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Spring 2003
"Therapy"
Stephanie stared at the nameplate adorning the office door opposite her.
Dr. Wendy McGrath
Psychiatrist, Performance Coach
Ugh, she wanted to vomit. A McMahon in therapy. She looked out the waiting room window; surely a pig would fly by in just a moment. It didn't. She saw nothing but the branches of a willow tree peaking out the left side of the glass, it's trunk just out of sight.
What am I even doing here?
She didn't understand the what, barely acknowledged the why, and hardly knew the how. But she knew how she felt; unfulfilled and empty. She had described the feeling to her mother and somehow had ended up here.
She sat just outside the office of the number one performance coach in the country, the top paid in the state, and most importantly, the most accomplished in keeping her patient list confidential. Stephanie would rather die than have anyone know she was seeking help.
Mental help.
She eyed the door and felt the urge to run. No fucking way was she going to be the first McMahon in therapy. Fuck that.
She stood and grabbed her bag, ready to run. The psychiatrist's door opened abruptly, startling her, and knocking the wind out of her resolve.
A professionally dressed woman stepped out before her. She was a bit shorter, held an imposing presence, and was almost as beautiful as the heiress. Her dark hair contrasted beautifully with her pale skin.
"Ms. McMahon?"
Stephanie gulped.
"Yes."
The other woman smiled warmly, despite her perfect posture.
"Dr. Wendy McGrath," she extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you."
The greeting was short, curt, and formal. Then Stephanie was following her into the office beyond the door, her heart pounding.
"Please take a seat wherever you like."
The choice was a personality test; even Stephanie knew that. She chose the seat directly opposite of the doctor. They faced one another.
"How did you come to find me?"
"I looked up best shrink money can buy."
"Is that so?"
Dr. McGrath did not blink. She did not look away. Her sharp green eyes stared intently across the room at her newest patient beneath a raised eyebrow.
Stephanie felt no discomfort. She had never backed down from anyone, especially another woman. This confrontation did not rattle her. On the contrary, she enjoyed the rush of adrenaline rising in her stomach. The heat of her temper felt like pressure almost all her life.
Almost all her life. It hadn't recently.
Things had changed.
She was alone.
Her love of war had done that.
She adverted her eyes, looking out the window at the weeping willow beyond it.
"My mother recommended you," she said softly.
Dr. McGrath's shoulders relaxed. She was surprised by how quickly the woman opposite of her submitted. Her research suggested it would take multiple sessions for her to respond.
"Are you close to your mother?"
"I guess so. But it's recent. In the last year or so, we've gotten closer."
"And have you enjoyed that?"
Stephanie met the psychiatrist's eyes for just a moment. When McGrath offered a small, inviting smile, she returned her gaze to the window.
"Yes. It's been kinda like having a friend."
Quirking her brow again, Dr. McGrath gently asked, "Have you not had a friend before?"
Stephanie's responding eye roll was so efficient, so dramatic, her therapist could virtually see the heiress' lavish childhood flash before her eyes. But when Stephanie did not meet her gaze, Dr. McGrath knew it was directed within rather than at her.
"I've had friends but..."
"Not real ones."
"Right," nodded Stephanie appreciatively.
"So who have been your companions? You don't strike me as a lone wolf."
The older woman watched irritation spread across her patient's face.
"Meaning?"
"You're too much of an alpha. We don't roam alone."
"We?"
"Oh yes, Ms. McMahon. You're mother's not an idiot. She wouldn't have sent you here if I couldn't handle you."
Stephanie calculated all of this new information behind a death mask. Her therapist remained silent, waiting for her to answer the question.
"My family, I guess. In one way or another."
"Your whole life?"
"Yeah."
"Tell me a bit more please. Whatever you're comfortable with."
The brunette took a deep breath through her nose before leaning back into her seat. She took just a second to elaborate.
"We were poor. I don't remember it much but we had nothing. My dad bought the company and moved us to Greenwich. Not old village Greenwich, just over the border from Stamford Greenwich. He wanted us to go to the better schools. We did and everyone hated us. For a long time we were the weird, wrestling family."
"So all you had was each other."
"Yeah, pretty much."
"And then what happened?"
"What happened is what happens to every white trash family that makes it. The money came too quick and we all lost our minds."
"You and your brother as well?"
"Especially me and my brother."
"I see," nodded Dr. McGrath. "Would you like to elaborate?"
"I don't know. I guess. Would that help me?"
"Would that help you what?"
Stephanie huffed irritably.
"Obviously I'm here for help."
"Yes, that is the reason most people attend therapy. Not always though. Why are you here, Stephanie? May I call you Stephanie?"
The brunette nodded tentatively.
"I'm... unhappy."
"Alright," answer Dr. McGrath gently. "That's a good as ever reason to come here. Do you know why you're unhappy? Or what is making you unhappy?"
Her green eyes narrowed upon Stephanie's adverting gaze. The younger woman was staring out the window with a lost look in her eyes.
"You were recently divorced." Dr. McGrath made the statement bluntly, boldly. She knew right away that it was the subject that had propelled her patient to sit across from her.
Stephanie all but squirmed at the mention of her marriage. Her feet and fingers fidgeted, her eyes fell to the floor, and her posture became erect.
After a moment of agitation, all the younger woman was able to say was, "Yeah."
"Was this a mutual decision?"
It was the wrong thing to say. Fire filled Stephanie's eyes.
"All that talk of doing your homework and now you're gonna play stupid."
"No, as a matter of –"
"Everyone knows what happened."
"Actually, I'd say –"
"It was on television."
Dr. McGrath stayed quiet, allowing Stephanie to deescalate.
"What I had meant," retried the doctor, " was to inquire about the fall of the marriage behind the scenes. I did do my homework and I do know what happened. But I don't know why, and I don't know what happened behind closed doors."
More silence.
Dr. McGrath continued, "Why don't we start with some specifics? Did you want to get divorced?"
"No."
"Did he know that?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?" The majority of relationships fail due to a break down in communication. What is obvious to one person may be oblivious to their partner."
"He knew."
"Did –"
"I begged him." The physician went quiet at the interruption. "I got on my knees and begged him, in front of my lawyer, when we signed the papers. I told him I didn't want it and said I was sorry for causing it."
"I see."
"Yeah."
"Do you miss him?"
The question was delivered with fragility. Dr. McGrath was careful to not sound intimidating. Predictability, Stephanie adverted her eyes.
"Yes," she answered softly.
"Have you tried to contact him and tell him that?"
Stephanie shook her head.
"How have you been coping?"
"I work. All the time."
"And when you're home, when there's no more work left, what do you do then?"
"I work out."
"Well, that's good. Physical fitness helps all matters of mental health. Do you find yourself more relaxed after working out?"
"Yes."
"What about destructive behavior? Do you ever do anything detrimental to yourself?"
Stephanie eyed the doctor carefully, calculating where or not to trust her once again. Dr. McGrath continued, "You wouldn't be here if your job and physical trainer were fulfilling you so I'll ask you again, what do you do when all the work is done, when your body can't take another rep, and there's nothing left but your heartache?"
SmackDown's General Manager looked out the window once more. Her big blue eyes filled with tears.
"I text him."
She spoke quietly to keep her voice from shaking.
"I'm sorry," said the doctor. "I thought you said you hadn't contacted Hunter."
Stephanie shook her head while looking into her lap.
"I don't send them. I'll drink some wine… a lot of wine, and text him. I'll write something, then erase it, over and over, but I never hit send."
"I see. Why don't you send your messages?"
"I told him I'd leave him alone."
"When do you write these texts?"
"Every once in a while. Hardly ever before midnight."
"And what do they say?"
The conversation halted. It was clear that they had stumbled upon Stephanie's vulnerability. Not even her mother knew about her late-night, cellular yearnings. When Stephanie spoke again, a silent tear escaped her right eye. She swiped it away immediately.
"That I miss him. That it was all my fault and I'm sorry."
Dr. McGrath shifted in her seat. She allowed a quiet moment to pass before pressing onward.
"What else, Stephanie?"
The younger woman grimaced.
"I tell him I love him. I tell him I'll always love him. I tell him that no one –"
Her voice cracked, and then her face turned bright red. But no more tears fell.
"You can cry here, Stephanie."
But Stephanie shook her head and gulped down the lump in her throat. She had decided months ago that she could no longer cry over her marriage.
"I think this was a good first session. We covered far more than I expected. Let's stop here. You can go home and regroup."
Stephanie offered a curt nod.
"I want you back here next week."
"I'm not sure if –"
"Next week."
Their eyes met and stares clashed. But then Stephanie blinked. The lump in her throat had eased with her confession.
"Okay."
Forweeks, Stephanie returned to Dr. McGrath's office. The sessions were part therapy, part motivational speeches. Stephanie sometimes spoke of her childhood, other times of her failed marriage. Sometimes, she didn't speak at all. But every appointment was worth her time. And definitely her money. After each appointment, she felt lighter, having shed some form of emotional baggage.
"Give me a memory," Dr. McGrath instructed one lesson. "A happy memory. It can be about anything or anyone. Or nothing at all. Just describe to me a time when you felt whole. Like you belonged and things were looking up."
They had been discussing ways for Stephanie to feel more confident. She had told the therapist that her self-worth hinged on materialism and status. She rarely felt assured of her soul.
"Okay."
Stephanie hadn't spent much time in his home yet. Everything had been a whirlwind for almost a month. They moved from city to city like a tornado, suite to arena to suite again. It was chaos. And they fucking loved it.
So when the holidays came, the silence should have been deafening. They should have stood shell-shocked in his brand new mansion, horrified by what they'd done. But they weren't and they didn't. On Christmas Eve 1999, he led her by the hand around his new home. He explained his plans for the enormous space and he showed her furniture he'd already picked out from a catalogue. Stephanie nodded enthusiastically and offered suggestions to make everything look all the more ostentatious.
It was heaven. Well, it was actually more reminiscent of hell. Everything Hunter had picked was of dark stone or wood. Crimson paint covered the master suite's walls. Black iron was intricately twisted to form the headboard of his king sized bed. But it was fitting, perfectly so, of the two of them. Drunk on power and lust, they christened every room by dinnertime.
"What would you like to eat?"
"I dunno."
Hunter rolled his eyes, but it was without malice. He wore a big, goofy smile as he watched her rummage through his cupboards, flannel pajama bottoms low on her hips and a tight knitted shirt complimenting her curves. Her hair, like his, was wet from the shower they had just shared.
"Well, what would you usually have on Christmas?"
She turned to him and found his smile infectious. He had started smiling at her lately. Not that he hadn't in the beginning, when they were alone, in secret, but since she'd revealed her allegiance and marriage to him, his mouth seemed to have morphed into a permanent grin.
"Come here," he said softly, and she moved to where he sat at the counter. Leaning between his legs, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'd usually be at my parents."
"Oh," she said.
"Yeah," he smiled.
"I'm sorry. I haven't even asked how they felt about this."
He shrugged off her apology.
"They're pissed. I don't care. They'll get over it."
"Were you disinvited this year?"
"Uhh," he laughed, "not quite."
She didn't think much of his words at first. She was too preoccupied with his mouth. Her fingers stroked his short beard and traced his plump lower lip. Then fire ignited her eyes.
"It's me who's not welcome."
A low growl came from the back of his throat. He loved her bratty side. He found everything about her attractive.
"Don't worry about it. Like I said, they'll come around."
"They don't even know me."
"They think marriage is sacred. It's not you. They'd have a problem with anyone that went along with this. They're just as pissed at me."
Her indignation manifested in an icy stare and cocked eyebrow, but he ignored it. Choosing instead to kiss the pad of her thumb.
"What do you want for food? I'm sure you're used to roasted duck served on a plate of caviar but..."
Stephanie pursed her lips in feigned annoyance but grinned immediately when his sexy grin opened to reveal his full dazzling smile.
"Noooo," she laughed. "We usually get Chinese food actually. It was always the one day we didn't have to play house for Dad's associates." Stephanie's voice softened. "It was nice actually, just the four of us."
Hunter placed a gentle kiss to her cheek when she adverted his stare. He knew she missed them, despite everything.
"You could have gone, ya know," she continued. "To your parents, I mean. Families should be together."
He frowned, "And where would you be?"
"Here, I guess," she said looking around the near-empty kitchen. "Or to a hotel."
"Alone?"
She shrugged her shoulders but turned a bit bashful when his gaze turned angry.
"What kinda Christmas would that be for me? My wife miles away..."
His tone broke the tension and she tightened her grip on his neck for a moment, nuzzling the back of his ear with her nose.
"You're such a thoughtful husband."
They laughed together before he instructed her to inspect the drawer beside the refrigerator for take-out menus.
"Imma buy you some Chinese. We can watch a holiday flick and all that shit."
They did just that. He purchased an absurd amount of food, insisting that she get a bite of everything she liked on the menu and tipped the delivery man nearly a hundred dollars for assuring the speedy arrival of their dinner. Two end tables were pushed to sandwich the coffee table within the living room in order for the full spread of food to fit. Stephanie opened each container and poured them both a glass of wine while he flipped through the television channels until they settled on A Christmas Carol.
The film provided enough holiday cheer despite the lack of a tree, and Stephanie taught Hunter how to successfully use chopsticks.
"It's not gonna work. I'm telling you, my mother tried all my life."
"Just come here, you big baby. There's no way those big ass hands can't do this."
Given the circumstances, the night was perfect. They ate more than their fill half way through the movie and Hunter sighed heavily before leaning against her on the couch.
"Oh no," she exclaimed through her own deep breathing and pushed him off of her.
He laughed jovially and rubbed his stomach.
"Babe, I can't believe I'm saying this, but the last thing I wanna do right now is get on top of you."
"Good, cause I can't breathe."
But she was barely paying attention. He had called her babe and she was sure she'd have butterflies had she not eaten so much.
In the end, she lay her head in his lap so he could thread her hair between his fingers. Once she had digested, she pulled his free hand on top of her stomach and held it there.
Her eyes didn't leave the television when she said, "Thank you for staying with me."
She felt his eyes on her face.
"Of course... families are supposed to be together."
Stephanie tilted her head and their soft gazes locked together. His fingers caressed her scalp and her thumb stroked the back of his other hand on her stomach, but every other part of them was still. Neither of them moved to kiss, and somehow, that made the moment more intimate.
"Yeah," she said faintly.
They wouldn't say ' I love you' for another month.
"That's a lovely memory, Steph. You're lucky to have it."
The heiress shot Dr. McGrath a look of annoyance.
"I'm serious. I know it's unconventional. But you have the ability to pinpoint the real from the fake. That first Christmas together made you feel good. It made you confident in your decision to marry him. You now know what that confidence feels like. Moving forward, when making a decision, you need to be as assured with yourself as you were that first Christmas."
Stephanie said nothing, but continued to look annoyed.
"I know. You don't think you'll ever feel that again. But you will. I promise."
The following session was not as positive. Stephanie had charged into Dr. McGrath's office, flustered and angry.
"And what about the times when I can't feel confident? What about the times that I feel, that I know, that I'm terrible. What about those times?"
"Sit, Steph."
"No."
The two women clashed in a brief standoff. Eventually, the doctor took her patient's hand. Stephanie collapsed into a chair and spewed some of the worst of herself.
Why was she doing this? He was going to kill her. Everything about this scenario was a disaster. Even by her standards, this was a mess.
And the anxiety was overwhelming. The guilt constantly stabbed her. So she had to loose her mind a bit. She had to believe the lie. She imagined her stomach expanding; she pictured Hunter holding the baby.
It was easy. It was wonderful.
The darkness that had plagued their relationship was gone. They talked and joked and returned to their former selves. He hugged her. And kissed her. And cared for her.
But it wasn't real.
Stephanie sat perched on the hotel bed. She studied her husband as he slept bedside her. His rugged face was partially squished into the pillow, his hair a twisted mess of blonde curls. His muscles bulged beneath his tanned skin even in his relaxed state. He was on his side, arm out-stretched and resting on the mattress. Stephanie had been trapped beneath it just a few moments prior.
She'd woken up to use the bathroom and had to wiggle herself out from his hold. She'd dressed in his discarded t-shirt before entering the chilly, marble bathroom. As she flicked on the light, illuminating the room, and blinding her, reality slapped her across the face. She was not pregnant. She was lying to her husband. And it would take a miracle to keep Hunter from divorcing her after this. She stared at herself in the mirror.
And had been wrestling with her conscience ever since.
So she sat and watched him sleep, eyes moving over every inch of his exposed torso. She loved looking as him. He was her eyes' most favorite thing.
She wanted to wake him and tell him everything. She wanted to explain why she was lying. She wanted to bare her soul and make him understand how badly she needed him. She wanted him always. Forever.
But Stephanie knew he would not understand. Hunter had changed. He was not the lethal young man of just two years ago. He did not attack every life dilemma with blind ruthlessness. Since his injury, he had taken on characteristics of his father, level-headedness and patience.
Some might say he had matured.
Stephanie didn't know where she fit in with this new Hunter. He didn't need her. And he didn't seem to want her.
She sighed into her hands, rubbing her eyes.
'How do I get myself out of this?'
Things were perfect. She wanted Hunter. She wanted to give him a baby. She wanted things to stay just like this, happy and normal. But she wasn't with child. And even though she'd flushed her contraceptive and made sure to consummate their love every night, her doctor had said it could still take some time.
Time. The only thing even a McMahon couldn't buy.
'What the hell am I gonna do?'
Talking to him was out. She could keep trying to get pregnant. Either way she would do that. She wanted a baby, wanted to be a mom. She wanted to start a family with him. But if it didn't happen fast enough… she needed more options.
'You could lose it.'
Stephanie groaned immediately after the thought crossed her mind. Her fingernails scraped her scalp as she twisted her hair by the roots and pulled. She was as vile as people thought. Even thinking that, to manipulate him in such a way -
"Steph? Baby, what's wrong?"
Her groan had woken him. Her posture reflected the madness within. She was hunched, with her eyes squeezed shut, and her fingers pulling her hair.
She snapped out of it. She couldn't afford making him suspicious.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Just got up to use the bathroom and couldn't sleep."
"What've you been doing?"
She smiled genuinely, "watching you sleep."
"Freak."
His soft smile melted her heart.
"I like watching you sleep," she admitted.
"Cause you're a freak."
Then he pulled her down to lie beside him once more.
"Are you sure you're okay? If you're feeling sick, we can –"
"No," she said gently. "I'm okay."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and settled against the pillow.
"Go to sleep, babe. You need to stay rested and healthy."
She cringed beneath his chin, her face resting on top of his chest.
"Yeah."
After a moment of silence, she called out to him. But he had already fallen back to sleep. Stephanie kissed her husband's sternum, feeling his heart beat beneath her lips.
"I love you," she whispered. "Please forgive me."
When she finished her recounting, Stephanie sat with her head in her hands, fingers twisting her long brown locks.
"You need to forgive yourself."
"I can't, Wendy."
Their relationship had lessened in formality. The atmosphere shifted from professional to friendly with each passing appointment.
"You know what I'm going to say."
Stephanie looked forward at nothing and nodded.
"Stay away from him," continued Wendy. "Don't watch his matches. Stop writing those text messages."
"I know."
"You can't let him go because you're refusing to. You think if you move on, the love will disappear. It won't. It will mostly likely always be there. But you can control it. You shouldn't allow it to control your life, your future."
"You sound like my father."
"Good."
Wendy said it with such certainty that it caught Stephanie off guard.
"He's the person you respect the most. You idolize him."
Wresting's princess rolled her eyes.
"There's no point in denying it."
"Wasn't going to."
"Good. I hate wasting time."
Stephanie sucked her teeth in annoyance, but said nothing else.
"Enough for today?"
"Yes."
Both women stood and headed towards the door. Dr. McGrath liked the heiress. She enjoyed her patient's company. It was arguably unprofessional, but Stephanie had experienced too much hate from others to dissuade a possible friend.
A week later, Wendy would invite Stephanie to have dinner with her and her husband. Two weeks after that, Wendy joined Stephanie and Linda for brunch. Stephanie would never pay for another coaching session. She would simply call her friend and vent.