Smith: “Let’s go…”

He smiled, confident as to where the night was heading, while he stood up from the table and took her by the hand. She led him across the floor towards the exit, once again having to bump off the crowd of sweaty people. She pushed the door open, the cold night air enveloping her, stinging the bare skin on her arms like thousands of tiny little daggers.

Dylan: “We can take my car, I have an old mustang, she’s a beast you’ll love her.”

Kendell Smith: “I’d rather take mine.”

Before he could argue the valet pulled up in Kendell’s car. She watched as Dylan’s face dropped, staring at the silver Lamborghini Diablo as the moon reflecting off its sleek body. Kendell wasn’t one to waste time, as soon as Dr. Michael Hart had signed the contract she went straight to her lawyer’s office to finish off the paper work, taking a cash advance from her inheritance and buying herself a ‘Well Done avoiding Therapy’ present. She walked over to the driver’s side of the car and stood by the open door.

Kendell Smith: “Get in.”

He looked at her for a second, still not willing to believe that this car was hers, watching as she slid into the drivers seat and closed the door after her. He hesitated before sliding up the passenger side door and getting in to the car beside her.

Dylan: “Wow… this is one nice piece of machinery, wrestling must pay well.”

She sniggered.

Kendell Smith: “Well killing people has its good points apparently.”

The engine of the impressive sports car howled like a wolf as she pressed her foot on the gas causing the car to jerk forward. The stereo system began to blast, Janis Joplin drowning out the sound of the cars engine.

Dylan: “I love the sound this beauty makes when it takes off…”

Kendell Smith: “Yea it’s the flux capacitor.”

Dylan: “I think I have one of those in my mustang, sounds nothing like this beauty though.”

She couldn’t believe his stupidity. Did he really believe her car contained a flux capacitor? Did he even know that it was the fictional piece of equipment that made time travel possible in the De Loreon from Back to the Future? He was almost as stupid as Billy West believing he could beat her in the ring.

Kendell Smith: “Ok Marty McFly I better get you home before you almost screw your own mom.”

Dylan: “Huh?...”

Kendell Smith: “Never mind.”

He leaned across the car, stroking the side of her face with his thumb, the affectionate males mating call.

Dylan: “I like you Jessica, you’re different.”

Kendell Smith: “Oh little do you know.”

Dylan: “So tell me a bit about you?”

Kendell Smith: “Such as? And please don’t ask me do I spit or swallow I’ve already been asked that once this week.”

He stopped for a second, contemplating a reply to this before opting to ignore it and continuing on with his interrogating.

Dylan: “So tell me a bit about your wrestling?”

Kendell Smith: “What do you want to know?”

Dylan: “I don’t know, what’s it like I guess?”

Kendell Smith: “It’s no walk in the park.”

Dylan: “Must be harder for you being a female and all.”

She gritted her teeth, his words stinging her ear drums. She hated that, blatant sexism and he was too dumb to even realise it. His ignorance and the ignorance of people just like him was why things where the way they where. Automatically assuming that in a World where braun mattered most a woman would fail, but she would prove him wrong, she would prove them all wrong. She would prove to those who doubt her and her abilities that despite braun being a factor in wrestling, brains still triumphed. Her own anger had her pressing down harder on the gas without realizing.

Dylan: “Uh… maybe you should slow down. You’ve been drinking.”

But she didn’t hear him, she continued to drive fast ignoring him, forgetting that the dumb wannabe rock star was even there, instead she stared dead ahead through the windscreen.

Kendell Smith: “You know what annoys me Dylan? You know what really gets under my skin? Men, all men. Don’t get me wrong, every now and then every woman needs to be debased but men need to realise that this is a woman’s World, and they are just pawns in our game. They are useless unless we need them to be anything but.”

Dylan: “Well yea but… can you slow down?”

Kendell Smith: “You see Dylan, when you’ve been around the block as much as I have you start to realise certain things about men. You start to realise that they are in fact all the same, every one of them. Sure, they might not appear to be at first but deep down they all spawn from the same core. Given half the chance a man will take you and destroy you, but not me, and you know why Dylan?”

Dylan: “No…”

Kendell Smith: “Because I’m too fucking smart. I’m what some people call a sociopath Dylan. Sociopaths are interested only in their personal needs and desires, without concern for the effects of their behaviour on others. I live for me and I live life by my rules.”

The car revved loudly as Kendell grabbed the wheel and turned it suddenly causing the care to skid along the damp ground, the rubber of the tires screeching as the car veered around the sharp street corner. The look on Dylan’s face changed suddenly from that of worry to absolute fear. She turned to him laughing.

Dylan: “Keep your eyes on the road you crazy bitch!”

Kendell Smith: “Aw Dylan, are you scared? Let me tell you a secret about fear.”

She brought one finger to her lips, keeping one hand on the stirring wheel of the car and glancing at him from the corner of her blue eyes before whispering;

Kendell Smith: “It’s all in your mind. You see, my dumb rock star friend, we only fear things that our minds allow us to fear. Are you going to be another drone that lives his life sheltered and always one step behind because of your fears? Letting go of your fears allows you to have freedom, it allows you to finally start living life the way you want to. Do you think I go into that wrestling ring week in week out afraid in case some Neanderthal man is going to beat the living crap out of me? Of course I don’t! If I did do you think it would be possible for me to go up against Stryfe and Billy West tomorrow night?”

Dylan: “Listen, I just wanna go home.”

This wasn’t the answer she was looking for and she began to speed up, almost throwing them both backwards in their seats. Dylan looked as if where about to burst into tears, where as Kendell showed no emotion, her eyes grey and empty, her facial expression indifferent.

Kendell Smith: “You see Dylan, that’s not the answer I was looking for. I will go into that ring tomorrow and I will take on the washed up hall of famer, back to relish in the glory he once had before Jason Lee took the title he oh so cherished title. He should have stayed retired, at least that way he would not have had to worry about being beaten by a girl, but at least I’ve given him a couple of months material in return. And as for Billy West, he should be happy he even gets to put his hand on a female, with a face like that I’m surprised his own hand wants to touch him. But before I do any of this I need you to answer one simple question for me Dylan…. Are you still afraid?”

Before the words had even left her mouth she grabbed the hand break, pulling it hard so that the car veered down the street, spinning, the screech of the tires almost deafening. Dylan screamed, closing his eyes and gripping on to the chair as if it where going to save his life. Kendell however sat back laughing, taking her hands off the wheel and letting the car spin along the wet street before coming to a sudden halt.

She watched as Dylan checked, making sure he was all in one piece before hurrying to take of his seatbelt and get out of the car, the door sliding upwards as he got out of the car onto the dark street.

Dylan: “What the fuck!? You could have killed us?! What the hell was that?! Are you fucking insane?!”

Kendell Smith: “No sweetheart, I’m just fearless and every once in a while I like to look the devil in the eyes and laugh.”