Broken Handcuffs [III]

iii.

Tuesday night felt like a cool breeze in the Summer evening— light, liberating and no question of wearing a cute (and a little slutty) dress while walking the boardwalk with your girls tipsy off some margaritas Bri made even though she kept drinking it in the process of making it so it was less than-

Too descriptive. Way too descriptive.

Without the extensive analogy, Nicole felt like a summer breeze. She felt good since Saturday, her session and (is it a date?) with Lana did great for her and she was also given the woman's number to text or call in times of extreme discomfort and stress. She even bumped into the prodigy Jared, who was learning Japanese from the charismatic Shinsuke Nakamura. He made her day a bit better as well.

So what was a turning point?

Nicole was minding her own business, unaware of the impending collision from Dean Ambrose and Randy Orton's match going backstage. The camera crew should've ticked her off, but it was another body crashing into hers to prevent being trucked by a charging Randy that missed his original target Dean.

"Watch out!" The voice warned and then it happened pretty fast after that— Nicole on her back with hands protectively cradling her head and neck as they landed pretty rough next to her. She peered through golden curls and saw... Carmella? The woman winced in pain before looking over Nikki, "Are you ok? You didn't hurt anything did you?"

Nicole was too in shock. I mean, not only because she avoided possible injury, but this woman saved her— protected the very area she was hellbent on harming around a year ago. She never really interacted with Leah the entire ten months and she smells really nice. Has her hair always looked that— SERIOUSLY?!

Leah waves a hand in a tranced Nicole's face, "Hello?"

Nikki blinks, eyes focusing on the Smackdown Women's Championship before trailing up the abs, brassiere and choker around the neck before focusing on Carmella's face. Her brows were scrunched in concern, this is awkward, this is so fucking weird, I need to call Lana already.

Nicole jumps back as if Carmella's prolonged touch burned her and the intensity was at its highest. "I'm fine. Nothing broken. A little sore." She starts to scramble to her feet, Leah hopping up too and noticing the same weird tension that was hovering over them like a cloud.

"Well— ehem, can't have you not at your best when you face me. Don't want anyone saying I defended on a fluke." Leah slides into the safety zone of work. She plays with the top of her title belt, black nails picking at the white leather which most likely became a thing when she got a belt around her waist. Her eyes start to look around too, and Nicole isn't making eye contact either. "I uh—" Leah starts, bringing Nicole's attention back to her, "I have a match and promo to cut. On you, actually. The promo. The match is against Alicia Fox, so, yeah." And Carmella hightails it out of there.

Nikki dials Lana's number so fast she almost left skid marks on her plasma screen.

"Hello, Miss Colace?" The velvet flows through the receiver.

"Hi, um, you told me to call whenever I.." She trails off, looking around and moving somewhere more private.

"Okay. Tell me what happened."

"It wasn't really anything big I just— I ran into her again." Nikki exhales, gently knocking the tip of her shoe against an equipment box.

"Her? Carmella, I assume?"

"Yeah, it didn't click that I never told you."

"It's alright. My son and I were avid viewers of the Women's War." And she thankfully leaves that statement where it is. Nicole then decides to sit on the equipment box.