Author's Note
I know I haven't written anything in a while, but bear with me as I'm dealing with a terrible loss. My best friend in the entire world Joel has died, and it pains me to admit that I believe it's my fault. Though it was a suicide, it was one I could have prevented if I'd been able to recognize the signs he was presenting me. Please respect my right to grieve and do not express any vulgaritites towards him, for he truely was a gentleman. And, that's what this short peice is about; a gentleman.
Know Before Reading:
-I at NO TIME wish to offend anyone.
-I own absolutely NOTHING, the WWE is property of the McMahons, and despite how much I would love to own it, the fact of the matter is that I most likely never will.
-If you are not a Beth Phoenix fan then you shouldn't be reading this.
-This is rated "M" for language and nudity.
-There is no clear-cut pairing besides: Glen Jacobs x Jake Hager, I in absolutely NO way intended to imply a romance between Glen and Beth. (Sorry to disappoint the masses...)
-My intent was to write something that would touch the hearts of readers, sorry if it appears a little too sappy for your likeing...
Without any further delay, please enjoy!
It was about an hour after the show, the fans had all cleared out, as well as probably all of her co-workers, but Beth couldn't leave, not yet. She had an examination to conduct, and so she began, stripping before the mirror of her dressing room.
Beth let a small frown fall show as she gazed at herself in the mirror.
"I'm gorgeous… Aren't I?" she asked her reflection aloud; her only reply was a shy shrug and a small nibble of the left corner of her lower lip. Lately she had begun to question this fact herself; people just weren't complimenting her like they used to.
She had even forgotten what it was like to receive a flattering remark about her body. Was she out of shape?
"No! Impossible, I am in the best shape of her life! Why just look at me!" she told herself firmly.
Her eyes devoured the image of her Amazon-like body, starting at her face. She had always had a thin face, and not an anorexic bimbo-like one like Kelly-Kelly's either. Rather she was healthily shaded, so that even bare, she required no additional make-up (though the McMahons' requested that all Divas wore some kind of make-up so that they would have companies to sponsor them).
Her nose, about which she'd fussed constantly as a teenager, no longer troubled her; rather it fit her face and she felt that she finally truly loved the way it rested square between the eyes.
And who could forget those eyes? Grey and deep, that shifted between shades of blue and green. Not to mention, her brows were always neat and tidy, unlike that Italian slug Santino… Or Santina… Whatever it was he was calling himself these days.
Then, she examined the final part of her face, her lips. Although Beth hadn't ever given much thought to it; lips were really important to women nowadays, weren't they? After all, some women spent millions of dollars trying to sculpt the perfect lips, whereas she hadn't had to do a single thing.
Perhaps the best part was that her face was framed by a large mane of luscious, voluminous golden strands of hair that gleamed and in some cases, caused blinding in the sunshine.
Her eyes travelled lower to her neck, which thankfully she had one. Beth had heard rumors of some women becoming too muscular and as a result their shoulders bulked to the point in which their neck and shoulders melded together.
Beth ran her slender fingers over her collarbone, stopping just above her breast. Her large full breasts; they were perfectly shaped mounds, each with a dainty tan nipple exactly identical to its opposite. They fell directly above her abdomen, which happened to be rock solid, so firm that you could iron a shirt on them.
Her arms were strong and firm, able to withstand more than that pathetically bland ballerina Melina or the rotten-to-her-fucking-core bitch Maryse. She could take a hit and whirl it right back; and them? They had nothing. They were nothing, nothing compared to her.
Finally her lower torso, what needed to be said? Any man would have been more than absurdly blessed, were they given the honor of deflowering her rose.
And her legs; dancer's legs with no stretch marks or any disgusting blue veins making her look old or grotesque. She was tall, slender with a lovely ass, with not a patch of that terror that she knew to be "cellulite" in sight.
So why didn't she stop traffic when she took a stroll down the hallway anymore? And if she did, why was it only because she was one of the strongest wrestlers in a skirt? Didn't people care that she was a woman, with feelings and concerns? Wasn't she a human, just like everyone else?
"Ugh… What the fuck is wrong with me?!" she growled, her growl turning into a sob.
She was crying. Streams of water flowed from her gray eyes, currently a misty sea green as she bawled out her misery. Her chest heaved with every heavy breath as she wept into her hands.
"…No! Stop this! Stop it right now!" she snapped at herself, hanging by a thinning string. She couldn't let herself unwind in public, let alone a public dressing-room. Somebody would hear her, report her to the McMahons and then she would be on medical leave until she learn could keep her emotional distress in check.
For some reason, she wasn't following her own directions and instead her eyes produced more tears as her cheeks, nose and ears flushed a light pink.
This only angered her more.
"You stop it! You stupid… You baby! You-!" Beth spat, now slapping herself in the face. Finally she began to calm down and her heavy breathing subsided to the normal pace that she was used to. She sighed. This had been going on for a few weeks now.
It had all started when Santino lost his mind and invented some crazy scheme to pose as his own twin sister. It was a brainless plan, and what's more, it led to them breaking up.
Then, without someone of the opposite sex to constantly boost her extremely fragile ego and surprisingly low self esteem, she collapsed into herself. She became a fire-breathing bitch, snarling at anyone who dared to intervene in her personal life.
Beth, maybe you should get some sleep…
Go fuck yourself!
Wow Beth, great match tonight, want to grab a bite to eat?
Scram dirt-bag!
Beth, your bag is half-way open, want me to close it for you?
Hands off the merchandise you perverse muscle-head!
Beth, I'm worried about you.
For that one she had no comeback. She was utterly lost. All she could do in reply was offer a harsh glare and storm around the corner for a good cry; supposing nobody else would bother her around that way. If not, she could always run to her car.
Hooking up her blue underwire bra she began to re-dress herself, ready to rush out of the arena to her hotel room. No one would be waiting for her when she got there; she would once again be allowed to spend her time eking out pleasantries in the indifferent solitude.
She had just gotten her panties up when she turned and saw that she was being watched.
Instant humiliation spread through Beth's body. She stared, mouth agape at the face in the doorway, whose cheeks usually held smirks that could scare Dave Batista into pissing his pants and then after running round the corner to hide his shame.
Glen mother-fucking Jacobs…!
There he stood, the almost seven foot tall doofus (at least, that was the term Melina had used to describe him when they were friendly). He was clad in a large black leather biker jacket that only made his broad shoulders more hulking and intimidating, underneath that he wore a red shirt with the blackened image of a mangled soup can. The look was finished with a pair of Levi's jeans (although God only knew how he had found a pair that fit… Most likely had them custom-made) and a sturdy pair of work boots.
She floundered about for a few minutes, opening and closing her mouth rapidly. He'd seen her naked, that much she was sure of; but what exactly was it of her nakedness he had seen?
He'd seen her crying. He'd seen her feeling weak and dejected. He'd seen her looking at herself. He'd seen her talking to herself.
He'd seen her talking to herself!
He would go blab about it and she would be finished. She would be branded as insane and they'd drop her like an old C.D. She wouldn't be that hard to replace, after all, with Playboy bunnies like Kelly-Kelly running around, who would have time to remember good ol' Beth?
She wanted to cry again. She wanted to cry so very badly and even felt the tears welling in her eyes. But she couldn't, this was no time to appear weak.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Beth demanded with a slight cough as she directed his attention towards her; as if it could have been anyplace else at a time like this.
His cryptic eyes softened as he stared at her with a frown expressing a sort of… Sympathy? He was sorry for her? What in the world did he have to be sorry about? Besides his being a peeping Tom of course. She recognized his empathy and despised it. It made him look like a worm.
Beth's eyes narrowed due to his lack of words and she spoke again, with more vinegar than before "hello?! Glen, are you listening to me? What the fuck are you doing here?" she screeched, preparing to claw his eyes out if he didn't come up with an answer that pleased her.
He wet his lips, opening his mouth to say something and then closing it abruptly, deciding he was better off saying nothing.
Beth flew into a rage.
"Answer me!" she thundered, with such a roar that she was likely to awaken the entire state. The older man continued to watch her in silence.
She lunged at him, hurling into his body all the strength she contained in the form of a flurry of livid fists. "God damn it! You perverted son of a bitch! You fucking loser! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me the fuck alone!" on and on she howled, but her punches did naught and there he stood, looking down at her, still apologetic towards her case.
Beth huffed furiously preparing for round two, when Glen caught her hands and held them down at her sides. "Bear with me, 'cause I'm getting ready to spill my guts here… Kind of hard when you've got a beautiful woman yelling at you… Hmm, how can I explain this…?" he whispered.
She arched a brow, her scowl still somehow apparent on her face, as his ego didn't falter, nor swell.
"It seems to me that lately you're not living for the thrill of it anymore, your personality is in an REM sleep… Now, I know I've got no business meddling in your life, but you clearly need to talk to someone and I think you won't seek out someone for yourself because you're scared" Glen began gently. His thumbs brushed over her palms with an almost fatherly affection.
Beth became silent, in awe of what was in front of her. She averted her eyes. How could he read her so easily, as though it was not he that needed to recognize her, but her that needed to learn all that was him?
"You're afraid that if you let everything go, people will devalue you. And, Beth, if you keep at this, you're going to wind up like a puppet that cut their own strings off" Glen finished, his hands trailing up her arms, soothing her.
His wedding band tingled as it brushed against her skin, as if a silent green light that said; he's safe, he's not interested in taking advantage of you. He just wants to help you.
A final once-over and she cracked, lower lip quivering, hands balling into fists at her sides, eyes painting a watercolor painting of the world around her, she began to cry for the second time that night.
She wished she weren't naked, weren't exposed to him, and weren't looking so ugly. She was probably a true sight to behold, what with her face flushing such a heavy shade of rose.
How could this man have seen so much in his life, too much even, and still manage to care about others?
Because he was just like her.
He was a product of the WWE, bought and sold by that damn McMahon family, useful only when he was in demand by a handful of fickle fans, but in the end he was just as expendable as the paperclips that Stephanie McMahon used to keep her precious storylines in neat order.
"Get dressed and meet me on the back steps outside, we'll talk" he stated, releasing her from his grasp and allowing her the time and privacy to change while he waited for her.
It seemed somewhat romantic, without crossing the border to be disgusting. The way someone could give her precious seconds of their life to hear her troubles.
She was so down and lonely that her newly developed frigid personality had made her nothing, if not oblivious to the necessity of romance and friendship in life.
Quickly dressing herself in a dismal teal sundress, white pumps and a green sweatshirt to hide her body further, she dashed after him, finding him sitting down waiting for her on the fifth to last step out of the eleven step staircase that led out onto the street.
And it was fucking cold.
She shivered, mentally chastising herself for wearing an outfit that provided little heat in such shitty weather. Fuck! She would freeze her nipples off now and wind up being bitterer than she had been in her dressing room.
He immediately noticed her clutching at herself for warmth and handed her his jacket, which she accepted albeit suspiciously, then after joining him a few feet away on the seventh step down.
"Yeah, you can go on and hang onto that for awhile if you like… I never really cared for leather anyway. Smoke?" he asked, retrieving a carton of cigarettes from his left pants pocket and a lighter from his right.
Beth shook her head "no thanks Glen…" she sniffed, a little stuffed up from crying "and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't either; that shit's not just bad for you, it's bad for everyone around you. You'll give me secondhand smoke"
"Hey, I can deal. We're here for you anyway, so go on and talk. I'll interlard with observations" Glen mumbled, stowing away his smokes and light.
"What are you my fucking therapist? What are you trying to get out of this, because unless you plan on getting me completely smashed I won't sleep for you for a million Slammy awards" she muttered, still exposing the animosity she'd come to know so well.
"Not everyone is an ass-wipe, Beth. Some people just care because they have to. So go on, really now, tell me what's eating you" Glen retorted. Not exactly angry, but stern, as if to keep her on track.
She exhaled loudly, gathering her thoughts before she began "I just feel so… Unloved. I look in the mirror and I don't feel beautiful anymore", she paused waiting for him to speak up.
Without missing a beat "why's that? You're upset because of your break-up with Santino?" Glen asked monotonously. Though his question was directed at her, he was staring and facing across the street, as if in a trance.
Beth followed his eyes but saw nothing of interest, a large flea-bitten stray pissing on a bush. Stray… Kind of like him; no cozy life to return to after having the life drained out of him by the McMahons on a weekly basis. He'll just wander around in a lonely haze for a little while, and then come back for his second helping of humble pie.
Wait a second; wedding band!
Maybe he wasn't quite a stray.
"No I'm not upset about that, no. It's just… The way I am, this whole career is so hard for me. I'm so distant from what the McMahons believe a Diva should be. These days it comes to me so difficultly what would come to Melina or Rosa on a silver platter. Rosa, can you believe it?" she scoffed, almost enraged.
He faced her, offering her a slightly puzzled expression "are they better than you? If so, maybe you should emulate them, back up your career a little…"
"Hey! I gotta be someone else, not them. They're looking for something else, not at all what I want for myself…" she trailed off, her eyes glazing slightly as she remembered what she'd wanted so badly for herself as a child "my career… I guess I just thought It'd be something else…" she sighed.
She'd wanted to be like Julia Roberts. She'd wanted to be America's sweet-heart. Someone for everyone; almost akin to a female version of John Cena. Men would love her, women would look to her as a figure for their children, and young girls would admire her. Where had things gone wrong?
When she thought less about what she wanted and decided to just watch from the sidelines as the McMahons re-vamped her idea of a career into their quick buck.
"Then quit" Glen said simply, as if everything could be solved by just her quitting. She socked him in the shoulder for making such an asinine remark, but the look on his face was clear proof he wasn't joking about anything he was saying.
"Why put yourself through misery for no reason. Beth, you're crying your eyeballs out doing something you hate. That's not a life, that's a mental prison"
"You're one to talk, you fucking hypocrite!" she shot back "you've been here since you got out of college I'll bet, and look at you now; you're the dish rag that Vince has his precious John Cena spit shine his shoes with. You're clearly underappreciated and you just sit there and take it like some poor, defenseless eighty year old man!"
He stared at her with that quizzical look in his eye but said nothing. She chose to continue her rant.
"What's wrong with you?! I just chewed you up and spat you out onto the curb! Aren't you going to defend yourself? Aren't you going to hit me? Aren't you at least going to glare at me?" she practically got on her knees and begged him for a reaction.
Glen remained quiet, thinking long and hard about what she'd said. It seemed as though the minutes around them were working overtime as he continued to ponder a proper response to her insults. Finally, he opened his mouth and broke the silence.
"I'm not easily offended"
It was her turn for silence.
"… I wish I was you"
"Why's that?" he seemed surprised, but with him who knew what he was really thinking? He seemed so unreadable that even now she couldn't tell whether he was humoring her or being completely serious.
"Because then I wouldn't need to constantly search for at least one compliment written about me by an anonymous fan in the monthly WWE magazine to feel good about myself" she whimpered, barely audible, yet somehow the only sound travelling within that street. Even the sound of traffic had quieted just so that her true weakness could escape her lips.
"You don't need blue runway lights surrounding you to be happy, sometimes you've got to learn to ignore when tabloids tell you who they think is beautiful and who they think is not. They're usually written by small minded idiots anyway, have you ever read People?" she nodded "biggest load of shit ever printed"
"Well, since you seem so loose with your commentary, say something nice about me right here and now" Beth demanded, expecting him to fall back on his own words; she was finally going to trap him up and expose him for the sick bastard that he was, and he thought he was going to get away with playing games with her. Ha!
The plan backfired as spontaneously as it was conceived.
With a straight face he turned to her and declared, without hesitation; "I love the way your eyes look like they change color depending on the clothes you wear"
She almost stopped breathing as a tear rolled down her face from the corner of her eye. How could someone make up so specific a compliment without being in love with that person?
"Aren't you worried about what your wife would think of you complimenting another woman?" she asked, suddenly bashful. She clasped her hands together and held them between her legs, rocking gently as she sat, waiting for a reply.
"Oh, I don't have a wife… I have a boyfriend" he watched her reaction from the bomb he'd dropped on her, so large that she once again held her mouth open in silence "yeah… It's Jake Hager. We met at a bar after I did my guest appearance on ECW, he sort of came on to me after he'd had a few. Been together ever since"
"Why are you so comfortable with sharing something like this with me?" she asked, nervous and praying that he wasn't using her as practice for coming out of the closet.
"When Jake first moved to RAW, most of the roster knew he and I were gay, about a third of that group knew he was dating me. I figured I'd tell you so you didn't think all I was doing out here was sitting and cracking wise, you know, messing with you" Glen sighed, standing up and turning to face her fully.
"No, no! I didn't think that, it's just I… Well, when I caught you staring at me, I didn't know what to think, you know? I just thought…" she trailed off and he nodded.
"No, I would never stare at someone nude if it wasn't consensual. I came back to the arena to grab Jake's wallet that he forgot in his locker. I heard you going off in your room and went over to investigate" he affirmed.
"Well… I'm glad you did… I'm kind of feeling better now…" Beth mumbled with a shy smile, unable to admit she was actually feeling in high spirits for once in what seemed like months.
"Hey, that's a great smile. Looks good on you" he remarked, returning one of his own.
It was nice to see him smile. Like a silent okay for them to be friendly.
"Well, it's getting awfully late, I'll hail you a cab" Glen insisted, stepping out into the street and holding out his hand.
"Oh, you really don't have to-"
"Don't be afraid to be treated like a lady Beth, because that's what you are"
She blushed a crimson smoke screen in her cheeks but said nothing more.
Despite the arena being cleared out of guests and wrestlers, the streets were still littered with cars zooming by, although at this hour, most wouldn't have recognized the pair by the light of the streetlamps and instead would have sped past, leaving them behind in their rush to get to their own destinations.
"What about you?" Beth asked, although in all honesty, she knew that he would have found his own way after she'd left. He was a big boy, it wasn't like he needed someone to clean his own messes for him anyway, and he seemed to have his life in better control than most of the other steroid-heads she'd noticed in the RAW locker-rooms.
The cab pulled up by the curb and he opened the door, first passing some unseen amount of cash to the cabby and then sending him a muffled request to take her to the Four Seasons hotel. He turned back to her, still half-smiling as he went.
"You go on ahead; I need a cigarette before I head on home to Jake, he hates smoke and you're not allowed to smoke in cabs anymore anyway" Glen murmured ushering her into the cab "oh, and by the way, I'm not the only guy you should talk to, I hear that some guys in the locker-room would love for you to give them the time of day, just some food for thought"
She stepped into the cab carefully, allowing him to guide her in gently.
"Thank you Glen" she whispered, on the verge of her third set of water works "would you ever consider quitting your job as a wrestler to be my therapist? I'll pay you handsomely!" she joked with a weak laugh, he himself offering a hearty chuckle "well Beth, I'm afraid you'd be wasting your money, you don't need a therapist, you need a friend"
With that he shut the door and sent her off, and as he stood on the corner, lighting up, Beth watching him as she drove away, she couldn't help but smile.
She stared back at a glimmer of the street-light under which he stood, fading in the distence as she reflected fondly on their conversation.
If the people ever built a big red machine like him, then perhaps chivalry could finally be resurrected from the shallow grave it had been so recklessly forced into.
Food for thought.
I wish that I could meet more people like Glen Jacobs.