Chapter 10
Saying her goodbyes had been hard. Ten days seemed like a long time, but now it didn't seem long enough. Sure, the wound on her neck was nearly healed, but her heart was wounded as she kissed and hugged each of her dogs tightly while Lucas hauled her luggage out to the car. Rebel kept giving her that accusing look that said You're leaving again, aren't you? She couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes as she wondered how long she'd be away from them this time. She prayed it wouldn't take another career-stalling injury for her to make it home again. It was just after 4 in the morning when they left. Lucas brought Alex along for the ride as Lita gazed forlornly out the car window. From the backseat the baby shrieked "Eeeta! Eeeta!" Lucas laughed and said, "He means you, sis." Lucas glanced over at her and saw her depressed state.
"Hey," he reached over and rubbed her hand soothingly. "Don't worry, we'll get you home to see them soon. Listen, Alex has a word for you now." Again from the back seat issued a loud "Eeeta!" Lita laughed. "So I guess I'm Eeeta now?" "At least until he learns to say the letter L," Lucas smirked. When they arrived at the airport, Lucas helped her check her bags before they said their goodbyes. She kissed Alex and hugged her brother tightly, completely fed up with the achingly painful process of saying goodbye to loved ones. She'd been saying goodbye for most of her life. But that was the nature of her career, and she knew that there was no way around it. She moved relatively quickly through security and got onto the nearly empty plane. There probably weren't more than 20 people on the early flight. Lita took the opportunity to spread out over her unoccupied row, glad to have the space. She wasted no time in falling asleep.
It was just after 7 when she woke up from a fitful few hours of sleep. She never slept well on planes, if at all. She reached over and raised the shade slightly on her window, only to allow in a dazzlingly bright ray of sunlight. She immediately snapped it shut again, her eyes burning from the unexpected assault. She pulled the rough blankets from around her shoulders, and sat up in her seat. A quick glance around told her that most of her fellow passengers were still asleep. Through the overhead speakers, a flight attendant announced that they were 45 minutes outside of the Westchester Airport. As everyone on the plane slowly came back to consciousness, Lita combed her hair with her hands, undoing the knots that formed as she slept. Once that was mostly accomplished, she fished her carry-on bag from under her seat and pulled the paper out that detailed where she was to meet her taxi that would take her the rest of the way to Stamford and WWE HQ.
The last few days had gone by remarkably quick. Since Edge's departure, she had divided her time equally between working out in the gym, and spending time with Lucas and Alex. The latter of these had yielded dozens of new photographs that she had downloaded to her laptop. The time she spent in the gym had certainly paid off. You couldn't look at her and tell she'd been injured at all. The wound on the back of her neck had faded to a light pink line that was easily covered by her hair. She'd worked extremely had to ensure that any muscles that had atrophied had been repaired beyond what they had been previously. Her arms and shoulders were more defined, the muscles shapely, but still feminine. Outwardly, she looked strong and confident, but inside she was horrifically nervous at the meeting that was soon to transpire.
There had been no other information from HQ about the meeting, except for a conformation call yesterday. She'd even spent a few hours googling herself, looking to see if any internet rumors were being spread about her impending fate. But nobody was talking about it on any of the forums or fan sites. She folded the itinerary and replaced it in the bag and then pulled her worn leather notebook from one of the side pockets of the bag. Feeling the smooth leather under her hands never failed to bring a smile to her face. She flipped it open, casually reading through the pages of verse written in her own hand. Reading over the lines helped to center her, bringing her back to happier times. For a little while she was able to forget about the meeting and her nerves.
Before long the plane began to descend, wheels hitting the runway at 8:44 am. The frenzy that followed took quite some time before she was able to get off the plane and locate her luggage. Somehow she managed to drag it through the gaggle of people at baggage claim and into one of the restrooms. When the heavy swinging door closed behind her, the noise of the baggage claim was silenced. She breathed a sigh of relief as she gazed at herself in the large mirror that took up one wall. Her hoodie and running pants were both wrinkled from the flight, her hair was a mess and dark circles painted her eyes. She moaned in disgust at her appearance before turning to one of her large suitcases and fishing out the clothes she had set aside to wear to the meeting. The clothes she pulled out almost seemed like they were dated a year in the past. Instead of one of Edge's shirts, or something simple of her own, she had picked out a black tank top, emblazoned across the chest with her old logo design.
Primarily at Edge's instance, she had put away most of her outfits that typified her personality. Fishnets and shredded tops were replaced by bits of fabric that could be called shirts, as long as they kept things mostly covered. Bright neon colors were gradually replaced with red and black. She even wore her hair differently now that she was with Edge. He was always very insistent that they share a similar look. After one too many fights about bits of fishnet material, she gave up. It was easier to give him what he wanted than to be herself. The last trip home had seen most of her favorite pieces of clothing left behind at Edge's insistence. But early that morning, Lita had stood in her bedroom, empty suitcase lying by her feet. On her bed, she'd divided her clothes into two piles. One was composed of all her favorite fishnets and punk pieces. The second was full of the bland, black and red style of Edge. In her head, she knew that Edge would pitch a fit if he knew she left his stuff behind. But at that moment in time, she didn't really care. She packed her suitcase to the brim with all of her favorite punk outfits, leaving Edge's favorite items strewn across the bed.
With her logo shirt, she also pulled out a small wad of red thread that when unraveled formed a fishnet top that left her shoulders bare, but crossed down her arms and across her chest. The black cargo pants that followed had red accents along the pockets, pulling everything together. She quickly changed in one of the stalls, and emerged, checking in the mirror to make sure she had the fishnet on right. She tugged at the fabric here and there, making sure that her shoulders and cleavage was properly accented. As she gazed at herself in the mirror, the reflection looked as if time had stopped in 2004.
Even Lita was surprised at how, odd, the whole thing looked. This was who she had always been, but it seemed wrong now. Although a lot of things had changed, Lita couldn't see exactly how much you could tell just by looking at her. There was a heaviness now, a burden that she carried that she couldn't exactly identify or explain. The culmination of lies, pain and betrayal had painted her differently from the way she used to be. In front of the mirror she straightened her back and tossed her head, sending her hair flying in an arc behind her. She posed in front of the mirror, thrusting out a hip suggestively, her dark polished nails gleaming in the harsh light. There. . . that's better, she thought, changing her pose, her figure once again exuding confidence.
She spent the next few minutes making sure she did her makeup flawlessly, leaving no factor unaccounted for in anticipation of the creative team's scrutiny. She lined her eyes thickly in charcoal liner, painted her lips a deep red and applied just enough powder to make her skin look flawless. She quickly ran her brush through her hair, saving most of that work for when she was closer to HQ. Packing up everything she'd taken out, she wheeled everything out to the airport's main entrance, where her ride was supposed to be waiting. The area was crowded with people, several professional drivers in suits held up signs with their client's names written across them. She walked slowly through the mass of people, looking at each driver and sign until she spotted the right one. The kid probably wasn't a day over twenty-one as he stood haphazardly holding up a sign with the name Christine scrawled across it as he fidgeted in his ill-fitting suit.
She made her way over to him, and had to laugh at the driver's reaction when he saw her coming his way. The kid's eyes widened to huge saucers as his mouth fell open, almost allowing the gum he was chewing to fall out. When she stopped in front of him and said "I'm Christine," the gum did hit the ground. "Oh, wow!" he exclaimed. Lita couldn't help but raise her eyebrows as the kid's eyes looked her over. A moment later the kid remembered his duties. "Oh, uh, sorry! Let me take your bags!" he cried, rushing to pull the luggage from her hands. She watched him warily as he tried to grasp everything, dropping her carry-on twice. He laughed nervously, trying to play off his error. "I'm Devon by the way. Uh, thanks for choosing Taxi Connecticut. How long are you in town for?" He managed to open the taxi door for her as she climbed in she replied, "Just here for a meeting, thanks."
It took him a few minutes to cram her luggage in the trunk before he climbed in the driver's seat and headed them away from the airport, and on to Stamford. In a pre-emptive move, Lita hurriedly pulled out her Ipod and quickly put on something loud. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk all the way to Stamford. The kid immediately noticed what she was doing, and kept his eyes on the road. Lita lay back against the seat, trying not to let herself get overly worked up about the meeting.
What's the worst that could happen? Sure, they could tell me that I'm not going to wrestle. I'll just have to work for a while helping Edge rise to the top. But they can't keep me down forever. They know I won't stay around waiting forever. That's exactly why they're going to tell me that I'm allowed back into competition. No matter how stupid the storyline, no matter how long I have to wrestle the low level cards. . . At least I'll be back. Maybe for once the crowd won't be calling me a slut anymore; perhaps they'll cheer my name again.
She turned the volume higher on her Ipod, drowning out the restless nagging in her mind. All she needed right now was to remain calm, and present a cool and collected front to the creative people.
Outside the window, Lita watched the landscape roll by, the same drab view she'd seen dozens of times. Gradually she recognized more and more sites as they came closer to WWE HQ. It was nearing 9:30 when the driver finally pulled up to the main entrance of the unassuming building that housed the suit and tie guys that made all the decisions governing Lita's life, and the lives of everyone else on the roster. As she turned the Ipod off, the driver turned in his seat to face her. "Alright, Christine, this is your stop," he said with a smirk. She wanted to hit him. "I'll take your luggage to the airport and it will be waiting for you at your next destination. I'll be back at noon, the time you specified," he said, handing her a copy of the receipt. She snatched the yellow carbon copy paper from his hands and hurriedly exited the cab. He stared after her for a moment before pulling away. "What a creepy jerk," she muttered, turning to face the gleaming glass and brass doors emblazoned with the engraved WWE logo.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled one of the doors open, allowing a blast of cold air conditioning hit her in the face. She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a resounding thud. The main lobby of WWE HQ looked remarkably normal, considering the unique nature of the business it conducted. The main lobby was dominated by a huge mahogany desk, staffed only by one middle age woman who was busy flipping through a magazine. Across from the desk sat a row of uncomfortable chairs, and several fake potted plants were places strategically around the room. The walls were dominated by huge blown up photographs showcasing the greatest moments in WWE history. Most of the photos were new, with the greats like Triple H, Shawn Michaels, Undertaker and even. . .Trish. Lita glowered at the life sized photo, remembering the moment it showcased well. Trish was clutching the Women's Championship belt against her chest, crying from joy. Behind her, lying prone on the mat, was the diva she'd just beaten for the title. That was one of the worst damn days of my life, Lita bemoaned as she recognized herself lying unconscious, defeated, on the mat. From across the room a voice echoed, "Oh, good morning Lita! How good to see you!"
Lita smiled as she went up to the desk as the woman put away her magazine. "Hi Cheryl. How are you?" Lita said nicely as she recognized the long time receptionist at HQ. "Oh, great! What brings you here today?" Cheryl replied happily as she handed Lita the guest log in sheet. As Lita quickly filled it out, she said, "I've got a meeting with Creative at 10." Cheryl began clacking away at her keyboard and after a moment said, "Ah, yes. You'll be in Conference Room 3B. Take the elevator up to. . ." "The third floor, take a left, another left and a right." Lita finished for her. Cheryl laughed and said, "You've done this before." Lita shrugged innocently before bidding Cheryl goodbye and walking to the row of three elevators across the lobby. She only had to wait a moment before one of the elevators chimed and she climbed in. As she turned to press the button for her floor, she saw yet another of the large blown up photos. This one showed Victoria about to drop her competitor in a crippling Widow's Peak. That hapless diva was: "Holy fuck. . ." Lita hissed, "What is this place, the Lita Hall of Shame?" She averted her gaze and quickly darted out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.
The hallway before her was very plain, a door every five feet or so, each identified with a small brass placard in the center. Before taking the first left, Lita ducked into one of the bathrooms to brush her hair and make sure her makeup still looked good. In front of the mirror, she straightened her top and eased her pants a little lower on her hips, allowing just the top of a bright red thong to peak through. She took a few moments to brush through her hair, making sure it was glossy and smooth, all hint of it's natural waviness gone. Finally she added a coat of shiny gloss over her lips before relaxing her face ever so slightly. Then she hardened her expression, her lips slightly pouted and her eyes narrowed, but alert. "Here goes nothing," she sighed as she exited the bathroom and continued to walk down the sterile halls until she found the double door entrance of Conference Room 3B. The doors were closed, and she could hear faint voices inside.
Slightly annoyed at the delay in starting her meeting, she sat down on one of the grey upholstered benches sitting directly across from the double doors. She pulled her cell phone out of her bag and checked the time. 10:05. "Alright guys, lets go. . ." she whined softly, annoyed at the delay. She pressed her back against the wall and drew one of her legs up so she could rest her chin on her knee. As she glanced around the hallway, she remembered all the times she'd sat in front of these doors, waiting for other life-altering decisions. It didn't seem like that long ago when Essa had brought her here for the first time, to find out if she would be accepted into the WWF. She'd been terribly nervous, but Essa had held her hand tightly the entire time, occasionally whispering encouragements to her in Spanish. Not long after that, she had been called in with Matt and Jeff only to learn they were being combined into a new stable "Team Extreme" and would receive a huge push with the fans. Slightly comforted with those memories, she thought, Both of those meetings had gone really well, and things had really changed afterward. Whose to say the same thing won't happen again?
After a moment she heard movement inside, and the doors swung open. She looked up, and her jaw nearly fell when she saw Kane's mismatched eyes staring down at her. Oh god. . . What the hell am I going to say? Part of her had hoped that she'd never have to explain her actions in the hospital or airport ever again; hoping against hope that Kane would magically forget what happened. But the expression in his eyes told her exactly the opposite. The doors settled closed behind him, and she saw his shoulders heave with a sigh. "So you're the next victim," he said stoically, his eyes sweeping over her body. Lita dropped her knee and stood. "Why. . . uh. . . why are you here?" Great, freaking brilliant Shakespeare!, she screamed at herself mentally. A slightly confused look crossed his features before he averted his gaze and said, "Just business, you know, the usual. . ."
For a long moment they both stood, fidgeting nervously. Eventually Kane broke the silence. "So, why are you here?" She avoided looking in his eyes as she replied, "Oh, you know. I got the 'we need to talk' letter." While both wrestlers fidgeted and tried to ignore the flaming awkwardness between them, the doors opened behind Kane and a young man stuck his head out. "Ah, Lita, you're here," he said, causing both Kane and Lita to jump in surprise. Lita hurriedly scooped up her bag and moved towards the doors. The young man from inside the room held one of the doors open for her and she ducked inside. The instant before the doors settled closed, she heard Kane call softly, "Good luck."
Conference Room 3 B was typical of most conference rooms: a huge oak table dominated the room, surrounded by ten plush leather chairs. The walls were covered in rich wood panels that were accented every so often by a small framed piece of art, mostly landscapes. Huge fake potted plants stood in all the corners, making the room seem darker and more confined. Around the table, nine sets of eyes watched her curiously. Lita recognized most of the faces as the nameless personnel behind the WWE. They looked rather unassuming; bland haircuts and business suits belied the nature of the company they worked for. And at the head of the table, grinning like the tiger he was, sat Vincent K. McMahon. "Please, Lita, have a seat!" he called, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly.
Lita paused for the briefest of moments while she composed herself. Pull it together. You've got to prove to them that you're ready to compete, she told herself. With a toss of her hair, Lita stepped forward and dropped into the chair opposite Mr. McMahon. She ignored the fluttering in the bottom of her stomach when she realized the chair was still warm from Kane's body. Lita was careful to keep her face composed with a casual look of indifference as the Chairman began to speak.
"Good to see you're back from your little vacation," he said jovially, "Although I must say you look very, very good." Around the table, heads bobbled in agreement. "I must say that Raw has been in chaos since your rather unexpected disappearance," he continued. Although there were pauses for her to comment, Lita was very well aware that this was his time to talk, and she was to sit there and be silent until he allowed her to speak. "Edge hasn't been performing to well, and Trish has become rather, confident now that you're missing. I think it is prudent we get you back to Raw as soon as we can." Again, heads bobbled across the room. "Now what on earth shall we do with our little extreme diva?" he mused again, opening the floor to comment from his minions. The blonde woman sitting at Mr. McMahon's elbow spoke up. "Well, several scenarios have been drafted up covering the next 16 month period. At that point, Lita, your contract will be up for renegotiation. So. . ." the woman said, ruffling through the small portfolio of papers she carried.
After a moment she located a specific paper and began to read. "Option 1: We can have you remain on in-active status working with Edge as his valet. While we have drafted up some general storylines for this scenario, but you will not be allowed into ring competition." Lita visibly bristled at this suggestion; something that was the culmination of her worst fears. The woman continued to read, "Option 2: We will have you reenter the competition circuit, but this will be on a strictly trial basis. Your primary duties will still be in supporting Edge. The main areas of your competition will be at house shows, and pre-taping matches. This will primarily be as a precautionary measure, in light of your recent string of injuries. The length of this status will be indeterminate." Lita chewed her lip nervously. That option was no better than the first. At this point she way praying that Option 3 was better than 1 or 2.
By now, Mr. McMahon's grin had turned into a full fledged smile as he watched Lita squirm. The woman continued. "Option number 3 was actually suggested by Mr. McMahon, and may I say, it is very interesting." Lita wanted to slug her, wishing she'd just finish. "Option 3: A series of 10 matches, beginning next week on Raw, that will lead to a shot at the Women's Championship." Lita's head snapped up, and she had to fight to keep her mouth from dropping open. She looked to Vince, to see if he was joking, and she caught the faintest glimpse of some strange emotion in his eyes. Something that unnerved her greatly. Now smiling, the woman beside him continued: "This series of ten matches will take place over three months. During this tournament, you will participate in Bra and Panty matches, Street Fights, Handicapped matches, No D-Q matches and a . . . Halloween Costume Contest. If you successfully compete in each of these contests, you will receive your title shot. However, failure to win each match will land you back as being Edge's valet, exclusively."
Now that all the options were on the table, Lita could hardly believe what was being offered to her. The chance to compete, and in more than just meaningless matches. She was being handed the Women's Title on a silver platter, if only she had the courage to reach out and take it. But there has to be something more! Some stipulation, some asterisk that would turn everything to shit, she screamed inside her mind. Why would they be offering me this golden opportunity? When she felt her chest start to heave with her tortured breaths, she tried to regain her composure. All eyes in the room turned to her, and she realized she was being given the chance to speak. She took a moment to uncross her legs and shift to the other side of the chair. "I was born to compete. I was born to win. I've stayed with Edge long enough. It's time that I remind the Divas why they should all be afraid of me," she said, leveling her eyes directly into each person's in the room, one by one. As she spoke, she saw a small grin form on the chairman's lips, mirrored by those around the room.
"Well, I think we'll need some discussion on this matter," Vince said, clearly toying with her at this point. "Marc, what do you think?" he asked a tall African American man sitting two people down from Lita. "I think is fairly obvious that Lita is ready for competition again. I think it is shameful to keep her out of competition when she is obviously one of our most powerful Divas." Vince nodded as Marc spoke, listening carefully. Lita tried to keep herself from smiling. Across the table, the blonde woman spoke again, "I must respectfully disagree." Lita suddenly had a vision of herself stomping across the tabletop to backhand that bitch. She continued, "We've hit something good with the 'Rated R Couple'. Merchandise is selling extremely well, and response, while not necessarily positive, is still interesting. People love to hate you. But they hate you because they want to be you. With Edge doing so well in competition, you will have a better position in the company being tied with him, rather than on your own." Lita almost gagged at the suggestion, stay with Edge and ride his coattails to fame. . .
By this point, Vince was smiling like a shark He turned to a young Latina woman sitting to his left. Lita recognized her as one of the higher ups that was supposedly in charge of locker room relations. "And Rachel, what is your take on this, from perspective in the locker room?" She paused thoughtfully before saying, "Lita's return would defiantly spark some interest on the Diva's side. Trish has held the title for 3 months now. She's had no competition for the belt thus far. Although the new Diva, Mickie James, is causing some interesting situations. I must say, some of the girls have gotten, a bit, relaxed, not having a hell raiser like Lita in competition. I think that allowing her back into active status, as well as a title run, will be very good for all of the Divas. Competition sparks more effort." Across the table, another man spoke up, "Yes, but there is a difference between allowing her to compete, and giving her a title shot. . ."
Back and forth they argued. While most seemed to be all for her competing, the idea of a title shot was the hot topic. She couldn't keep up with who wanted what, they all kept saying different things that sounded like they were changing their views. Fucking bureaucrats, she mused internally. Eventually she stopped listening, frustrated with all the flip-flopping. So the choice is pretty easy at this point. If they don't let me compete, I'll let my contract expire. I'll have no reason to stay. Not even Edge can keep me from finding someone who let me do what I love. But if. . . if they give me the damn shot, I'll have to do everything I can to keep Edge from fucking it up.
After a few minutes of furious arguing, Vince broke the commotion. He cleared his throat loudly and said, "I think it's pretty obvious what should happen. And I must say, it is an exciting prospect." Everyone fell silent, and turned to him, including Lita, whose heart began to pound furiously in her chest. "You are officially being allowed back into active status. Next week on Raw, you will begin this tournament. A series of ten matches that you must complete successfully. If you do this, you will be given a title shot," he said, not really smiling, but she saw something unnerving in his face. She couldn't identify it, but it gave her the general feeling that there was some loophole that could screw her over. But. . . she was in! Tingles shivered down her spine, spreading through her arms and legs and settled in her brain. This time, she smiled genuinely.
All she could manage to say was, "It's about fucking time." The entire board room burst into laughter. Lita leaned back in the chair, the dread that had taken up residence in her chest over the past week was slowly letting go. Mr. McMahon called for some kind of paperwork over the intercom system, while the blonde woman next to him passed Lita a sheet of paper. Lita ignored the forced look of happiness on the women's face. She realized the paper was the outline for her ten match series that could lead to the Women's title. She read each line carefully.
1. Lita vs. Torrie Bra and Panties Match
2. Lita vs. Maria
3. Lita vs. Torrie and Maria Handicapped Match
4. Lita vs. Mickie James. No DQ
5. Halloween Costume Contest vs. The Divas
6. Lita vs. Melina
7. Lita vs. Mickie James with Special Referee Trish Stratus
8. Lita vs. Melina Bra and Panties
9. Lita vs. Victoria in a Street Fight
10. Diva Battle Royale
Title Shot: Lita vs. Trish Stratus for the Women's Championship. No DQ
The sheer absurdity of some of these matches made her want to laugh at the pure stupidity of it. A costume contest in place of a match? How low were they going to make her crawl? Some of the matches would be easy enough, just as long as she didn't get careless. She wasn't worried about Maria, the little diva's talents did not include ring work. That would be a squash. She found it interesting that her first match was going to be against Torrie in a Bra and Panties Match. Torrie had a long standing winning streak in those kind of matches, which could be problematic. Lita had always tried to get out of that kind of match. She'd much rather be in a Tables Ladder and Chairs match than parade around in her underwear.
She didn't really pay attention as Mr. McMahon talked with the staff about the new promotional campaign they'd be launching to re-introduce Lita to the wrestling fans. The usual trappings included a few photo shoots and a cover and feature in WWE Magazine. She'd done all this before in her career, but right now she viewed it all as a nuisance, something to distract her from her goals. But she also knew that she was required to display her assets to the company and the fans in order to stay popular.
After a few minutes of planning her promos the meeting ended and the creative team filed out of the room quickly, following behind in Mr. McMahon's large stride. The little blonde woman was the last one out failed to hold the door open for Lita who nearly smacked her head into the swinging door. "Bitch," she muttered, catching the door against her arm to make sure it didn't slam into her nose. Lita was wondering what the hell she'd done to deserve that woman's bitchiness as she headed into the hallway. Her step faltered only slightly when she saw Kane's hulking form sitting on the same bench she'd occupied. She was slightly shocked that he had stayed to wait for her. Part of her was glad to see him, but the other half wasn't so sure. He looked up at her, his eyes soft and curious. He looked her up and down, searching for some hint of the meeting's outcome.
This was a confrontation she'd been hoping that she'd never have to face. There had to be some explanation for what had happened between them at the airport and hospital, but she didn't want to admit what it was. Weakness. Or temporary insanity. She couldn't decide which. The way he was looking at her wasn't helping. She saw that tiny flare, that spark of hope that betrayed his cool exterior. And it sickened her. Christ, she sickened herself. After everything she'd done to hurt and embarrass him she hated herself for making him want her again.
There was no option of going back. As much as it hurt inside, she had to make it clear that he had to stay away from her. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him reach for her; and she knew this was the moment to make her point. She quickly spun around, turning her back to him. Her heart beat furiously, waiting for his reaction. For a long moment Kane stared at his outstretched hand that had been seeking to caress smooth skin, but now was pointed at her back. He knew what she was doing. Although he hadn't wanted to face it, he'd allowed blind hope to take over. But now she was just affirming his fears.
He allowed his hand to drop back to his side as he came to terms with what was happening. He had to smile at seeing her looking like her old self. It was almost as if he could pretend the last year hadn't occurred and that she was still his. After a long moment she turned around to face him, but she kept her eyes cast off to the side, just so she didn't have to look at him. "So is it good news or bad news?" he asked stoically, trying to break the awkwardness between them. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper which she handed to him. He noticed that she held it in such a way so he would not have to touch her. As he read over the lines, she could see a small, genuine smile on his face. "You're very lucky," he said, handing her back the paper, "They must really like you to give you such an opportunity."
"So long as I don't fuck it up," she said, still trying to avoid his gaze. Kane watched her posture, the way she kept sweeping her eyes over everything but him, the tone in her voice that betrayed her agitation. He had secretly hoped that there would be some difference since what happened in Philadelphia. Part of him really wondered if the drugs had addled her brain enough to want him again. Or maybe he was just fooling himself. Right now he knew that dealing with him was the last thing that she needed. Kane stood suddenly, and he could tell he startled her. Inwardly he laughed, she is still afraid of what I can do to her. When Lita recovered from seeing Kane suddenly vault to his feet, she stammered, "I, uh, I've got to meet my cab. You know. . ." In her head Lita raged at the situation. Christ this fucking sucks! Here, let's make things even more awkward! Why don't I freaking tell him I love him or something?
Kane gave her a small smile and said, "We wouldn't want you to miss your cab." "Well, uh, yeah," Lita said lamely as she quickly turned and headed down the hall. Right before she disappeared down the next corridor, Kane called, "It will be good to see you back in the ring." She paused and turned back to him. "Thanks," was all she could manage. She hurried down the hall and jabbed the elevator call button a few times in agitation. A moment later the doors opened and she darted inside. When the doors had closed, Lita leaned against the wall, wondering why she felt like shit despite being told that her title dreams were coming true. The elevator beeped and the doors opened into the bright lobby. Instead of exiting, Lita had the sudden urge to go back upstairs and confront Kane, talk to him about what had happened between them. She was reaching for the third floor button when she saw a flash of a yellow cab outside in the parking lot. She heaved a frustrated sigh and headed out the door, but not before calling goodbye to Cheryl.
As the cab took her back to the airport, Lita couldn't shake that feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she had done wrong. The problem was she had no earthly idea how to shake it.