Paige shouldn’t be doing this.
She shouldn’t be doing this, and she knows it, but there’s just – just something that makes it so difficult to stop. She should be after that title belt itself, not desperately waiting for its champion to want her again. And she certainly shouldn’t be begging.
She often ends up begging, though. Sometimes it seems like she’s got no choice.
“Please,” she just about whispers, sounding so strangled, so hopeless, so different from who she is onscreen.
Nikki hums from the chair above her, not quite disinterested but definitely derisive.
“If you really want,” she says, and Paige – Paige does want. She wants with every burning fibre of her being. That’s how fucking visceral this is. She knows it will make her hurt more, make the fire catch and spread and have it one step closer to destroying her, but it’s a matter of need.
“Thank you,” Paige breathes, still quiet, because she really is grateful. There’s a small part of her that hopes Nikki realises, but it doesn’t matter, really: not if she’s getting this.
Nikki smirks, gesturing for Paige to shift a little closer, not moving from her knees. Paige does just that, and when Nikki’s hand catches her hair, guiding her head to exactly where she wants it to be, the flames inside her roar.