Disclaimer- I own nothing/no one in this story.
I wake up with a yawn, rolling over on Scott and Lita's fold-out couch. Friday is here, and I still haven't called Eric or checked my messages. And Andrew still hasn't let me talk to Stacy.
Scott comes out of their bedroom, running a hand through his blonde hair and walking into the kitchen. He picks up his favorite coffe cup, a white one that reads "Warning; The Surgeon General has determined that bothering me before I've had my first cup of coffee is hazardous to your health.", and moves over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. Little did he know that Lita had conventiently turned off the timer before she went to bed last night, just to piss him off.
Lita bounces into the room as he is still staring forlornly at the empty coffee pot. She walks up to him, a smirk on her lips. "Morning, baby. Forget to turn on the coffee last night?"
Her evil grin gives it away. "You didn't."
Her grin widens. "Consider it payback for the dredlocks."
He shakes his head, flipping the manual switch on the coffee pot. "Urge to kill rising, but. too. early. in the morning. Must. have. caffiene. before. committing. homicide."
Lita laughs and then walks over to me, sitting at the edge of the fold-out bed. "Morning, Chris. Get ahold of her last night?"
I sigh, turning on my cell phone. "Nope." I dial my awnsering service and put it up to my ear, checking my messages for the first time this week. Eric's messages are the first two. Vince's is number three. The second I hear their voices, I hit the button that skips them; I just can't handle a pre-recorded lecture right now.
Stephanie McMahon is message number four. "Chris, we really need to talk. Eric and I are worried sick about you. Call me, okay? I really mean it. Love ya. Bye." I was still one of the only wrestlers to know that those two were together. If Eric was actually fired by Vince, I knew he'd eventually end up on Smackdown!. Hell, it might even help their relationship.
Messages five and six are from Jay. I skip those too; what's the point of even listening to them? I already know that he's just calling to check up on me.
I'm about to give up when the last message starts playing. It's from Stacy. "Chris, we really need to talk. please call me on Friday; Andrew won't be in all day. Thanks."
I pull a pair of jeans over my boxers and throw on a pair of sneakers. Lita gives me a questioning look, but I just open the window and climb out onto their fire-escape. Which reminds me of one thing. During February, at the ass-crack of dawn in New York city it's freezing outside.
Lita tosses Scott's leather jacket to me, and a quickly pull it on. She flashes me a grin and shakes her head. "And you say your from Canada?"
She closes the window before I can think of an appropriatley scathing insult. I dial Stacy's number, sitting on the cold, rusted iron. On the third ring, I'm finally realizing that I can see my breath, and Stacy picks up, sounding like she's just gotten out of bed. "Hello?"
"Stacy it's Chris, sorry if I woke you up."
"Nah, I've been up for a while. I know that 'Drew's been an ass lately. he still thinks that you could've stopped the chair in time." She laughs softly, "He doesn't realize that I'm a big girl and that I was the one that chose to be at ringside. And I was the one that spaced out while the match was going on."
"Y-you don't think that I tried to hit you?"
"Nope. I also know that you apologized as much as you could have this past Monday. You talk to Biscoff yet?"
"Not since the show. Why?" I close my eyes, knowing that I'm not going to like this.
"Eric is turning this into a plot-line. He pulled his usual walking-around- shouting 'I am God, hear me roar.' at-the-top-of-his-lungs shit."
I groan, not really wanting to start this plot-line. "I'll call Vince. He'll fix this."
"It's no good; 'Drew and I already tried him. Mr McMahon loved the idea. siad that it'd be good for the fans and all of that junk. Besides, Eric told me to tell you; 'If you go to Vince or anyone else with this, he'll have your ass in a sling.'"
I hit the iron railing in front of me, inwardly cursing Bitch-off. The "anyone else" that he had been talking about was Plan B. Stephanie McMahon. Bitch-off knew that I'd have gone to his girlfriend, and had planned for it. "Alright then. Stacy, I'm so sorry about hitting you. It was a complete accident."
"It's okay. I'm going to be fine. I've gotta get going. See you on Monday." Her end of the phone clicked off. I notice a small drop of warmth on my cheek and wipe it away. I haven't even noticed that I'd been crying.
Author's notes- I just wanted to quickly let you know that I won't have computer access for the next couple days so the next chapter won't be up until Friday. Thanks for all of the reviews.
~Holly
I wake up with a yawn, rolling over on Scott and Lita's fold-out couch. Friday is here, and I still haven't called Eric or checked my messages. And Andrew still hasn't let me talk to Stacy.
Scott comes out of their bedroom, running a hand through his blonde hair and walking into the kitchen. He picks up his favorite coffe cup, a white one that reads "Warning; The Surgeon General has determined that bothering me before I've had my first cup of coffee is hazardous to your health.", and moves over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. Little did he know that Lita had conventiently turned off the timer before she went to bed last night, just to piss him off.
Lita bounces into the room as he is still staring forlornly at the empty coffee pot. She walks up to him, a smirk on her lips. "Morning, baby. Forget to turn on the coffee last night?"
Her evil grin gives it away. "You didn't."
Her grin widens. "Consider it payback for the dredlocks."
He shakes his head, flipping the manual switch on the coffee pot. "Urge to kill rising, but. too. early. in the morning. Must. have. caffiene. before. committing. homicide."
Lita laughs and then walks over to me, sitting at the edge of the fold-out bed. "Morning, Chris. Get ahold of her last night?"
I sigh, turning on my cell phone. "Nope." I dial my awnsering service and put it up to my ear, checking my messages for the first time this week. Eric's messages are the first two. Vince's is number three. The second I hear their voices, I hit the button that skips them; I just can't handle a pre-recorded lecture right now.
Stephanie McMahon is message number four. "Chris, we really need to talk. Eric and I are worried sick about you. Call me, okay? I really mean it. Love ya. Bye." I was still one of the only wrestlers to know that those two were together. If Eric was actually fired by Vince, I knew he'd eventually end up on Smackdown!. Hell, it might even help their relationship.
Messages five and six are from Jay. I skip those too; what's the point of even listening to them? I already know that he's just calling to check up on me.
I'm about to give up when the last message starts playing. It's from Stacy. "Chris, we really need to talk. please call me on Friday; Andrew won't be in all day. Thanks."
I pull a pair of jeans over my boxers and throw on a pair of sneakers. Lita gives me a questioning look, but I just open the window and climb out onto their fire-escape. Which reminds me of one thing. During February, at the ass-crack of dawn in New York city it's freezing outside.
Lita tosses Scott's leather jacket to me, and a quickly pull it on. She flashes me a grin and shakes her head. "And you say your from Canada?"
She closes the window before I can think of an appropriatley scathing insult. I dial Stacy's number, sitting on the cold, rusted iron. On the third ring, I'm finally realizing that I can see my breath, and Stacy picks up, sounding like she's just gotten out of bed. "Hello?"
"Stacy it's Chris, sorry if I woke you up."
"Nah, I've been up for a while. I know that 'Drew's been an ass lately. he still thinks that you could've stopped the chair in time." She laughs softly, "He doesn't realize that I'm a big girl and that I was the one that chose to be at ringside. And I was the one that spaced out while the match was going on."
"Y-you don't think that I tried to hit you?"
"Nope. I also know that you apologized as much as you could have this past Monday. You talk to Biscoff yet?"
"Not since the show. Why?" I close my eyes, knowing that I'm not going to like this.
"Eric is turning this into a plot-line. He pulled his usual walking-around- shouting 'I am God, hear me roar.' at-the-top-of-his-lungs shit."
I groan, not really wanting to start this plot-line. "I'll call Vince. He'll fix this."
"It's no good; 'Drew and I already tried him. Mr McMahon loved the idea. siad that it'd be good for the fans and all of that junk. Besides, Eric told me to tell you; 'If you go to Vince or anyone else with this, he'll have your ass in a sling.'"
I hit the iron railing in front of me, inwardly cursing Bitch-off. The "anyone else" that he had been talking about was Plan B. Stephanie McMahon. Bitch-off knew that I'd have gone to his girlfriend, and had planned for it. "Alright then. Stacy, I'm so sorry about hitting you. It was a complete accident."
"It's okay. I'm going to be fine. I've gotta get going. See you on Monday." Her end of the phone clicked off. I notice a small drop of warmth on my cheek and wipe it away. I haven't even noticed that I'd been crying.
Author's notes- I just wanted to quickly let you know that I won't have computer access for the next couple days so the next chapter won't be up until Friday. Thanks for all of the reviews.
~Holly