Author's Notes: lol… Thank you for your reviews, everyone…! ^_^ As for LA19, lol! No way is this a Mary Sue… I think MSs have no originality to them unless they pass a certain point. It's as if the author can't think of anything better to do then put themselves into the lead just because they want to "have fun" with their favorite character or whatever their reason… However, that does not go to say that I hate every MS. Actually, some can be quite well written; I just don't think that teenyboppers should be writing them the way they are being done.

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Chapter Four

By ~ Místico Lobo

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Self-conceited; arrogant; monsters; pigs; feigns… Whatever you wanted to say it all boiled down to one thing. Men. Oh, the nerve of some! They were all violent assholes who always had to blame others except for themselves for their mistakes. And not to name anyone, but "The Rock" was one of the worst she had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

She scowled as she put on her sweater. She didn't see how she herself could even fit in his sorry excuses. News had traveled fast, and when she had found out it was her being accused on demolishing his car, she didn't know what to think. Besides that he had no reason to point the finger of blame upon her. She already had too many problems to deal with then his.

Like this damn camera. They had made her turn in her strobes and camera equipment for this new 'top of the line' digital one. If this was for a professional project like they claimed it to be, then why would they force her to use this? It was then that she felt funny about this whole thing. Why were they even interested in silly old photos of rooms anyway?

Sighing, Jessie closed the door behind her, leaving the little chip that the camera came with on the desk of Vince McMahon. Technology...it bugged her sometimes. People had their heads stuck in the clouds most of the time with the newest music player or how many pictures their new camera could hold, or even comparing who had the most features on their cell phones, that they failed to notice just how beautiful the sun shone or how many stars were really in the sky at night. It was refreshing to see just how clear the water could be and that, no matter what happened, life always went on.

She closed the door to her small Honda Civic but didn't start the car. Instead, she leaned her head back against the back of her seat and closed her eyes. Instantly, the picture of a short man with a beer belly was brought up. He had a short, white beard with matching, thick hair. He had cherry red cheeks and sparkly eyes. To any child he was Santa Claus. To his children, he was the best father that anyone could ask for. Both herself and Justin, her beloved brother, had adored him. She could still smell the freshly baked pumpkin pies he would make every Thanksgiving and the heart-shaped cookies-his own special recipe-for Valentine's Day. Their mother had left them when Justin was four years old and she had been eight. She had been tired, she explained, of being a mother and felt that her life was being weighted down with the responsibility. She had begged and pleaded with her mom, but it was to no use. She left before sunrise.

It was then that she had raised Justin as she was the only woman of the house. Their father never remarried and seldom went on dates. Instead, he devoted the rest of his life to them. He gave them all they needed and more, including the love that they needed at that time.

He had introduced Jessie into makeup and clothes and even taught her to dance. In turn, he taught Justin to play soccer, football, and any other sport imaginable. But the thing that always made the two come alive was wrestling. Jessie herself thought it was a dangerous sport and always frowned upon them when they turned it on. How could anyone like watching men, and women, beat upon each other for silly things like one guy looking at another guy's girlfriend the wrong way? Couldn't simple talking and conversation fix it?

Well, whatever flowed their boat.

When Justin had said that he wanted to become a professional wrestler, she had also shrugged it off then. He was just a kid, only ten-years-old, so he'd grow out of it. Daddy thought it was the best thing in the world and couldn't be more proud. Nevertheless, she had stuck by him and urged him on just how their father was doing. Like he, she was always at the wrestling camp, watching him and his growth.

It was even where she started her first job. It was small because she was young at the age of fourteen, according to them, but if anyone would ask her now, she would tell them that it was hard work! She cleaned the floor and mats of sweat, blood, and even pieces of skin that had been accidentally scraped off. It was a nasty job, but, like the saying went, somebody had to do it. Luckily for her, she wasn't the only one.

But while she got paid, the others didn't. Those people were usually troublemakers, though, and were forced to 'carry out' this punishment. She tried to stay out of their way, though, because she didn't want to be anywhere near them if they got into trouble again. If they did, she knew who would be blamed for their mistakes. It was always the same no matter where she went.

A screech behind her made her start and she quickly looked behind her, frowning. A black SUV had its lights blazing in her direction behind her, stopped in the middle of the street with the driver door wide open. She looked around to see if anyone had gotten out of the car but failed to notice anyone. Thinking that there were so many crazy people out there - who would in the right mind leave an unattended car in the middle of the parking lot with the keys in the ignition? - she started her car and backed out. Turning the music on low, music from the musical composer Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber filled the air, relaxing her. Her muscles relaxed from the refreshing sounds of Michael Ball as she started out. She was slumped against her seat, mouthing the words to "Aspects of Love" when, out of nowhere, a man in a dark cloak stepped behind a corner and right in front of her.

She slammed on her breaks and sat up straight, pissed. What the hell...!? She was about to get out of her car and tell him off, but at the look in his eyes, she stopped dead in her tracks. A shiver of fear ran down her spine as she stared into two empty, black wholes that were eyes and gripped onto the wheel. How could anyone look the way he did…? His face was so distorted; he looked more dead then alive. Fearing that he would make for her car, she quickly checked to see if the windows were up and doors were locked before looking up again.

He was gone.