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RAW, October 25, 2004
Amy was so disgusted. She was still terribly distraught over her miscarriage, but the fact that she was being forced to play it off as part of a storyline completely sickened and infuriated her. Visions of beating the holy hell out of Eric Bischoff flitted through her head, and she knew she could do it, too. The man may have had a black belt in karate, but she was no slouch when it came to judo, or pro-wrestling.
She sighed as Julie, the makeup artist, worked on her. She was seated in her comfortable chair and had just had her hair done in preparation for her upcoming spot.
Of course, due to the fact that her body had to fully heal from her ordeal, she wasn't scheduled to wrestle. She was told she wouldn't have to until she was physically ready. But then, why was she forced to play out her very real tragedy on live national television?
Without a word, she got up and left as soon as Julie was done with her. The one and only thing she was grateful for was that at least she would be doing her segment with Trish Stratus. Shane McMahon had assured her that they would be moving her into a storyline with the blonde that would eventually lead to the two of them fighting over the Women's Championship.
It was a pity that seemed so far away and out of reach. Not to mention, Amy really didn't care about getting the gold for the second time. It wasn't that she didn't ever want it, but the timing was just so bad.
Adam didn't have a match scheduled for the night. He was, however, lurking around the backstage area and even had a promo to do. She wanted to go find him, but a member of the stage crew approached her about her segment. It was showtime.
She stepped in front of the vanity mirror they had set up specially for the segment and instantly fiddled with her hair, which she had partly back with barrettes at the side. She looked a lot better than she felt. She hadn't gotten a really good night's sleep since before the accident, but Julie had done a great job with the concealer, and the dark circles under her eyes were unnoticeable.
It was then that Trish came up from behind her, a smile coming to her face as she sidled up to her. It was the blonde's job to poke fun at her for not having shed her extra pregnancy pounds just yet. In reality, Amy was already back to her normal weight of one-hundred and forty pounds.
She felt so hurt doing the segment. All it served as was a stark reminder of the precious baby she'd lost.
Trish was now mocking her, making funny "bloated" faces. She knew it was hard for her friend to do this as well. But they had no choice.
Minutes later, the redhead couldn't even think straight. Something inside her snapped despite the smile she wore on her face on the outside. In a flash, blinded by rage, she jumped on Trish, fists flying and pounding.
The outburst of course was part of the script, but somehow, Lita was gone and Amy had taken over. At this point, she didn't even see Trish, hear her cries. All she could focus on was her grief and especially anger.
She was out of control. She saw a backstage worker run over and pull the Canadian diva to safety. At the same time, she felt a pair of strong hands yanking on her, pulling her in the opposite direction. It was then she recognized the voice of Lisa Marie Varon. Her Victoria character was indeed supposed to be a part of this, but as the cameraman stopped filming, the dark-haired woman was still yelling at her - not with anger, but out of concern, and trying to bring her back to her senses.
Amy stopped struggling under Lisa Marie's grip. She looked up at the other woman, then at Trish as she headed over. What was wrong with her? She had to get a grip, and fast!
"Oh, God..." she breathed. She shook her head. "Trish, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, Amy," her friend assured her. Her face was full of concern as she eyed the redhead. She reached out for her.
Amy opened her mouth again as though to speak, but she simply couldn't. She shifted her gaze from the blonde to Lisa Marie and then, wordlessly, hurried away. She had to get out of there.
She raced down the arena hallway, ignoring everyone else who just so happened to be there. It was as though they didn't exist. She didn't need to be patronized by any of them, anyway. They just didn't understand, none of them.
She kept up her brisk, even pace until she finally spotted her husband. He was standing outside a locker room, his face a mask of concern. She knew he'd just witnessed the segment.
Adam ushered her into the room as she instantly went to him. He snapped at a couple of stagehands nearby who happened to be staring at them before closing the door.
The redhead flung herself into his arms and held on for dear life. He was more than happy to hold her against him, his large hands stroking up and down her back and hair.
"I... I lost it, Adam," she moaned. "I think I need help."
The tall blond man held her back just enough to meet her haunted hazel eyes. He nodded.
"I think we both do."
He held her tightly to him, rocking her slightly in his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then spoke softly again.
"We'll get through this, Ames... I promise, we'll get through this."