A/N: I blame Grasshopper's "Just Like You" for sparking my Angry!Lita muse. Blah. So, if this stinks... It's all her fault! Go bother her to write another Williow/Chavo fic! ...I own none of these lovely characters, Vince and his lawyers do. I mean no harm in my misuse of the characters either, so please don't sue. PG-13 for bad words. Song from Phil Collin's. Most of the lyrics are floating around in this POV of Lita's mind from around the September 22, 2003 RAW. Rock on and review!
Title: I Don't Care Anymore (1/1)
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Mother fucking lying son of a bitch.
There. That's the last time I'll ever think about you. I don't need nor do I want you anymore. Not like I ever had you in the first place. Apparently you were too busy sleeping around more then any Kennedy could ever claim to have done. Or at least, try too
Molly Holly told me you tried to hit on her the night she won her first Women's Championship. It would have gotten worst then actually hitting on her, if it wasn't for the mace spray she always keeps in her pocket in case of creeps like you. And because of Chris Jericho, her hero in sparkly shirts. He was going to do more then give you the bloody nose that he did. He was going to kill you, and it's only because of Molly's Christian charity that you are still breathing.
And Trish, the women I'm now tag-teaming with. It seems the whole world knew about you two. She and I were able to patch things up, especially after she fell in love with the more sane Hardy Boy. Ha, I bet you never thought I'd call Jeff that. Well, compared to all the times you've tried to hand out your Mattibutes to Shannon Moore, the happily married to a woman Shannon Moore, does it really come as any surprise?
Yeah, I found out about that. How drunk you got. Shannon called me, sobbing, hiding in the hotel bathroom on his cell phone, begging me to help him. Luckily I knew that you can't hold your liquor in very good... and sure enough, a couple minutes went by and Shannon heard you puking your brains out and once he figured you were passed out, he ran like hell out of the room, into Crash Holly's room. Where he slept the on the floor that night, having only his clothes on his back.
And then, there was the time you and Dawn Marie got it on. Dawn Marie, AKA my best friend. She and I had a heart to heart a little bit after you two did it, and I forgive her. She and Lance were having problems and you were more then happy to 'help' her solve them. She was more afraid of damaging our friendship and then she was about worrying about you. Just so you know.
And then there was your little obsession with Victoria. It finally took Stevie Richards convincing you that he would tell his best friend Raven, who would in turn more then happily beat you up. Besides the fact that Raven thinks of me as a little sister, he still has some anger issues concerning you and him. You know, when you publicly embarrassed him after he lost the Loser Leaves RAW match. He doesn't forget easily. That's one of his quirks. Oh yeah, and his other quirk involves bloody beat-downs. But, I'm sure you'll find that out soon enough.
And now you lowered yourself to the second hand helping of Torrie Wilson-Kidman. And you're telling everyone you possibly can. Dawn Marie tells me that she's the Smackdown bicycle, everyone has had a turn at the wheel. Her husband gave up caring about who gets a turn at her anymore, because his real true love, Rey, has been having troubles with Big Show trying to hit on him. So, he probably won't even notice what that skank's doing, but I am.
I'm back, and to steal from Jazz, 'the bitch is back,' and she's pissed as hell. You want to go behind my back and be with other women? Fine. I don't care anymore. I'll bide my time and wait for the proper time to strike, because I've got nothing left to lose anymore. I don't have your love, and I don't really want it. It really pisses me off all the time I spent on you or thinking about you when I could have been using that time on something else. Something more important. If only I could ask for all the minutes back that I spent using up my phone card when you and I would lapse into silence when I was rehabbing. I could be a millionaire now. A billionaire, maybe. Hell, I'd probably make more then The Rock makes.
Speaking of the Rock, he called me to congratulate me on my win at the Pay Per View. Where was your phone call? Was in it your pants pocket, on the floor of Torrie Wilson's hotel room? Oh, yeah, that's right. I don't care anymore. And I don't. I just feel bad that your phone might contract one of those weird diseases that are in and out of Torrie's body.
Trish and I have been having a great time, finally being together again after all the time has past. She and I have been flirting with guys like crazy. It's great. I'm finally a liberated woman, even if you don't know it yet. You always want to squash me and my womanhood down. You have that 'good ol' Southern boy' ideals when it comes to woman. Better seen then heard. Barefoot and making babies. Well, guess what? I'm too much of a gypsy to care about that stuff like that. Kids are cute and everything, just not if they come popping out of me.
I'm not vain about my body, even though I spent hours in the gym trying to kill off the excess baby fat I accumulated from not working out for a year. I just don't want to spend 9 months with a kid in my stomach and then have to deal with the kid and all of it's problems into either it or I die. I was going insane being stuck out of that sacred circle for over a year... I don't think I could stand anything like raising the twenty kids you always envisioned.
All of them with Biblical names. Which is kind of funny. The fact that even though you can't stay loyal to one woman, me, but you can still stay loyal to God and what "He" would have wanted. I don't think he would have wanted me, with all my tattoos and piercings, to be the mother of eight. That's how many kids you wanted me to have. Well, now you'll have to find your own woman to get pregnant like that, because I sure as hell ain't. We never played by the same rules anyway.
So, in conclusion, Matthew Moore Hardy, this -is- the conclusion. The end of us. I'm my own woman now, and I don't care anymore about you. It had to take me breaking my frickin' neck to realize it, but I don't care about you. Whatever or whoever I originally fell in love with, has either been taken over by this Mattitude guy, or the facade you kept up for all the years finally fell and this is the real Matt Hardy. It doesn't matter to me anymore, and I won't be there for you anymore. You weren't there for me when I needed you and now that I'm finally finding a little bit of happiness and you're still not here when I need you--that's it, we are through.
So you had better step back and let me by, because I've got better thing to do with my time then be a loyal Mattitude follower. I have to be my own leader of the thing called 'my life,' and this life has nothing to do with you anymore. I'm my own girl and I don't need any man in my life to make it complete, and I espically don't need you.
Title: I Don't Care Anymore (1/1)
----------------------------------------
Mother fucking lying son of a bitch.
There. That's the last time I'll ever think about you. I don't need nor do I want you anymore. Not like I ever had you in the first place. Apparently you were too busy sleeping around more then any Kennedy could ever claim to have done. Or at least, try too
Molly Holly told me you tried to hit on her the night she won her first Women's Championship. It would have gotten worst then actually hitting on her, if it wasn't for the mace spray she always keeps in her pocket in case of creeps like you. And because of Chris Jericho, her hero in sparkly shirts. He was going to do more then give you the bloody nose that he did. He was going to kill you, and it's only because of Molly's Christian charity that you are still breathing.
And Trish, the women I'm now tag-teaming with. It seems the whole world knew about you two. She and I were able to patch things up, especially after she fell in love with the more sane Hardy Boy. Ha, I bet you never thought I'd call Jeff that. Well, compared to all the times you've tried to hand out your Mattibutes to Shannon Moore, the happily married to a woman Shannon Moore, does it really come as any surprise?
Yeah, I found out about that. How drunk you got. Shannon called me, sobbing, hiding in the hotel bathroom on his cell phone, begging me to help him. Luckily I knew that you can't hold your liquor in very good... and sure enough, a couple minutes went by and Shannon heard you puking your brains out and once he figured you were passed out, he ran like hell out of the room, into Crash Holly's room. Where he slept the on the floor that night, having only his clothes on his back.
And then, there was the time you and Dawn Marie got it on. Dawn Marie, AKA my best friend. She and I had a heart to heart a little bit after you two did it, and I forgive her. She and Lance were having problems and you were more then happy to 'help' her solve them. She was more afraid of damaging our friendship and then she was about worrying about you. Just so you know.
And then there was your little obsession with Victoria. It finally took Stevie Richards convincing you that he would tell his best friend Raven, who would in turn more then happily beat you up. Besides the fact that Raven thinks of me as a little sister, he still has some anger issues concerning you and him. You know, when you publicly embarrassed him after he lost the Loser Leaves RAW match. He doesn't forget easily. That's one of his quirks. Oh yeah, and his other quirk involves bloody beat-downs. But, I'm sure you'll find that out soon enough.
And now you lowered yourself to the second hand helping of Torrie Wilson-Kidman. And you're telling everyone you possibly can. Dawn Marie tells me that she's the Smackdown bicycle, everyone has had a turn at the wheel. Her husband gave up caring about who gets a turn at her anymore, because his real true love, Rey, has been having troubles with Big Show trying to hit on him. So, he probably won't even notice what that skank's doing, but I am.
I'm back, and to steal from Jazz, 'the bitch is back,' and she's pissed as hell. You want to go behind my back and be with other women? Fine. I don't care anymore. I'll bide my time and wait for the proper time to strike, because I've got nothing left to lose anymore. I don't have your love, and I don't really want it. It really pisses me off all the time I spent on you or thinking about you when I could have been using that time on something else. Something more important. If only I could ask for all the minutes back that I spent using up my phone card when you and I would lapse into silence when I was rehabbing. I could be a millionaire now. A billionaire, maybe. Hell, I'd probably make more then The Rock makes.
Speaking of the Rock, he called me to congratulate me on my win at the Pay Per View. Where was your phone call? Was in it your pants pocket, on the floor of Torrie Wilson's hotel room? Oh, yeah, that's right. I don't care anymore. And I don't. I just feel bad that your phone might contract one of those weird diseases that are in and out of Torrie's body.
Trish and I have been having a great time, finally being together again after all the time has past. She and I have been flirting with guys like crazy. It's great. I'm finally a liberated woman, even if you don't know it yet. You always want to squash me and my womanhood down. You have that 'good ol' Southern boy' ideals when it comes to woman. Better seen then heard. Barefoot and making babies. Well, guess what? I'm too much of a gypsy to care about that stuff like that. Kids are cute and everything, just not if they come popping out of me.
I'm not vain about my body, even though I spent hours in the gym trying to kill off the excess baby fat I accumulated from not working out for a year. I just don't want to spend 9 months with a kid in my stomach and then have to deal with the kid and all of it's problems into either it or I die. I was going insane being stuck out of that sacred circle for over a year... I don't think I could stand anything like raising the twenty kids you always envisioned.
All of them with Biblical names. Which is kind of funny. The fact that even though you can't stay loyal to one woman, me, but you can still stay loyal to God and what "He" would have wanted. I don't think he would have wanted me, with all my tattoos and piercings, to be the mother of eight. That's how many kids you wanted me to have. Well, now you'll have to find your own woman to get pregnant like that, because I sure as hell ain't. We never played by the same rules anyway.
So, in conclusion, Matthew Moore Hardy, this -is- the conclusion. The end of us. I'm my own woman now, and I don't care anymore about you. It had to take me breaking my frickin' neck to realize it, but I don't care about you. Whatever or whoever I originally fell in love with, has either been taken over by this Mattitude guy, or the facade you kept up for all the years finally fell and this is the real Matt Hardy. It doesn't matter to me anymore, and I won't be there for you anymore. You weren't there for me when I needed you and now that I'm finally finding a little bit of happiness and you're still not here when I need you--that's it, we are through.
So you had better step back and let me by, because I've got better thing to do with my time then be a loyal Mattitude follower. I have to be my own leader of the thing called 'my life,' and this life has nothing to do with you anymore. I'm my own girl and I don't need any man in my life to make it complete, and I espically don't need you.