Reliving my past wasn't fun and I didn't want to do it.  I didn't want to wander back through my mind and into the many depths of my childhood.  I didn't want to remember that I was the despised child; the one not loved.  Of course, my parents would never admit that they didn't love me.  I could see it in their eyes as I got older.  I wasn't the golden child like everybody had wanted to be growing up.  No that spot was held for my brother and my fraternal twin sister.  My dad at least was nice to me and I think he does love me despite my many flaws or what they would call flaws but I am who I am and they caused me to turn out this way.  Which way you might ask?  Hell, I have no clue.  I am so screwed up that I would sell out my body for drugs if I had wanted them. 

At a young age, I figured out what I could get with my body and what clothes to wear to get it.  All guys had a one track mind when it came to sex and sex appeal.  I figured out that most guys will give you anything if you show them a little cleavage and bend over enough for them to see a glimpse of your ass, you could hold the world in your hands.  I continued to hold the world in my hands as long as I stayed a girl.  The short skirts and revealing tops always came in handy when walking into a liquor store with whichever guy was my man candy for that week.  I was lucky enough to just lean over the counter a little for the guy behind the counter to start stammering then he would ring the alcohol up without any hesitation.  Of course, there were the times when the cashier guy, which it was a different one almost every time, wanted to touch my chest.  It made me freeze in my steps before I had reluctantly agreed.  It worked even better than I had thought because I got some of the alcohol free and the other was half off.

Then the time would come where I would have to go home and pretend like I wasn't high or drunk.  Those times sorta sucked because my own twin could tell that I was drunk or high and she would rat me out; the little bitch.  Then then 'rents would try to ground me but I didn't abide by anybody's rules but my own and usually sneaked out to go back to whomever was my boyfriend at the time.  Getting high and then having sex with him was always a thrill.  Having sex at all was always a thrill and very enjoying for me as I'm sure it was for all my partners but then again, how could it not be when I look like this?

After graduating high school and turning 18, I quickly moved out of my parents home in Greenwich, CT and moved to New York City where I found an apartment I wanted but didn't have the cash for so what do you think I did?  Damn right.  I slept with the apartment building complex's owner and he was fucking hot for a thirty year old.  Call me a whore or a slut, I don't care.  I did what I had to to get by.  So then I found a job as a dancer at one of those bars where the guys would come in after work, buy a drink or ten and watch myself dance.  No, I never took off all of my clothes; only the clothes that covered up my bra and panties.  It paid me well because I soon became their top dancer and none of the other girls got the tips like I did.  You could say that it was a confidence booster but it's not like I needed much of a boost anyways.

I had two or three jobs to keep money in my banking account; I couldn't go broke because I was always needing alcohol or drugs.  Mainly cocaince or PCP, the type that you can inject.  I was hooked on the needle for along time.  I could revert back to it very easily too.  I soon found out that large sums of money was being desposited in my bank account without my knowing.  I knew it was my dad; he was a rich lawyer and had tons of money to spare.  I didn't want his pity money but I wasn't about to turn it down either.  It was more money for me to spend on clothes, shoes, drugs, food, and liquor.  I always had a stash of drugs somewhere in my apartment and I could pay rent but the times that I didn't feel like paying rent, I would fuck the hot owner again and he would be satisfied to let me off the hook.  I still knew that guys would do anything for sex; even give up drugs.

I didn't really like fucking drug dealers because they got off so fast and they liked to fuck me up againsta wall.  I didn't mind too much, obviously because when I didn't feel like withdrawing some money from my account, I would give my body up for sex for some drugs.  Now, getting alcohol from guy cashiers was hotter; way hotter.  They made better one night stands or quickies, as I liked to call them.  They took enough time to get myself off and themselves off as well and then gave me all the alcohol I would need for a week.  I would notice that when I would come back, it was a different guy; occasionally it was the same but not too often but I didn't mind fucking the same person over and over again as long as I got my free alcohol.

My life didn't change in any way, shape, or form until I was twenty years old.  I was doing a different routine of dance at one of the bars I worked at and bartended at.  I finished my dance, collected my tips, then walked over behind the bar and poured myself a drink and then some business man coughed to get my attention.  I slowly turned my attention to him and I looked halfway shocked to see a guy like him in a low class bar like this.  I didn't know who he was but I was sure he was important because he looked to be important.  I poured him a shot of Tequila and began to talk with him.  He asked me what a good looking girl like me was doing in a low class bar like I was in.  I shrugged and told him that I needed money and he asked me why I wasn't doing something else and if there wasn't anything else that I would rather being doing.  Of course there were other things that I would be doing.  So I told him that I wouldn't mind being a wrestling diva and I told him that my much hated brother was a wrestler and that it sort of ran through my veins as well.  He told me he knew a good school that trained men and women and that if it would help me get out of the hell hole I was in, he would be glad to pay for it.  And that's when it all began.

So here I sat in my new locker room at the W2K, arena thinking about my past, something I rarely did.  If I was thinking about the past then you knew that something was definitely wrong with me.  I had changed and maybe I wasn't any fun any more.  If I wasn't fun any more, did that mean that I didn't have my edge like I used to?  Of course it did.  Here I am running around backstage with other divas and other superstars and actually getting along with them.  Never in my short wrestling career had I gotten along with any of the other divas or superstars that are backstage.

Sure there were a few in the WWF but that was then this is now.  Shawn and Taryn aren't here and maybe it would be a huge set back if they were.  I could work alone; I should work alone and without anybody's help or support.  I had other things to think about too and those thoughts didn't include what my friends thought about my actions or whatever.  I have grown soft. 

I let out a scream of frustration and got up and walked into the bathroom and stared at my own reflection.  Hell, I still looked like Mikah but somehow, I didn't feel like Mikah.  Silly right?  Wrong.  I am not Mikah anymore.  She had left way back when I had left the WWF, unencourage.  Don't gete me wrong, it may have been on bad terms but with good people but I'm not a good person; I'm supposed to be the alcoholic, drug addicted, careless, heartless, whore, right?  Right.  But here I am, looking at my own reflection and I can tell that I am not that person any more.  I haven't slept with anybody just to use them for their dick or I haven't used anybody to get free drinks out of them.  Where the hell is the real Mikah?  The one that has the passion and love for the ring and could give a shit about the shit that happens backstage?  She was gone but she's going to be back.

I slammed my fist into the mirror, punching it hard and shattering it to pieces then ran the palm of my hand down the broken mirror; not realizing the major cut that I was getting.  I shook my right hand out and winced as I saw the huge cut on the palm of my hand.  There were also many small cuts that have surrounded my hand.  I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my  hand.  I would need stitches.

.xxMikah  "Fuck me.  My first day here and I all ready break a mirror."

I muttered to myself before walking out of my locker room and slamming the door behind me; my mood was back down to being pissed off.  I saw some crew member in my way so I grabbed them by the back of their shirt and shoved them hard against the wall.

.xxMikah  "Stay the hell out of my way."

I snapped at them in a venemous tone as I made my way to the trainer's room to get stitched up.  I walked into the small room and propped myself up on the bench and waited for the doctor to come in to stitch up my wounded hand.  Gosh, I'm smart.  Punching a fucking mirror.  What the hell is wrong with me?  And on my first day here.  All ready proved that I was unstable; well could be unstable at anytime.

The doctor walked in a few minutes later and he raised an eyebrow at seeing me sitting on his bench.  Maybe I shouldn't have been looking so seductive as I thought about what could possibly be wrong with me.

.//Doctor  "What happened?"

I smiled evilly at the doctor and crossed my legs and leaned back on both my hands, barely wincing at the huge cut on the palm of my hand.  I had a huge pain tolerance.

.xxMikah  "I killed a man and before he died, he sliced my hand open with my own knife."

I showed the doctor my hand after unwrapping it from the towel.  Okay, so I lied to him about how I cut myself but I didn't want to see stupid.

.//Doctor  "Now the truth?"

.xxMikah  "Are you calling me a fucking liar?  I just told you what fucking happened."

The doctor rolled his eyes.

.//Doctor  "First of all, that's a pretty big cut for a knife to make and it has jagged edges."

Fucking smarty pants.  I hate smart people.

.xxMikah  "Fine I fucking cut myself on a broken mirror, okay?  But it's my first day here and I didn't want to seem like some psychopath that can't control her own damned emotions."

It was half of the truth.

.xxMikah  "Just give me a fucking shot to numb my hand so that you can stitch it up and I can be out of here and out of your sight so I don't have to look at your ugly fucking face any longer than I have to.  Can you do that Doc?  How about some morphine now?"

He nodded his head and walked over to one of his cabinets and pulled out a syringe and then filled it with so much morphine then walked back over to me.

.//Doctor  "This might hurt a little."

.xxMikah  "I don't mind the pain; I love needles."

It was true.  The only reason I ever did cocaine was to inject in my system with a needle.  He nodded then injected the morphine into my system before he started to stitch up my hand; there were about three cuts that he would need to stitch up.  I glanced at the open door way and groaned when I saw ____________ walk by.