It had been a fuked up week since Havoc. She’d spent 4 days in the ICU, 7 days after surgery recovering, on the 12th day she was released from the hospital and was ready to finally leave Charlotte, North Carolina behind. She never wanted to see this goddamn city again. It was stained with loss, with suffering, and with humiliation. She understood now why it was known as “Ric Flair Country,” because no one else could shined there…least of all her.

(Erica): Fuk this city!

She murmured under her breath, through gritted teeth as she looked out the airplane window upon take off. Grimacing in pain, she gripped her rib cage from the force of the plane accelerating on the tarmac and into the air. She had a scar and stitches10 centimeters across her chest, between her left breast towards her heart. Hours later, she had arrived back in Los Angeles. Her mother and brother had also made it safely home with travel arranged by HWA. It was the least they could do, she thought, but she was grateful nonetheless to have had them with her all this time. At least the company’s Talent Relations Division wasn’t all bullshit, they did help people. She finally made her way home greeted by the absolute stench of week and a half’s old trash she forgot to throw away before she left.

(Erica): Fuk!

She dumped her bags in the doorway and opened windows for some circulation. The lingering smoke in the air was better than old chicken bones and what was left of what was supposed to be Enchiladas and Chile Rellenos from that fuking restaurant Gracias Madre. Everybody raved about it, but nobody told her that shit was vegan. It tasted like shit and the whole thing went straight to the fuking trash. Goddamn Tiktok gringas! She should have known better to eat food recommended by some skinny white bitch that probably stuck her finger down her throat in the bathroom right after anyway.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and her heart sank a little just looking at it. Somewhere inside she had expected….no…. “expected” wasn’t the right word….she had “hoped” that Maniac would have at least reached out to her directly after what he’d done, but he hadn’t. She reeked to him. He made her feel like the stinking trash in her kitchen, only he didn’t forget to throw her out. He made every effort to make sure he dumped her at death’s door. He killed her, she thought he killed DreamMaster but he was gone from her nevertheless, and now in the wrestling world…she was alone again.

She wanted a cigarette. The doctors had obviously instructed her to refrain from nicotine and booze. They had certainly not cleared her for wrestling, but she lured an ugly little Filipino male nurse into changing the status on her chart before she was discharged and before the doctor could notice. She suckered him behind the curtain when he brought her clothes to get dressed and acted as if she was unsteady on her feet and about to fall. He rushed in to help but she grabbed his crotch. Before he could say anything, she had her hands in is pants, his dick in her mouth and sucking it into a hardened state. He was stunned, but he didn’t stop her.

The little bastard was speechless and just held her shoulders tight as she gave him what he probably hadn’t had in who knows when as fuking ugly as he was. He busted all over her bed, and before he yanked his pants up she had her chart in his face, and forced him to “correct” the doctor’s notes and orders for her work status. He didn’t have much of a choice. She had missed the last Havoc and didn’t intend on missing another. Nobody needed to know she wasn’t cleared. Her altered documents were submitted and filed to corporate and her status was reported as “all clear” and thus…she was back on the card.

If she’d known what the card was, she probably wouldn’t have been so eager. This intergender tag matches where she had to be “asked” to team with someone. Who the fuk is going to want to team with me, she thought. Maybe Tobias, he was probably the only guy around with nothing against her. He’d have made a great World Champion, if Stu’s little girl wasn’t skipping around the damn ring where she didn’t belong and cost him the match.

She sighed, ready to return to the world, eager to get back to HWA business and turned her phone back on she’d had off during her flight home. It dinged and pinged as messages came in. She had a couple texts and opened messages to see the name Hans von Richtoven on her screen. She literally tossed her phone on the table in front of her as if it was possessed. She quickly reached in her pocket pulling out a switchblade and flipped it open and got into a defensive stance.

(Erica): Who the fuk is in here?

Her heart raced as she turns looking around her house as if she surrounded by enemies.

(Erica): I’ll fuking slit your goddamn throat, come out!

Hans wouldn’t be contacting her, this was some trick to attack her while she was injured, distract her. She rushed to closets opening them quickly and slashing at air finding no one inside. She pulled the sofa from the wall, pots out of the kitchen cabinet, stabbed under her bed, broke the shower rod as she flung the curtains back looking for whoever was in her house, but found no one.

Panic set in, and she yanked a kitchen drawer open to get a flashlight and spent the next 2 hours looking at every corner and crevice for hidden cameras or microphones until she was satisfied that neither no one had been in her home, nor had there been any tampering. She returned to her phone on the table looking down at it, then picked it up, opening the message and read.

If you’re reading then, I’m not writing to create wounds, but to heal.

Yes, I saw you lying in the ambulance. I had to see for myself, see what had happened and see what a waste it was. I wasn’t gloating. I was sad for your mother, your family and even for you. Even for you after the hell you’ve put my own family through.

I guess we’re two broken people at the end of the day Erica.

I’m not giving up though. I don’t want you to either. Who you are right now, I know you’re able to be better than that. Your mutti knows that. Your brother knows that.

Tag with me at Havoc. No tricks. No games.

You can only feed off the hate for so long. Believe me, I’ve been there.

She stared at the message. It felt unreal. It felt staged and rehearsed and she looked around as if she were on candid camera still waiting for someone to pop out and tell her the jokes on her. She was in so much pain now, rummaging around the house in paranoia had done its toll on her, overexerting herself. Stitches were still in place but she felt ripped apart. She found some pain meds and swallowed a few with a few swigs of tequila.

Fuk what the doctors said. She opened the text back up and read it again, then the HWA app. It was time everyone knew Erica Martinez was back. It hadn’t been but a few weeks since Road to Ruin but it felt like a lifetime. She inhaled deeply, forgetting she still had to take out the trash and that fuking stench hit her again. She ignored it and focused on the camera, then pressed the live feed button. Her voice was low,

(Erica): It’s been a few weeks now since Road to Ruin and I’ve spent them doped up on pain meds. I don’t even remember the live feed from Havoc last week during the awards but anyway…I’ve got a lot to say so here goes.

I know you all wanted me dead. Maybe I should be. Maybe I deserve to be. Maybe I am, on the inside. Maniac, I saw you telling Sean a week ago that you didn’t know where I was. Let’s be real, you could have asked anyone in the office what hospital they sent me, but you didn’t want to know. I’m just your trash. Shit on the toilet paper you wipe your ass with gets treated better than me. At least you flush it down. Me? You just dump me out on the floor, kick me around, watch me get run over again and again, and wait for time to decay me. Maybe Road to Ruin was your final lesson to me Maestro…that I’m nothing.

She’s in so much pain but tries not to let it show, mindful of her gestures and facial expressions. She masks it by taking tequila shots and wincing after, as if it was only the alcohol burn effect. There’s silence, she looks around the room once again as if checking for the joke or attack one last time. This would be the moment for it.

(Erica): Hans…I saw your message. Maniac, I can understand, but you? You could have asked the your little friend Michelle but you’d have pissed Sean off and the two of you already got into it once before over her. You could have asked Sarah, but you know she’s all talk. Or Starlight Kid, but the bitch can’t understand a word you’re saying and would just screw up. You could have asked Alexis, but she’s been out for months and is rusty as shit. You could have picked the mystery person, but you don’t like surprises.

She shakes her head pitifully.

(Erica): So you picked me by default. You picked me not because you wanted to, but because I was all that’s left after you weeded out the others. You say I’m broken, yeah…I probably am. I know the things I’ve done. I know what I put you through. But I’m no hypocrite. I’m not gonna say I’m sorry, because I’m not.

I’m no more sorry than you are for breaking my ankle, for choking me out, for tricking my mother to come to the arena thinking you were trying to help me. I’m not gonna say I’m sorry because you wouldn’t believe it, you wife wouldn’t accept it and I’m tired of being humiliated every time I have hope for something.

She pulls out a cigarette and lights it taking a drag.

(Erica): But………..I’ll be your partner Hans. I’ll be your partner because I want to win, and I know you’re an ambitious man despite not letting it show. You want to win to. None of the others can give you that win, that’s why you chose me. I don’t believe in second chances, you can tell yourself that’s your game if you want to. I’m not Maniac. I’m not going to blame DreamMaster for things I said or did, I’ll take my fuking lashings. But I’ll tell you this Hans, if this is some trick…if you’re playing me…

Her lips purse tight as the thought and fear of betrayal, of being humiliated yet again sets over her. She takes another drag of her cigarette, her hand visibly shaking.

(Erica): I promise you I’ll get you back. I’ve got nothing left inside Hans. You can’t fix broken, and Maniac doesn’t want to even if he could. From now on this is just a job, I’ll show up, I’ll do my part, collect my check and go home. I’ll drink, I’ll smoke, I’ll screw, and I’ll become invisible. I won’t allow myself to hope, to wish, or to dream because it hurts. Because those things aren’t made for people like me….and I’m fine with that.

Tears fill her eyes, as she takes another drag of her cigarette hand quivering still.

(Erica): I already died once, I may as well be dead to the world. See you at Havoc!

She ends the live feed and the screen fades to black.