004: Refried Dreams

Everything hurt more than it should have, a hitch in her step that had happened the moment she'd rolled out of the ring turning into a limp by the time she'd made it to the locker room. Victory had been snatched from the jaws of defeat – she should have been cocky and confident. Instead the moment she crossed the threshold and the locker room door closed behind her, Nessa Wall burst into tears. She was aware of the creak of furniture, the soft gasp as Michel undoubtedly shot to his feet but she didn't look, couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. Instead she pressed her back against the door, feeling the cool metal against her flushed skin as her hands flew up to cover her face.

"Nessa?" Michel said as his bright smile contorted into one of sudden alarm and shock. He knew she had finally won her match but he could tell something far more pressing was disturbing her. Part of him wanted to delve down to solve it and part of him just wanted to comfort her and be her sounding board. He knew that under the snark, meanness and ego was this delicate fragile flower of a woman whose heart had been scarred so much. A woman used and abused for her genius. He loved her unconditionally. To Michel she was the ultimate woman, the ultimate prize and he would love her forever.

"What's wrong my love? I... I... I saw you out there! You looked great, babe! I am so happy for you finally beating Fin and his twin!" Michel could hear Nessa sobbing softly as he gently lowered her hands to see her beautiful face. Her eyes streaming with tears he gently wiped with his own forefinger.

Michel hugged his sweaty girlfriend passionately and ran a hand through her sweaty blonde hair which for some reason turned him on. "Anyway... I have a lot planned for you tonight." He surveyed her purple gear and smiled once more. He noticed the long sleeves, vee neck, hot pants, her clear nylon tights that gave her legs that lovely shine with her kick pads and shoes. "But first...you need to relax. I brought the massage table. It's pink although it's not quite matching your purple tonight. It's a lot softer." He took her by the hand and directed her towards the pink, thick, cushioned table and motioned her to lie back on it. "Just sit down, catch your breath, empty your head. Lie back. Close your eyes." Michel paused.

The sobs diminished into sniffles as she looked up at him, refusing that last instruction.

"Unless," another idea flashed through his mind. "Unless you prefer I carry you out of here and to the cab back to the hotel. Let's just say I had another idea for you, my love. Something that will wash away your tears and add some salvation to what may be a beautiful wasted night in Mexico."

"Wasted," she whispered, nodding, "that's exactly the word I was thinking."

Michel smiled broadly again, his dimples on display as he scooped up his petite girlfriend and gave her a soft kiss between her eyes. "The choice is yours." He said, running a finger down the length of her nose towards her soft lips while gazing helplessly into the solid blue pools that were her eyes, all the more startling when they were starting to redden from tears.

"Michel." Nessa's voice came out soft, plaintive. "They fired us. Said our contract was probationary and it just wasn't working out." The words held a twist of scorn, "I spent all that time convincing Matthew to team with me again for nothing." She blinked through her tears, clinging to him for the moment.

Michel looked blank for what seemed an eternity trying to find the words as he held her tightly. Her partner, Matt Stone had annoyed him for weeks but he pushed it out of his mind. He had hoped Nessa would be given a fair shake but once again she had been betrayed – the sad story of her life he wanted to change. "Fired?!" Michel sounded shocked. "Why? They couldn't do that!" He knew little of the inner workings of wrestling save for his sister Sabrina's long-term relationship with CWF.

"They can. They did. They didn't even get the name of the team right and I suppose that should have been more telling than being ambushed with a damned pink slip – who even does that?!" She shook her head. "I should've known this was a waste of time. I have half a mind to march into that office–"

Michel cut her off with a shake of his head. "We can dwell on this disappointment or we can make haste back to the hotel. After this news, I don't want to spend another damn minute here."

"You and I both," Nessa sniffled, shaking her head. "The longer I stay here, the more likely I am to do something I will regret."

She watched in a daze while he packed away the table, her street clothes – everything calm and orderly and efficient and she envied that control so much when she was doing all she could not to fling herself on the floor and throw a tantrum befitting a two-year-old. She snapped out of her reverie when he came back to her side, murmuring French sweet nothings as he dried her hair, her arms and her face as best he could. "Michel–" he put a finger to her lips, sweeping her off her feet. Like a storybook prince, he carried her out of the dressing room, through the hallway and settled her into the car he had waiting.

She dozed off the moment she hit the seat, adrenaline crashing out.

"Where to go?" The driver asked in broken English.

Nessa's head was against his chest, hands clutching at his shirt as though she was desperate for that small comfort of a connection.

"Hotel Casa Antigua, por favor." Michel replied, a gentle smile on his face as he looked down at his beloved Nessa, feeling his heart break all over again at the distress that hadn't left her features, even in sleep. "Rest, my love," he whispered, "you will find another place, one worthy of your talents."