Title: Rubbing Elbows

Author: Me, dumb ass

Rating: R for mature themes, language

A/N: I need to write a GOOD angst fic.

Disclaimer: Vinny Mac owns it all. Sorry to disappoint you, but you aren't gonna get a dime from me. I am a broke student. :-P Kittie owns "Brackish" (Sorry I only use half the lyrics)

*

It's the same old story every night. I go to a party, I ooh and ah the people. I am in the limelight. I am the center of attention. I am Stephanie McMahon Helmsley.

I snap my fingers, and I have what I always wanted. I have the powers of every piece of shit in the federation, a wonderful husband who I can share it with…Life is good.

I also have the affection of almost every single guy here. Sure, they tease. Sure, they insult. But don't I know inside…They're trembling with desire.

Daddy hates me. Mom hates me. But that's okay. They're not the kind of people I would want to bother with anyway. I was raised by wolves.

But I married a coyote.

Hunter and I know that one-day, it could all be gone…Like that. Blink of an eye, beat of a heart. He and I are risking it all on the line. We're not afraid to lose it all.

I am not afraid to die.

//She is not scared to die//

When I get back into the hotel room, I let it all out. I put away the fucking flirty tease act and be me. Stephanie Marie McMahon. I am not a Helmsley. But I don't feel like a McMahon either.

I take off the expensive shit clothes I am forced to wear, I let my hair down, wipe off all my makeup.

I just want to be me; I don't want to rub elbows. I want to hang back, sit loose. Enjoy my youth.

I am only twenty-five.

Twenty-five, drunk off my ass more times then I can remember. Smoke weed, pot…If it's illegal, I've done it.

I wind up crying against my bedpost every damn night. Sobbing, hysterically. Anyone care? Anyone give a damn?

No one cares about Stephanie, the slut. The whore.

// Best things in life drive her to cry//

"Hunter," I say. I twirl the ring he gave me on my finger. It was a birthday present, with Sapphire. My birthstone. It was cheap material shit.

"What?" He groans. He's reading the paper and smoking. He hates to be disturbed when he smokes.

I brush my hair back. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, bitch. Would I fuck you if I didn't?"

Dreamy sigh. That man of mine.

Rolls eyes, cough, cough. Hack, hack. He's a pisser, that Hunter. Pretty soon, he's going to get kicked in the pisser.

I stare at him, folding my arms. "There's more to love than fucking, you know."

"There is? No one informed me." He breathed out a circle of cigarette smoke.

God, I could feel the hate boiling up inside of me.

//Crucify then learn//

I take a few sweaters and a pair of pants. I need to get out of here before I kill Hunter, then myself. Heh. Good way to end up on the eleven o clock news. I take a cigarette from Hunter.

"Bitch, those are mine." He says. He put the paper down and put out his cigarette. I laughed a bit. He put it out on Rock's picture. "Creative," I say silkily, pointing to the picture.

"I said, bitch those are mine. Where the fuck are you going at this hour?" He asked. He demanded to know where I was going, but didn't get off his lazy ass to stop me.

I throw a bag over my shoulder. "Out. Out of here, out of this world, my world, your world, our world. I can't rub elbows and pretend to be who I am not anymore."

He laughed. I can't believe it. I am here, basically telling this dick that I am leaving him, and he LAUGHS.

Boy oh boy, the saying isn't always true. Brunettes can be dumb too sometimes.

And so, I go. To where, I don't know. Maybe I'll get some weed tonight, maybe I'll get hard liquor. Or hot sex. I am up for any of the three.

Hey, it's my funeral.

I'll rub elbows with the junkies.

--fin