Book 3-Something Old, Something New

The next night for RAW, Mark and I explain the match last night, saying that we had been in cahoots from the beginning, and the Cell match was to throw the audience off the scent. We declare to take over the WWF, by force if necessary. Will and Glenn come out, asking why I had betrayed my own flesh and blood. "Because," I answer slowly and evilly, "I needed a thrill, and you two were so easy to manipulate." This sets up a rematch for later that night. A hard match is fought, but in the end, Mark still regains the title, with me using a chair to help.

This rivalry continues until No Mercy on October 15th. An intergender tag team match for the title is set as the main event, with Mark and I versus Glenn and Will himself. The crowd is surprised when this is announced, as Glenn's partner was a mystery until the time of the match.

As the match begins, Will and I face each other. I'm quite surprised at how well Will can still move around the ring, given he isn't tagged as the wrestling type anymore. We put up a good ten minutes of fighting before he tags to Glenn. Glenn steps over the top rope, and walks right up to me, looking down at me. I stare right back at him, and quickly lift my knee to his groin area. He tumbles to the ground, and I tag out to Mark.

The two big men put on a solid show for another fifteen minutes before Glenn tags out to Will, who looks a bit reluctant to get into the ring. He slowly enters the ring, where Mark immediately rips into him with stiff chops and fists. He whips Will into the corner, where Will slouches to the ground in a heap. As the ref checks up on him, I enter the ring just as Glenn does. The two of us have a stare down as Mark retrieves Will, bringing him back toward us. As soon as Will is able to stand on his own, all three of us begin to beat up on him with punches. Will falls to the ground, and Mark pins him. We stand in the middle of the ring, Will still on the canvas, and we stare into the crowd, who are cheering the defeat. After the few glorious minutes, we go to the backstage.

The crew congratulates us on our match as we head to the locker rooms. I'm about to leave the two men just as Mark gently takes my arm, making me turn to him, the pressure sending shocks up my arm; I see Glenn enter the locker room as I do so. "Good match out there, Ally," he tells me. "I saw some improvement from the last time you wrestled."

He smiles softly, and a warm, tingling feeling begins to burn in my lower abdomen as he gazes at me. I return the smile, and quickly head to my locker room. I close the door behind me, and lean against it. "I can't believe that just happened!" I say aloud. "I didn't even think I could feel that way still." I shake my head in disbelief, then look at myself through the mirror across the room. "Girl, you've gotta snap out of it!" `It won't work out,' my mind quips up. `Just think of how the last one went, and think of before that, too!' I rip my gaze down to the thin carpeting. "Why do those events have to come up every time I feel…" The question trails off as I go to take a shower. In all honesty to myself, those tingling sensations have been happening quite often as of late, more so within the last month. "What will I do with myself?" I ask the tiles on the shower walls.

"Nah," he says, shaking his head. "I just hope you didn't hurt your knee." I laugh hesitantly as can only think of two reasons he would say that, and I knew well that there wasn't a cup to speak of. "I love it when you laugh, Ally."

I stop laughing as he quickly leans toward me, his lips pressing so persistently over mine. The shock of the action forces me to nearly fall off the sofa. Regaining myself quickly, I catch myself before I fall, and stand upright, pulling away from his grasp. "Glenn, I only think of you as a friend," I tell him, catching my breath. "You know that."

Glenn stands up, and pins me against the wall, much like Dean had done a month or so ago. "I know," he draws seductively, "but I want more." He places his hand on my hip, and it begins to move upward on my body.

I hold my breath, waiting for the imaginary pain to pass, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. As he reaches my breast, I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Calmly, I state, "Glenn, please leave before I scream." He brings his hand to my cheek. "Leave me alone, Glenn, or you will force me to scream for help or to hurt you, neither of which I want to do to you," I repeat louder, with more aggression.

"Because you're a man, Glenn," I tell him, breathing a relieving sigh, my heart rate coming back to normal. "Most men can't control themselves." Gently and cautiously, I guide him to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

He nods, and walks down the hall, shaking his head. I close the door, and take many gulps of air. `Just as I told you, Ally,' my mind begins to scold. `This whole situation won't work out. Get out of it before you get yourself in more trouble.' I grab my bags, and storm out of the arena, tears welling up in my eyes. They don't release until I get into the limo, and the driver pulls out of the lot.

The next week passes by, with my nerves on full alert. Although Glenn's almost constant professions of love would touch normal women, as they grow in amount and detail day by day, I can't be anything but scared for myself. I wanted friendships with my co-workers, not actual involvement in serious relationships. `How had this all come to be?' I find myself asking. `Had I given off any type of gesture that I wanted a relationship?' The questions remain mysteries.

Not only that, but I seem to have earned a nickname with the guys; they find pleasure in calling me `Little One'. I laugh at it the first time they called me it, and ask them to explain. Their response: "Well, apparently you're the one who weighs the least, and can still support those big boobs on your chest. Plus, you seem to be the one with the most emotional baggage, yet are strong enough not to let it get to you." Laughing nervously, I promptly leave at this point, and the name has stuck since. If they only knew that it did get to me, all of the time. If they only knew my Irish father used to call me that…

While our country wrings their hands at the confusion of the Presidential Election, Mark, Glenn, Luke, and I head up to my home state of Wisconsin to visit my mother over Veteran's Day weekend. Her house sits just outside Eagle River, along Duck Lake and a substantial amount of wooded terrain. An outdoorsy-type place, my favorite kind.

My mother opens the door, and smiles at our little assembly on the porch. "Well, hello to you all," she says to us in her smooth, uplifting voice, common of the Native Americans. "Come in, come in. It's blistering cold out there."

"Welcome to my home," she tells them. "Go and take your coats off. I'll go make some cocoa." I follow my mother into the kitchen. "You never told me you had a child, Ally." She looks at me sternly, her rich brown eyes softening at me with joy. Her long, graying brown hair sits in a tail, with half over her right shoulder.

"It would be my pleasure, Luke," I tell him, and follow him to the entrance hall, where all the coats are. Once we're dressed appropriately, we head outside. I show him how to make snowballs, and while trying to make a snowman, Luke gets the idea of throwing them at me. I counter with my own, and we both end up on the ground, wet to the skin and laughing hard.

I cup my hands around my mouth, and give out an ululating howl, almost exactly like a real wolf's. After a few moments, I get an answer just inside the tree line of the woods, followed by five others. Suddenly, a dark gray and white form emerges from the woods, staring directly into my eyes. I hear Luke's breath catch in his throat. I smile at the wolf, which then lets out another howl.

The rest of the pack comes out into the low moonlight of the night. I kneel, and the wolf gallops into my outstretched arms, nearly knocking me into the snow. "Hey, boy!" I say to the animal, hugging him tightly. "Oh, I've missed you so much!"

Luke timidly puts his gloved hand out to the wolf. Slayer sniffs his hand, then licks it. Luke finally puts his hand to Slayer's fur. "He's so soft," he says, a smile appearing on his face. "Is he your pet?"

"He was before I moved away," I tell him. "My father gave him to me for a Christmas present when I was three. When I decided to move out to better my wrestling technique, I decided it was time to let Slayer live the life a wolf should live. Any time I'm around, though, I usually call for him like I just did." I scratch Slayer's ears. "You just can't wait to see me, can you boy?" Slayer yips in agreement.

I look up toward the rest of the pack, and stand up. "I suppose we should go back inside," I tell Luke. I bend over, and kiss the wolf's forehead. "See ya, Slayer." After Luke says good-bye to Slayer in the same manner, we begin to head back to the house. Not even a few steps back, a muzzle enters my gloved hand. I look down to see Slayer, giving me his wolf-puppy eyes. "Still not totally independent, huh?" I laugh, and pat the wolf on the head. "Hope your pack doesn't desert you." We head to the house. I glance up at the window; Mark isn't there anymore.

I look at him a few seconds, remembering our pact. "Well, my father died when I was your age, and I don't think I've ever gotten over his death," I tell him, hanging our coats up. "I don't like to remember that he's dead to the world. That's why you should appreciate and love you dad so much. You never know when you might be separated for good." During the last sentence, I begin to choke-up, and Slayer gives me a worried expression.

It is now Saturday, the 18th of November. I am at home with Luke, as the guys are on dates tonight with a couple local women they met recently. The weekend off has been a breath of fresh air, and a weight lifted from my conscience, knowing that Glenn is not here; his constant looks and words of love worry me so much that I'm almost deathly afraid to be alone for any long period of time with him.

Luke and I sit on the sofa as we watch some Disney movies he'd picked out. As Tarzan finishes and I rewind the tape, I can feel Luke's stare on me. I turn to him. "What?" I ask, giving him a questioning smile.

I sit back, relaxing. Every time he stares at me so intently as he had, I keep thinking, `He's gonna ask about my father again.' I think I think that every time anyone stares at me like that. Shaking off the thought, I point to the symbol on my left shoulder, one that looks like a pitchfork with a curving tail and a fireball at the end. "That is the Devil Child symbol," I tell him. "It's my wrestling character, but I was given the nickname of `Devil Child' when I was in middle school by my schoolmates, and it just kinda stuck."

"Yep," I reply, then point to my right shoulder. On it is a graveyard scene, with a wolf howling at the full moon. "I got this because I've always had a fascination with cemeteries. The moon, I've always believed, is my energy source. You know, when you're so hyper, you don't know what to do with it?" Luke nods. "Well, that's what the moon does to me, especially when it's full. The wolf is my favorite animal. It's kinda like a remembrance of Slayer. When I'm really depressed, I look at this wolf, and it cheers me up."

"Oh, okay," I reply, and swallow hard. I have never really told anyone the whole story, and remembering is hard enough, but talking about it is even harder. "Luke, I had this really bad past with men. They treated me like a possession, used and abused me. Promise not to tell a soul about what I'm about to tell you?" Luke nods, and I pause the tape. " I don't know if you'll even understand what I'm about to tell you, but I suppose it's about time I tell someone." I take a deep breath. "My father was killed in an accident on his way home from work the Saturday before Christmas when I was seven. I remember waiting for him to come home so we could go out to eat at the fanciest restaurant like we always did the Saturday before Christmas. He never made it home, and we never went out.

"When I found out, I was devastated. My father was one of my best friends, and like I've told you last week, I never did get over it. No one could ever measure up to him. When my mother told me she started dating again, I was happy for her, but I didn't like it one bit. I kept thinking it was like cheating on him. I was eight when she told me that she was getting married again to a regular American named Greg, and I flipped out. I told her that I only wanted one father, and he was taken away from us. I told her I thought it was wrong, but she told me that is was okay, because he wouldn't really be my father, and I didn't have to call him `Daddy' or anything like that. That's when I agreed, and that's when my life flew into chaos.

"Greg, I'll admit, was a gentleman when I first met him, and was one until after my mom and him were married. I found out he was an alcoholic, and a heavy one at that. Whenever he was drunk, he'd fly into a rage and beat my mom or me, whoever was closest at the time. That is, until I turned ten. Then, whenever he was drunk, and my mother was at work at the time, he'd take me to their bedroom, and-and-" It's always hard for me to continue at this point when I remember, but it's almost impossible now, telling this to Luke.

I look over at him, and nod. "Yes, he raped me. After that first time, though, he wouldn't stop. Whenever my mother went to work, he'd do it, and I was powerless to stop it." I can feel a tear beginning to trickle down my cheek. "I had three abortions before I was sixteen. I remember each time when I told my mother I was pregnant, she'd take a deep breath, and ask me who was the boy. I told her it wasn't a boy from school. She'd then ask who it was then, but I'd respond that I couldn't tell her. She never went into it, and took me to the clinic. I'll tell you, Luke, I hated it each time, more than anything.

"When I told her I was pregnant the third time, when I was just a week shy of my sixteenth birthday, she told me that this was the third time, and I had to tell her. I was scared, but I finally told her that it was Greg, and he did it the first two times, too. She totally went ballistic! Immediately, she had me scheduled for my third and last abortion, then began divorce papers. She wrung him for everything he had. I later found out that when the judge looked further into the matter, he had him sentenced to seventy years in jail for rape of five minors, myself included."

I shake my head, and say, "No, but mostly. When I was seventeen, and ready to actually let guys into my life, I began dating this one popular guy in school. He was gorgeous, athletic, and sweet. That is, until I told him that I wanted to go slow, and not jump right into sex with this relationship. He then began beating me severely and forcing me into it anyway. I was lucky enough to get out of the relationship without severe injuries or hospital visits." I chuckle, more to relieve tension than to act out of joy, and wipe the falling tears off my face. "I haven't been able to look at guys since then, but I've making progress. I've let you, your dad, Glenn, and the rest of the guys into my life, accepting them as real friends who'd never hurt me."

`Those disgusting pigs!' is the first thing that comes to my mind. `See, Ally, I was right. They want you for your body.' my mind tells me. I shake it off, look Luke dead in the eyes, and tell him, "You tell your father that my chest is one-hundred percent real."

Five Disney movies later, Luke is fast asleep against me, and I'm nearly out when Glenn and Mark come through the door. I watch them enter the living room. "Hey guys," I softly call out to them so I wouldn't wake Luke. "How'd it go?"

Mark gently picks Luke up in his arms, and takes him upstairs. I follow him once I turn off the lights. I lean against the threshold of Luke's room, watching Mark expertly change Luke into pajamas and tuck him into bed, all without waking him. I smile at the thought of someone as physically intimidating as Mark being incredibly gentle as a father. Mark turns out the light, and closes the door. "I'm glad you stayed with Luke," Mark tells me as we stand opposite each other in the hall. "I worry that he isn't very sociable with the other kids."

"Yeah, I suppose so," he responds as we begin to walk down the hall. As I'm about to enter my room, Mark gently grabs my arm. "Ally, I-" He stops his thought, and a discouraged look comes over him, like he's fighting a losing battle, a look I've come greatly accustomed to within the last few months. "Um, wake-up call at seven, and hit the gym after we arrive?"

"Sure," I say to him, and take the hand that's on my arm into my hand. "Good-night, Mark." I give his hand a squeeze, and enter my room, closing the door snuggly behind me. I dress in my cloud pajamas, and climb under the covers. "Wonder what he was really gonna say."

The suddenly swings open, and Mark enters. He picks me up a bit roughly, throws me over his shoulder, and goes into my bathroom. He puts me down in the bathtub, and turns on the shower with the cold water knob. I scream when the water pelts me. "Dammit, Mark!" I shout. "Don't you think that was overdoing it?!"

Once I'm dressed and ready to go, I haul my case downstairs, and set it down by the door. "We better get a move on if we want to squeeze in some gym time, Glenn," I hear Mark saying to him.

"I know, Luke," I reply, and kneel to his level. "You'll be good for me, right?" He nods. "All right, and I'll try to bring you home something special, okay?" This time, he nods enthusiastically. We hug again, and softly kiss each other's cheek.

Mark and Glenn clump down the stairs, their luggage in tow. "Ready?" Mark asks me when they reach the entrance hall. I nod, and Mark kneels to give his son a hug. "I want you to watch TV until Ms. Potter gets here. Don't answer the door, don't answer the phone, and don't play with the kitchen appliances. Get out to the bus on time, okay?"

"Oh, she is, is she?" Mark states, looking up at me. "Well, then I'll see to it that she fulfills her promise." Luke gives Mark another hug, then Glenn, and watches as we exit the house.

We put the luggage in the back of the Lincoln. "So who's sitting in the back, guys?" I ask them as Mark closes the trunk. He and Glenn look at each other, and smile. "I don't like that look, guys." No response. "Guys?" They both launch at me, with Mark grabbing me by the waist and Glenn going for my legs. I begin to laugh, but struggle as much as possible.

Glenn lets go of my legs long enough to open the back door. Once my legs are free, I kick madly. "Hurry, Glenn, she's getting feisty!" Mark says to him. Quickly, they manage to stuff me into the backseat, and get themselves into the car. "Well, wasn't that fun," Mark comments as he closes the passenger-side door.

Once we reach Austin, we check into our hotel rooms. Surprise, surprise, someone's been messing with our reservations, and I end up sharing a room, with only one king-sized bed, with Mark. "You okay with this?" he asks me as we set our luggage in the room. "I mean, I could go get another room or-"

Mark throws a pillow at me. I catch it, and throw it right back, hitting him in the shoulder. "Hey, we better get going, or we won't get a good workout," he says, grabbing the key card.

"It's like the Camel Clutch," I answer. "I sit on the opponent's upper back, tuck their arms in my legs, and cup my hands under the chin, pulling the neck up. Puts a strain on the chest area." Mark nods as we enter the elevator, and I know I sound like an idiot just by the look that he knew what the move was called. "I was wondering, could you practice it with me, you know to see how effective it is?"

"Well, sure," Mark tells me, his look changing to interest. "I'd be glad to help." The elevator stops at the lobby, where we meet Glenn, and we head off toward the lot to go to the gym a few blocks away. The gym manager has closed down the facility for the day so the wrestlers could work-out without interruptions from fans. I think it was nice of him to do that, and not only that, but he also had a mini-ring constructed for us to use.

After the regular work-out I've made for myself, I begin to measure the ring to adjust the moves for the practice to pass the time as Mark finishes his routine. "Ready?" comes Mark's voice from behind me, making me jump.

After the basic bounces, drops, and such, Mark takes a fall, landing on his stomach, which gives me the time to get my finisher on. I sit down on his upper back, tuck his arms in my legs, and cup his chin in my hands, pulling upwards. Somehow, Mark is able to flip me on my back and right into a pin. "You need to apply more aggressive pressure when pulling the head back," he tells me, pulling me to my feet.

He looks at me for a few moments, and finally answers, "Pretend you're applying the move to the most vile, disgusting person you've ever known, someone who's made a part of your life a living Hell. The anger will come, and fuse it into the strength and pressure you'll need." I'm getting an ugly picture in my mind. "Want to try it again?" I nod, and we begin again.

This time, when I apply the hold, I take his advice, and begin to imagine placing this hold on Greg, the drunken stepfather who made my life a complete Hell, and put me through so much torment…

"Hey, you!" he shouted at me. "Git yer ass over `ere, girl!" I obeyed, only because he was supposed to be my mother's husband. His hand, a whiskey bottle in its grasp, came across my head. I fell to the ground, crying in fear and pain, scared out of mind of this drunk's next action. "That'll teach ya to sneak's out outta `ere!"

I looked up at him through my tears with rage in my eye, and I stood up, getting right in his face, no longer in fear. "Don't you ever stop drinking, Greg? Huh?" I yelled back. "All you seem to do is drink and hit and force me into your damn bed! You're supposed to be my mother's husband, but you sure as hell aren't doing a great job of that either. Nothing is ever good enough when it comes to her sacrifices."

Again, he hit me with the bottle. "Ya don't talks back to me, ya `ear?" he screamed in my face, then grabbed my arm so harshly that I thought it'd break off. He tossed me onto the sofa. "I'll teach ya good dis time." He ripped my shirt off, and began his disgusting ministrations…

Two people grab my arms, trying to pry me off. I look up to my right, and see Joanie; to my left is Brian Armstrong, aka Road Dogg. "Let go, Ally," Joanie says to me calmly. I finally release the hold, and get up in a sort of daze.

"Here, a good massage should lessen the pain," I say to him, taking his hands away, and putting mine on his chest. "Then you'll just need to a few pain pills." I begin to gently rub his pectoral area, where the most strain had been. Mark watches my hands, looking up at me occasionally.

"I think that sounds about right, considering," he says, chuckling. He gets up, then holds out his hand for me. I put mine in his, and he pulls me up; the look in his eyes captures mine, and we search each other's face before moving on. For the rest of the time we're at the gym, someone constantly makes a smart-assed remark on the whole situation. I don't pay any attention; I can only think of the way his eyes took mine into his grip.

I walk out beside Mark, who rides his motorcycle out, and Glenn, who walks with me as Mark goes down ahead of us. It is time for the Survivor Series' first of three main events: Taker and Kane vs. the Angle Brothers (Kurt and Eric), who are accompanied by Paul Bearer. Will and I glare at each other across the ring as the match starts off with Glenn and Eric going at it. A good number of technical moves are pulled off by both men before Eric tags out to Kurt. Kurt is a bit hesitant at fighting anyone bigger than him, and enters slowly. As this happens, Glenn points to Mark, who stretches his hand out as far as he can, and the crowd erupts into cheers. Glenn tags out to Mark.

Mark enters the ring, and Kurt tags Eric back in quicker than a person can blink. Eric, a bit annoyed, enters the ring, and engages in a slugfest with Mark. Both men try to outdo the other, but in the end, Mark overpowers the smaller man. After a few minutes of in-ring moves, Mark flips Eric over the ropes, and follows him to the floor. Eric runs, grabs me, and places me between him and Mark, like a shield. Immediately, I reverse, and hold Eric for Mark to punch in the stomach. He falls to his knees, and Mark picks him up, tosses him back into the ring, and tags in Glenn.

The match goes back and forth for quite some time, with Glenn chokeslamming Eric into the Spanish announce table, and Mark putting Kurt through the English announce table. Near the end, Kurt and Eric have Glenn and Mark lying on the canvas after a few chair shots, and they call Will into the ring. Will enters, as do I. We get into an argument, with Kurt and Eric approaching to toss me out. Suddenly, both Will and I hit the brothers with hard fists, and they actually fall on their asses. By now, Mark and Glenn have recovered, and set them up for finishers: Eric getting another chokeslam, and Kurt going for `The Last Ride'. The ref awards the match to Glenn and Mark as he counts the pin-fall. With the match done, all four of us head backstage

"Ally, I've got to say that you've really adjusted to the business well," she tells me, sitting in the armchair. "I had my doubts when you first came, but you proved them wrong. Proved us all wrong."

"Thanks, Joanie," I reply. "I really appreciate the words. Looks like the boys will have to find me a new nickname." I laugh a little. It has been some time since Joanie and I have talked woman-to-woman, or even hung out together without one of the guys around.

I give her a glare, and smile, replying, "Find out for yourself. You seem to be the dreaming of the situation. Speaking of which, someone tampered with our reservations, and I get to share a bed with Mark tonight." Joanie laughs, and I catch her eye. "It was you, wasn't it?"

She only laughs harder. When she finally stops, she replies, "Honestly, I didn't do it, but I wish I had thought of it first. You might want to check with Bri. He's usually up to things like that."

I look at my wristwatch, and say, "Well, sorry to end this little gossip chat session, but I've got a ride to catch before my big `captors' decide to leave without me." I pick up my stuff, and we leave the room. "They stuffed me in the back seat this morning!"

I shake my head. "It was full enough as it was," I tell her, then give her a quick hug. "See you tomorrow, chica." I walk off to find Mark and Glenn leaning against the car, waiting for me. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up with Joanie." Mark opens the back door for me, and I get in. He and Glenn get in front, and we head to the hotel.

"We'll see about that," comes my remark as I go to my suitcase, grab my things, and head into the bathroom. I take a nice, long, hot shower, savoring the feeling of the streams on my body. When I finally finish showering, change into pajamas, and brush out my hair until it shines, it has been an hour. "Was that short enough?" I ask Mark as I exit the bathroom.

I sit on the edge of the bed, and flip on the TV, flipping through channels without really stopping as nothing catches my interest. "It's almost midnight, and there's nothing on TV," I complain aloud. Finally, I just leave it on a movie channel, which is playing `End Of Days'. I watch most of it until Mark comes out of the bathroom, wearing only boxers with dripping wet hair. My eyes are pulled from the TV to him, and that tingling feeling returns. `Don't think or feel those things, Ally,' my mind, once again, scolds me. `He's a good-for-nothing man who will only treat you like shit.' I block it out after much concentration, and turn off the TV.

"No, it's all right," I interrupt him, and turn down the bedcovers. I crawl underneath them as Mark settles in on the other half of the bed. "Just keep to your side, and keep your ass away from mine."

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the flesh of a male's chest. I scream, and push myself away. I push so far that I end up falling off the bed, catching myself with my elbows. Mark sits up, leans over, and asks, "You okay?"

I turn sharply, and respond, "How am I supposed to know what goes through that head of your's? You know, my instincts were right; men are nothing but inconsiderate, low-life, hormone-driven pieces of despicable shit! Why I ignored that, I don't think I'll ever want to know." I storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

When I finish dressing and brushing my hair and teeth, I come out to an empty room. Mark has left, and apparently took his stuff with him, I notice. I also notice the time: almost ten. Quickly, I pack my stuff up, grab the keycard, and head to the lobby. At the desk, I happen to glance outside, and see the Lincoln exit the hotel parking lot. `Great!' I say to myself. `Now what do I do?' When the clerk comes back, I ask him, "Could you get me transportation to San Antonio?"

A few minutes later, a limo drives up to where I'm waiting. The driver takes my suitcase, and puts it in the trunk as I get into the back. "San Antonio, ma'am?" he asks through the open window on the back door.

"Yes, please," I reply, and shut the window. The driver gets in, and we leave the hotel. I wonder on the way to the highway, `Why do they ask for limos for me? I hate riding in these things all by myself. Such a big vehicle, and only little me to fill it.'

Another hour and a half, and we've reached San Antonio. I ask the driver to take me to the arena, and he obliges. Once he lets me off, and gives me my bag, I head into the arena to find a locker room, dressing room, whatever I'm designated tonight. A backstage manager helps in telling me I'm with Glenn and Mark, per usual. I roll my eyes as I walk away, heading the direction he'd given me.

I manage to find the room all right enough, and I dump my things inside the door before I head off to find the food tables; I hadn't thought of eating recently, and now, I'm starved. Luckily for me, the caterers have the food set out and ready, and not a person in line. Immediately, I grab a plate, and begin piling food onto it. I sit down at a table, and start inhaling my lunch, almost literally.

"Why is it that someone always thinks something has to go wrong for me to act like this?" I reply. "Suppose nothing is wrong; suppose something went right. Would you still ask `what went wrong'?" Will just looks at me harder, and I sigh. "Mark and I had a fight, and I ended up coming here alone."

"You two aren't together then?" he asks. I shake my head, and he sighs. "Well, now that's a different story all together. So, why are you upset because you two had a fight, if you don't even consider him a friend?"

I blink, and stare at Will. "You know," I say, "I haven't a clue why I'm upset. I guess I just regret sharing a room with him. It seemed harmless enough, but I woke up with a chest in my face. I freaked out, and I was stranded by him and Glenn."

We finish our meal together, and go our separate ways for the time being. As I'm heading toward the locker room, an arm circles around my shoulders, and I tense up. "Chill, Little One," Brian says to me. "It's just me."

"Started a few rumors, too," I tell him. "Don't do it again, `kay Bri?" He nods, and I continue on the way to the room. "Joanie was right; it was the Dogg of the business." I sit in the armchair, waiting for the other parts of the group to show up. Quickly, my eyes grow tired, and I close them to let them rest. In a few more minutes, I begin to doze off.

The turning of the doorknob brings me out of my sleep, and I open my eyes in time to see Mark and Glenn walk in, their things in hand. "Just great," I hear Mark mutter under his breath as he puts his things down.

Mark sits on the other side of the room, as far away from me as possible, and Glenn sits in the armchair next to me. "Long meeting with the McMahon's and the creative writers," Glenn informs me. "We're giving the `line back to the writers after this week's shows."

I glare hard at Mark. `He's obviously still pissed about earlier,' I conclude. `You don't need him anyway,' my mind adds. `He's just another man who wants to take advantage of you.' "You know, Mark," I begin with a sharp tone to my words, "I rightly should be informed in such decisions, as I am part of this `line. If you feel that we need to give the control back, you should just give it to me. Maybe I can add something to keep the interest alive."

"Woman, you are getting on my last nerve with your self-absorption. I now understand why I'm the one who has to put up with you." he replies, getting up, and heading for the door. Just as he's about to exit, he turns back. "One last thing: don't involve yourself with my matches anymore. I don't need a wench to mess it all up for me in a single second." He walks out, slamming the door as he does.

A few hours later, I'm watching the beginning of RAW on the monitor. The Angle brothers come out, shooting their mouths about how they were screwed. Mark and Glenn walk out to the ring to respond. At this point, smelling a set-up, I race to the curtain area, not caring about Mark's wanting me to stay out. On the monitor, Mark has a mic, and is telling the brothers how easy it was to pull it over them. The four get into a brawl, with Edge and Christian coming out from under the ring to help.

I run down the ramp, and enter the ring. Immediately, I flip Christian over the top rope, and go after Edge. He and I engage in a slugfest before he slips out of the ring. Kurt and Eric, noticing they're outnumbered, head to the ramp as well. I step up on the bottom rope and beckon for them to come back. "Come on!" I shout at them. "You guys aren't running from a fight, are ya?!"

A hand grabs my arm, and pulls me down from the ropes. I turn to see Mark glaring at me; Glenn has already exited the ring, and started heading up the ramp when he saw Mark grab me. "I thought I told you to stay out of my business!" he shouts at me.

Mark shakes his head in anger. "Damn bitch," he says. "You're an ungrateful bitch, do you know that?" I squint at him in confusion, and I suddenly realize this isn't for the show anymore; this is him acting on his emotions, the fight we had stemming into this heated argument. "I've given up so damn much for you! I let you live in my house! I made your ass famous! Did you ever say a little `thank you'? NO! Not a bit of gratitude from your mouth! Why do I still let you walk all over me and my hospitality?!"

Suddenly, he punches me square in the eye, a lot of anger behind that fist. I fall to the canvas from the force of the hit. My hand automatically goes up to my eye, which burns with pain. I look up at him in complete anger. He returns the glare. He pulls me by my head up to my feet, and is about to punch me again, but Glenn has come back into the ring, and stops him by grabbing his fist. Refs and officials come pouring out from backstage, and come into the ring; a few come to check on me, while most hold Mark back.

I run to the dressing room, slamming the door behind me. Not long afterwards, someone knocks on the door. "You okay in there, Little One?" comes Brian's voice. "You need help or something?"

"No, Bri," I reply, trying my hardest to keep my voice steady. "I'm fine. Just go on, now." I hear him walk away. I turn around in my room, not sure what to do, so I open the door again. In complete anger, I run to the parking garage. As I'm near the exit, I hear my name called by someone, but I ignore it, and continue. I reach a limo driver. "Please, get me outta here," I say to him.

As instructed, he drops me off at a bar on the outskirts of San Antonio, and he drives off, probably back to the arena. I enter the establishment, and sit at the counter. The bartender comes over to me. "What'll be, missy?" he asks me.

"I don't care, as long as it's strong, and you keep bringing it," I answer, and he goes off to get me something. From the time my mother had married Greg and I saw what liquor to did to people, I made sure I never had any type of alcohol. Now, here I am, ordering the strongest they have to offer. The bartender comes back with a medium glass of liquor. "Thanks." I take the glass from him, and down it in seconds. I struggle to swallow the last bit, the bitterness finally getting to me. "Another."

The bartender goes off to get me another glass. When he comes back, I tell him, "Hey, get me a few shots of Brandy and Scotch. Hell, just keep them coming as well." I take the glass from him, and sip this one slowly, hoping it'll do me better. No such luck. `What are you doing?' my mind asks. `Drowning your sorrows? Even after you promised yourself you never would? You don't even know what you're drinking, do you? Haven't a clue what you ordered, just heard people drink it.'

`I can't believe I was attracted to that bastard,' I think over my mind's scolding. `Never again will that happen. I won't let it. I'm through with thinking that true love, or love in general exists.'

I ignore my conscience as the tender brings four shot glasses over to me, and fills them up. This continues for a while until some man sits next to me. "Hi, honey," he says after he receives his drink. "What's a place like you doing in a girl like this?"

He downs the drink, slams the glass down, and takes my arm. "Sure am," he responds. He leads me out to the parking lot in the back, and takes me to his car. "My home away from home." He points to the car, a junked-up Ford truck. He turns to face me, and reaches for my T-shirt. He pulls it over my head, and begins to touch my breasts. His nails dig into my flesh, and I finally snap back into reality.

I punch him in the face, and he staggers. "What the hell…" he begins, but I punch him a few more times, then kick him in the groin. He doubles over, and falls to the ground. A few hands grab my arms, and I see a squad car pull up with more help. Two policemen lift me off my feet, and carry me to the back of the car they came in. One handcuffs my hands in front of me after he puts my T-shirt back on my body. "Stay in here, missy," another tells me harshly as he puts me into the back of the car. "You've caused quite a deal of trouble."

"…picked her up from a bar; they said she was assaulting a man, and her shirt was on the ground," I hear a voice say. "She's pretty violent, this girl. Are you sure you want to get her out?"

I open my eyes to see that I'm lying on the concrete floor of a holding cell. I sit up, cowering in the corner, trying to shrink away from the steel bar door and the brick walls. A middle-aged man approaches the cell, inserts a key into the door, and opens it. "There you go," he says, turning around.

"I like you better when you're sober. You make a better non-drinker than a drunk, you know that?" Mark chuckles out, and adds, "Well, at least he got what he deserved. Do you want to leave, or just sit in the corner like the bad Little One that you are?" I stand up, using the wall to hold my body up. "Good, then let's go." I begin to walk toward him, but my legs buckle under me. Mark is there just in time to catch me. "You're doing this to get the treatment of a queen, aren't you?"

"Mark," I say to him, "like I ever planned this!" He picks me up into his arms, my legs over one, and the other around my back. I rest my head against his shoulder. "Thanks for coming for me."

"Oh," I say, looking at the carpeted floor. "I guess my anger got the better of me that time. I promised myself I would never touch the stuff, and I broke that promise. Isn't the first one today, either."

I put my head to rest on him again. "I'm so sorry, Mark," I tell him in a whisper. "I know I haven't acted very gracious toward you, but I am thankful that you've put up with me. I'm really sorry, and I will make it up to you."

"It wasn't called for, and by the looks of it, you're gonna have a black-eye," he answers. "I know that you're grateful and all; I didn't know what I was saying." I hear his voice rumbling in his chest. "I swear, if I ever do it again, I give you permission to kill me."

Mark lets go of me to help the driver take the stuff out of the trunk, and I fall to my knees. A sudden urge to vomit overcomes me, and I'm powerless to stop it, releasing the bile in the grass in front of my knees. "Is the miss okay?" I hear the driver ask as I finish, and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

Mark walks past him, and takes me upstairs to my room. He sets me in the bathroom, leaves, and returns a few minutes later with my cloud pajamas. "You go ahead and get cleaned up, okay?" he tells me. "We'll talk when you're done." I nod, and he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Quickly, I strip, and step into a hot shower. I try my hardest to get the drunken smell off of my body, but nothing I do can get the feeling to go away. While cleaning, I notice nail marks around the areas of my breasts, and I remember what happened. A few tears slide out of my eyes as I think back to how I was ready to let that man take advantage of me.

Once I finish my shower, I dry off, change into my pajamas, and blow-dry and brush my hair. I give myself a look in the mirror. My left eye is a bit puffy, and beginning to show a light discoloration. "I hope it won't be too bad," I mutter to myself, and exit the bathroom.

Mark placed the chair from the corner at the foot of my bed, and is sitting in it when I come out. I sit cross-legged in front of him. "I don't think I'll ever drink again," I tell him.

I nod slowly, look at the carpet, and say, "He offered me sex, and I accepted. He took me out to his truck, and took my T-shirt off. Then he-" I take a hard swallow. "He touched me. I snapped back, and punched and kneed him. The police took me to the car, and I blacked-out." I look back to Mark. "It was purely self-defense! He dug his nails into my flesh!" I pull my top down enough to let him see the marks, but not to reveal my chest completely to him.

"Morning," I reply, and he leaves my room. I change into jeans and a white baby-tee, then head into the bathroom to brush my hair and teeth. I notice my eye's discoloration changed little during the night, but it was enough to be noticed. "Jeeze, now this is attractive."

Luke goes to the fridge, and pulls out a steak. "I've seen people put steak over their black-eyes," he tells me, taking the steak out of its wrapping, and brings it to me. "Put this over your eye." I do as he instructs, noticing the juice starting to run down my arm.

Luke still isn't convinced. "Don't you think it's wrong to talk about people behind their backs?" Luke next says. "Like when you and Glenn were talking about why she didn't like men, or whether her chest is real or not." I can see, with my one eye, that Mark is beginning to lose his patience. "For your information, Daddy, Ally's chest is one hundred percent real! She told me herself, and if it wasn't, she would've told her mother so." Luke storms out of the room, and races up the stairs, slamming his door shut.

Mark stands back up, and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. "I didn't know a little black-eye would generate this much trouble," he says to me. He takes the meat from me, and takes it to the sink to rinse it off. "Why would you tell him something like that?"

"Because he asked whether it was or not," I respond simply. "Luke and I have this agreement to tell each other the truth. I couldn't avoid the question, not when he asked it." I go to rinse my arm off as Mark wraps the meat back up. "I don't think it's worth keeping, Mark. Most of the juice went down my arm." He looks up from the meat, then nods, and tosses it in the garbage. I turn off the water and dry my arm off. "I thought I told you to get some sleep."

I smile at his innocence that replaces the wisdom I'm used to seeing in him. "Luke, your dad's a wrestler; he hits people for a living," I explain. "It was part of his job to hit me, whether it left a mark or not. I'm sure he's hit a few girls before me."

The phone rings, and Luke picks up the cordless receiver. "Hello, Luke Callaway speaking," he says into it. He looks up at me. "Yeah, she's right here." He sits down besides me, and hands me the phone. "Nana."

"I sent him to bed," I answer. "He stayed up all night, watching me sleep. The man is crazy." I smile. "You missed it. When Mark came into the kitchen earlier, after I told Luke that he hit me, Luke went crazy on him, told him off and everything. It was cute."

Many hours later, the three of us are entering the Reliant Astrodome together. Not long after we set foot inside the doors, a bunch of the guys form a hall block, all with their arms crossed and angry looks on their faces; it seemed like almost the whole company stands there, blocking our way. "Hey guys," I say to them as we come up to the group. "What's up?"

Bri looks over to me, and I nod. Finally, he sighs, and says, "All right, man. Ally has, and I guess we should, too." Bri holds out his hand, and Mark shakes it. "Do it again, and we'll pour gravy down your pants." The group of us laughs at the thought.

The mob finally disintegrates, and Mark, Glenn, and I continue on our way. After changing into ring attire, we hang around with a few others before a cameraman calls us to do our segment with Mick Foley. We enter the `closet' that Mick is using for his `office' tonight, and wait while the cameraman sets up. "Okay, let's get started," the man says to us.

"You can give me the Angle brothers, Edge, and Christian on a silver platter, that's what you can do for me," Mark replies. "I want a handicapped match, tonight, with those four thick-headed bastards."

"For one," Mick answers with an angry tone, "I didn't like how you decked DC last Monday night." Mark lowers his head in frustration. "It was uncalled for, dammit, and you don't punch a woman just because she doesn't heed what you say. Two, Kane, you didn't take DC with you when you exited the ring, and you could've avoided the whole thing."

"Mick, I'm better than ever," I answer. "Don't give me that shit. We want the damn match, and the question only needs a yes or no answer. Do we get a handicapped match with Edge, Christian, and the Angle's?"

Mick takes his gravel into his hand, and sits to think, twirling the hammer in his fingers. Finally, he says, "Tonight, it will be Taker, Kane, and DC against Edge, Christian, and the Angle's in a handicapped tag match, and my decision is," He bangs the gravel on the desk, "FINAL!"

Mark and I look at each other, then Mark walks back to the desk. "The only thing we care about is getting our hands around their necks," he tells Mick, and follows Glenn and me out of the room.

Mick smiles, and replies, "Well, first I was thinking that Taker was gonna kick my ass again, especially after what he did to DC, which then got me to thinking how wrong that was. Then I thought that both Taker and Kane were gonna kick my ass, mostly when Taker slammed his fist down on my desk. When DC came, though, I was thinking, `Hey, why not? Everyone enjoys a good `kick the idiots' asses' match.' Besides, I'm all for helping people patch things up, if ya know what I mean." He begins to laugh.

Mick stops laughing, and says, "Well…you know…Taker and DC get in a fight, I want to help patch it up…" The others are just staring at him. He rolls his eyes. "Apparently some people are too young to understand." He walks on down the hall, leaving the four guys confused.

Within minutes, we're ready to go out. Mark rides out first, while Glenn and I walk together, like before. After we're all in the ring, Edge and Christian comes out, and stands at the bottom of the ramp, too scared to come in. Finally, the Angle's come out, and stand with the other two. Mark stands at stance on the side facing the entrance, Glenn on the left side, and me on the right, all of us waiting for them to enter. When they finally gain the courage, they enter on the three sides; Edge and Christian doubling-up on Glenn, Kurt going for Mark, and Eric coming for me. The bell sounds, and the match has officially started.

All seven of us go at it for a time before the ref forces all but Glenn and Christian out of the ring. They put up a good fight, with both pulling some good moves. Christian tags in Edge, who reluctantly enters, and begins to fight with Glenn. After a few minutes, Glenn tags to Mark. Edge scrambles to tag Eric in. Eric tries a quick-attack on Mark, but it does nothing. They battle into a corner. Just as Mark brings Eric over toward us, he slips around behind him, and tags in Kurt.

Mark goes back to the center, where Kurt stands up to him, before slapping Mark, making his turn away. Mark just grins, and punches Kurt in the head. After a few more shots, Kurt's rolling around on the mat, and Mark tags me in. I go right away to him, and deliver some stomps. He manages to get to his feet, and whips me into the corner. He slams into me, then goes for another, but I move, making his shoulder connect with the pole. I schoolboy him, and roll him up for a pin. The ref gets to two before the other three men get in. Mark and Glenn join the out-of-control brawl, Glenn taking care of Edge, Mark going for Eric, and both sharing Christian. I pull Kurt up to his feet, stand back to back, and deliver `Child's Plaything'. Kurt rolls onto his stomach after the impact, and I sit down on him, tuck in his arms, and place `Devil's Grip' on him. After a few pulls upward, Kurt finally screams out his submission.

I get off of him, and stand with Glenn and Mark in victory. "Now that's the way to do it," Mark quietly comments as we look down at Kurt, still on the canvas. We leave the ring, and head backstage.

"Because I came to congratulate you three on an outstanding match," Mick says. We begin to walk on. "Yet, there's something I should say." We turn back around to face him. "I saw the way Taker tagged you in, all slowly and lightly." He demonstrates as Mark clenches and unclenches his fists. "I know that you have feelings for each other, and I just wanna say that kinda stuff isn't allowed in my ring." He laughs. "Just kidding. I'm glad you're acknowledging them. Hey, good luck you two!" He walks off.

"Because he's been driving me crazy today, talking crazy talk about becoming the greatest superhero of all time," Ms. Potter says, coming to our little group. "I'm getting too old to play the villain. How was the show?"

"Thanks for staying with him again," Mark says, putting Luke down, and taking out his wallet. He removes a few bills, folds them over, and hands them to the elder lady. "Have a good Thanksgiving."

I kneel down to Luke's height. "I got you something," I tell him, digging through my bag. I pull out a Final Fantasy IX Playstation game, and hand it to him. "Now you don't hafta ask for it for Christmas." When I was shopping for it, I wasn't sure it was something for him, since he's only seven, but Mark assured me it was all right; he had the others as well.

"Don't play it now," I say, "because you'll end up having to stop before too long." He nods, and takes the game up to his room. I take my gear up to my room, toss it into the chair, and flop down on the bed. "I'm tired, but my eyes won't close, and it's only after 8:30." I gently rub my eyes as I get up and head into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, and look at myself in the mirror. "You've gotta have some more all-nighters, girl."

I continue to watch until nine, when I make him turn it off. "You have school tomorrow, you know," I tell him as he complains about having to go to bed. He climbs into bed, and I tuck him in. "Don't worry, you have a four-day weekend coming up."

"That `Lucky' song," Luke replies. "It's about this famous girl who has all this money and fame, but doesn't have anyone to love or to love her back. Kinda like you." He sort of laughs, and I think this over as I head to the door. "'Night, Ally."

"'Night, Luke," I reply, turning off the light, and closing the door. I go downstairs to see what everyone is up to. Apparently, Glenn hasn't come down; I did see his door closed. "He's probably asleep." I notice the light to the study is on. I go toward it, and stand in the doorway, leaning against the threshold. I smile as I see Mark asleep on the sofa, an open book on his chest, with a fire burning in the fireplace. I go to the closet, grab a thick blanket, and go back to the study.

Quietly and gently, I remove the book from his hands, and place the blanket over his body. I sit in the armchair right diagonal of the sofa, and just watch him sleep, much like I suppose he'd done last night. As I watch him, I think of what direction our friendship is heading, and with each conclusion, I come up with the same answer: another level is evident, but will I take the step up? I can't help but wonder if I do step up to the next level, will it end up the way the last one had, quite some time ago?

What about what Luke had said? Am I really like that song, someone famous who was incapable of loving and being loved? I shake my head, and say to myself, `No, that's impossible. I wouldn't confide in Luke if I didn't love him, and he wouldn't confide in me if he didn't think that.' I leave that thought hanging as my attention yet again focuses on Mark, moving to sleep on his side.