Prologue:
You had to have lived under a rock not to know Rabbit Hole—everyone from toddlers to senior citizens knew about the prestigious and classy erotica magazine with its very own Mr. Gatsby; otherwise known as the luckiest twenty-something-year-old in the world, Dean Ambrose. A luxurious life surrounded by beautiful men and women; a full staff to wait on you hand and foot, to attend to your every need no matter how big or small; not to mention the mansion that was tucked away behind lush greens and an iron gate. Who wouldn't want that life?
For me, Seth Rollins, a life like that was something I could only dream of. I wasn't particularly attractive, I was average compared to some of the "bunnies," as the models are called. I was less than average, really. Although, for the modern Iowa teenager? Yeah, I guess you could say I was alright looking. If you found a big nose, thick rimmed glasses, and hair that was two different colors attractive. So how could I ever think I had a chance of getting invited to Wonderland? I have asked myself that question every day since I left.
Chapter One:
Do you know what being eighteen gets you in the real world? Lung cancer. You can't do anything at eighteen expect buy your own cigarettes and the government is even trying to take away that! Sure, you can join the army and get blown up, you can vote for presidents that you don't know anything about because you barely scraped by in senior year government class and don't know enough to understand politics, but where is the fun in that? Buying porn isn't even a fun, sacred rite of passage anymore because that shit has been free on the internet and available to you for years—Plus at eighteen, jerking off just isn't as fun as it used to be.
I couldn't believe that one day I'd live to regret the words I'd uttered to my parents so many times during silly arguments; "I can't wait until I'm eighteen and I can move out!" I would shout childishly, a stamp of my foot to really set a dramatic tone on things. Oh, how foolish I had been. What a laugh they must have had behind my back. Do you know what else you can't do at eighteen? Rent an apartment; because at that point you haven't even established enough credit to get past the check and most complexes' require you to be twenty-one to even sign the lease.
So here I am walking around the streets of Los Angeles with childish anger and the fear of my parents smirking faces and their taunting I told you so's being the only thing fueling my fire. I'm barely scraping by on rent for an apartment that is not worth the price (and probably illegal for me to even have, considering how sketchy the processes was and that I'm only ever allowed to pay in cash) but at least I'm sticking it to the man and proving my parents wrong—even if it is at the expense of my meth dealing roommate stealing all my shit and eating all my food.
I always thought Los Angeles was supposed to be this beautiful place with celebrities strolling around in the latest trends, paparazzi on every corner, maybe even a few scandals happening right before my very eyes. The truth was that Los Angeles was kind of trashy, and not in the Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton sense, but trashy like in the 'Greenpeace needs to come and protest the littering and stench of air pollution' sense. If had to explain Los Angeles I would say it was more of a cleaner New York with friendlier people and a lot less hobo piss pooling on the sidewalk. We are the other city that never sleeps.
That was the nearly one good thing about Los Angeles, there was always some kind of party going on. You had your typical clubbing events, your ritzier red carpet parties, and your movie premiere after parties, but those held no candle to the most exclusive, private parties at the most exclusive, private place in all of California; Wonderland.
Seth walked into the shitty, rundown apartment that he shared with his nameless, meth dealing roommate. He was instantly hit with the biggest heat wave known to man and it occurred to him (upon seeing his roommate, a few other guys, and the nice hookers who worked the corner on the end of their block, splashing around in an inflatable pool that was most definitely not made for the living room) that they had forgotten to pay the bill that afforded them sweet arctic air in the middle of the blistering summer heat.
An oversized beach ball was tossed at his head by a group of giggling scantily clad girls. Seth quickly reached up to block the ball with his forearm which caused the ball to bounce back toward the girls, just barely missing the pool. Apparently it was such tough work to get out of the pool and retrieve the ball themselves because he was instantly bombarded with coo's and whines in a desperate pleading to get the girls ball back for them.
"Check it out, Bro!" His nameless roommate called out to him from where he was dipping his toes in and out of the water with a laugh that could only be produced by drug filled amusement. "Who needs one of those Wonderland parties, eh? We got our own fuckin' bunnies right 'ere!"
A single glance made it apparent enough that those girls were far from bunny material, but closer inspection sealed their fate—or lack of.
A bunny was a glamorous girl, or boy, who looked like they stepped right off the sticky pages of Rabbit Hole magazine. They were sexy but most of all they beautiful, elegant, and classy—kind of like a Disney prince or princess.
Where female bunnies had long, flowing, blonde hair; these girls had lackluster mops of dishwater browns and copper toned highlights that Seth was sure resembled some shade of blonde at some point. Maybe not "bunny blonde" but, you know, something. The girls in Wonderland were also known for their bodacious curves and tight, taut bodies. Seth assumed that nothing on these girls had been tight or taut for a while.
"Come join us in the pool, baby." One of the girls with breast the size of full grown armadillos (a fruit analogy just seemed too cliché for this particular pair of breasts) cooed at him. She leaned half way out of the pool—water sloshing over the bent edge—and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "You look like you need to relax."
The only person who needed to relax, in Seth's personal opinion, was the touchy feeling hooker who was grabbing his ass like it was a buy one; get two free shoe sale at Louboutin. He stepped back to break the girls hold on him; which he admits took a lot of effort and a brief moment of struggling where he shook the girl from side to side. "I can't." He offered as the only explanation, making sure to step far out of reach once the girl's hold had been broken. "I have work." And with that he retreated to his room to start getting ready.