Strength of Will
Long, slow steady breaths. She took them, one after the other; her elbows shakily leant against her knees as she held her head in her hands. Messy strands of blonde hair tangled in her fingers and as the door clicked closed and the trainer departed, she finally let fresh tears fall onto her already bleary face. Wet little splatters started to fall onto her dark shirt, rolling down the vinyl-esque material, one hand reaching to slowly wipe them away. The soft caress of her hand remained, rubbing across her stomach.
Every part of her body ached.
Granted, this was not the first beating she had ever taken in the middle of the ring, it would certainly not be the last. But on this particular night her body had been trampled, bruised, and for the first time in a long time she honestly wondered what she thought she was doing with her life.
That feeling would pass, she knew. But alone there in that tiny little room, the lights glimmering on the white washed walls so bright it stung her eyes, she hurt. More than she had expected to. A fact in itself that disappointed her. Women's wrestling was changing every day. Growing, expanding. The simple T&A factor of it was slowly but surely being replaced by the handful of women that worked so hard for the most powerful company in Sports Entertainment. Along with the other girls, she had trained, slaved even, to become the best competitor she could and though the improvement was obvious for all to see, she still longed to be faster, stronger, better. She had begun pushing her body beyond limits she had fallen into a long, long time ago, and she was starting to feel it.
Would it stop her? Of course not.
She still had so much to prove, and while she certainly strived for the acceptance and approval of her co-workers, longing to be one of them on a level she had yet to be, her desire to step to the next level was more about her own approval than anyone else's. Too long had she played the part of the dim-witted bimbo with the tiny outfits, good for nothing but accompanying this meathead or that to the ring. The men would leer, the women would boo and if she was lucky the most entertaining thing she did for a match would be jump on the ring apron and kiss some hapless opponent so the bad guy could get the win.
And if they had let her wrestle?
Shaking her head, she slid off the table she was sat upon and wiped at her eyes, not at all surprised by the black that coated her hands. She moved to the mirror on the far wall, looking up into it, grimacing. Her bloodshot eyes were still filled with tears and her dark mascara had left long, messy trails down her face. She touched a hand to her cheek and sighed; still disappointed she had been reduced to this. She wanted to be stronger than this, harder than this…
But as the match had continued, the stiff shot that had taken her breath away finally got the better of her, and when eventually the raven haired woman had crawled across her for the pin, she had been grateful for the moments peace. Of course it hadn't lasted, and by the time she had found the energy to drag herself to her knees a second woman had appeared in the ring. She smirked bitterly, turning on the water at the sink before her and wetting her hands. The look of fear she had played so well when she looked up into the dark woman's eyes was not so hard to create. Already battered from her opponent from the match and the mindless lackey that worshipped her, she had known then she probably couldn't handle much more.
It was only her fierce determination that saw her through the final onslaught, and though she tried to act the part of the consummate professional as they lead her through the backstage area to the trainers room, inside she felt her willpower crumbling, her desire to be strong literally falling apart. Tears longed to be cried and if she could have, she may have collapsed where she staggered, hiding her face in her hands and wishing the world away.
Above all else, she wanted them to respect her.
The fans would always chant for puppies, and no match she would ever wrestle her whole life would probably ever be without some kind of obligatory T&A factor, but if it killed her, she would make them respect her. For too long she had been type cast as some big-breasted harlot that had no real skills whatsoever. And while at first she had been happy to fulfill that role for the company, she had come to resent that image. Was it because of the fans that crammed arenas night after night? She shook her head, wiping her face with her wet hands, trying to clean the mascara off.
No, it was not the fans.
It all stemmed from the boys in the locker room.
They were nice enough, sure. In fact a few of them had managed to become some of the best friends she had ever had and she loved and adored them. They were always kind, always friendly. But as a whole, they were blind. Like the men who came before them, the women of professional wrestling worked hard. Those who wanted it, went after it, and she herself trained countless hours, took any bump and attempted any move, and if she was beaten or bloodied along the way she would not complain. She kept her head down and worked hard, completely focused on one goal and one goal alone.
If it killed her, and at this rate, she wouldn't count that out, she was going to put women's wrestling on the map. The boys in the locker room were finally going to see, finally going to truly understand that anything they could do, the girls could do. Granted, the girls came across as mostly futile against the majority of the men in the company, especially given their size, but against each other…
They could bring the fans to their feet and steal shows.
And if Trish Stratus had her way, one day, they would.
Turning the tap off, she inspected her face, the mascara as close to gone as she could get it, her eyes still bloodshot but her face not nearly so bleary. She took a deep breath, straightening up and turning from the mirror to walk out of the trainer's room. She walked slowly, carefully, and though she limped slightly as she moved…
She could, and would always, walk with her head held high.
~ The End ~