Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

Tourniquet	By : girlnextdoor Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 1585 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Tourniquet
- 2-ch 2
- 3-ch 3
- 4-ch 4
- 5-ch 5
- 6-ch 6
- 7-ch 7
- 8-Ch 8
- 5
- 6
- 7
6.
Her chest heaving as she struggled to get her breath back, Molly pushed past bustling backstage workers in an attempt to make as fast an escape as possible from all the eyes watching her. Throughout her match she had somehow managed to block out the taunts of the crowd as they cheered Trish heartily and mocked her with equal enthusiasm, but there had been no way she could hide from the thousands of eyes staring at her; all seeming to accuse her. That had constantly been the foremost thought in her mind - that they knew; that somehow they all knew and they were staring at her, judging her.
And it hadn't helped matters that her mind had been elsewhere. It musve bve been so obvious, but she had been unable to help it; she had struggled and failed to find her focus. The mistakes had been so unlike her and, in some cases, errors even a humble rookie would have been ashamed of. It was true that Trish had held nothing back - getting a sly dig in here and there; holding submission moves a le loe longer than she should have; using chokeholds just that bit tighter than was usual - but Molly had shown herself no favours either. Now she was paying the price; her ribs bruised and ng, ng, her head pounding and she seemed to have twisted her knee slightly. All she wanted to do was gather her few belongings and flee back to the hotel to lick her wounds in private. She had to get away …
"And where do you think you're going?" came the irritated voice of Mr. Bischoff, "Don't tell me after almost missing a match, you're thinking of sneaking off early as well? And here was me thinking you were the virtuous one …"
"I … I just thought … with the knocks I took, maybe … maybe I could …" she stammered helplessly, thrown off guard by his aggressive tone and steely glare. Normally she would have held her head high and demanded that she be allowed to leave for the sake of her hea and and general well-being, but now the words just wouldn't come.
"Well, what can I say, Miss Holly? You thought wrong! What you're going to do is march that … ahem … little keister back to your dressing room - see a trainer if you have to - but make sure you're cleaned up and ready to film a backstage skit ON TIME. You've already been told about this; surely it hasn't slipped your mind?"
"N-no, sir." she lied, having not remembered a thing about it until he himself had mentioned it.
"Good. And maybe if you climbed down from your soap-and and put in a little more effort, you wouldn't be getting so ripped apart out there. Now get moving; go on, get out of here." he snapped in irritation.
*****
Outside the arena, it was growing increasingly dark and there was a sharp chill in the air - two factors which should have ensured that the parking lot was deserted. However, just by the entrance there was a tiny red glowing light which signalled the presence of a solitary figure, smoking a cigarette. Chris Jericho was slouched up against a stack of empty crates, silently seething that he had been forbidden to leave the arena as he had planned. After he had lost control of his temper, he had been desperate to get away from everyone - a move which probably would have been best for the rest of the roster, not just him. He raised his cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag - a vice he had previously denied himself for years - wincing as the smoke irritated the back of his throat, having long since grown unaccustomed to the sensation. Alcohol, nicotine - the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, he thought wryly. Some people don't know the half of it.
With the cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth, he ran his hands through his long, wavy, blonde hair before fisting them and bringing them crashing sharply down on top of the crates. Damn it all to hell! Damn Eric for not letting him go. Damn himself for losing control. Damn Lita for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and managing to push him far enough to make him snap. He could still hardly believe what he'd done to her. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care, or at least that he was only sorry for the unnecessary aggro the incident would cause - he'd probably have the Hardys baying for his blood before long and even his one time best friend had looked ready to kill him. That wasn't the whole story though. Deep down, he was truly sorry for what he'd done. There had been a time when he wouldn't have laid a finger on a woman outside of the ring, and only inside it if he had no other choice. Now he had attacked someone he used to be close to … What kind of man was he turning into?
God, but he needed a drink …
Starting suddenly, he turned and narrowed his eyes - he had heard someone, he was sure of it.seriseriously didn't need any more confrontations tonight; the mood he was in, who knew what he might do … and to whom …
*****
Unable to make her escape, Molly was forced to settle for finding somewhere out of the way to gather her thoughts. She couldn't stay in her changing room - it was still littered with shards of glass, taunting her - and she would go stir-crazy staring at those four magnolia coloured walls anyway. Why she had thought it would be any better at the hotel, staring at four dingy, faded green walls was anyone's guess; but at least there she could go crazy in peace.
Thinking of the bitingly cold wind outside, she had hurried to the one place she thought no one would bother her, trying to ensure no one saw her. However, no sooner had she found herself in the parking lot, than she had spotted the glow of a cigarette - obviously someone had been desperate enough to brave the elements in order to satisfy their nicotine craving, but surely they would leave soon? No one would want to stay out here any longer than necessary … no one except her that was - she was quite prepared to stay there as long as possible.
Running quickly through the possibilities of who the mystery smoker could be, Molly wondered if she could manage to steal across the shadowy parking lot without being spotted and began to edge away from the door. Without warning, a sharp voice called out, making her jump and press herself tightly against the door behind her.
"Who's there?" came the demand, in the easily recognisable Canadian accent of Chris Jericho.
She didn't know what to do - should she run … should she stay hidden … or should she speak up? She was intimidated by him - this was after all, the man who had grabbed Lita by the throat … yet it was also the same man who had staggered past her, looking like he was at his wits' end … But it was too late, the decision had been made for her.
She couldn't help the little shriek which was her gut reaction when strong fingers closed on her arm in an iron grip and pulled her from the shadows.
"You! Why didn't you answer me and what the hell are you doing out here anyway?" he questioned roughly, giving her a little shake.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped hastily, "I didn't mean to … disturb you - I dt tht think there'd be anyone out here …"
"Yeah, well, you and me both!" he said in clipped tones, releasing her arm.
"I'll go …" she said, but he didn't seem to care anymore - maybe he had just mistaken her for someone else.
"You don't have to - it's a free country." he allowed finally, "Or at least it was last time I checked. Though why anyone would want to be out here tonight …"
"You're here …" she pointed out hesitantly.
For a second he looked stumped, but then he shrugged and waved the lit cigarette which he held between his fingers in front of her face.
"I didn't think you smoked." Molly said, wrinkling her nose a little as the smoke blew into her eyes. Since he hadn't actually starting yelling or throwing punches or anything, she was gaining what could only be described as an uneasy confidence as she remembered that this was only Chris and that, in the past, it had not been unusual for them to hang out together.
"I guess old habits die hard." he told her, inhaling a long drag before tilting his head back and slowly blowing the smoke out in a hazy cloud. "Smoke?"
She had been about to shake her head when something sparked defiantly inside her and she found herself reaching out to take the offered butt. Regarding it dubiously, she realised Chris was watching her with raised eyebrows and touched it to her lips, taking only a tiny puff. For a second she was fine, but the instant the s hit hit the back of her throat, she began to choke and it brought tears to her eyes. Coughing, she reached the cigarette out blindly in order to return it to the now smirking Canadian.
"Didn't think so. Stick to your pure little ways, Molly - being the bad girl doesn't suit you." he commented shrewdly, making her glare at him.
"You know nothing about me, Chris Jericho!" she snapped uncharacteristically, leaving him slightly taken aback. "And it's bad for you any way!"
With the corners of his lips twitching with the threat of a true smile, the first in a long time, he raised the cigarette in an attempt to mask the small change in his features but then sighed and flicked it to the ground, crushing it underfoot.
"I guess you're right - filthy habit." he said, with a sidelong glance at his unexpected companion. "You still haven't told me what you're doing out here …?"
It seemed to him that there was more to tpetipetite brunette than initially met the eye and, thinking that it might do him good to show a little interest in someone other than himself, he grew determined to find out what her story was. And if she wouldn't tell him … what would it matter? He hated to admit it, but it goodgood to have someone to talk to other than himself; even if she wasn't exactly talking up a storm. Anyway, it wasn't like he had anything better to do …
*****
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Tourniquet