"You want to surprise your girlfriend? Introduce her to your wife."

So yeah, it started over his girlfriend. His girlfriend who wasn't her, his wife. She'd called the number that was not yet a contact on his phone. She was ready to leave, all she needed was his signature on the divorce papers.

But once his hand landed swiftly across her cheek she decided to think it through once more. And then as he grabbed her shoulders from her leaning position against the chair and shook her like a ragdoll back and forth, her body limp with fear, she decided, no, she wouldn't leave. Of course, his voice and actions guided that decision along.

So she'd break her promise to herself. If she ever got hit by a man, no second chances, she was gone. No, instead she'd stick around.

She laid in bed that night, sleep not coming to her any time soon, his back turned to her, wondering what hurt her more. Her swollen cheek and bruised shoulders, or her broken heart?

She'd seen a lot of sleepless night with the suspiciousions of him cheating on her recently, wondering why else he would be so distant, so peace came to mind when, after another sleepless night, her alarm clock finally attempted to 'wake her up.'

Almost as if a zombie, she sat straight up, flinging her feet over the edge, got up, and immediately started down the stairs. This was becoming too much of a habit for her.

She got into the kitchen, 7:08 am, what to make him? Of course, she already knew the answer. Grits. Coffee. She made the real grits not the cheap kind that can be bought in a 12 pack, and just added with hot water.

She took her time, but by the time she was done, and had just gotten it into a bowl, he was stumbling down the steps, groggily. What in the hell is he doing, acting as if he's sleepy? I heard you snoring, jerk off, she thought to herself.

He sat down in the chair that she had made sure was right in front of her, faced away from her. She sat the grits down, worried but ready. And sure enough she was right to be feeling that.

"Grits? Really? You think I'm only good enough for grits? Thanks for the whole 2 minutes and piss I'm sure it took to make this shit!"

"I'm sorry honey, it's homemade, I was hoping you'd like it."

"Well, I don't. Take it up, and make me pancakes. Since I did suggest them last night."

Ah last night…

"Alright, sweetie, I'm sorry." He hadn't suggested pancakes, that didn't matter now though.

As she took his plate and the bowl of grits from the table he instantly started to go back to his newspaper. Completely unaware of the world around him, until he's burning, hot but saggy, something running down his face. Oh, what could it be? He starts to squirm. Trying to get up, trying to roll around, trying to shake the bowl off, wanting that damn heat gone.

With him yelling ferociously, she decided it was now or never, she took that pot and hit him upside the head with it.

It took all courage she had to do it, especially since she's not good with blood, so on the 2nd shot when a thing of blood flung onto her arm, she dropped the pot.

She goes to walk into the laundry room, about to leave, as she remembers she forgot something and made a quick trip back to the kitchen. As if he could have really heard her she bent down to his motionless body, now on the floor and screeched, "you didn't ask for no damn pancakes!"

Chapter 2:

The longest drive of her life was to the police station that day. Some idiot had been texting and crashed, and yes, they were fine, but due to the extra 45 minutes in the car she got bored to the point to call her friend, Stephanie McMahon.

"Hey Debra."

"I just killed Steve and now there's a traffic jam, what do I do?"

There was a pause. She was anticipating, fearing her friend's response. Come on Stephanie, I'm nervous, I need a friend, she thought to herself.

"Did that boy beat you?"

"You bet your ass he did!"

"I never did trust him."

"It's fine, I took care of that son of a bitch."

"Good, good. There's a traffic jam you say?"

"Yeah, some idiot was on there phone when they should have been looking at the road… and well now I'm in a traffic jam."

"Yeah, be a hypocrite. You go on about keeping your eyes on the road, not your phone and now you're here talking to me?"

"Well duh, it's because of this damn traffic I'm even talking to you right now! Besides, I'm talking to you on the blu - tooth. I'm not even looking at the phone. And when I called you it'd been 5 minutes, literally since I'd moved. Hey, look at that! Another 5 minutes and I'm still in the same spot!"

"Duh dumb ass, I'm not that stupid, I was just being a smart ass."

"Whatever."

"You want to know what to do? Exactly what you're doing. Whatever he did to you, you defended yourself. I'm not going to lie, I do question your judgment at times, but when it comes to defending yourself, I've never worried about you-"

"Oh, thank you buddy!"

"The reason I've never worried, Debra is because, I know you too well by now to think you wouldn't fight to the death, the death of your opponent that is, to defend yourself. I see what you can do, I hear what you want for yourself. You're not one to be taken advantage of. Whether a man slaps you, a woman, a child, a cat. Though don't kill a child or cat, that reflects badly on you and then me because I hang out with you. And that's what you're gonna march your ass down to that police station and do! Traffic? Well, that just gives you time to put the story together in case something looks iffy. I know you're not a murderer, but let's face it, you did murder."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Whatever." Stephanie said mocking Debra.

"You always make me feel better you know. I thought since I killed him and all he did was…"

"No, no shut up. I don't want to hear it. He was a grown man, he had size and strength on you. Whatever he did to you is over. You defended yourself and I'm proud, congratulations. He made the mistake of thinking that you were just a woman. But, and of course you're not 'just a woman', you're Debra Marshall."

"What did you mean by tying any loose ends of my story up?"

"I didn't say that."

"You said something like that."

"You're a smart girl. You'll figure it out. Hopefully… I don't wanna have to hear about your experience in jail.

"No-"

Click. She hung up. How rude.

Chapter 3:

A usually 20 minute trip, was now lapping over to an hour and 15 minutes, when she finally got there. Luckily, by the time she'd gotten there she believed she'd known what Stephanie met by tying up her story.

She walked into the police station with dignity, with class, and truth be told a little bit of fear.

"Hello mam, how can we help you?"

"My husband is dead. He hurt me, physically of course, so I did my job of defending myself, and now need you to do yours."

The policeman was shocked. He just stood there for several minutes, mouth hung open in shock. Before finally, nervously, putting a finger up and choking out the words "Back in a minute…" and then running into a back room.

Debra lives in a small town in Texas, nothing fancy, so the jail was just a small few roomed building, in which she could hear the two men in the room right in front of her talking.

"She said what? You ever think she was pulling your strings…"

"I never thought of that sir."

Of course you didn't, I swear I will never put a newbie out front again. Now, come on, I'm sure we're walk right out there and she'll be gone… Oh my, Debra…"

"Hello mr. Metcalfe."

"Is this the lady you were…"

"Yes, sir, I am. And I'm serious. Listen, do what you have to do so you can go and pick up Steve 's body. But I don't like the idea of a dead body in y house. Please and thank you."

"Buck, I'll gather some of my best men, we're go out to the Austin household and check it out, make sure nothing's fishy, while you stay here and watch her. And you, little missy, you're going to sit back in my office with Buck until I get back. If what you're saying is true I'm gonna have to ask you some questions. If you're messing with us, imma have to call boss."

"Alright, see you when you get back."

Chapter 4:

"I already told you, it was in self defense. See, look at my face, go ahead try to wash this off, that's why, as I'm sure you notice I'm, for once not wearing any makeup. My shoulders," she said moving aside her tank top's straps, "see these bruises?"

"Ok, taking your word for it, it's obvious he beat you, but you're saying this morning was the first time he beat you?" She had changed the story. Just a little bit though.

"Yes."

"Just that and you viciously kill the man?"

"Oh come on, I doubt it would have been a one time occurrence, he was also cheating on me. That's why we started to argue all the time. Last night I was telling him how I wanted a divorce, all he had to do was pay child support for our son when born and I'd be out of his life. Whether he wanted to have his son in his life was his choice."

"Ok, why didn't you file a case."

"Why file a case when I can take care of myself by taking care of him?"

"With a steel pan?!"

"You go with what you got! Now, I am typically an eye for an eye person, but I was at a disadvantage on this particular situation. If I'd slapped him, he would have gotten up and decked me, probably killed ME!"

"What about the grits?

"We were having breakfast."

Steven Metcalfe, respected police chief, threw his hands up in defeat and leaned back in his chair. There was never any winning with this woman.

Epilogue:

After the trial was over, Debra Williams, soon to be Debra Marshall, was officially a free woman. Well, not completely. A lot of people didn't like her. She did kill who, in the public's eyes was a legend. Who cares if, in retrospect she was defending herself? The way most were seeing it was that if he hit her she should have left him, gotten a divorce. Did she have to KILL him?

She didn't regret standing up for herself, she wouldn't question how she'd done it, however. But it was done now, too late to go back or reconsider. If anything with a fan ever got to serious she'd just make them breakfast.

It hadn't taken long for the WWF to give her the boot long after the news of her killing Steve got out publicly.

Ironically enough, since Steve hadn't made a will yet, all his money, would go to her.

She wouldn't have to work another day in her life. She could go out to California, buy a mansion, all the better things in life. Go to all the grade A parties, concerts, events. She could have anything and everything. But she didn't want or wouldn't take any of that, except the money. That wasn't the type of girl she was.

She'd move back to Alabama, be with her friends, real friends, instead of the ones that left her after all the public controversy scandal shit. She'd be back with her family. It's not that she didn't like Texas, but it wasn't home, especially since that love that had once been there was dead, literally.

What she'd do once she got there, she didn't know. Maybe nothing. She was less than in the worker's woman mood, but she'd start working once again eventually. That's just the type of person she was, she is.

Not allowing yourself to be someone's punching bag is hard work, especially when your supposed prince Charming is dead.