The Emancipation of Trish Stratus
A/N: Okay - since my roommate and her boyfriend are hogging the living room and the television, I can think of nothing better to do than sit in my room and write some more chapters. Guess you guys benefit from my pain, huh? As always - I own nothing, unlessyou count thereally great bagels that I just bought at the grocery store an hour ago! Yum!
One would think that, after nearly five years on the road, Trish would have somehow grasped the concept of time zones. No one else seemed to have a problem asking their agent, or some other form of management, what time it was in their home for the evening, but Trish honestly never thought of it. Her mind was always filled with more important issues, like her title, her latest strategy, or when she was finally going to get to rest for more than a couple of days.
And lately, it had been ten times worse. With him cluttering every corner of her brain, Trish barely thought of anything else. She was always watching over her shoulder, making sure no one was catching on, slipping out of his room before any other superstar would dream of being up. And this time, it had cost her. If she had just waited for him to awaken, he could have told her that the time had changed, once again, and that she was going to end up at the arena long before everyone else.
By the time the other talent started filtering into the building, Trish had spent three hours at the Palace of Auburn Hills by herself. In order to avoid the backstage chaos, she had found a seat in the upper deck, far away from any other noise, and watched as the techs assembled the ring in the middle of the floor. Closing her eyes, she had spent twenty minutes just visualizing the matches of the night. She knew exactly what he should do to win his bout, and what she would have done, if she'd have been wrestling.
She spent the next fifteen minutes typing a message for her fan club to read on her web site, promising 100 percent Stratusfaction on the following week's RAW, when she met Lita for a championship defense. After that, she jotted quick postcards to her mother and grandmother, before penning a three page letter to the man of her dreams.
It was silly, when she thought about it, the amount of paper she had wasted on him. She knew, deep down, that she would never show him the letters she had written. But she justified it by telling herself that it was therapeutic to, at the very least, get them out of her head and into a tangible form. Maybe someday, when they were finally free of the all other restrictions, married with children in a beautiful home somewhere, she would share the intimate thoughts that she had for him in those blossoming moments, at the beginning of their relationship.
After spending nearly an hour and a half in the arena, she had tromped back to her locker room, set up camp in the most remote corner she could find, and then went to wander the underbelly of the stadium. She had called him and left a sweet, hushed voice mail about how much she wished they could bring their relationship into the open. She gushed a little while longer about how he deserved a shot at the Heavyweight title, and about how she knew he would win it eventually. With a sincere "I love you," she ended the call and headed back to the locker room.
By the time she reached the main hall way, people were rushing, shouting, and scurrying everywhere. She avoided three run-ins with people she didn't even recognize before a heavy hand gripped her arm and pulled her into Evolution's locker room. She didn't even look up at her captor before she spat, "You better have a pretty damn good excuse for putting your hands on me, Orton!"
When he let go and slammed the locker room door, Trish finally looked around. Flair was nowhere to be seen and Orton was blocking the entrance. Hunter, dressed in full ring attire, glowered at her from the couch, three pieces of pink paper in his hands. "What the hell," she started, her stomach sinking to her toes. "Is that my letter?"
He didn't speak, only growled. She could have sworn his nostrils flared when he stood and leveled his menacing glare at her again. "I thought we had an understanding, Trish," he stated angrily. "After Christian, I thought we agreed that you were not going to fuck around with anyone else on the roster. I thought you understood that it was not only a bad business move, but also a really bad psychological move. I thought that you and I were pretty clear about the fact that no one in that locker room is good enough for you!" He stomped his foot like the raging bull that he was so closely resembling.
Trish swallowed hard. He loved her like she was his own sister, and she knew that. But he was also scary as hell when he didn't get his way. "Hunter, listen," she started in a whisper.
"You want to be known as the resident whore? Do you?" he demanded. "Because you're on your way right now. First it was that Hardy freak. And then Jericho and Christian. Do you want people to think the only reason you have that title is because you know how to open wide and say "ah"? Does professionalism mean nothing to you, Stratus? Do you just close your eyes and forget what it means to represent this company as a champion?"
He watched as her dark eyes grew wide, and for a moment, he felt bad. She was his little Trish-ster. She was the one who made him laugh when everyone else was getting on his nerves. She was the one who let him sleep on her couch when Steph got pissed and threw him out. And she was the one who never stopped believing in him, even when he was being an arrogant ass.
She was one of the most kind-hearted and pure souls he knew. Sure, the fans called her a slut, and sometimes she could act, and dress, like one. But he knew the real Trish – the one who had never dated, let alone slept with, anyone she didn't really like. She wasn't careless, and she wasn't nasty – even though most of the other "divas" took pride in being just that.
But one glance at the pink paper in his hand, and being angry wasn't so hard. His Trish wasn't dirty, but the things she said in that letter were. The things that this bastard made her think were filthy, and they were bothering Hunter more than he could even explain. "Let me ask you, Trish," he started, moving slightly closer and reading from the paper. "How did it feel to be bent over like a naughty child and spanked until," he started.
She ripped the letter from his hands and glared back. "This was none of your mother fucking business, you overbearing son of a bitch," she shouted. "How dare you go through my things? How dare you follow me around, and violate my privacy? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
He narrowed his eyes and stepped even closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I wanna know who this is about," he said in a forced whisper that said he meant business.
"So you can kick his ass, end his career,and ruin the best thing that has ever happen to me? I don't think so," she growled right back, turning on her heel and smacking him in the face with her hair. The only thing Trish forgot was that she had to get through Orton to get out of the room. And his expression said he had no interest in moving. "Get out of my way, Ass Face," she demanded.
"Let her go, Orton," Hunter seethed. "She'll be back," he called loudly as Trish ran from the room. "She'll be back," he added as he sank back to the couch.
"Can I ask you something, man?" Randy asked as he shut the door again, thinking over what he had just seen. "Why's it such a big to you? I mean, Trish is a big girl – she's an adult and everything. Why does it matter who she's fuckin' around with?"
Hunter shrugged. "I don't know, man. I mean, I know what this business can do to a person, ya know? It can distort your reality and disillusion you really quickly, if you're not careful." He sighed heavily and leaned his head back. "I don't want to see that happen to Trish."
Orton rolled his eyes and went to his own locker, shedding his dress pants and pulling on his blue wrestling trunks. He had a match to prep for, and he was tired of the "touchy-feely," "I've got a sensitive side, too" Hunter. "If you want my opinion," he threw over his shoulder as he laced up his boots, "The girl can hold her own. From what I've seen anyway."
Standing, Hunter stripped his tee shirt over his head and started for the door. "I didn't ask for your opinion," he snarled as he slammed the door behind him. The only thing worse that knowing Trish was shacking up with another RAW Superstar was knowing she was pissed at him. And he vowed to make it right before they left the arena that night.