Wrestling ONE SHOTS and IMAGINES

64 Damian Priest

When I came backstage, I felt like I was floating on clouds. It made me so happy that I, my matches and promos were so well received by the fans. In the short time I've been on RAW now, it really made me feel like I had arrived. I was grateful for all the opportunities that came my way for my career.

A few months ago, when I found out that I had been called up from NXT to RAW, I was very nervous about whether I was up to the task and whether I would even have the chance to prove myself. Deep down I was afraid that I would just sit around backstage and not get booked.

These fears dissipated very quickly, however, because I was booked well, thanks to the fantastic reactions of the fans and media. I quickly got good matches and made a name for myself outside of NXT.

Yet there were always the voices of the other female superstars. The envy, the jealousy. They seemed to take pleasure in spreading rumors about me. I knew it would be best for me to ignore them. I should not pay any attention to them. But I just couldn't do that. I couldn't ignore their voices, because they were probably right.

Why did I deserve the attention? Who was I anyway? It kept firing up the fears in me that had always been there. The negative thoughts that I had always been able to suppress, but which nevertheless reappeared every time. The insecurity bubbled under the surface as if it were lava. It was just waiting for the volcano to erupt.

I was just about to turn the corner to get my bag, when I once again heard the laughter of the other women. The spiteful comments they expressed not exactly quietly. 

"I still don't understand why they insisted on calling Y/N up to RAW. She's not even good. Below average if you ask me. No charisma and the way she talks. My god, just thinking about her promos gives me a headache." One of the women hissed.

"Right? I have no idea how she even made it to WWE. Who knows, maybe she satisfied the right people. I hate that bitch. She takes screen time away from real talent like us." retorted another.

I was so used to this behavior and these statements that I didn't even pay attention to who the voices belonged to. The only thing I paid attention to was the echoing of their voices in my head.

For me, there was only one way to silence them in the last weeks. And that was what I would do now. I was prepared. I picked up my bag and retreated to a dark corner of the arena.

Swiftly I rummaged around in the bag until I found what I was looking for. I pulled out the bottle of rum, unscrewed it and hurriedly drank a few large gulps. By accident, I spilled some on my hand. Therefore, I reached into my pocket again in search of tissues. Instead, I found a bottle that I had completely forgotten about. It was painkillers from the dentist. Strong painkillers.

Maybe they would help numb the unwelcome feelings inside me. As I thought about it, it occurred to me that everyone was right. I wasn't talented. I was nothing special and I didn't deserve to be here.

Feelings tossed me back and forth. Like a small boat on the sea in a storm. Wave after wave. Each one causing more damage. 

Finally, I took one pill. Then another, and another. Each one I washed down with more rum. The numbing feeling finally set in. But somehow, this time, it wasn't enough. Despite the help of the painkillers, it wasn't enough. No relief. I longed for that relief. For peace. Maybe there was a simple solution.

With trembling hands I searched in my pocket for something sharp. Frustrated, I realized that I had nothing of the sort with me. One hand found my pocket mirror. That was at least one possibility.

I quickly pulled it out and threw it forcefully to the floor. I heard the mirror shatter and hoped that one piece remained large enough. I was lucky and found a shard that was the right size. With increasingly trembling hands I picked it up.