A/N: NEW CHAPTER! This is officially the first new chapter I've written since taking this story off hiatus, so yay for that. I'm still a tad rusty, but I'm getting better, so bear with me. This story is kind of my baby, and therefore, I'll always be a perfectionist when it comes to this. Hopefully, all of you will enjoy it.
Thank you to Joviper54 and Nastygrl25 for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas all very much!
Chapter 10: Leave Me Alone
Elektra eyed her reflection in the mirror, reaching up with one finger to apply a fresh coat of gloss to her lower lip. Like most of her preparations nowadays, it was probably all for naught, but then again, better safe than sorry.
The gray-eyed Diva leaned back, stretching a little as she screwed the top back on her tin of lip gloss. Two weeks had elapsed since her near-catastrophic conversation with Stephanie McMahon, since her terrifying encounters with Eric Bischoff and Triple H. Since then, all three had kept their distance from her--or maybe she was keeping her distance from them. She wasn't sure; the days seemed to go by in a blur lately. The two halves of her life--the hell she endured here on Raw and the bliss she experienced with Dave--were starting to bleed together, creating an existence neither good nor bad, but nevertheless utterly unbearable.
She was shutting Dave out. Elektra knew that, could sense the wall between them growing just a little bit thicker with every one of his questions that went unanswered. But what was worse than that was that he was starting to let her. She was pulling away from him, and instead of reeling her back in, instead of grounding her like he always had in the past, her fiancee was enabling her, allowing her to slip from his grasp.
He was losing patience...or else he was losing hope. Either way, Elektra knew, with an ever-increasing sense of desperation, that she had to get ahold herself. She had to fight for this...or she was going to lose the one person who meant the world to her.
The locker room door swung open suddenly, startling her back to the present, and the silver-eyed Diva glanced over her shoulder to see who it was. Almost immediately, her pale irises narrowed and her mouth compressed into a thin line as Lita strolled into the changing area.
The Queen of Hardcore's brown eyes swept over the space, her pretty face registering only faint surprise when she saw Elektra standing at the makeup counter. Lita shrugged. "Sorry, thought this place was empty," She paused, her alto voice slightly mocking. "Then again, since it's only you...it might as well be."
Elektra rolled her eyes, turning back toward the mirror. The red-haired Diva's casual insult was nothing new; nothing she hadn't already seen or sensed in the expressions of almost every other Superstar or Diva. The only difference was that, out of everyone, Lita was one of the few with the balls to actually say what she was thinking.
The gray-eyed Diva's silence didn't seem to faze Lita; she merely smirked and sauntered across the room to join Elektra at the makeup counter. The Queen of Hardcore hopped up onto the makeup counter, tossing her hair over one shoulder and combing her fingers through her vibrant tresses. She studied their shared reflections in the silvered glass, her countenance disdainful as she took in Elektra's dark fuschia minidress and similarly-hued boots. "Nice," the red-haired Diva remarked. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes still locked on Elektra. "Kind of a waste, though...don't you think?" Lita's smirk widened just a touch. "I mean, the only way you're going to make it onto the show tonight is if that retard Maria lets you hold her microphone."
Elektra swung her gaze toward Lita, her pale irises making a similar assessment of the other Diva's low-riding black pants, the cut-off black top that barely covered her ample cleavage. "At least I won't have to listen to an entire arena calling me a slut," the gray-eyed Diva retorted.
"Not anymore, you mean," the Queen of Hardcore answered without missing a beat.
Elektra rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her own reflection. "Whatever..." she muttered, reaching up to push a bobby pin back into place.
Lita stared at her for several long seconds before she spoke again, an edge creeping into her voice this time. "You know, I've really never understood why you jumped on the whole 'let's treat Amy like a leper' bandwagon." At this, the silver-eyed Diva froze, but said nothing. Lita went on. "I mean, everyone else, I understand--it's all very high school, but I understand. But you--"
The red-haired Diva leaned closer to Elektra, her voice a sibilant hiss. Everything about her--her face, her eyes--had gone steely. "A year ago, you were doing the exact same thing that I did--and I don't know if you've taken a look around lately, but you're not exactly in a position to judge anyone...let alone me." The Queen of Hardcore paused. "You and me, E...we're actually a lot alike."
Elektra whirled around, her pale irises glinting like polished metal as she glared at her former friend. "I'm nothing like you," the gray-eyed Diva spat, her tone disdainful.
Lita didn't even flinch; merely met Elektra's gaze steadily. "Oh, really?" the red-haired Diva replied, her voice low and dangerous. "I think we're more alike that you think. Look at us." She gestured between the two of them. "We're outcasts, E. No one trusts us--no one wants anything to do with us. Me because I'm a 'slut'..." Lita used her fingers to carve imaginary quotation marks in the air. She glanced down, staring pointedly at the chunky bracelets covering Elektra's wrists. "...and you because...you're crazy."
Elektra didn't respond, but at her side, her nails dug into her palm hard enough to break the skin. THe gray-eyed Diva abruptly pushed herself off the counter, storming toward the door. "I don't have to listen to this--"
Lita turned her head, her eyes following the other Diva's movements. "Maybe that's why I'm the only one who knows the truth!" she called out, her voice challenging. "That you're not crazy--you're scared!"
Elektra froze, one hand still outstretched toward the door. She didn't turn turn around, didn't dare to--she was too afraid that Lita would see the color draining from her face. Lita slid off the counter, sauntering over to where the silver-eyed Diva stood. "Something's got you terrified," the Queen of Hardcore remarked. "A big bad secret that you don't want anyone else to know about--and believe me...I know all about those kinds of secrets."
Lita stopped just behind Elektra, leaning over her shoulder, her mouth next to the other Diva's ear. "What happened, E?" she asked, malicious satisfaction dripping from every word. "Have a little too much to drink one night and have a little too much fun with one of the other guys on the roster? Or maybe more than that, maybe someone higher up--"
Elektra spun around, and Lita's poisoned words ended in a surprised yelp as the other Diva slapped her. The Queen of Hardcore stumbled back, clutching the side of her face. Elektra regarded her without pity, raising up her hand to point at the red-haired Diva. Her arm was shaking. "You shut your mouth," the gray-eyed Diva whispered, her voice tremulous with barely contained emotion. "Don't you ever, ever lump me in you!"
She took a step toward Lita, her voice still low. "You and me...our issues go a hell of a lot deeper than what you did to Matt Hardy...and as far as I'm concerned--we have nothing more to say to one another." With that, she turned her back on the Queen of Hardcore, throwing open the door and striding out into the hall.
Lita slowly straightened up, gingerly rubbing her bruised cheek, her expression warping into one of pure spite. She stared at the doorway, watching as the door gradually swung closed. "Careful, E," she murmured viciously. "That's the bitch about secrets--"
"--sooner or later, someone always finds out..."
Elektra pressed her hand to her mouth, struggling to rein in her emotions before she lost control of them completely. Her legs shook, threatening to send her to the ground, and she stopped, leaning against the wall for support. Tilting her head back, she squeezed her eyes closed, unable to keep one or two involuntary tears from rolling down her cheek.
How was it that the people she wanted nothing to do with--Orton, Triple H, Lita--seemed to have her figured out perfectly? Last week, the Cerebral Assassin had come dangerously close to guessing the truth; this week, it had been Lita who had nearly hit the mark. And while she could claim that they knew nothing, that they were merely looking for yet another way to wound her, there was no denying that the situation was starting to spin out of her control.
Bischoff wasn't finished with her; the gray-eyed Diva knew this with a dreadful certainty. Whatever the General Manager's plans for her entailed, they wouldn't end until he had extracted every ounce of happiness or hope still left within her. Because Eric Bischoff, in addition to being a ruthless businessman and a generally distasteful excuse for a human being...was also a sadist.
She had learned this firsthand.
The silver-eyed Diva swallowed hard, almost choking on the lump of emotion clogging her throat. Why is this happening to me?...she thought to herself miserably. All I ever wanted was be with Dave--why am I being punished like this?...
She didn't receive an answer to her question, not that she was expecting one. In a way, she already knew the answer--because she could be.
A hand touched her arm, and Elektra jumped, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks. She opened her eyes to see a headset-clad technician staring back at her. "Eric Bischoff wants to see you," was all he said, his voice flat and uninterested.
His seemingly callous behavior didn't even wound Elektra--after all, why should he care? He was just the messenger, and she was just another Diva...a crazy one, at that. The silver-eyed Diva instead pressed her lips together in a tight smile, nodding curtly. Pushing herself off the wall, she set off in the direction of the General Manager's office.
Every step she took felt like hell, as though she was treading barefoot on red-hot coals. But that was appropriate, because it was hell she was heading toward, wasn't it? Only in this case, the Devil had silver-gray hair instead of horns, and rather than a pitchfork, in his hand, he carried a cell phone...
By the time she reached Bischoff's office, Elektra's chest had become so tight that she could barely breathe, and she knew that she was only a second or two away from hyperventilating. But the gray-eyed Diva gritted her teeth instead, shoving away the lightheaded feeling threatening to overwhelm her. Bischoff wouldn't give a damn if she passed out or not, and if she did--well, at least then she wouldn't have to look at him.
The silver-eyed Diva raised her hand, rapping hesitantly on the door, just below the nameplate reading "RAW General Manager". Almost instantly, she heard Bischoff bark "Come in!" from within. Elektra's hand hovered over the door knob, as once again, she contemplated running away instead, but in the end, she grasped the handle, turning it and entering the room.
The first thing she saw, of course, was Eric Bischoff, seating at his desk, hands folded together in front of him, his eyes glued to her face. The second thing she saw was that he was not alone.
Trish was seated in front of the General Manager's desk, and as Elektra stepped into the office, she immediately turned around. Her pretty face lit up in an expectant smile, and she quickly patted the chair next to her.
At the sight of the Women's Champion, Elektra felt a simultaneous surge of both relief and trepidation. With Trish here, Bischoff would be less likely to toy with her. On the other hand, though...maybe he just wanted an audience.
The silver-eyed Diva started to move toward her friend, then halted, shooting a cautious glance at Bischoff. The General Manager waved his hand impatiently, indicating that she could sit. Elektra did so, smoothing down her short skirt, crossing her ankles together decorously, staring expectantly at Bischoff.
Raw's General Manager cleared his throat, looking from one Diva to the other. "Elektra," he began, and the gray-eyed Diva felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. "Trish came to me a few minutes ago with a proposition--the problem is that she refused to tell me what it was without you here. So, now that you are--" Bischoff gestured at the Women's Champion. "Trish?"
The Canadian beauty glanced down at her lap for a few seconds, collecting her thoughts, before swinging her gaze up to meet the GM's. "I want to work a program with Elektra," Trish announced. "For the Championship."
Elektra felt something leap inside her, a queer sickening jolt of surprise. The Women's Champion reached over, giving her a reassuring pat on the arm before continuing. "We wrestled all these great matches last year--wouldn't it be great if we could revive the feud again? E won the match for our team at Homecoming three weeks ago--we could play off of that."
Trish gestured between the two of them, her voice warming to the subject. "She could turn heel--or I could turn heel again--and Ashley and Mickie...we could split them up. You know, Ashley could side with E, and Mickie with me--"
Elektra watched her friend as she spoke, feeling the painful ache of conflicting emotion. While she was flattered that Trish thought so highly of her wrestling abilities, and touched that the Women's Champion would go out on a limb for her like this--she also knew, with a sinking feeling, that it was never going to happen. Not now--maybe not ever.
Not as long as Bischoff remained Raw's General Manager.
Not as long as he considered her punishment to be an item of unfinished business.
Trish fell silent, and Elektra realized that she had finished. Bischoff was quiet for a few moments, as he considered the notion. "You do realize," he began slowly. "That I'll have to take the time to consider something like this."
The Women's Champion nodded eagerly, a hopeful smile illuminating her face. "Of course. I understand--"
"I've considered it," Bischoff interrupted brusquely, cutting her off, and the Canadian beauty sat back in her seat, stunned and clearly a little bewildered. "My answer is this--"
The General Manager looked from one to the other again, his gaze settling just a little longer on Elektra--just enough for her to see the cruel delight in his eyes. The gray-eyed Diva bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from reacting, her hands gripping the chair's arms so hard that her knuckles flushed white. Bischoff looked at Trish once more. "While your idea is amusing--I fail to see any compelling reason why I should put Elektra in a wrestling match at all...let alone one for the title."
The silver-eyed Diva barely reacted; merely flinched a little, as though she had been struck. Trish, on the other hand, was flabbergasted; nearly knocking her chair over as she jumped to her feet. "You can't be serious," the Women's Champion exclaimed. She pointed at Elektra, her arm shaking. "E is one of the best wrestlers here--"
"Of course she is," Bischoff interrupted, that obnoxious unctuous tone creeping into his voice again. He leaned back in his seat, smiling a little. "That explains why she's had so much in-ring action in the last few months." The GM clasped his hands together over his chest, lacing his fingers together. "I do hear, though, that Candice Michelle is improving somewhat. Maybe you'll be able to pull a halfway-decent match out of her."
Trish's expression twisted with dislike and anger. "This is bullshit!" the Canadian beauty raved. "I want--"
"What you want is irrelevant," Bischoff interjected, rising to his feet as well, the first notes of irritation entering his tone. He pointed to himself. "I make the title matches around here, not you, and I'm not going to just hand them out because you asked." He fastened his eyes on Elektra again, the look in them even more malicious. "Certainly not to Divas with...shall we say?...questionable mental stability?"
Trish shook her head slowly, her countenance filled with loathing. "You son of a--"
"My decision is final," Bischoff snapped, the authority in his voice backing up his words. His gaze was still on Elektra. "Unless..."
At this, Elektra felt her blood freeze into ice. She could feel the manipulation in Bischoff's tone, could feel it pressing against her skin, digging into her. "Unless..." the Raw GM repeated in that same awful tone. "Elektra? You've been fairly quiet during all of this? Anything you'd like to add to the conversation?"
As much as she would have given a year's pay not to look up, the silver-eyed Diva did so, almost fainting when she locked eyes with the General Manager. She had entertained the notion, had wondered what Eric Bischoff had left in his arsenal to torment her with--now she knew. This possibility this hint that she had some say in the decision...it was just a trap, designed to lure her into an open show of defiance. Because if she stood up to him, in any way--he would use it as an excuse.
An excuse to break the arrangement between them. An excuse to destroy her life.
And as much as she wanted to defy him, as much as she wanted to look him in the eye and tell him to go to hell...she couldn't do that. She couldn't afford to lost what little she had left. She couldn't lose Dave...not again.
Elektra ducked her head, her voice a barely audible whisper: "No, sir,"
Trish's mouth dropped open, and she stared at her friend with incredulity. "E, what's--"
Even though she couldn't see the Raw GM, she could still hear him smile. "That's what I thought," Bischoff glanced back at Trish, as though remembering her presence. "Now, sorry to cut this short, but I've got a show to prepare for." He gestured at the door. "So...if you'll excuse me...."
The door to Bischoff's office flew open, and Trish stormed out, followed closely behind by Elektra. The Women's Champion's face was set in an expression of tightly controlled rage, and her hand was clenched in a death grip over her red-and-gold title belt.
Elektra hurried after her, struggling to keep up with her best friend's furious pace. "Trish, please," the silver-eyed Diva pleaded. "Let me explain--"
"Explain what?" Trish retorted, whirling around so suddenly that Elektra almost collided with her. The Canadian beauty glared at her. "You made me look like an idiot in there! I went out on a limb for you--and you couldn't even stand up for yourself!"
The gray-eyed Diva tried to speak, but words failed her. Trish took a step toward her, her expression still furious. "Tell me something, E," the Women's Champion demanded. "When did you become so afraid of Eric Bischoff? Huh?" She peered into her friend's face. "Was it because he put you in that match three weeks ago?"
Elektra averted her gaze. "No--"
"Then what?" Trish exclaimed, throwing up her arms in exasperation.
The silver-eyed Diva looked up, her expression miserable. She spoke slowly, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "I can't..." She hesitated, began again. "I can't...tell...you--"
"Of course you can't," Trish cut her off sarcastically. "You can't tell me anything! I mean--" The Canadian beauty looked around, clearly at a loss of patience. "I'm only your best friend--and you won't even tell me what's going on!"
Elektra swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry--"
"You always say that," the Women's Champion retorted. "You always say that...but you never say why." Trish stared hard at her friend, her face a mixture of sympathy and impatience. "Just tell me." she whispered, her tone pleading. "Please." The gray-eyed Diva stared back at her wordlessly. Seconds of silence ticked by, and gradually, Trish's expression closed down, becoming cold and angry once again. "You're not going to...are you?"
Elektra drew in a choked breath, the sound of it almost like a sob. "Trish, I--"
"Save it." The Women's Champion's tone was clipped and terse. She eased her title belt up onto her shoulder, turning away from the gray-eyed Diva. "I have to help Mickie get ready for her match--I'll see you later." She strode off before Elektra could stop her.
The silver-eyed Diva watched her friend walk away, her heart breaking within her chest. It was starting--the loss of faith that she'd predicted for so long, the loss of trust that she'd allowed to happen. Trish was already falling victim to it--how long before it spread to the few others left in her life?
How long before it spread to Dave?
Elektra bit her lip, tears trickling down her cheeks. She reached up to wipe them away, and as she did so--she heard a familiar smarmy voice come from directly behind her, accompanied by a hand on her shoulder.
"You played your part well."
Elektra clenched her teeth, refusing to look at the General Manager. Apparently, her humiliation inside the office had not been sufficient; Bischoff wanted to continue it outside as well. With a resoluteness that surprised her, the gray-eyed Diva jerked her shoulder free of his grasp, his touch like a contaminant on her skin. "Don't touch me!" she spat.
If Bischoff was perturbed by her show of disobedience, he didn't show it. Instead, he cooly remarked: "Trouble between you and Trish?" The Raw GM made a tsking sound. "Sad, isn't it? When friendships fall apart?"
Elektra didn't respond, didn't even move. Bischoff's face twisted with annoyance, and he grabbed her arm hard, yanking her around. Grabbing hold of her chin, he forced her to face him. "You will look at me when I'm talking to you, and speak when you're spoken to!" he snarled.
The words burbled up out of the silver-eyed Diva before she could stop them. "Go to hell."
The expression on Bischoff's face was terrifying, and for a second, Elektra was sure that he was going to hit her. But instead, the General Manager's expression gradually relaxed into a sadistic smile. "Careful, Elektra," he warned, his tone taunting. "Remember our little arrangement? Either you be nice to me, do what I say when I say it--or else I have a little conversation with your fiancee--"
Elektra struggled in his grasp, too angry now to be quiet, too angry to be anything other than rebellious. "You leave Dave out this--" she hissed, then fell silent as a new voice entered the fray.
"What's going on over here?"
Bischoff released his hold on Elektra, crossing his arms over his chest as John Cena approached them. The General Manager glared with undisguised loathing at the WWE Champion. "This is none of your business, Cena--"
"Oh, I'm pretty sure that it is," the Champ interjected smoothly, his tone casual. He tilted his head back, eyeing Bischoff from beneath the brim of his baseball cap. "See, when I see the General Manager of Raw--a man who's gone out of his way to make my life a living hell--threatening a Diva..." Cena gently took hold of Elektra's arm, steering her subtly behind him as he spoke. "--a Diva whom I consider to be a friend..." The smile disappeared from Cena's face, and he met the General Manager's stare with equal dislike. "...well, then, that is my business."
The WWE Champion moved a little bit closer, lowering his voice as he spoke. "So it's not enough tormenting me, is it?" he remarked, the warmth gone from his voice. "You have to go after my friends, too." Cena slowly removed the customized spinner belt from his shoulder, holding it at his side as he spoke. "If I ever see you put your hands on her again--I'll F-U your ass into a Dumpster."
Elektra's pale irises widened in horror and she frantically grabbed hold of the Champ's arm. "John, don't--"
"Listen, Cena," the General Manager interrupted, cutting her off. "I'd be careful if I were you. You're not in a position to be making threats, especially to me." Bischoff tilted his chin up, staring arrogantly at Raw's Champion. "Mick Foley, your Special Guest Referee for your match tonight--he's not looking so hot. He might not even make it to the ring at all. And if that happens--" Bischoff shrugged. "Well, who knows? You could end up with a referee who's less...favorable. Or better yet..." The General Manager lowered his voice, his glee and satisfaction evident. "...Kurt Angle could make you tap out."
Cena didn't flinch. "I never tap out."
"Hm..." Bischoff murmured. He leaned close to the Champ, uttering his final words in a tone just above a whisper: "We'll see," For a second, his eyes slid over, met Elektra's--and there was no need to voice the implied threat they contained. And then, he was turning away, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling back toward his office.
Cena stared after him for a second or two, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "Fucking piece of shit," he muttered in an uncharacteristic display of profanity. Then, after a moment, his expression went from intimidating to concerned, and he turned back toward the shaken Diva behind him, reaching out to gently grasp her arms. "E, are you okay--"
Elektra shied from his touch, backing away from him. Her beautiful face, when it met his, was furious. "Are you insane?" the silver-eyed Diva hissed. Cena was so surprised by her sudden show of ire that he had no response. Elektra went on, her words spilling out over one another. "You think I don't have enough problems around here without you dragging me into your shit?"
Cena's face went slack with astonishment and he hesitantly reached out toward her. "E," he began tentatively. "I was only trying to help--"
"Well, don't!" Elektra's voice was almost a scream. She backed away another step, staring at him accusingly. "You're just like everyone else--you're 'only trying to help'! The problem is, you never ask what I want!"
The gray-eyed Diva looked away, and in an instant, her expression went from furious to miserable. "I just...I just want to be left alone," she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her eyes met his again, and she clenched her hands at her sides, her voice rising to a shriek. "Why can't any of you understand that I just want to be left alone?" Spinning around on her heel, she stormed away without another word.
For a second, Cena just stood there, unable to do anything except watch her go. Then, before he realized what he was doing, he was moving, throwing his title belt onto the floor, running after the fleeing Diva. "E!"
Elektra didn't stop, didn't even look back. The Champ reached her side, grabbing her arm, turning her around to face him. "Let me go," the silver-eyed Diva cried, tears running down her face. "Let me go--"
That was all she got out before Cena kissed her. For a moment, Elektra struggled, beating her fists against his chests--and then all of a sudden, she relaxed in his embrace, pressing her body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him back--
Cena blinked, dispelling the daydream. Up ahead of him, Elektra was still striding down the hall, still mad and upset, but the pursuit of her, the kiss--that had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. A fantasy that had chosen to occur at the most inopportune of times.
The Champ leaned back agains the wall, closing his eyes and sighing, the dream still not entirely gone from his system. In his head, he could still feel her body molded against his, could still feel her lips, and how sweet they must taste....
Cena abruptly brought his hand up, smacking himself across the face, guilt surging through him with such intensity that it drowned out everything else. Elektra was suffering, caught under the thumb of Eric Bischoff, clearly in need of a hero. He had tried to be her savior, but he had only succeeded in driving her further away from him, in driving her further within herself. And now, when all she needed was a friend, he hadn't even been able to provide that to her--he had merely stood there, mouth hanging open like an idiot, caught in an adolescent fantasy that would never come true.
A few weeks ago, he had vowed to save Elektra from whatever was tormenting her.
Some savior he was turning out to be.