The middle of scenic fucking nowhere.

Yeah, that's where I am. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone to see three missed calls from Jonny Rebel. Time out. First, Jonny Rebel has my number, and secondly, his number is programmed into my phone? No, this is all kinds of fucked up. Note to self; get a new number as soon as fucking possible.

The woods, a puzzle of dead trees whose branches fall in every which way without so much as a hint of green isn't exactly the most inviting of decors, but beggars can't exactly be choosers, can they? Looking backward, the stairway leading down to the back entrance of the makeshift arena where the recently concluded Night of Sacrifice took place still fresh in sight. I need to keep walking.

A flash of light blinds me momentarily, and flashes off as quick as it appears. The roaring of an engine fills the area and drowns out the silent sorrow of the twisted, contorted limbs of the lifeless pieces of timber. A rusted, beat down Chevy Silverado rolls up close to where I'm standing, and slams on the brakes. The door creaks as it opens, and out steps a fifty something fat fucking redneck with the NASCAR hat to prove it. He smiles a buck tooth grin at me, sending a chill up my spine for some reason. Calm down Jessie, he's just a hick.

"What's-a wrong, lil' lay-day? What ya doin' in the woods this late?"

Oh my fucking God, my ears. I think they're bleeding. On my arm, a drop of his spit that flew though the gap in his teeth sits. Fucking disgusting.

"What's it to you?"

He keeps that grin up while he ponders my question. Maybe I used too big of words. Saliva spurts out of his mouth as he begins to speak once more in his fucking drawl once more.

"Come on, hun. There's gotta be some reason you-er out hurr."

No shit Sherlock, there's a reason I'm here. What person in their right fucking mind would be out in the middle of nowhere just to enjoy the shitty fucking scenery?

"Once more; what's it to you?"

Jesus Christ, my patience with this guy's wearing thin. One more fucking word out of his mouth asking me why I'm here and I'm going to...

Dammit. I place my hand to my head, trying to steady myself as to not fall over. Lightheadedness strikes, hitting me like a punch to the stomach or something. Falling back, I just barely manage to stop myself from completely falling on my ass.

A look of concern graces his face, looking me over in my current state.

"Are ya okay, hun?"

Oh my fucking God! Just go away! My eyes close just for a moment, and I fall backwards, performing a backroll and ending up laying flat on my stomach on the ground. He approaches me. Looking down, he dismisses any quarreling I may do to assure him that I'm fine. Because, we both know that I'm not.

Not fine at all.

The gnawing in my stomach assures me that I haven't eaten in, how long? A few days, at least.

"Come on, hun. I'll take ya."

What?

I don't want to go with him, but I'm too weak to resist. Standing up with his assistance, I stumble my way over to the passenger side door and using all my force, pull it open. I collapse in the seat. The world goes back, not before I hear both his and my doors close, and the engine come to life in a staggered, sputtered burst.

---

Well, looks like Jessie got herself in a little bit of a sticky situation, having to deal with Christine Nash, is it? Well Christie, it really does suck that you're having to deal with her right now, because I'll be honest with you; she isn't in the best state of mind right now.

Now, I could go on a laundry list of reasons why Jess just isn't herself, and it would likely be more interesting than listening to you complain about all of your problems and talk about how everyone should fear a whiny cunt who can't get a grip on her emotions long enough to form a sentence that doesn't cuss every other fucking word. Wow, are we supposed to be intimidated by someone who has to constantly talk tough because she really...

Isn't?

Because, I'm not. Jessie laughs every time you try to act high and mighty, and Jessica pities you.

I mean, she loves how we apparently kiss asses and don't give a fuck. Please, tell me what the fuck you meant by that, because I know that in my most incoherent of stupors, I could communicate a more rational thought without even trying. Oh, was it the stupid alter?

Or, is every layer of your oh so fragmented personality so braindead that it makes the last look like Albert Einstein? You're twisted, then emotional, then what? Is that all you have? You don't see this, but the only possibly interesting thing about you; that being your disorder, isn't. You're so fucking crazy, and we need to be afraid of you because...

You'll cry us into a coma?

Please, try that on someone else, I'm the type of girl who deals well with bullshit sober. So, if you want ANY of what you say to have any hint of impact to me honey, you got to metaphorically buy me dinner first.

Which kinda segways itself nicely into another false point you tried so desperately to make during your hate parade against Jessie. That she's some sort of slut who sleeps her way to the top. Wow, what a great disconnect from reality you have there, can I ask you who your dealer is? That's the type of shit I need...

I'm sorry.

I'm deeply sorry that Jessie is better than you in every possible conceivable way.

I apologize that your partner saw just how worthless you were and still are, and dumped your ass publicly.

I'm sorry...

That all of those things are your fault.

There's no kissing up here.

No sleeping to the top.

Just everyone being better than you. The girl with thirty seven abortions shouldn't be allowed to make whore comments, by the by. Keep on thinking that you don't suck. It keeps getting funnier when you get put in your fucking place. Word to the wise though, touch whatever form Jessie shows up in, in the wrong place...

You'll be drowned in the fucking mud.

Bitch.

Lastly, to Mister Kronus.

Calling anyone ugly when you look like the poster child for an antidepressant commercial makes you look like a fucking hypocrite, not a voice of reason. Fuck your reasoning, you're worse at talking than you are at wrestling, and that's saying something.

Just end yourself.