Worth

“You’re sure about this?” you ask Brooke as you stare at her suggestion for what to buy Tanya as a small token of appreciation. “Positive. She’s going to love it, I promise.” Brooke tells you.

“Wouldn’t she have one of these already if it’s her favorite?” you reply. “She reups on these every year, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t bought one for this year, since she usually buys these around Christmas.” Brooke tells you.

“Alright. I trust you.” You tell Brooke, and she just smiles back.

“Would that be all, sir?” the salesperson asks you.

“What about you Brooke? I’d like to buy you something too as a thank you for helping me with this.” you tell her.

“A cup of coffee would be enough, Jay. Save these tokens of appreciation for your girlfriends.” Brooke tells you. The lady helping you out raises an eyebrow at that sentence, but professional enough not to ask about it. She is trying to make a sale after all. “Right. I guess I know where we’re going next.” you tell Brooke.

You address the salesperson that what Brooke picked out would be all that you’re buying and she takes it to the counter for them to ring up. After you exit the store, you and Brooke make your way to a cozy coffee shop nearby for some coffee and pastries.

“I’ll never understand the hype women have about make-up.” you tell Brooke as you take a bite of your donut, discussing your gift purchase for Tanya, which was what Brooke described as a nude eyeshadow palette that Tanya uses almost everyday.

“You’re not meant to understand it, Jay. You’re just meant to appreciate it when we put it on.” Brooke quips back.

“I prefer a more natural look, I guess.” you explain to Brooke, who just snickers at your naivete.

“That’s because you’re surrounded by natural beauties. Stella? Gorgeous. Cassie? Gorgeous. Tanya? Gorgeous. So, of course you’d think something like that. For us less naturally inclined, makeup’s a huge help.” Brooke tells you, once again hinting at her negative outlook of her outward appearance.

You put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “Hey, you want to talk about it?” you ask her.

“Talk about what?” Brooke asks back.

“It just seems like you’re having a tough time with how you perceive yourself.” you tell her, pure concern in your voice.

“No, no. I’m sorry if it seems that way. I know I sound insecure, probably because I am, but I swear it doesn’t bother me as much as I probably make it sound. Just think of it as self-deprecation more than anything.” Brooke tells you.

“When did you start feeling insecure about it?” you ask her.

“When do most insecurities start?” Brooke asks back, as if the answer was obvious.

“High school?” you ask her, and she just nods while she takes a sip of her coffee. “You’re going to let the opinions of a bunch of teenagers affect you for the rest of your life?” you ask her a bit harshly.

“It’s not just from a bunch of teenagers though. It’s from life too. I feel like my life is just a bunch of examples of I’m not good looking enough, or charming enough, or witty enough, or something else I’m not enough of.” Brooke vents.

“Tell me about it then.” You encourage her.

“You really wanna know?” Brooke asks, unsure of your intentions. Maybe curious if you actually care or just want to pass the time and just want to use it as a topic for conversation. You rub the side of her arm, ensuring her that you really are willing to listen to her vent her negativity about herself.

“Well, like you guessed, it started in high school. Typical overweight being bullied story you know? I don’t want to get into the details of that since I’ve made my peace with it. I know I’m not that fat little girl anymore, but I also know I had to work so fucking hard to get rid of those negative voices in my head and turn them into motivation to never get back to that point again.” Brooke starts, and you don’t interrupt her as you want to just let her vent.

“Then I started professional wrestling school after college and it started all over again. The training you go through breaks you down physically. Especially during the start. They’ll work you to the point of exhaustion a lot of times, and that’s just to test your physical fitness too. When you’re already doubting yourself physically if you can even be fit enough to be a professional wrestler, then they start training you the basics, and that’s when they start breaking you down mentally. They berate you for every small mistake, make you feel like you’ll never be a wrestler with how dumb you are at following simple instructions. They’ll make you want to quit… because they do. They want you to quit, because only those who don’t quit actually get to survive in the industry. The initial training is to test out how badly you want it, because if you don’t, you might as well not waste anyone’s time.” Brooke explains her time at wrestling school.

“That was the easy part about professional wrestling school though. The hard part was when they started critiquing your look and character. They’ll tell you that you have no ass, or no tits, or you have flab here or there, and your gear is going to look like shit on you if you don’t ‘fix’ those issues. One creative dig I got back then was my coach telling me to just go to Mexico and be a luchadore so I can at least hide my ugly ass face with a mask.” Brooke says with a laugh. You really didn’t find anything funny about it though, everything you’re hearing just sounds like bullying.

“A part of me kept those things in the back of my head because I at least had a goal I was focused on. I had this excuse that what they were saying was just for me to toughen up, which I did. I never let those things break me, or I never took them personally. It was just a part of training. Sticks and stones, you know? But they were there, in the back of my mind. Words and insults that creep up at your lowest moments.” Brooke admits before pausing to continue her story.

“Lowest moment came after I tried out for WWE, just to be a part of their developmental program. By that point, I’ve been an indy wrestler for a few years already. I thought I fixed everything that needed fixing. Got my ass looking good, got a boob job, dyed my hair blonde, put on some muscle, worked on my character, mic skills, in-ring skills, everything. I thought I did and had everything I needed to get a spot.” Brooke says before taking a deep breath.

“Obviously, I didn’t get it.” Brooke continues, then takes a sip of her coffee. “I asked them if there was anything to improve for when I try out again for next year, and you know what they told me? They said ‘look more like a model’.” Brooke recounts, venom in her voice as she imitated the person who told her that heartbreaking advice.

“I was fucking gutted. I looked at the ‘Divas’ they had at that time and started comparing myself to them and a part of me was like, am I not pretty enough? I sure as hell was a better wrestler than most of them. Sorry, I know that sounds arrogant—” you take Brooke’s hand, which stops her from apologizing about something she actually feels good about.

“So, yeah, I kinda lost my passion to be a wrestler after that. Shifted it into working out and nutrition since I got into that too when I started wrestling.” Brooke finishes recounting her tough journey in the professional wrestling industry, how she made the transition into being a personal trainer; and most importantly, how it affected her outlook on herself.

“Thanks for telling me all of that Brooke, I’m sure it was tough to go through that pain again just by recounting it. But you can’t keep beating yourself up over the opinions of bullies and assholes. You are beautiful. You don’t need to be insecure about that anymore. More than that, you’re a good person. You’ve motivated me to work out without having to bully me and make me feel like shit like your coaches did.” You start trying to cheer her up. Brooke just half-smiles at your attempt to build her back up, but you can see in her eyes that there’s still doubt there.

“Fuck, now I feel like I was fishing for that.” Brooke says with a **** laugh. “To be fair though, it wasn’t just my disappointment in wrestling. Remember when I said only those who don’t quit survive in the industry? It was on me for quitting.” Brooke says, going back to blaming herself, which is an all too familiar habit for you as well. You try to stop her from continuing, but she signals that she’s fine and that you don’t have to say anything.

“Don’t worry, I’ve made my peace with that too. Like I said before, I had an excuse that all of that was to toughen me up so I could be prepared for the industry. If I quit then, it just meant it wasn’t for me. If I kept grinding, maybe I would’ve gotten where I wanted to be. Especially now, when there’s a lot more people who are appreciative of women’s wrestling.” Brooke adds.

“If I was being honest, what really brings out my insecurities is just my shit luck at relationships.” Brooke says with a **** laugh. “Every time there’s just something that fucks it up. I’ve been cheated on, ghosted, cheated on, straight up just been told they would like me better as a fuck buddy instead of a girlfriend, cheated on, turned out the guy was gay and I was being used as a beard… you get the idea. Shit luck. One of those ‘cheated on’ ones was by a woman too, so my shit luck spans both genders.” Brooke says again with a **** laugh, you can clearly see it bothers her though.

“After some time, I just figured out it was me. Maybe I’m not cut out to be someone’s girlfriend, like I wasn’t cut out to be a wrestler. Maybe I don’t look like a model enough for the people I fell for. Whatever the reason was, I’m not worth being loyal to. I’m not enough. Fuck. I’m sorry, I have to go to the bathroom.” Brooke says before abruptly standing to leave the table.

You grab her by the hand to stop her from leaving. “I… I know how that feels... To feel like you’re not enough.” you tell Brooke, who sits down again after you stopped her. “I went through that way of thinking when my ex-wife cheated on me too. Like I was partly to blame for her cheating on me. Tanya made me realize that even with everything I could provide, my ex-wife still wanted more… or maybe just someone else, or just something different. I don’t know. I’ve thought I’ve done enough to make my ex-wife happy and content... apparently, I didn’t. It was already too late before I realized it. Still, I blamed myself for it. I blamed myself for her actions. For her mistake.” you go on to say, before taking a deep breath. You look at Brooke and she’s listening intently, not wanting to interrupt you.

“It was Stella who told me that if I wanted to truly move on, it meant I had to stop unnecessarily blaming myself for the mistakes of another person. I’m still coping with that part. Bad habits die hard, you know? So I know this conversation isn’t going to immediately change your mind, and make you immediately stop thinking you’re not enough because the actions of other people made you think and feel that way for such a long time. I am saying this because it took other people telling me to stop and smell the roses to try and start coping in a more positive way. To look at silver linings from time to time.” you tell her, again pausing to take a deep breath and gather enough courage before continuing.

“We are enough for other people, Brooke. Maybe it’s them that just want too much.” you finish telling her.

Brooke is teary eyed, but she has an appreciative smile on her face. “Thanks Jay. I-uh… I really needed that.” Brooke says, before going for a hug. You return her hug and rub her back to comfort her further. As she breaks the hug from you, her hands linger on your shoulders as she stares you right in the eyes.

“I-uh… I still have to go to the bathroom. Be right back.” Brooke says before standing abruptly once more and leaving the table for the bathroom.

Fuck. Great afternoon chat topic doofus.

Before you could go **** yourself with your own mental problems, you get a phone call from Cassie.

“Hey Jay, where’re you and Brooke?”

“We’re at a place called Café Digne on Worthy. You guys finished shopping?”

“Yeah. We’ll meet—”

Cassie was cut off by someone grabbing the phone from her, from the sound of it.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

“Something happened.”