So, this has been proven a lot harder to write than I originally anticipated. I like the idea behind it, now if I could just get momentum!

That being said, thank you guys for taking the time to read this. I love writing, and I try my hardest to write well. As I've grown older, my style has changed quite a bit from my first stories...and now, I write with much darker themes. So I do apologize if anything I write offends anyone, and I do have plans to make this a pretty dark story. Thank you for the subs, the reviews, the views...all of it. You all rock.

For this chapter, I'm going to take into account some real-life news and making it my own. So...sorry not sorry.


Paige sat at a shoddy table, eating a cheese sandwich as she watched her frenemy Charlotte Flair puff her boobs out and flip her hair extensions as she spoke to Alberto Del Rio.

Normally, she wouldn't be bothered by the blonde, but Charlotte knew damn well that Paige and Berto had been shacking up together on and off for the last few months; even giving the impression to fans that there might be more to the pair. In fact, they'd even gotten tattoos together. Maybe not her brightest moment, but he'd had Paige a bit tipsy on tequila that night, and in a pledge to him, she'd tattooed the word 'Papi' on her finger.

Whatever.

She'd been texting him for the last few days, hoping to get her cobwebs cleared. In short, he was excellent in the bedroom, and she really just wanted him to rock her world. It had been far too long since she'd been with anyone, and maybe doing the dirty dance would change her attitude. Since the stupid-ass intervention her friends had staged for her, Paige had been even more angry and down than she was prior. Especially since her mom had given her the no-go on coming home.

So while she wanted and hoped to take time off from her life, it just didn't make any sense. She could either hang out in a hotel room by herself for a month, watching her peers rise and fall in the company as she took a back seat and observed...or she could just follow them along the road, maybe getting under the covers with a mid-carder and walking out on them in the wee morning hours.

She watched with an evil eye as Charlotte leaned in to Berto, focusing on his deep, dark eyes. The same ones that she herself had been fixated on...she watched as Charlotte turned his hand over, scribbling something-a phone number? On the palm of her fuckbuddy's hand, something that seemed so very middle-school minded. She stood up abruptly, ready to confront the two. Seriously? How fucking rude.

"Er...hey, Paigey," Natalya swung into her table, quickly placing a bowl of fruit down as she pulled out the empty chair nearest to the raven-haired diva. "I don't mean to be rude...but I didn't expect you to be here," she said, her eyes looking at Charlotte and Del Rio, noticing immediately that her friend had been giving them the stare-down the whole time.

"I didn't expect to be here, honestly," she replied, not turning her gaze once towards the Hart heiress.

"So...you didn't talk to creative? You're not on the card tonight, so I assumed that you had..." Natalya continued, trying her hardest to turn Paige's attention from Charlotte's flirty fake eyelashes.

"No, actually," Paige finally turned to the blonde, who was geared up already for her match against Dana Brooke. "I called my mum, who said I'm too irresponsible to sit at their house while they're fucking around in Japan. So, not only do my friends think I'm a total loser, my own damn family does, too," her tone was angry, each word a hint of a razor as she spoke. She wanted Nat to feel the pain that she did, and she hoped she made that very clear.

"Why don't you stay with AJ? I'm sure she could use the company while Phil gets ready to fight," Natalya spoke quickly. "In fact, that'd be a great idea...he's probably really busy training, and she could use-"

"No, that's okay. She should be able to be in happy, wedded bliss with her husband, away from this place. Away from me. Besides, even if she is sitting in Chicago by herself, I'm certain the last thing she wants to do is babysit her former tag team partner. She's got enough going on as it is."

Natalya sucked her teeth in, understanding the younger woman's argument but still not liking it. "I know what you mean. But right now, being here is doing you absolutely no good. You're not in a good spot emotionally, and I hate telling you this, but it'd be better for you if you weren't here."

"Why?" Paige finally found herself shouting, and Natalya shushed her. "No, I won't quiet down," she responded immediately, her emotions high already. "I'm so sick and tired of hearing how I should live. Yeah, I'm young and wild. No, I'm not a threat to anyone. If I'm a threat to myself, so fucking what? That's on me, don't you think?" While Nat didn't respond, Paige noticed she'd grabbed the whole room's attention, and people were beginning to whisper among themselves.

Natalya's voice was calm, surprisingly, when she spoke. "I know you're frustrated, Paige. I get it. But you need to realize that you are a product of the WWE and you should conduct yourself in such a way. So, you should consider that before you ruin your career over childish antics. You don't want to burn a bridge with this place."

"Why not? TNA is always hiring," Paige was joking, of course; but the way she'd said it sounded sincere. Like she'd given it thought. Like it was a potential back-up plan.

"Yeah, until they don't exist anymore," Natalya responded, rolling her eyes. "Do whatever you want, Paige, but please, don't make a fool of yourself while you're here. We're all rooting for you to get your head screwed on straight. I don't see it happening for you while you're sitting here watching your ex-boyfriend get googly-eyed over the freshest piece of meat. If you want, I can set you up at a rehab facility-"

"Are you fucking serious?!" Paige exploded, and literally every head in the catering room turned towards her. Unabashedly, Paige slammed her chair against the table as she started towards the door. "I'm not like your dad, Nat. I'm not going to drink myself into stupidity," she said, watching evilly as Nattie's face fell at the rude comment.

She left, not caring as people began to chatter, as Charlotte shook her head in shame, as Del Rio couldn't even look in her direction out of sheer embarrassment having ever been associated with her to begin with.

Deciding to head back to the Diva's locker room, she hoped it was empty. She had a flask of vodka tucked away in her duffel bag, and she could use every last drop after witnessing all the bullshit she'd just been in the midst of.


"Man, Rollins and Punk could put on some seriously good matches together," Paige commented, watching the Royal Rumble alongside her good friend, AJ Lee. It was 2014, and while Paige hadn't been formally called up yet to the main roster, she'd made plenty of backstage appearances. It was a matter of time before she'd be given the push she so rightfully deserved, and she hoped that some day, she could hold the very same Divas championship belt that the bubbly, skipping queen of geeks currently had stretched across her ridiculously muscled thighs.

"Yeah, I always did like watching Rollins," AJ commented, watching as the superstar flew from turnbuckle to turnbuckle, looking just as strong as the main-eventer that AJ was currently seeing. "As for Phil, though, I don't know that he's much interested in coming back."

"Coming back?" Paige's eyes grew wide. "I thought he was supposed to main event Wrestlemania!"

"Maybe," AJ replied, her eyes still watching as Punk eliminated another superstar. "But he's not too keen on the company right now. He's worked hard, and he keeps getting shoved aside for people who are part-timers. People who have already had their times. Rather than build up new talents, he really feels like WWE keeps stuffing people that already are over with the fans back into everyone's faces. Guys like Rollins, for example-" she pointed at the television-"really ought to be pushed. But guys like the Rock? What is he even doing here? Don't you think it's time to focus on new, fresh faces?"

Paige considered this, understanding the point. "I know what you mean," she admitted. "But the Rock is an icon. And I think that's why they've brought him back. At any rate, he isn't even in the Rumble, is he?"

"No," AJ replied, making a face. "But that's not really the problem. Phil's more upset that Stephanie and Hunter called in a favor to get a different big-name here."

"A different big-name? But Punk is supposed to win the Rumble, isn't he?"

"No," AJ replied dully. "And that's why he's upset. He wouldn't have been so annoyed if it were anyone except this other big-name. Sure, he wants to be the winner and get back into fighting for the title...but it looks like good 'ol Trips has his eye on his stupid stablemate."

"S...stablemate?" Paige wondered, biting her lip. This didn't sound good.

"Yeah, you know," AJ didn't say much more, her eyes watching as Punk and Kane began to joust.

"Who is it?" Paige questioned meekly, praying to any God that existed that it wasn't who she thought it was.

"If I told you, that'd ruin the surprise," AJ turned to her, winking at her friend through the thick-rimmed glasses she wore.

And in just a few mere minutes, Paige's prayers were denied: He had returned.


Halfway through the show, Paige found herself hiding in a dark, empty locker room. She took a pull from the little silver flask she'd managed to sneak in, enjoying the buzz of liquor on her lips each time. She knew it was wrong, but she had no way of getting caught. By the time she left, most the alcohol was probably going to be worn off.

Her original plan was to hide out in the diva's locker room, paying no mind to any of the matches. Not like she was involved in any of them, anyways. As fate would have it, though, her plan was quickly re-directed when Becky Lynch had emerged in a total mess; her ring gear seriously showing off nipple. An emergency wardrobe fix would keep Paige's sanctuary occupied for quite awhile, and she didn't want to stand there awkwardly as the seamstress tried to piece together a whole new bodice for the fiery redhead's steampunk gear.

So, she had found what appeared to be a forgotten room, and so far, not a soul had emerged through the doors.

Taking another sip, she wondered why Berto was so caught up in Charlotte all of a sudden. Sure, Paige had led him on pretty strongly, making herself very clear that she was only interested in the sexual aspect of a relationship. And, she thought, he didn't seem to mind. They'd had plenty of fun together, but when he became possessive of her like they were, you know, together...well, that was when she stopped answering his phone calls. That's when she didn't want to keep herself tied to him any more.

She was free, god damn it!

Her thoughts were quickly interrupted by the squeak of the door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd been figured out!

Curling up into a small ball, her back against the cool, concrete wall, she hid in the shadows as she watched the shadow of a large man glide in, taking a seat across from her. He didn't even see her, so her camouflage must have been stupendous. The man's long, dark hair hung in his face as he dug around in his boot, and Paige quirked her eyebrow as he pulled out a tiny little...glass pipe? Yes, that's exactly what it was.

There was a quick flick of light, and the end of the pipe was lit. And an overwhelming skunky smell filled the entire room.

"Hey!" Paige exclaimed suddenly, her buzzed self emerging from the shadow. The man jumped nearly a thousand feet, and she giggled. "You gonna share?"

He looked up at her, and her jaw dropped. It was the current WWE champion, Roman Reigns. And he was smoking pot, alone, in an empty locker room.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, clearly annoyed that he wasn't alone as he thought he was. "What are you doing here, Paige?"

"I could ask you the same," she replied. "But I think it's pretty clear. I've got a few shots of vodka left, and you've got like, half a bowl to go...so..."

Roman took a hit, his eyes closing as he let the smoke roll in. He motioned for her to come near, and she did; the room still dark. She smashed her knee against the end of the bench, and it hurt like fucking hell, but Paige was kind of too drunk to care.

He blew smoke into her face, and she breathed it in, accepting the shotgun from the Samoan. Who knew Reigns wasn't such a goody-two-shoes after all?

"If I let you take a hit, promise you won't tell a soul you saw me here?"

"Scout's honor," she replied with a small hiccup, giggling as she gave an upside-down salute to the champion.

"Fine," he replied, passing her the little pipe. "Mind if I take a quick drink?"

She passed him the flask, and he took a swig. Meanwhile, she took a deep, hard hit, loving the burning sensation this shit gave her lungs. If she was breaking the rules already, she might as well go big or go home, right? So what if marijuana was hugely frowned upon? The chances of either of them getting caught were impossible.

"Roman Reigns, I'm appalled," she said once she felt the wave of complete calmness take over her body. "You have a big match against AJ Styles tonight, and you're going out there under the influence."

Roman smiled. "I know it looks bad, but since my hernia surgery last year...it's the only thing that takes the edge off. It's pathetic. I know I should just give it up, but I can't. And mind you, it's not illegal everywhere in the United States."

"Ahh, but it is in the WWE's eyes," she pointed out, taking a grab at the flask he still held. There was maybe a dribble left, and she made a face, though he couldn't see it. "We're held up to these ridiculous standards of perfection, and it fucking sucks. Sometimes, I think my life would be a whole lot better if I would've stayed in England and fought."

"I know you don't mean that," Roman replied, his own tone mellow to match hers. "If your goal isn't to be in the WWE, your dreams aren't big enough."

Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Easy for you to say as you tote around gold, Reigns," she replied hotly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it hasn't exactly been easy to remain relevant in the divas division."

Roman visibly shrugged. "Hate to break it to ya, P, but you've been on the naughty list for awhile now and that may have some reason for why you haven't remained relevant in awhile."

"Fuck off," she replied curtly, knowing he was right and still being pissed that he was.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've worked fucking hard to get to the top. I've done every single thing the uppers have told me to do. Yet for some reason, the fans fucking hate me," he replied, taking another hit and coughing. "Gross, that was all shit..." he shook out the remnants of burned weed into his hand, tossing it in the nearest locker. Paige had never seen the champion in such a demeanor; normally, he was very high-strung and particular; it was truly nice to see him release a little bit.

"No, they don't hate you," Paige slurred, hugging him for no real apparent reason. "It seems like they do, but they're sheep. They think they know better. They always know better than Vince..." she wasn't making any sense, and she knew that. But she knew what she meant, and she watched as Roman nodded, indicating her understood her opinion.

"They think they hate John Cena, too," she said. "But how can you? How can anyone? He's done more for the WWE than in any organized sports team ever in history. So what if he's stale in the ring?"

Roman laughed. "Maybe I am, too. But to be honest, my size is my weakness. I would love to do the aerial style that Seth can do. I would love to have the personality that Dean does. But it's a lot harder for me to find my won niche outside of the Shield than I ever imagined."

"Why not just be Roman?" she asked. "Roman, the destroyer."

He laughed again, and even though he didn't intend to make her feel stupid, Paige sort of did.

"Roman isn't as likable as I thought he was," he replied.

"I think he's pretty likable," Paige batted her eyelashes at the Champion. She was being stupid and she knew it, and there was no way he'd ever give into her flirty ways. She slid closer to him anyways, trying to confirm to herself that she was still wanted by anyone. Yeah, maybe the alcohol was the prevalent factor here, but she just wanted the reaction out of the dark-haired man more than anything.

Roman turned to her, shaking his head as he slowly drew his face near to hers.

Suddenly, their noses were almost touching, and his wet hair was dripping down her cleavage. It was so wrong, but so hot.

"Trust me," he whispered brusquely. "I'm not as likable as you want to believe." She could smell the mixture of the weed he'd just smoked, a lick of alcohol lingering, and minty gum. She got a sudden rush from the closeness, and her stupid girlishness wondered what it'd be like to be enveloped in those large, tattooed arms. "I'm not a good guy," he continued as he began to stand up.

"I'm not a very good girl," she replied, standing up as well, still facing him. He was much larger than she, but she didn't feel intimidated. She liked the rise she was starting to get from him as she took a step towards him, pulling her woman card out and waving it in his face. Fuck it all, she didn't care. She had nothing to lose.

And not like she was actually interested in this guy, anyways. But he was not only a step up from Berto, but a good distraction from him. Besides, it was pretty clear he'd be on top of Charlotte after the show, so the best thing Paige could do?

Get under Roman. Duh.

She stood on her tiptoes as she gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. "I had a nice, relaxing time. If you'd like, we can relax more together later," she whispered, feeling his muscles tense against her small body.

"You aren't a good girl, are you?" he replied, stepping away from her. "And you've got 'jailbait' written all over you. Not to mention 'trouble', 'hot mess', and a few other negative adjectives."

Paige's mouth dropped. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that you were so fucking perfect, Champ!" she jabbed back, extending an arm to push him away from her. "Just know that I'll be laughing the whole time you're heading out to the ring tonight as the whole WWE universe boos you during your match!"

Roman laughed once more, tossing his black hair over his shoulder as his large hand grasped the handle of the door. "Hate to point it out, P, but at least I've got a match."

"Oh my god, fuck off!" she exclaimed, ready to punch this dickhead in the face. "You're such an arrogant pile of shit!"

"Funny, you didn't think that while you were all over me," he said over his shoulder, exiting the room. "It was a good time. Maybe we'll bump into each other again."

"I fucking hope not!" she replied, standing alone in the dark.

Like usual.