A/N: I apologize for the delay in both this story, Yours to Hold, and Guardian. I have been...ugh. So very under the weather. I've been wanting and meaning to write, though unfortunately this past month has been terrible. My grandma, who I love more than any woman in the entire world, was diagnosed with breast cancer late February and I've been having a hard time coping...not only is it tough to see her begin the chemotherapy treatments, it's tough for me to think that now there is a direct bloodline. I've also been stressed at work, as my superior was let go...which means twice the work for me, until they find someone else. Lastly, I have a 6-year-old kiddo that just can't seem to behave at school. Again, I'm sorry for slacking. I'll try to get back into the swing of writing because it's the only thing that keeps me sane. :)
Shout-out to ShieldGirl316 for the review, thank you so much. I have grown so much as a person that I feel that my writing is much better than it was a few years ago. So I'm hoping this rewrite is much, much better.
After her rigorous training session, Chelsea was anxious to get back to her hotel room and shower. Her clothes were sweaty and sticky, and she looked forward to changing into something a little nicer for the next bullet of typed activity on the itinerary that Stephanie had given her the night before.
If she could remember correctly, she had a mandatory appointment in about an hour with WWE's computers and technology team, where they'd run through some ideas to shoot her entrance video. Opting to take the stairs over the elevator back to her room, she wondered what they'd come up with for her video. Many divas had super hot modeling scenes play along with their music if they didn't have any action shots. Since she didn't have much of either, she hoped that she would get to film something totally different. Perhaps something that's never been done...
Well, a girl could dream.
Unlocking the door, she almost began to peel off her gym clothes, thinking if she just stripped naked, nobody was around to care.
Until she caught a glimpse of AJ's dark hair, crouched next to her slept-in bed.
"AJ? What are you doing? Don't you have to be at an autograph session or something?" she squinted, very confused over what she was seeing.
But AJ just looked up at her, tears falling plainly down her cheeks. She was fully dressed, with a stack of papers at her feet, which were still clad in her orange Converse from earlier that morning.
"Oh, AJ, what's wrong?" Chelsea sat down next to her friend, giving her a loose hug. She wasn't good at being a comforting person, but AJ reminded her of a little kid that just fell off from her bicycle, the hurt and frustration carried in her dark brown eyes.
"It's stupid," AJ responded lamely, wiping her cheeks. She re-positioned herself as though she was preparing to get back up, but she ended up on her knees, her brow still furrowed as new tears began to form.
"It isn't if you're this upset about it," Chelsea offered, giving her friend a small, comforting pat on the back. She'd received hundreds of those same gestures during her stay in rehab, and it was almost second nature to her to shell out that exact move during this stressful moment. In the past, she thought her counselors and therapists had been only offering her a pat on the back as she cried because they didn't know what else to say. But AJ's shoulders relaxed, her small cries slowly dissipating.
With a huff, AJ looked down, pointing at all the paperwork. "They're taking away my title."
Chelsea didn't say anything, but the shock of the admission from the Black Widow wasn't something she could hide. As AJ gave a sigh, Chelsea knew she'd heard right...AJ Lee was going to drop her title, without much notice at all.
With another short breath, AJ continued:
"All of my friends—Kailtyn, Tamina…my fiance…they all told me this moment would come eventually. I knew I wasn't going to have the title forever, but management has been straight up punishing me. The psychotic character they've made me out to be is limiting and incredibly frustrating. When I opted out of that stupid reality show, they weren't too happy. And now that I'm engaged to Mr. Pipebomb himself, it's a whole new reason for them to humiliate me...'cause they want to prove the point that they have control.
"Phil...well, he left the company without so much as a notice because he didn't like where the direction his story was going. He is burned out, he's sick, and he's still being driven to put his body on the line despite desperately needing a break. Obviously, management expects me to beg him to come back. But I'm not his keeper, and I told them that I supported his decision with all my heart. They didn't like that. Yesterday, when I received by dumb schedule from Stephanie, I asked myself if all of the time consumption is worth it in the end. Want to know what I think? I think that at the end of the day, a filled schedule won't be worth missing out on living and loving my life outside of the ring." AJ explained herself further, her full logic jumpy and interrupted by a lot of sobs. Chelsea brought down the generic box of tissues from the bedside table once the diva stopped talking, and Chelsea figured she had nothing else to say. That was her opening for a question of her own.
"If you don't mind me asking, who are you slated to lose to?" Chelsea asked, hoping to God that it wasn't Natalie. As if Nattie needed another reason to prove that she was still superior.
"An NXT rookie. It's supposed to be a swift kick in my ass, because I lost my own season of NXT. They are doing it to embarrass me. And to be honest, Paige is sweet and extremely talented. I don't have a problem with her whatsoever, and I'm definitely glad it's not anyone that's using their boyfriends to get to the top…but if I'm honest, an early retirement and shacking up in Chicago is looking better and better."
"AJ, come on..." Chelsea tread carefully, seeing how hurt AJ was over the entire scenario. She tried her hardest not to grin at the realization that not even the Hart Foundation's very own princess was going to be at the top of the mountain. Still, the circumstance of the longest reigning diva's champ losing to a rookie from NXT as a McMahon power trip was fucked up. It just fuckin' sucked. Even the Bella twins would've sucked to lose to. As far as Chelsea could tell, there wasn't a lot of real competition in the current women's division, with the exception of Naomi.
For that reason, it seemed, AJ was partially comforted.
AJ started to rise, pulling her bright orange tank top down over her torso, hiding the bit of skin that began to peek out. She took a deep breath, still shaking. She grabbed at the stack of papers she'd had scattered, and Chelsea realized they were her personalized scripts, matches, and outcomes.
"I'm not supposed to be at Smackdown. Well I mean, I am, but I'm not necessary...I'm not scheduled to appear in a match or anything. I think I'm going to go to Chicago for a few days, to remind myself what really matters to me." AJ shook her head, as if she was confirming her own idea. "Yeah, actually, that's what I'm going to do."
"What about all your promos?" Chelsea bit her lip, panic taking over momentarily. "Won't you get into trouble for missing so much?"
AJ looked down at her personalized itinerary, a hint of a smile finally showing as she glanced back up at Chelsea. "Looks like the only thing I'm missing is a promo for Scooby-Doo Goes to Wrestlemania, which is hardly a big deal. But I'm gonna skip out on Smackdown completely. Chels, if you could, let John Laurenitis know I'm down for the count with some stomach bug so he doesn't go looking for me," AJ's mind was made up, and her plan, albeit constructed very last minute, was pretty much an airtight alibi. Chelsea's face fell a little, and she couldn't help wondering if this could be the last time AJ would be standing in front of her.
As if she read her mind, the smaller woman stepped forward, giving Chelsea a knowing glance through her eyelashes.
"Turn that frown upside down, Sweetly. I'll be back...you don't have to worry. I just really need time to sort out what I want to do," AJ spoke, then turned to begin throwing her personal belongings from around their room into her duffel bag. Even though the divas champion had a small smile on her face with each item tossed into her bag, she still looked completely defeated; her ego deflated. Chelsea couldn't blame her for wanting to escape the surely awkward Smackdown taping, though she wondered if AJ was looking too closely at things. Would WWE really scrutinize the soon-to-be wife of a former superstar simply because he exited on bad, but rightful, terms? If so, that was disgusting.
"Oh and hey, here's Tamina's number," AJ started scribbling on a hotel napkin, snapping Chelsea back into reality. "I want to make sure you get to the next city safely, and with someone who's actually sane."
The women hugged, and before the champion could be overwhelmed with sadness once again, AJ composed herself quickly. With a firm nod and a quick goodbye hug, AJ Lee left the room, swinging her bags and her Batman tote bag over her petite frame.
As she stood in the now barren room, Chelsea felt just as alone as she did when she re-entered the professional wrestling world. Hoping that AJ's absence wouldn't be as daunting as it seemed it would be, she began to go through her clothes once again, trying to find something to wear to her next project. Frustrated, she muttered, "Fuck it," and went straight to the shower instead. She was alone now, so she could be walking around the room naked if she damn well pleased.
"Chelsea Sweetly, looking good," John Laurenitis had met her right outside the conference room, which Chelsea noticed was already full of dorky dudes with their laptops. She had decided to dress down for the occasion, opting to go for something simple, wearing a pair of black denim shorts that had studded grommets around the pockets. Paired with a gray tank top and a dark purple hoodie, she was as casual as ever for another business meeting. But really, for something like this, was it totally necessary to be wearing a suit? No. They were going to go through some tracks and pitch a few ideas back and forth anyways. At least, that's what she understood.
She raised an eyebrow at this guy, having only worked with him a few times. His over-tan, over-Botoxed face was watching her every movement. Was he mocking her? Because she felt he might be. Laurenitis was known to make rude, crude comments behind the women's backs, and she couldn't help but feel like she should've given more thought to her outfit. It was likely he'd turn around and crack a joke about her teenage-like wardrobe choices as soon as she left the room. Since she didn't have the benefit of traveling around with personal stylists like Nikki and Brie, she had spent most of her time straightening her frizzy, post-shower hair. Her wrist was literally numb by the time she was happy with the end result, and she'd gone through half a can of hairspray to keep it the way it was.
And, as usual, she'd opted for her signature blacked-out eyes.
"Ready to find an entrance theme?" he asked her, still smiling stiffly. She wondered if he could show expression at all, or it if was simply because of the injections that made his face stone-like.
"Sure," Chelsea smiled, rocking back on her heels as she prepared to follow him into the warzone. As she turned to follow the talent relations manager, she heard a snicker. She turned to see Nat, looking sweet and innocent, but the blonde woman knew she'd been caught. Chelsea was ready to just ignore whatever bullshit she would spout, but Natalie seemed to see an opportunity to humiliate the dark diva further.
"What are you going to pick, Chelsea? Afroman's 'Because I Got High'?" Natalie spat her way, the words venom as she said them. She had been at the vending machine, and she now held a water bottle in her hand. Taking a quick swig, she gave a rude, bitchy smile as Chelsea and John Laurenitis stood together in unison, neither speaking.
"I mean, at least it would suit you, Chelsea. Or wait, better yet...I've got it! See if you can use one of Jeff Hardy's songs. What's the name of his band again...? Oh, shit, I can't remember. Probably because they sucked!" Nat let out a huge laugh, as though she'd told the funniest joke in the world.
"Seriously, Nat? Shut the hell up," Chelsea shot a glance nervously at John, who was shifting uncomfortably as he held open the room to the conference room. She knew that Natalie would have preferential treatment in upper management, so as badly as she wanted to slap her pretty, perfectly contoured cheek, she couldn't bear the consequence that would follow.
"Come on, ladies. There's no reason for the arguing," John responded stiffly, and Chelsea chewed her lip to refrain from saying anything more. She'd done literally nothing wrong in this scenario, yet both women were being told to watch their tongues. Just as AJ had muttered about on a few occasions, the backstage politics were unbelievable right now. The whole company was a damned mess.
Was it tied to this ridiculous reality show? Chelsea couldn't help but think that it was. Without a doubt, regular viewers were tuning in to see what their favorite women did outside of the ring, on their days off, and with their significant others. That was probably a huge profit for the WWE. In fact, it was just a matter of time before one of the ladies regularly displayed on this Total Divas show grasped the belt, because even to Chelsea, it made sense. Especially if this show became an international sensation.
"My apologies, Johnny Ace," Natalie flashed an award-winning smile, knowing fully well she was sucking up to him. "I have to tease my old friend, you know. I haven't seen Chelsea in a long, long time. She was busy, you know, getting her shit together at-"
"I did bring in a few ideas," Chelsea cut off Natalie quickly, hating that she was just about to bring her stay in rehab into the conversation. Not only was it something Chelsea didn't want the world to know about, but it wasn't exactly Nat's story to be blabbing about. John gave Chelsea a quick smile, but the sympathy behind it was clearly there.
"Glad to hear it, Miss Schwedt," he replied, calling her by her actual last name. Chelsea could barely hide the shock in her face when he used her surname; after all, she hardly existed at all in the WWE. She was probably just a spot on the management's radar. "Come along, now, we haven't got all day."
Chelsea gave Nat the dirtiest look she could muster as she followed John Laurenitis into the conference room, allowing her black flip flops to snap against her heels with each step. Natalie just gave her another bitchy smile, laced with straight poison. Giving her former friend the middle finger before closing the door behind her, she was glad to be rid of the wretched woman.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she began walking towards the table set up in the room, getting ready to sit in the last available plastic chair next to John. Unfortunately, the walls were paper-thin, and she could still hear Natalie's voice carry from down the hall as she began an entire re-vamped version to the song she'd suggested, her voice terrible yet unrestrained:
"Chels was gonna win the diva's belt, but then she got hiiiiiigh..."
Chelsea felt like she could punch a wall. Or worse, cry. What had happened to the Natalie that she'd spent years of her life with? What had happened to the goodhearted, friendly woman that she would once trust her life with? Whatever the case, it didn't make any sense. Whatever she'd done to thoroughly piss off the former champion had taken a large toll on their friendship.
Trying to mask her annoyance, she feigned a small smile. She prayed that nobody else had heard Nat's personal rendition of that terrible song, but she knew that was unlikely. No matter; she tried her damnedest to smile brightly and bravely.
"Alright, guys, let's get down to business," she tried, hiding the mist that was dangerously formulating in her tear ducts. "I'm really glad I could be a part of this today," she turned to John, who beamed at her as best he could. (Botox, after all.)
"So, Chelsea, this is the best of our sound and technology team. Mike, Ted, Robert, Arlena, Jackson, and Spurro," Chelsea's eyes darted between each member of the group, taking in the appearance of each of the men who clearly spent their spare time playing computer games. One of them-Ted, perhaps? Actually pulled a pen out of a damn pocket protector.
Robert, on the other hand, kept his focus on her, his eyes watchful in a creepy way rather than an appropriate one.
She cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable in a room full of forty-year-old virgins and computer dweebs, before she saw the pretty, petite woman in the corner. Supposing that must've been Arlena, she watched the blonde begin typing furiously on her laptop as she grinned at the screen, the LCD light's glare shining from her pearly white smile. She was the furthest thing from a computer dork, and she could've easily been in front of the camera herself, being as pretty as she was.
"Hi, everyone. Glad to meet you. As you know, I'm former...er, current WWE diva, Chelsea Sweetly," She took out the crinkled notebook paper that she'd stuck in her back pocket, smoothed it out completely unprofessionally, and gave a big smile.
"Well, Chelsea. We've been throwing ideas around since we've heard of your return," John Laurenitis said slowly. The other members nodded. "I've been in and out of creative meetings for about a month now, and I understand that the current storyline that is proposed by Stephanie McMahon-Levesque has been approved. You, my dear, get to get into the character of an anti-diva, in similar fashion of the NXT rookie, Paige," he continued. That bit perked Chelsea's ears up, knowing what she knew about the woman who would be taking the title from her good friend.
"Paige has been well-received by the NXT fans. We'd like to give you a similar role to test the waters before she begins the journey to come to the main roster. That being said, your main storyline right now is that you are one-hundred percent against the Total Divas show, and your stance is that the women involved in that show are far less superior. Although," John paused here, clicking his teeth as he did so, "I don't think the storylines here should be much of an issue, given the background between you and Natalya."
Chelsea felt her cheeks getting warm as the flush crept up from her neck. "Should be cake," she replied, her voice controlled, as she struggled to hide how furious she was. It was apparent that the team in the room had heard the pretty song that Natalie had been sing-songing through the hallways, and Chelsea was truly humiliated.
On the other hand, it seemed to her that the creative team wanted to rip off this Paige chick's gimmick, see if it could stay afloat on the main roster, and eventually assimilate her into it. Chelsea was just an expendable fuck-up that would be a similar fit, after all...
No, quit thinking like that! Chelsea scolded herself. As weird as this whole thing was, she was sitting in this room today solely based off from her own merits; she'd put in tons of hard work to get herself back on track. She'd been given another chance, and she deserved that much. If the WWE was going to just release her outright, that probably would've happened already. Now, all she had to do was prove that she could handle whatever shit was handed to her.
"Very well. Since you and Natalie have such outstanding history together, we believe that you two will be able to put your differences aside for programming purposes and really knock this feud out of the park. I can see this getting huge attention, as a matter of fact," John Laurenitis was going on, and finally, one of the tech geeks cleared his throat to get them back on track.
"So, while the creative team is working on their end, so are we," the dork with thick, horn-rimmed glasses spoke, his voice nasally. Chelsea watched as his adam's apple bounced with each word, absently wondering how the giant bulge on his neck didn't bother him. Or, perhaps, he didn't notice it at all?
"Indeed," spoke up another, a small, young man peering from behind his own giant laptop screen. "As far as your video package is concerned, we've given plenty of thought about using some of your old stuff, but we want to break away from what you were, for obvious reasons. That's why we'd like to focus on the darkness about you that you naturally have."
Uhhh, what? Chelsea Sweetly was going to be re-packaged?
In a sense, that was a dream come true. While she was the angry, brooding vampy chick that had to be the shadow of shiny, glowing, angelic Maryse during her last run with the company, she was willing to bet she could do better this time around. Not to mention, some of the greatest legends of all time benefited greatly from being re-packaged; Stunning Steve became Stone Cold Steve Austin, for example. Which was the more recognizable character? That was obvious.
"As you begin participating in more matches, we will obviously add in some of the highlights from those" another person joined. "But first, we want to focus on your look. We want to stray away from using bits from your time in NXT, as it clashes severely with the modern version of our NXT. Instead, we've given thought to giving you a statement symbol. For example, Lita's original entrance focused on her eyes coming through the storm. The Hardy Boyz had a swinging logo. So, we want to focus on something that gives your character a solid statement. However, that is where we all were stuck," the small guy spoke for a long time, despite his meager appearance. Everyone else gave small murmurs.
"This is where each of us wonder, what is Chelsea Sweetly's strongest feature?" the only other woman spoke up. "Is it your hair? Your taste in music? What would Chelsea be if she weren't you?"
Chelsea thought about this for a minute. One of her personal trademarks was admittedly her heavy use of mascara and liquid eyeliner, but once again, Lita's own entrance video began with a closeup of the eyes. As far as that was concerned, Chelsea was not interested in copycatting.
The room once again began to chatter among themselves, bringing up ideas of her training in a weight room or getting her fingernails painted black, Chelsea couldn't help but get lost in the talk, no longer able to follow any conversation as new ideas were being tossed around left and right.
Eventually, she stopped trying to hear what was being said. Rather, she found herself wondering about freakin' gorgeous Roman Reigns again. He'd unabashedly been watching her intently through the tail-end of her session with Ambrose. Didn't he have better things to do than watch a friend train someone? Not that she really minded; it was nice to have some eye candy around here. Part of her hoped that he'd be around more often when she had to work with Dean simply because she wanted to catch his eye, no matter how childish and ridiculous that sounded. Although, Chelsea idly wondered if having him around would stray her focus from training and prevent her from actually doing something in the company this time.
No, she decided, that's not going to happen. As beautiful as the long-haired, muscled Samoan god was, the chances that she had shimmying up to him were slim to none, and she knew that. He didn't say much, and he was really hard to read. Combine her messy past with her history, and things would definitely explode in her face. That being said, she would certainly not allow this guy to avert her focus on her one main goal: Regain credibility. If she could handle coming back to the company with her tail tucked between her legs, AJ's horrible mistreatment, and being trained by goddamn Dean Ambrose of all people, she could certainly handle the gorgeous guy her trainer was good pals with meandering about their training sessions. That didn't mean anything more had to come of it.
"Okay, so, this is what I'm thinking," Arlena had spoken once again, her clear French accent breaking into Chelsea's personal thought cloud and distracting her brain from all things Samoan. "Let's say we, how do you say, pan camera into Chelsea Sweetly's hotel room, and we catch her with her arms propping her on the nice sink, looking at herself in the mirror, and throwing a punch."
"And then what?" John Laurenitis spoke, his brow crinkling as much as it could. "I don't see good entrance video work here."
The blonde woman thought. "Let's get a picture of her putting her eyeliner on. If we're focusing on her being an anti-diva, throwing a punch at her reflection is perfect. It's the best statement she can make: that she's careless about the things that the other women think are important."
The team began to nod, and Chelsea shook her head carefully. "I don't want to focus on my eyes, though. That's been done, you said so yourself."
"This is true," Arlena agreed. "Yes, you're right. You can do better, I think," she paused for a moment, reading her own notes before continuing:
"Let's cut out the bit about putting on makeup. Instead, we will focus on your reflection. It will be uncharacteristic of you. Let's put on a blonde wig, perhaps. Then after you throw your punch, we'll have a shattered camera filter of you unzipping your black sweatshirt or whatever, tossing it on the floor, and we'll get a nice, broken view of that tattoo," she jabbed her pen towards Chelsea's shoulder.
"A metamorphosis!" spoke up another person. "An NXT caterpillar into a beautiful, dark, evil butterfly!" there was a little giggling, but the blonde French woman shot an angry glare to the room, and in a near instant, the goons managed to stifle their giggles and hush themselves. The control Arlena could gain that quickly was amazing, and Chelsea couldn't help but to be impressed that she didn't seem to let the men push her around, despite her gender.
Impressive!
"The next shot we see of you, you will have your dark hair and dark eyes. Like breaking the mold of a diva, in a sense," Arlena continued, talking to nobody but herself. Despite that, the appreciation for her ideas couldn't be ignored as each of the other members of the meeting were typing away or writing furiously on their legal pads.
"We can use that image for most your entrance, throwing some fades in there, and the final image...you, putting the pieces of your mirror back together," spoke up the tiny man that had spoken last, peering up from his screen only for a quick moment.
Chelsea had to admit, it was a pretty bad ass idea. It was different. It was getting the point across. And eventually, once she'd made a real in-ring debut, the package could only get better.
"I like it," she told Arlena, who was all, Chelsea was proud of her ink, a grueling twelve hours of her favorite tattoo artist's personal work put into it, and it wasn't completely finished yet. Having had a huge fascination with Greek mythology, the image was a beautiful, faceless woman with her head tipped downward, opening up a box, unleashing all sorts of things. Diamonds, pearls, lace, bats, and demons all swirled together, beginning on her arm and ending at the opposite's shoulder. Pandora's Box. In Latin, there was a quote swirling around the woman, that roughly translated to "Curiosity often leads to trouble."
"I will get the outline out to Stephanie right away, then," one of the others said, clicking around on his own computer, as though he was opening a new document.
"Perfect," Arlena tapped a perfect manicured finger on the fake wooden table. "With a perfect look comes a perfect song. What have you got?"
Chelsea looked down at her creased paper, crossing off a handful because they didn't really flow well in her mind with the pitched video.
"Well, Dean Ambrose and myself have come up with a new finisher for me, called Sweet Dreams. So I thought Sweet Dreams by Marilyn Manson would be an interesting one."
The group talked about it, debating whether or not it was a good fit.
"Marilyn Manson gave us the rights to use Beautiful People," said one person, "I don't doubt he would give the green-light for us to use another one of his songs."
"True, but bringing something new and fresh would be even better," said another. "We want to capitalize on the weirdness factor of Chelsea Sweetly. We like the combination of beautiful, interesting, and weird. And while Manson is a good option, do we really want to tie our character into Marilyn Manson? Isn't there a new strange emo band on the horizon that wants a shot at some money?"
"True," John Laurentitis spoke once again. "Getting Manson's people to agree there, that might get kind of expensive..."
"Alright, Chelsea, what other ideas do you have scribbled down?" spoke the man that she thought was called Jackson.
"A band I've heard in concert a few times called The Pretty Reckless," Chelsea mumbled. "They're pretty intriguing, and I think they might have that newness factor that you guys seem to be looking for, as well."
"Oh, yes!" Arlena clapped her hands together excitedly, unable to hide her joy. The whole room stopped their buzz to look her way, the loud exclamation from her distracting each person. The blonde French woman blushed, but still kept her cool. "I was a huge fan of the show Gossip Girl. I loved the little blonde girl called Jenny Humphrey so much, that when she left her role, I needed to know why. Turned out, she was a lead singer in this band. I've heard her voice, and it's hauntingly beautiful. Much like you, Chelsea Sweetly," the woman's eyes held Chelsea's for a moment, her accent very thick through her explanation. "I say, this is a high possibility."
"Well, alright then, let's get searching!" proclaimed another tech guy, beginning to hook up his personal computer to the projector that had thus far sat unused. "We've found a possible band. Let's see if we can find a song that properly characterizes Chelsea Sweetly into the dark little angel we all have in our imaginations."
In a swirl of talking and excited banter, the next hour or so was solely based on combing through songs. A few people had begged to just ditch the legalities and use a Jim Johnston or CFO production, but Arlena seemed quite set on this band.
Another reason, Chelsea decided, that I like having this woman on my side. Being able to have something new and original was an honor, and every other idea pitched was being vetoed relentlessly by Arlena. It seemed that this blonde Frech woman was the head of the technology and computer team, something that Chelsea would have never thought or guessed in a billion years.
After grueling debate and hundreds of YouTube songs later, everyone in the room came to an agreement: Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless.
An excellent song, Chelsea felt. It was fairly well-known, but would still make the kind of statement that she was looking for. Playing with the sound clips, they decided to start the music after the mirror punch, using the beginning rifts of the song as a soft introduction to Chelsea's character.
For the first time in a long time, Chelsea was looking forward to something in the future. She was looking forward to the finished project, and given the proper copyright and McMahon approval, they had scheduled the shoot for her video Friday morning. Fuck Natalie and her bitchy self, and all of the rude things she'd said. Fuck everyone who thought that Chelsea Sweetly would just go back into nothingness. Fuck the past, and fuck Dean Ambrose for being a pile of shit.
But most of all, fuck Jeff Hardy for forcing her to become the very thing she never wanted to be. All of those people and all of those things would be in her rearview mirror soon, because Chelsea knew, deep down, that this character and storyline were meant to be. Things were going to change for her, and she could only go up from here.
Shoot, even the song that they'd chosen for her was a statement of her vow to be better than the woman she used to be:
Take me, I'm alive.
Never was a girl with a wicked mind.
But everything looks better when the sun goes down.
I had everything, opportunities for eternity.
And I could belong to the night.
Your eyes, your eyes. I can see in your eyes, your eyes...
You make me wanna die.