006: Prologue [UNLEASHED]

A small part of her wanted to clam up, to childishly mime zipping her lips and just wait out the hour like some sullen teen. The adult, more pragmatic part of her brain kept insisting that she needed this, especially after her little episode back in December. But of course, it was raining – it always did at times like this and that serpentine susurration of cars passing by on the highway was almost soothing. Almost. It had been almost two years since she'd seen him – this Bible-thumper who'd been forced on her by the suited spooks as part of her return from the dead. She'd called him Romero then. He'd gently corrected her every time as the joke sailed over his head. Now she longed for the simplicity of those halcyon days.

A sigh passed her lips. A few more minutes slid by.

"Okay-"

"Kaitlynn-"

They both started talking at the same second. He stopped, perfectly professional. She laughed, embarrassed.

"Sorry. I know time's a-wastin' and all. I just needed to sort my thoughts. I'm not sure I can do this. Not now. I mean, before… I thought he was dead so it didn't matter what happened. I was happy to dive into that garbage on the pretense of saving lives, you know?" Her eyes were on the window, watching the silver rain slide down the glass. She knew it had snowed in Toronto, in Hamilton and here she was where it felt more like Spring edging into Summer.

"Petrov is in the wind," Jegede said softly, "you did what you could."

"And my cover was never blown," she sighed, "they thought I'd just gone after Spiral," just saying his name now made her shiver. Her hand stole up to her cheek, feeling the reassuring unblemished smoothness of her cheek. The silence spoke volumes and she shivered again, chilled to the core. "They came to me," she said softly, her voice on the verge of shaking, "in December. They told me that Wade Crewe was in league with The German and his son – never heard of the guy before that. Some shady promoter from Vegas, I think. I didn't ask. I didn't care because I had Victory. I had…" she was talking fast, her voice low, her chest constricted as she forced the words out. Sweat beaded her upper lip, her hands clammy as she wiped them on her jeans. "I was chasing a title. Legitimate gold."

Disdain oozed from her words, self-loathing evident and she wondered why she was almost whispering when the door was closed, when there were walls between this room and where her husband waited.

"Kaitlynn," that cultured accent cut through her reverie like a hot knife through butter.

She jerked as though she'd been doused with a bucket of cold water. "Huh?"

"How many have you had since December? How many anxiety attacks?"

She forced a smile, shaking her head as the lie fell from her lips. "Just the one. But it was – I was worried about the horses. About our travel and the weather and it was Christmas Eve. Holiday stress is normal, isn't it? We were stuck in Charlotte – flight cancelled because of a looming storm. I wanted to have a nice night at home, to celebrate. I'd bought him this wonderful silver bracelet and I just couldn't wait to give it to him. I never thought to pack it for the trip. And I was late taking my medication that morning. Overslept through the alarm. It was just a bunch of things. They hit me too hard and my mood was low and-"

"Kaitlynn." His voice was harder this time, firmer. "Stop making excuses."

"I'm-" she swallowed hard, cutting off the denial. "Okay. Fine. Victory was supposed to be the last hurrah. My final ride into glory and I did it. I rose above the rabble and for what? They weren't selling out shows. People kept leaving left and right and by that last show I was facing fucking enhancement talent. Half the seats were empty. I don't think they even bothered to stream the show, either. So where do I go next? Another dumpster fire upstart so I can play biggest fish in a little pond? So I can pander to my own ego? Sure, I can get back up on that stage… on that horse… but for what? Just what am I going to do when I'm up there? Look at all the empty seats because nobody cares anymore? Look at the people who are only there to boo me?"

"Is that what you think will happen?"

She made an exasperated sound, leaning back against the couch as she stuffed her hair behind her ears, "with the way people have been? Yes, without a doubt. I haven't been on Twitter since Victory closed, not really – it's not a lack of interest, either. Most days I have to fight the urge to go on there, to see the sickness for myself. I need to know if they're still talking about me so I've turned off notifications and I played it off to Mikhail that I was sick of being bombarded every single day. I've had companies beg me to consider them and I've lied. I've blown them off. I pretended I didn't know the next step as though I was taking a little mental vacation when the hooks were already in. I knew I was going to Russia. I knew even though my husband, my only protector in this world can't even go with me." She sighed, "and it's not about the lie in public because they don't care about this shift. To them it's just me pivoting to the super-popular MMA format and sure some will bitch that I'm turning my back on the industry that made me a household name to delve into this garbage?" The anger was there in her voice as she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She took a few deep breaths, flinching when Jegede's hand rested on her shoulder.

"Being angry is natural, Kaitlynn," he said softly, "you were assaulted. The trauma will always be there, even when you avoid your own triggers. You can't escape that."

"Trauma." She snorted, "and you know, I thought he was going to finish what he'd started back twelve... thirteen... I don't even remember when it was." She sighed, "Jackson was in PCW. Feuding with Chris Madison, I think. It must have been 2005." Her voice was low, "he made me drink something. It tasted like flowers and turpentine and then there was so much pain. I don't think he knew. I was six, maybe seven months along and I'd lied to Jackson. I'd told him it was only three, tops... and it was... it was a boy."

"You don't need to-"

"I do. I need to. Spiral took that from me. And when that wasn't enough, he came at me again. Five years later? He took my dignity. Then he took my vanity and maybe it would have been simpler if he'd just raped me..." she said the words in a small voice, turning on her side and burying her face against the cool leather. "Nobody knows what really happened. I haven't talked about it – Jackson doesn't even know and he was the one who found me, face all carved up and all I could think about was that poisonous whisper in my ears about how my beauty was..." she stopped talking, couldn't bring herself to even paraphrase what Spiral had said. "Mik doesn't know. If he did," she mumbled, the words muffled by the plush couch and her tears, "I don't think he would be so willing to let me go there now."

"Blaming yourself isn't the answer," he replied, "remember, God only gives you trials that he knows—"

"All due respect," she rolled over, glaring at him, "but if you hand me that load of horseshit one more time, I'm going to be hard-pressed not to punch you in the face."

"God has a plan for you, regardless of whether or not you choose to accept that."

"Right," she snorted in derision, "I'm sure he does. I'm sure he can look right into my heart, into my soul and see how badly I want to hunt Spiral down, how badly I want to put a bullet between his eyes for this goddamned damage. Don't fucking hand me that 'vengeance belongs to the Lord' shit either. I've heard that but this is different, you know? He had no right t-to..." her voice broke, the tears breaking free again.

"God's plan, Kaitlynn. Things happen for a reason, in their own time. Have a little faith. It's brought you this far, hasn't it?"

"Right," she shook her head, "I just need to sit back and enjoy the ride, right? Good things are coming and the fact that they turned on me in a second when I needed them most doesn't really matter because I wasn't a person in their eyes. I was an idol, up there on a pedestal, being worshipped and then when I was cut down, someone else hopped up there to replace me and it doesn't matter because I was trying to do something good, something DIFFERENT. They don't care. I was up there scooping my guts out, handing them bits of my soul and they just stomped on it and walked away like it was nothing. They don't love me. That's what I always wanted, you know." She said it with a rueful, bitter laugh. "All of this for some scrap of meaningless attention from faceless strangers."

"Does that bother you?"

"What?" She looked up sharply.

"The idea of someone hating you."

"Anyone else... I don't give two shits but if I do go through with this, if I go to Russia without telling him the real reason? If I let him keep thinking it's about Spiral and revenge and none of the other stuff? If I let that lie be the last thing between us? I don't know what's going to happen. If he ever looks at me the same way everyone else does... I'll slit my fuckin' wrists. I seriously will. Because I can't..."