Chapter 3 is up! It's been a while. Apologies for the delay - life has a way of...getting in the way.
In this episode of The Spaces in Between, we find out what it takes to turn a distressed crop top-wearing himbo into a manic censorship cultist. Enjoy!
TW: implied/reference sexual harassment. Please proceed with caution.
Also available on ao3
The Spaces In Between - Chapter 1
The Spaces In Between - Chapter 2
The Spaces in Between - Chapter 3
June, 2000:
Dirty. That's how he felt. A dirty, itchy, grimey feeling had seeped into his pores that nothing could clean.
The feeling had been slowly creeping up on him for weeks. At first, he'd thought maybe it was just from all the sweat his body was producing from his matches. Nothing a post-match shower couldn't fix.
He'd scrubbed and scrubbed every inch of his body until he emerged from the shower steaming and angry red.
But the dirty feeling remained. In his skin, in his hair, in his fingernails. He didn't like it. He didn't like feeling like this.
He felt dirty, filthy, damaged. And the worst part was that he deserved to feel that way. He deserved it for not being good enough. For not being able to cut it in the WWF. It's why he was getting brutalized in his matches on Heat, it's why he was met with hazing and unwelcome advances in the locker room. It's why he was all alone.
It started out fine enough. Meanie was with him. They would do their little parodies and have a good laugh. It was the most fun he'd had in years. A fresh start from all the turmoil of the past few years. He was free. Free from the baggage of ECW. Free from all the surgeries and scars. Free from him.
For the first time in a long time, things started looking up for Stevie Richards.
Until they weren't.
He was used to being a pariah in the locker room. Used to being ignored, dismissed, and beaten up. It was par for the course in ECW. In a sea of shooters, badasses, and degenerates, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Too nerdy, too delicate, too weak. A dolphin swimming among sharks, he was once told. But the Land of Extreme was the land of misfit toys, and even "Raven's little bitchboy" would eventually find his own place among the rejects. At the heart of the chaos, there was also unity. Them against the world. One big happy, dysfunctional family.
But the Fed was a much bigger pond. Years of cutting his teeth in ECW, and even his brief stint in WCW could not prepare him for the shark-infested waters of the WWF. The land of the giants, where the apex predators ruled with absolute power. Even a clueless putz like himself could sense the thick air of tension that permeated the locker room.
There were some familiar faces, some not so much. But familiarity didn't matter. Who you were prior to stepping into Titan Towers didn't matter. Here, you're only as valuable as the Powers That Be perceived you at any given moment. A notion that everyone in the locker room was well acquainted with. There was no unity, no loyalty. One could drop dead and they'd scrape the blood and guts off the pavement and carry on as if nothing happened. On with the show. He'd seen it happen just weeks before he started with the company.
The knives were out in all directions, ready to cut throats. No friends, no allies.
Except for Meanie. His old friend who had stood by him through everything. Navigating the WWF was hard, but they could figure it out together.
Until Meanie was forced to leave. Rejected by the same system that sang his praises just months prior. No longer the flavor of the week. Poor Meanie. It wasn't fair.
Now he was truly alone. Left to fend for himself against the predators in the locker room. Subject to all kinds of torment. The leers that burned holes into him. The grimey hands that grabbed at his ass and pinched his bare hips. The passing comments.
"Such a pretty thing"
"I could use someone like you"
He really tried to be strong, to ignore them, but it was so hard.
'It's because you're weak, Richards. Stop being such a pussy. I can't always be there to save your sorry ass.'
The words of his ex echoed in his mind.
The older man was right, of course. He was weak and dirty and bad and wrong. He deserved it. He deserved all the bad things that happened to him. He deserved to be rejected by his family and his peers. He deserved to be abused by the man he loved. He deserved to have his neck broken, to have his vocal chords ripped out. He deserved to be ogled and prodded at like a piece of ribeye. He deserved to be broken and alone.
Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He was tired. So tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of being mistreated. Tired of feeling dirty and wrong.
He was tired of being Stevie Richards.
For the first time, in a long time, he got down on his knees and prayed.
"Please," he whispered. "I don't want this. I don't want to live like this.”
'It doesn't have to be this way.' a new voice made its presence known.
It stopped him in his tracks.
'You can make a change. Be born anew. Pure and free from sin.'
He wanted that. Wanted it so badly. Could he really have that?
A steely resolve settled over him. "What do I need to do? " he asked.
'Leave your life of sin behind. Follow the path of righteousness and all will fall into place.'
Yes, of course. It all made perfect sense. Sharp focused clarity seeped into his psyche like a laser. He was dirty because the world around him was dirty. He was in an industry full of drug addicts, degenerates, and violence. A product of his environment. That's why he felt so wrong inside.
But he could fix it. He could fix everything.
Darkness surrounded him. He could be the light.
He smiled through the tears. Suddenly, he felt imbued with a bright burst of energy. It felt so perfect, wonderful.
A shiny glimmer caught his eye.
The scissors on his nightstand.
The ones he used to cut his T-shirts, to show off his flesh to undeserving, perverted eyes.
'A powerful instrument shouldn't be used for such filth. They can find a new purpose now.' The voice echoed.
Of course! He knew what he needed to do.
Taking the scissors, he made his way to the bathroom.
He took a good look at his reflection. A dirty, broken man stared back. His long hair that he was told made him a pretty thing, suddenly felt very very heavy, weighing him down.
He took a moment to say goodbye to his old self. The clueless putz, so desperate for love, he looked for it in all the wrong places.
It was time to say goodbye to Stevie Richards.
The scissors rested in his hand. He raised them to his reflection.
*snip*
He could fix it. He knew he could.
*snip snip*
He could leave his old ways behind.
*snip snip snip*
He could make the change. He could be the change.
*snip snip snip snip*
He could make things right.
*snip snip snip snip snip*
With each snip, his soul sang with the newfound joy that emanated from him. It felt wonderful. Everything was so crystal clear. Soon, it would all fall into place.
He'd show them. He'd make them all see the light.
