Slap. Slap. Slap. Ding-ding-ding! "Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, Heath Slater!"

I laid there in the middle of the ring. Physically, I wasn't that badly hurt. But I had just been beaten by Heath Slater. Heath Slater! Last week it was Dolph Ziggler. The week before that was Brodus Clay. What's next, Trent Barreta? I would have to quit wrestling after that kind of disgrace!

I am not normally bothered when someone defeats me. Hell knows I've been defeated before. It comes with the territory of being a wrestler. All it takes is an off day. A tough competitor. A truly spectacular performance by an opponent. Or a distraction.

Ever since that pixie fairy bravely stood up and made me flee the ring, I have not been the same. Days later, she made me flee again with a kiss. And then I watched a butterfly emerge and skip past me. She is now a contender for the Divas championship. She has gotten it together. Why can't I?

"Kane's still not getting up," Jerry Lawler announced, "Do you think he's seriously hurt, Michael?"

"Of course he is," Michael Cole answered, "A bee stung him a few weeks ago and he still hasn't recovered." Keep it up, Cole. You're forgetting that I am a monster.

Then the speakers blared out:

Let's light it up!

Light it up, light it up

Light it tonight!

Her theme. I closed my eyes. I did not want to see her.

"Speaking of bees . . ." Cole said.

I heard her fingernails scrape the mask I wear. I felt the soft shifting of my scalp. She was brushing away the hair on my face! As if I were a little baby who needed comfort. I opened my eyes and looked at her. The little butterfly was kneeling next to me. She was wearing her blue plaid wrestling gear; she still had a match tonight. The pixie fairy's eyes were full of concern. She was worried about me!

"Go away, butterfly," I said.

"No," she answered.

I am a monster. Be afraid of me, I thought. I slowly got to my feet. She arose, too. She still had concern etched on her pixie face. I would teach her. I would teach her that I was a monster and that butterflies have no business flitting around monsters. I grabbed her neck underneath her throat and pushed her to the ropes facing the announcer's table. I raised my fist.

"Oh my God, he's attacking her!" Cole shouted.

"Somebody needs to get out here!" Lawler yelled.

"Here comes Randy Orton and Trent Barreta!" Cole announced.

"What is AJ doing?" Lawler asked incredulously.

"She signaling them to back off! She nuts! She's gone completely off her rocker!" Cole exclaimed.

I felt the movement but I didn't really see it because I still had my eyes locked on hers. Be afraid now, damn you. I could have shifted my right hand up to her throat and chokeslammed her down to the concrete floor. I could have brought my left fist down and crushed that tiny skull like an egg. Be afraid now. I am a monster.

"Do you really think that will help you?" she asked.

I released her and let my arm drop. Would it make her afraid of me if I did that? I honestly did not know. And I was afraid that it would still not make her afraid of me. I turned around and walked away. Orton and Barreta moved to let me through.

"Well, Orton and Barreta have the sense to get out of Kane's way," Lawler observed.

"Even if AJ has turned him into a kitten," Cole rejoined.

Keep it up, Cole. Keep it up.

I am a monster.

The WWE arranges a space for me in the basement of the arenas we visit. It is cold, and the lights are dim. Machinery hums in the background. It feels like the room I had growing up. I am comfortable here.

This is where I have retreated. I had brought a small table and placed a couple of fifty pound dumbbells on it. I usually find that some final-minute conditioning before a match is helpful and relaxing. It didn't help tonight. It hasn't helped for a month.

There is also a speaker here that pipes the ring announcing down. The WWE puts them everywhere. That is how wrestlers know what is happening in the ring. It is why we will rush to ringside if something is happening we don't like. The pixie fairy knew something was wrong with me because of the feed.

I needed to get my mind off my trouble so I listened to the announcing. Unfortunately, it was the butterfly's match, so it didn't help. The waif scraped a victory, but it was by the skin of her teeth. Then the coward Daniel Bryan went out and confronted her. She handled herself well. The crowd was chanting her name. Good for her.

I screamed. Good for her? What was I thinking? I am a monster! I take pleasure in eviscerating people, not in the victories of tiny waifs! I punched a wall. My fist went through it, leaving a football-sized hole behind. Still agitated, I began walking circles in the area, muttering, cursing myself for my weakness.

A shadow fell into my space. I did not need to look. No one else would dare. "Go away, butterfly," I growled.

"No," she answered softly.

I looked at her now. I screwed up all the fury I felt for myself and tried directing it at her. "Leave!" I shouted.

"No."

"You're supposed to be afraid of me!" I yelled.

"Why?" she asked softly. It was almost a whisper.

"Because I am a monster!" I screamed. I picked up a dumbbell and threw it. It hit the speaker, shattering it, and put another hole in the wall. I took a couple of steps back, and felt the wall behind me. I let myself slide down to the floor. The waif came over, sat near me, and placed a tiny hand on my clenched fist.

I am a monster, damn it!