Disclaimer: We don't own the WWE

A/N: Okay, so unfortunately, Chris.Jericho.Holic wasn't working out as a co-writer. She just didn't seem to have enough time on her hands to work on this story. However, we now have Shelliosity as a co-writer. This first chapter was written by Madame Morrison, Shelliosity and me all together. So enjoy and let us know what you think. Oh, and there's character pictures in my profile for you all to look at if you want.

Secrets Don't Make Friends

By Madame Morrison, Shelliosity and Cara Mascara

Chapter 1: Of Classless Jobs and Bad Boyfriends

"Let's hear it again for the amazing Ms. Roxy Cox," the host announced as I left the stage, slipping a satin robe over my bare shoulders.

I stepped into my dressing room. My shift was over and now Candy was taking over. What is my job? Well, it's not what you would probably call classy, but hey, it sure does pay the bills. And anyway, this is Chicago. You'll probably see more people like me everywhere you go in this city.

So, what's my life like? Well, I can tell you right now, that it's not full of rainbows and butterflies with a cherry on top. Nope. You might think this is just another sob story. But it's all true. I can promise you that with every word.

My parents were just like every other Tom and Mary of America. Good, moral-based citizens that only wanted the best for their little girl. They wanted to raise me to be occupied behind a desk when I got older and graduated college. They wanted to me to get married and squeeze out a puppy or two. They wanted me to be just. like. them. Unfortunately, I kind of just about, ruined their plans for me to be Miss Super Perfection.

I never did good in school. Well, high school to be exact. My parents pressured me to get the highest grades I could get. That fucking sucked.

'Zandra, you better get an 'A' on your next test.'

'Zandra, honey, you must study to get a good grade.'

Zandra this, Zandra that, well Zandra was fucking pushed over the limit by those fucking assclowns. Pressuring me didn't do any good, but instead made me stressed like there was no tomorrow. But yeah, you can bet your sweet ass that I tried my hardest. But B's weren't allowed in my family. Second place was just another term for failure. There was zero tolerance for failure in my family.

I eventually dropped out of high school and got kicked out of my 'rents place when I was eighteen. That's when I met Jude Bradford. He became the one I thought I was head-over-heals, in love with. But I soon found out that he wasn't anything like I thought he was. Not at all. Even though he constantly gets angry at me, I still love him. I don't know why, but I do. I guess it's just because he takes care of me, having me live with him. But I bring in the money for the bills, just to help out.

Somebody walked into the dressing room. It was Janet, the owner of this lovely little joint called The Body Shop.

"Hey babes, you goin' home?" she asked me, with a lit cigarette hanging loosely between her cheap cherry red lips. She had about twenty-five pounds of make-up caked onto her face. She was a hell of a lot older than me, but still got some ass in this joint.

I put on my jacket and grabbed my messenger bag. "Yep, I gotta make it on time, or Jude's going to be pissed."

She made a face. "You still with that fuckwad?"

"Yes," I said, slightly annoyed. "And he's not a fuckwad. He just gets pissed off easily. He's a nice guy. Honest."

Janet didn't seem to believe that at all. "Yeah well, whenever I see him act even the least bit humanly, I'll have children with Brad Pitt."

I rolled my eyes. "Good luck with that, Janet. I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya, hun," she said, walking off. Her heals clicking down the hall floor.

With all my things, I headed out of the club and to the apartment. While I was walking, I counted the money that I received tonight. A cool, thick, five hundred dollars. I love the specials we get.

Making my way down the street I slipped the fresh, crisp bills into my pocket. The last thing I need is to get mugged in this hellhole people call a city. Lamps lit up the streets as I kept going. Night owls pass me with mumbles under their breath. What, they've never seen a blonde chick in ripped blue jeans before?

So I guess you're wondering why I'm walking, especially since I just left a strip club? Well, there is a reason…as much as I'm ashamed to say it, I will. And that would be; because Jude has my car. He was a fucking idiot and crashed his own about a month ago while he was intoxicated under God knows what.

I love that guy to death, but I really should get my head straight. Jude is sweet when he wants to be, although he isn't dressed in a suit with a smile on his face and his hair slicked back; what he had was enough to sweep me off my feet.

Some Cinderella I am, huh?

Ugh anyway. With the five hundred I received tonight, I can hopefully put some food in the cabinets and pay some of those bills Jude keeps putting off. No matter how many times I try and tell him, 'Jude, your cell phone bill needs to be paid' or 'Jude don't forget to pay the oil so we're not walking into an icebox,' he's just not going to do it. Jude is way too busy doing a line, smoking a joint or whatever the fuck else he does.

I'll admit my job isn't the classiest thing in the world, but being a drug dealer isn't any better. It kills me though, Jude is a smart guy, everything would be so much better if he put his mind to something more then dealing in the streets. But who am I to talk, really? I mean, considering my job, like I've noted before.

And surprise, surprise. I may be a stripper, but I'm no drug addict. Might be weird for most people, not everyone can say they've been in a relationship where they were totally fine without drugs while their partner was a coke fiend or a pot head. To be quite honest, I can't stand seeing my boyfriend taken over by drugs. Back then when I was real young, probably in elementary school or whatever, I never understood what people meant by addiction or how it could consume a person's entire life.

I've now realized Jude is the living definition of it.

It is so unbearably sad.

Coming up the steps to our apartment, I reach for the doorknob and as I go to turn it I notice I'm not getting anywhere. I wiggle the knob, thinking the door was sticking again at first.

You can't be serious?!

That bastard, I can't fucking believe this shit head! He's locked me out! Reaching into one of the pockets of my messenger bag, I search for my house key. Nothing. What the fuck?! My right palm slams down on the face of the door followed by an angry kick.

Still nothing.

That retard is either asleep or out roaming the streets again. Sighing, I turn and walk down the steps, making my way over to the side gate of our apartment. I unlock the gate, reaching my hand over and pulling on the latch, slip through and shut it behind me. Our bedroom window is facing the pathetic excuse of a backyard and hopefully it was left unlocked from the last time I had to jump through it, but with my luck, it won't be.

Suddenly I heard heavy metal music blasting from what seems to be our apartment, which means that Jude must be home, he's just too deaf to hear me banging. I drag one of the patio chairs over to my window, placing it in front of me and stepping on to it. When I was fully on the chair and found my balance. I unlocked the metal hinges on the window screen and placed it on the ground, up against the house. I pushed real hard to open the window. This place is so old that everything sticks.

To my surprise the thing was open.

I slipped my messenger bag off my shoulder and dropped it down onto my bed before lifting myself up, crawling through my window and landing onto my bed too. As soon as I was safely inside, I found the music was coming from the stereo right across from me, on Jude's dresser. His music gave me headaches. Not like it usually doesn't, I swear its like everything Jude does just totally makes me want to flip out. Standing, I soon noticed my cell phone and my house key on the dresser, right in front of the stereo. Well, those would've been a big help if I actually had them.

Jude came into the room when he heard me shut the bedroom window. His head peaked through the doorway with a metal baseball bat gripped tightly in his hands. Seriously, who would break into this dump? Well, unless Jude and his stupidity forgot to pay one of his druggie friends.

"Do you have to climb through the window?" He spoke loudly over the music.

"Do you always have to blast this 'slit your throat' music?" I responded as I turned down the volume on the stereo. "Besides that, I forgot my house key and my cell phone again." I unzipped my jacket and opened the closet door. "And somebody didn't hear me banging on the front door to begin with."

"You never banged on the door, Zan." He answered. Jude was always so sure of himself and for the life of me I could never understand why. Most of the time he was wrong.

I hung my jacket in the closet and then stared back at him. "Look, I made it home on time, could you please just get off my back about this?" I looked over at the clock. Okay so I was a little late but I had to climb through a fucking window!

"You're ten minutes late." He responds. "Probably out with those girls again."

Oh yeah, because that is exactly why I'm ten minutes late. Not because he locked the God damn door, because I was gallivanting for ten minutes. Sure, whatever.

"And that's why you climbed through the window, so I would think you already came through the door." His voice was aggravated, as always.

"Listen, do we have to make a big deal out of this right now, I have things I need to pay off." I said.

"How much did you make?" He asked. It was like Jude always needed to know, so he could pay off his buddies and buy some more of that stupid shit, lose his mind and pass out for a few hours.

"I made 300." I lied. "But we really need to pay off these bills or we'll end up evicted." I continued.

"We won't be out in the streets Zan, trust me I'm not an idiot." He replies.

Ha! I wonder about that sometimes.

"Listen, I need to pay off one of the guys, he's been hounding me for his money."

"One more week, the bills come first." I responded as I walked into the hallway to see what type of mess Jude has left for me to take care of.

"Zan, I don't have one more week. This guy has been after me for about two." He answered. "C'mon, just let me borrow 200 and I promise I won't bug you for the rest of the week."

Liar.

I sighed and slipped my hand into my pocket again and only pulled out three hundred. I'd have to pay the bills off when he's either not around or when he's dead asleep and tomorrow I'll go buy some food to at least fill our cabinets.

"Don't come crying to me when there's not enough food in the house, Jude." I slapped the two hundred into his palm and turned around to clean up his pigsty.

"You're the best babe." Jude answered.

Yeah, only when you want something. Other then that, I'm a piece of shit.

"Dude, she just hustled you," some tall lanky guy said to his friend that I'd just schooled in pool. The guy just laughed and handed me the cash he'd lost. He saluted me before heading over to the bar with his friend. I was at Pogo's, a local bar and pool hall.

"Who's next?" I asked, putting the bottom of my cue on the floor and leaning confidently. Playing pool really is like nothing for me. No one that comes here is at my level. Not even Monica though she hustles too. Cards are more her game though.

A tall, well-muscled guy stepped up. His hair was dark and brushed his shoulders and he had a piercing through his lip. He had two sleeves of tattoos and as he chalked his cue I noticed his knuckles read 'Drug Free'. I smiled at him and racked the balls.

"He's cute," my friend and co-worker Monica said as she leaned over my shoulder. We both eyed him and I nodded in agreement. "Max said he's a pro wrestler. He's in the big league too. CM Punk or something like that," she told me the information she'd gotten from her brother who just so happens to be the bartender.

"You got a name?" I asked.

"Phil. But I answer to Punk too."

"Zandra," I told him, offering my hand. He shook it and smiled. Nice smile. His eyes kind of light up.

"So, what're the stakes?" he asked, chewing on a piece of gum. I glanced back at Monica who smirked before turning back to Punk.

"How much you got?" I questioned. He's obviously well to do if he's a big time pro wrestler.

He chuckled and brushed his hair behind his ears. "Two hundred." That's about as much as I've made so far tonight. Most people aren't dumb enough to bet me over twenty bucks. Hustling is kind of my... side job, if you will.

I threw my crumpled earnings in the middle of the table. "Two hundred it is then." He raised his eyebrows before shrugging and throwing his own money on the table. Monica collected it and held it in her hand. "You wanna break?"

"Ladies first," he offered. I laughed and broke the balls, immediately sinking two solids in. "You know, they warned me about you," he said as he took his shot, gesturing to a few guys at the bar. "Said you hustle dudes for money all the time."

I shrugged. "Hey, the guys that come here should know better by now. I don't play around but they keep trying to beat me. You probably should've listened to them." As I said this he sunk in two stripes.

"I don't know, I think we're evenly matched."

"I can't believe he beat you," Monica hissed. Neither can I! I stared at the table in shock. This dude seriously just beat me!

"Just give him the fuckin' money," I told her. Shit. I just lost everything I made. Jude's gonna kill me.

"Hey, here," I heard Phil call as I walked past him. I turned and saw he was offering me my money back.

"You won it fair and square," I declined. I play fair. It's my own dumb fault for thinking I was the best.

"Well, what if I wanna change the bet. Keep your money and since I beat you... you can give me your number." I heard Monica laugh unbelievably and I gave her a look over my shoulder. I found Phil offering me his cell phone and the money. I took both and punched my cell number into his phone, then pocketed my money when I handed the phone back to him.

"C'ya," I said and rushed over to Monica.

"Girl you're crazy. What about Jude?" I swallowed and shrugged. Obviously it crossed my mind that I had a boyfriend but maybe I was only still with him because I needed a reason to leave. Who knows, Mr. Wrestlemania over there could just be that reason.