One Night Stand
That night had been a mistake, she was never meant to lose what she rightfully deserved.
"I can't seem to put my finger on it." Sasha smirks smugly, tapping the Women's title with her dirty little finger, flipping her wanna-be-punk, freak colored hair back. Her eyes shine like she owns the world, like she has it all figured out. It's disgusting. The title, that symbol of power and greatness, looks wrong sitting on her shoulder. That is HERS, not Sasha's, not 'please notice me' Becky, it's Charlotte Flair's. The belt belongs to her. Who does this little girl think she is to come out here, flash her cheap dollar store jewelry, and run her loud mouth? She's had the title for what, hours? Try over 300 days. At least she EARNED the right to brag, unlike this brat.
Sasha continues to try to get under her skin, rattle her even further. It won't work, she tells herself, she's better than that. So she doesn't her best to ignore the way her skin crawls and blood silently boils. She's never needed anyone, she reminds herself, never has and never will. Not her apprentice, not her father. She made that clear when she dropped that old sack of yesterday's news on the side of the street.
Charlotte smiles, full of sarcasm and bitterness, like she doesn't want to snap the other's pretty little neck. She opens her mouth and tells it like it is, venom dripping from her lips. It was a mistake, a stroke of luck. Lightning won't strike twice and she'll get the belt back. All Sasha’s victory was is a once in a lifetime thing, a sloppy one night stand.
"A one night stand?" Sasha raises a brow, "Sweetheart, you're the daughter of Rick Flair. If it wasn't for a one night stand, you probably wouldn't even be standing here!" Ms. Street Trash Queen quips, eyes narrowed in challenge. Charlotte doubles back, feeling her jaw drop at the accusation. Again, who the hell does she think she's talking to? She's Charlotte Flair, the woman who made the women's roster what it is today. Sasha should be on her knees thanking her for carrying their division for so long.
As she tries to think of a comeback to hit it where it hurts there's suddenly another voice calling out to them. They both turn in confusion and see Chris Jericho strolling into the picture. He has his own words to pick at Sasha. So Charlotte steps back and lets the man go at it, watching with sick satisfaction as Banks shrinks into herself more. And ah, there it is. There's the scared little girl she knows Sasha really is. She smirks, enjoying her rival squirm.
And then Enzo's music hits.
.