Life's a deadly game
always threatening to maim
your heart and soul with tragedy
slice 'em up with butchery

 So I cry behind my hands
but smile for the fans
who scream and cheer
and it I'm lucky buy me beer
to wash away my sorrows

 I stare at the paper before me. God, I can't even write a simple poem! Man am I useless. I take another big gulp of the alcohol before me. A few more of these and I won't even be able to think. Not able to think. Remember. Exactly what I want.

 "Barkeep, another one!" I holler loudly, my words slurred. I'm already drunk. Not that it takes much to do that, especially considering how much heavier what I'm chugging down by the glass is than my usual light beer. I barely drink at all, really. When I do, it's a social thing. She and I would often go out, have a beer...

 Her image floods my mind. I whimper, resting my head on the bar so no one can see the tears in my eyes. I hate her. The bitch! How could she do this to me? She has one bad match, and I pay for it. She somehow blamed me because she lost the belt. It wasn't my fault! Maybe I threw her around a bit, but it's work! I can't refuse to do it or they'll fire me. Besides, it was Edge and Christian's interference that cost her the match. How can she blame me?

 Speaking of those two blonde idiots, here come the assholes now. They're laughing and hi-fiving each other. They've spotted me, and are swooping in like vultures. "Hi, babe," Christian drawls, stopping directly to my right. Edge stands directly on my other side, preventing any possible escape. God, I really don't need this tonight.

 "Well, you look nice," Edge says sarcastically, scanning over my slumped form. I'm wearing black jeans, dirty white sneakers, and a loose grey sweater. For once, my cleavage isn't jutting out of my clothes. I only do that on camera, and for her. Right now, I don't even want to look attractive. Edge looked over at Christian, a nasty grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "So nice we should take her back to our hotel room and 'cheer her up', eh Chris?"

 "But Edge," Christian responds, his voice dripping with what I would like to dub 'assholeosity', "don't you remember? We don't allow easy, slutty skanks in our room!"

 "Dude, I completely forgot!" Edge exclaims. He gives me a making smile. "Sorry sweety. Guess you'll just have to sleep here tonight!" Both of the idiots laugh loudly.

 "Uh-oh, here comes her pimp." Christian gestures towards the door, his nasty smile still spread across his face. "Let's shake a leg, dude," he says to Edge.

 "Let's go back to our room so I can screw you senseless," Edge growls, sweeping the smaller blonde into his arms and striding rapidly away, half-carrying his partner.

 I slump lower, not bothering to look and see who they were referring to. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and look up into the sympathetic eyes of Drew. "Honey, are you ok?" he asked softly.

 "Ok?" I snort. "Do I look ok?" I let my head fall, my forehead hitting the bar with a loud thump.

 "Sweetheart, let's get you out of here," Drew says softly, picking me up in his arms. He carries me out of the bar and to the elevator, where he punches the button for my floor. When the doors open, he carries me to my room and sets me down. He puts his hands on my shoulders and peers into my eyes. "Are you gonna be ok?" he asked softly. "Do you need me to stay?"

 "No, got back to Albert." I sigh, pulling my key out of my pocket. "Thanks Drew." He nods, then continues down the hall. I slide the key through the lock and push open the door. I have every intention of raiding the mini bar. I don't want to stop drinking until I pass out.

 "Well, you took fucking long enough!"

 I jump at the sound of her voice. Turning around, I see her sitting there, looking furious. "What are you doing here?" I demand, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.

 She crossed her arms, glaring at my through narrowed eyes. "Gee, what the hell could a girl want from her girlfriend at the end of the day? I wonder. I'm already pissed at you, so you better get your ass in bed now!"

 I gaped at her in shock. She can't be serious! I can't believe she has the nerve to come here tonight, after what she did to me in our locker room, after the cameras were shut off. I touch my cheek, wincing as my fingers brush across the bruise I've hidden beneath all my makeup. She blames me, she hits me, and now she's talking to me like a disobedient child! "What?" is all I manage to stammer around my outrage.

 "It's English, sweetheart. Take off your clothes and get in bed NOW!" she yells, still talking down to me.

 I shake my head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to sleep with you after what you did to me tonight?" I ask her, tears in my eyes.

 "Me, do to you??" she screams at me. "You cost my the fucking belt, you bitch! You've got a hell of a lot to make up to me, and sex is the least you can do!"

 "I have nothing to make up to you!" I scream. I am not a girl to just sit back and take this kind of crap. She can't treat me this way. "You are unbelievable! It was your own damn fault that you lost the belt, not mine!" I'm already crying through my angry words. God I'm so weak! I'm breaking down already.

 "You whore," she spits, grabbing my hair in her hand and twisting, making me cry out in pain. "How dare you try to blame me for your fuck up! Listen to me you little bitch, I OWN YOU. So you will apologize to me, and you will get in that bed and attempt to make up for being such a useless little slut."

 I shake my head, tears flowing down my cheeks. "NO," I choke out through my sobs. "I won't!"

 "Why you - " She glares angrily at me, raising her hand and slapping me hard across the face. "I'll teach you to say no to me, you little whore!" she screams, twisting her hand painfully in my hair so I can't get away.

 "No! Please!" I sob, trying desperately to get away, but her hold on my is too strong. She raises her hand and hits me again, punching me in the face again, then delivering a sharp kick to my stomach. I fall to the floor coughing, gasping for breath. She grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet, hurling me against the wall. While I sob and try to catch my breath, she grabs my arms and pins them against the wall with one hand. With the other hand she snatches the hem of my sweater and yanks it up over my chest, shoving the soft fabric into my mouth.

 I shake my head frantically, struggling harder as her fingers trail over my breasts, which are jutting out of my push-up bra as always. "You stop this right now!" she screams, slapping me in the face. "I own you and you fucking know it! I own these." She cups my breast in her free hand, squeezing it possessively. She leans down and runs her tongue over the curve of my breast. I shudder, struggling to escape her hold. It's not like she hasn't touched me this way before, but this time it just feels wrong. I don't want her or this. Not after the way she treated me. Not after she hit me. But she won't listen when I say no, and I can't stop her. I try to scream, but the cloth in my mouth muffles the noise. She slides her hand over my skin, up to the clasp of my bra, between my breasts. She undoes the clasp, my breast springing free as they are released from the fabric.

 I whimper and try to kick at her with my legs, earning myself another harsh slap. "Shut up bitch, you know you want this," she growls, kneading one breast with her hand and lowering her mouth to the other. I struggle helplessly as she sucks on it, desperate to get away from her.

 Suddenly, she is yanked away from me, falling back onto the floor. I can hear another woman's screaming voice, but I'm crying too hard to see anything. I sink down onto the floor, wrapping my arms around my chest to cover myself, sobbing uncontrollably. I can hear her screaming, arguing with the other woman. Then the door slams, and I don't hear her voice anymore.

 A hand touches my back, making me whimper and try to move away. "Shh, it's ok sweetheart," says a gentle voice. She gently takes the bottom of my sweater and pulls it back down, over my chest. Her hand remains lightly on my back, not threatening, but rather, comforting. I finally get the courage to look up at her, gasping and backing away when I see who it is. We are far from being friends.

 "Honey, it's ok, I'm not gonna hurt you," she tells me softly. I just stare at her, not knowing what to think. Why is she here, and why would she save me? Why would she care? She hates me. "Are you ok?" she asks me, her eyes soft and caring. I've never seen this side of her before; hell, I didn't think it existed! She always plays the bitch on camera, and that's the way I've always seen her.

 I open my mouth the respond, but I'm too upset to form words. Instead, I throw myself into her arms, sobbing on her shoulder. She wraps her arms around me, rocking me gently as I cry. Is this really the same woman I've seen before? This soft, caring, gentle woman, who came to my rescue? Could this really be her?

 "Trish." I look up at her, my sobs having abated at last. She's beautiful, although I've never noticed it before. And those eyes - so deep, so rich - how did I never see this side of her? Suddenly, I don't care why she's here, I'm just glad she is. "It's going to be ok, Trish, Lita won't hurt you anymore," she promises me softly.

 I still can't find words, but I nod my head. I believe her, and somehow, her promise makes me feel a bit better. I want out of the hell I've been living in, and she may be just the person to pull me out, the way she saved me just a few minutes ago. If anyone can help me, it's her, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley.


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