Bound for Glory - Year 1

Week 34 - I Don't Wanna Wake Up from You

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                                                         November 14th, 2011

                                                         “Good Not Great”

WWE Monday Night RAW LIVE!, Times Union Center (Albany, New York), backstage area, around . . . 8:45pm

“So you're saying you want me to cut myself?”

“Well, not in the weird emo way you're making it sound like.”

“Well, how else would you like me to execute it, sir?”

“I would appreciate less attitude.”

“Tough.”

Whereas this argument was thrilling, I really just wanted to fight already. I was angry. Everyone's talking to me about Phoebe. Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe. That's all I've heard about for the past five hours I've been here. Hunter was irritating me. Apparently he wants me to use a little razor wrapped in tape to make a small cut on my forehead after Kat throws me into the exposed turnbuckle that I'm supposed to expose. Okay. I'm completely fine with that. It's the fact that Alex will be on commentary aside Phoebe, his on-screen girlfriend, that I'm pissed about. GAH.

“Okay,” he finally said. “When you're at the turnbuckle, the ref will hand you the razor and then you'll know what to do. We'll film it so that people don't see you cutting yourself.”

“Won't it scar?” I asked, a little worried.

“No, no,” he assured me. “You'll be fine as long as the cut is small enough.”

“Okay,” I said, handing him the razor. “Can I go?”

“Yes, you may go,” he said, allowing me to walk past him.

As I did, I readjusted my shorts. I lifted my head up from them to see the two people I've been dreading most to see and was hoping I could put off seeing until RAW started. Alex and Phoebe. Stupid. Scottish. Phoebe. It's not enough that her accent reminds me of Drew McIntyre and his still-not-fired ass, is it?

I decided to just keep walking and push the anger bubbling up in my stomach down. I, again, readjusted my light green attire that contrasted my black hair. This time my bra was out of place. Despite that weird spray stuff they use to keep attire in place. I halted my actions quickly as I passed the on-screen couple, trying my best to look sophisticated. I don't know why. Alex has seen me at my worst, what would he care? Phoebe would think me odd, I just know it.

“Kathryn!” Phoebe exclaimed. I stopped suddenly, turning my head to her. She was wearing dark green cargo pants, a black tank top with a burgundy and dark blue tank over it, Doc Martens, and two mesh gloves on either hand. Exactly what I wear off-screen and sometimes on-screen. Oh, God. I was just about to scream Hunter's name when Phoebe cut me off, looking at my attire oddly. “Crosses?”

I looked down at the crosses that clad all my attires all the time. “They're variants of Celtic crosses. I'm half Irish, so,” I answered, doing my best at a smile. She nodded.

“I see,” she pushed her back off the wall behind her. “I didn't know Alex was such a great guy! You were a lucky dame.”

I shallowly smiled, something I knew for a fact that Alex picked up, and shrugged. “Yeah. Guess I was.” I think she picked up my irritatedness, seeing as her smile faltered and she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.