op·por·tun·is·tic

By: Sahara

Writing Prompt: Yes

Date: 18th Nov 2021

op·por·tun·is·tic
/ˌäpərt(y)o͞oˈnistik/
adjective
exploiting chances offered by immediate circumstances without reference to a general plan or moral principle

~~~~~

FIGHT Tower
Main Lobby
A few hours after Venom…

There was a loud commotion as the vivacious blonde known as Sahara stumbled down the steps leading to the FIGHT Tower main lobby. Situated next to the escalators that lead to and from the mezzanine level, the stairs were seldom used for obvious reasons. But these reasons seemed lost. As she stumbled, she instinctively grabbed the railing when her feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her ass, letting out an almost uncontrollable giggle as she did. The metal ice bucket she was carrying went clanking down the stairs, banging with an echo that spread through the lobby with each and every bounce. It finally came skittering to a stop before the front desk.

Every last available eye in the lobby was drawn to the commotion. Men, women, and even the scant few children that happened to be present. Everything stopped. And everyone watched the FIGHTer giggling her way down the staircase … dressed in nothing but her bra and panties. Those behind the front desk gave each other worried glances as one of them immediately picked up a phone.

As she came wobbling up to the front desk, she snatched up her ice bucket and slammed it down on the white marble counter with a resounding clang. She leaned on that cold beautiful counter and sighed, her words were somewhat slurred.

”I need isce. Ishe? Ice!”

The receptionist on the phone nodded, and while she tried to keep her conversation private, anyone within earshot could hear what she said; ”Yeah. Her nose looks pretty irritated and she reeks of alcohol.”

An alarming combination to anyone in the know.

The other receptionist greeted her with a forced smile.

”Good evening, Sahara–”

”Hey…heyyy!” Sahara repeated a few times, searching for the proper words. ”I know you, right? Can you be a doll and get me schome ice? I’m like … I really need ice!”

”Sahara,” the receptionist mustered up the sweetest voice possible. ”You realize you’re practically naked, in the tower lobby right now? In front of people?!” Her voice lowered ever so slightly to something of an angry growl, “In front of children?”

Sahara looked down at herself and her own mouth dropped in surprise. Or amazement. Or something. It was hard to tell if it was a sincere surprise or just Sahara being Sahara. She laughed through her response, “O.M.Goodnessh!” *Giggle* ”I thought I got dresshed!” *Giggle*

The receptionist momentarily covered her face with a hand. ”Lauren, go with security and get back to your room. Now!”

The other receptionist turned, ”I just got off the phone with the infirmary, but I can’t reach Miss F. I’m trying to get a hold of HR.”

The other woman shook her head, ”Forget H.R., call P.R. Jesus–”

As the receptionist looked around the lobby, practically everyone present had their cell phones out, snapping photos, taking videos. Random mothers or fathers attempted to cover their children’s eyes, but the kids were having none of it. Whatever this trainwreck was, they wanted to see it happen–

This is what wrestling was all about!

The receptionist on the phone sighed, ”Jesus. This shit is gonna be all over TMZ.”

Waving security over, she motioned to the clearly intoxicated blonde and whispered to the guard. ”Get her the hell out of here, and try not to make a commotion!”

But the second security placed a hand on Sahara’s shoulder, she knocked his hand away and lunged forward with a forceful shove only a professional fighter could deliver. It nearly knocked him on his ass. It wasn’t uncommon for trained wrestlers to forget their place when dealing with civilians–

”Get your fucking handses off me you fucking rent-a-cop! I just want fucking ice! Why can’t someone just get me some fucking ice?!”

As her voice settled, everything in the room seemingly stopped. It was dead silent. Sahara turned and finally took notice of all the onlookers. The receptionist lowered her head in dismay, telegraphing the pending disaster to come.

Sahara slowly looked around the room…

”What?! You people…you ain’t never scheen a girl in her skivvies before?!”

She took a step toward the center of the lobby…

”Don’t I look good?!”

Holding her arms out to the side for all to see, she slowly folded her fingers inward – starting from her pinky to her index finger – as she walked toward the center of the lobby. Onlookers parted, forming something of a large makeshift circle around the blonde as they continued to record every last thing being said and done. The people seemed keenly aware to keep some distance from her. She looked down at the massive FIGHT logo that was part of the intricate floor design. She placed her feet together and lifted her toes and felt the coldness of the floor beneath her feet. She never imagined she’d stand on that logo barefoot. At least, not like this…

There was a wave of random whispers. Some confusion. Some amazement. The onlookers waited, not having any earthly idea what the blonde would say or do next.

Nobody did.

Sahara’s icy blue eyes snapped open when she swore she heard someone in the crowd mention Aiden Reynolds. Her head snapped in that direction.

”Fuck Aiden Reynoldchs. And fuck you. Fuck … all … of … you!” She pointed around before pointing upward in the direction of the FIGHT arena. ”You don’t know what it’s like to do what I do. None of you. To you it’s all fun and gameses. La-de-da, buy a ticket and get your rocks off watching us beat the piss out of each other–so I lost once. Big fucking deeeeeeeal! Can’t a girl deal with it in her own fucking goddamn way?!”

Finally, a number of additional security arrived at the scene, moving between the blonde and the spectators. A number of them held stun guns at the ready.

”Really, fellash? You’re seriously gonna try to stun a girl in her underwear in front of all these fans?! Who do you think I am, Betchsy … um whatsherface? Grangher?!” She let out a resounding ‘HAH!’ as she slowly turned and stared at each of the security guards, one after the other. ”Wrong girl. Even in this state I bet I win this one–”

She suddenly grabbed at her neck and stumbled a few steps. She felt the familiar poke of a needle. She looked over her shoulder with worry in her eyes as her legs started to turn to jello. Two of the security guards caught her before she hit the ground.

”It’s just a minor sedative folks, nothing more to see…just some post concussion effects.” ”Want us to take her to the Infirmary, sir?”

The Doctor thought about it for a moment, but ultimately shook his head. ”No. No need. Let’s just get her up to her room to sleep it off…”

The ever so familiar face of Doctor James Vincent was the last face she saw…

~~~~~

FIGHT Tower
Sahara’s Place
Another few hours later…

…and then the first.

Bleary blue eyes opened to a haze and blinding white light that poured in through the floor to ceiling windows of her FIGHT apartment. As things slowly came into focus, she squinted as she stretched her weary limbs and let out a resounding yawn. Looking down, she realized she was covered in a weighted beige blanket. On her sofa. In her apartment.

She sighed and sunk back into the comfort of the sofa, ”Oh, thank God it was a dream…”

”Hmmm, not quite.”

Her eyes opened wide at the sound of the unexpected but familiar voice. Taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, Doctor James Vincent of the FIGHT Infirmary looked at his favorite patient before he pinched the bridge of his nose.

”Forgive the intrusion, FIGHT Security allowed me to stay for continued observation after bringing you up here after your little episode in the lobby–” ”Episode? Wait, that stuff in the lobby actually happened?”

Dr. Vincent heaved a sigh, ”This obviously can’t go on anymore, Lauren. I couldn’t even bring you to the infirmary because there’d be a papertrail documenting everything they found. You’ve already lost control.”

Pushing herself up, she scooted back against the opposite armrest of the sofa and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her eyes were bloodshot, though she looked much better after a few hours of much needed rest.

There was a distinct mix of annoyance and concern in her doctor’s voice. ”It would seem you ran out of ice, so you went down to the lobby – in your unmentionables – asking the receptionists for ice. Why? I don’t know. I don’t know what possessed you to do that when it’s a phone call away. You were loud, rowdy, obnoxious … belligerent, not to mention almost completely nake–”

Sahara held up a hand, ”I get it. I’m embarrassed enough, you don’t–”

”Yes, someone does, Lauren. This is … this has already gotten way out of hand. You realize that little stunt of yours is all over TMZ, YouTube, and whatever else, right? After what you pulled last week, and now this week? FIGHT is eventually going to stop looking the other way.”

Reaching forward, Dr. Vincent picks up a prescription bottle from the coffee table and looks at the label. He runs a thumb over his name on the bottle as the prescribing physician. He gave it a quick shake, and judging by the rattling sound it produced, it was obvious there were just a few left. He looked at her in shock.

”Jesus, is this all you have left from the script I wrote?”

Sahara looked away momentarily, not wanting to look at him when she gave a rather sheepish response, ”I got a little carried away after my loss to Aide–”

”–carried away?” The doctor repeated her words back to her in a flummoxed tone. ”Carried away?! Lauren, there was a month’s worth of Oxy in here, and you blew through it in less than a week?! And you’re not taking it as instructed judging by the receptionist’s description of you last night. You don’t crush up Oxycontin and snort it like a party drug. For a damn good reason.”

”I told you, I didn’t handle things well after Venom, I thought I had that match in the ba–”

”Seriously?! Just stop with the excuses. I’m a practicing physician, Lauren, and I wasn’t born yesterday. Do you think I haven’t heard all of this before? I don’t care about any of that, Lauren. I don’t care about you losing to Aiden Reynolds. I don’t care about some wrestling match. I don’t care about Venom. What I do care about is one of my patients convinced me she was in so much pain that she went and got this stuff illegally and almost killed herself in the process. So I showed her some mercy and took her at her word that she’d take it exactly as prescribed. Low dose. You promised. And so I wrote the prescription when everything in me told me not to do it–”

”I know. I’m sorry, I swear it won’t happen agai–”

”No, it won’t. Because that’s it.” He made a bit of a slashing motion, ”I’m not refilling it. So this is all ya got left…but I suggest you flush this unless you’re actually in pain, and from the looks of things, you aren’t.”

He tossed her the bottle in disgust, which landed on the blanket. But the worry on her face was evident.

”Wait! Just wait. I’m telling you it won’t happen again–I’ll slow it down.”

”Lauren, I’m going to say this one more time, and I want you to get it through your head. It’s over. You don’t need it. You’ve healed up. I get it, okay, you sustained some pretty harsh injuries at Ascension, and so I acquiesced to your demand for pain management. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did to cover for your ass–”

”–and I thank you for that, but please, and I swear that’ll be it–”

”Lauren, do me a favor. Get up and take a shower. We can continue this conversation AFTER you do that. You literally smell like a hobo that just came off a bender–”

Hearing this, she absently sniffed one of her armpits much to the doctors disgust.

”Good God, Lauren. Manners! Please! Go get cleaned up. And you’re going to need to undergo another physical before you’ll get clearance for next week’s show after your little lobby stunt. If you want, we can do it right here after your shower. Or you can book an appointment with the infirmary ward, but that’ll probably take a few days. But this is it. No more favors after this. We are not going to keep doing this. It’s unprofessional of me to be showing favoritism toward a patient like this. I don’t do house calls.”

Sahara raised an eyebrow at the Doctor, ”Is that what this is? Favoritism? And here I thought you liked me…”

She threw the weighted blanket to the side and pushed herself up off the sofa, heading toward the bathroom. The doctor let out an exasperated sigh and dropped back onto the sofa.

~~~~~

FIGHT Tower
Sahara’s Bathroom

The shower was blissfully hot. Steam slowly rose up above the glass doors, sticking to every surface in the room. The water made her skin tingle with near scorching heat. It was almost cathartic. Temporarily washing away the growing need to feel that tingle from the Oxycontin that called to her, and the lingering thoughts of her painful loss to Aiden Reynolds at Venom. It damn near drove her crazy. She did her business of cleaning up, just as the Doctor had ordered, and tried to shove such trivial thoughts aside. There was so much else to think about. Such as her upcoming rematch with Betsy Granger.

No.

Again, she shoved her thoughts aside and stood beneath the steaming hot water that cascaded over the curves of her well toned body.

Stepping out of the oversized shower, Sahara sauntered across the bathroom and grabbed a towel as she approached the sink/vanity area. She swiped a hand across the steamed up mirror, partially revealing her face. She quietly gazed at her distorted reflection for a few moments. Her platinum blonde hair was dripping wet as she toweled it dry, and the bloodshot in her eyes had regressed a bit. The Doctor was right. She felt astoundingly better just by taking a shower.

She leaned against the granite sink and sighed. He just didn’t understand what it was like. The pain she felt. The everyday aches that were magnified tenfold everytime she stepped into and out of that ring. Sure, there were no more visible scrapes or scars covering her face, she’d recovered rather quickly, but her joints felt a dull ache that consumed her.

Again, she shook her head and tried to shove these recurring thoughts aside. She gazed at her reflection as a sinister little smile crept across her lips.

”James?” Her tone was rather soft.

She could hear his response through the bathroom door, ”Yes?”

”Could you … come in here and help me with something?”

He sounded skeptical of her invitation. ”Sure, but are you decent?”

She looked down and wrapped the towel around herself, just above her bosom. “Am I decent? What is this, a 1940’s movie? Yeah, I guess I’m decent. I got a towel on, and it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked anyway. I mean, jeez…”

”Lauren, whatever you got in mind, I’m not writing that script, so–” ”Forget that. This isn’t about that. Would you just get in here?”

She cracked the door open and peeked out, motioning for him. ”Get in here…”

Leaning his head back, he sighed before getting up off the sofa. ”Okay, what?” He slid into the steamy bathroom with the blonde and looked around as she closed the door. For a non-suite in FIGHT Tower, this was an impressively large bathroom. ”Jesus, these rooms are huge!”

She raised her eyebrows, ”We’re wrestlers. It’s almost like they understand how vain some of us are…” Leaning back against the sink, she crossed one foot over the other and made a motion with her head toward the bathroom door. ”Cameras. Microphones. Occhi. You know–it’s hard to have a discussion around here without big brother listening in.”

He nodded, ”Yes, and I know they’re illegal in bathrooms and bedrooms in the state of New York, but what is it you want? I already told you, I’m not writing that scrip–”

She took a sudden step toward the doctor and place a finger over his lips to his surprise–

”Shhh. I told you, this isn’t about that. I’ll um, I’ll get over it. I have before.”

His brow furrowed.

She smiled. “James. We’ve gotten to know each other a bit, wouldn’t you say? I mean, you bust your ass treating everyone in this place, and what thanks do you get?”

He somewhat shrugged, but was somewhat lost in her eyes, ”I-I’m a Doctor, Lauren. They pay me quite a bit–”

She purred out a seductively soft, ”Shhhhh.”

”And I’m a wrestler, and they pay me quite a bit. I’m also aggressive, and I tend to take what I want when I want it…” Her lip curled into a seductive smile as she bit her lower lip.

The doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn’t back away from her aggression. There was a part of him that knew exactly what she was doing. And there was a part of him that knew better than to let her do it. You don’t get involved with patients. It’s a well known medical trope. The Florence Nightingale effect. But there was also something undeniably infectious about her. She gently brushed a hand down his arm and he felt his blood beginning to boil with desire.

Gazing into his eyes, she reached out and took his face in her hands. She softly ran her palms up the stubble on his cheeks as she wet her lips for that anticipated kiss. He could feel the heat emanating from her skin. From her lips. He knew better, but he couldn’t help himself–

As their lips met, he felt her fumbling for his belt. He reached up and grabbed her shoulders. He knew he should stop her. Push her away. He wanted to stop her. But he also wanted her. His pants finally dropped over his hips, and he felt the tingle of her touch.

She reached up and her towel fell to the bathroom floor. He’d seen her naked before, but never like this…this was something else entirely.

His hand slid down her arm and he grabbed her by the elbow. She smiled as he spun her around and shoved her up against the sink. She was giving herself to him. Their eyes met in the mirror and he could see how much she was enjoying this. She wiped a hand across the foggy mirror again so she could watch him have his way with her.

He couldn’t wait. He took her. He gripped her hips tightly as he felt that surge of wanting desire consume him. It had never been so obvious to him how strong she actually was, but he could feel the muscles in her waist rippling beneath his grip. Having her like this. In here. It was pure intoxication. Taking her. Trusting himself into her hot body over and over again made him feel alive. He was nearly lost in his motions, slowly losing control. He started to breathe heavier and heavier. Slowing him down, Sahara pushed him back a bit, giving him a few seconds to recover. Turning toward him, she lifted herself up onto the sink and beckoned him forward playfully. She bit her lower lip as he sheathed himself in her and she pulled him forward with those long legs.

She moaned in his ear and dragged her nails over the shirt on his back as he continued to thrust himself into her.

His jaw clenched tightly as the sensation consumed him. He threaded his fingers through her damp platinum hair. She could tell he was about to tip as he pulled her into him and let out a groan, spilling deep within her. His repeated grunts and groans brought her near the edge. She whispered, ”Don’t you fuckin’ stop…I’ll help.” She pressed her hips against his. It took a bit longer, but she finally began to tremble. She twisted a fist in his shirt as she pulsated around him and let out a squeal of toe-curling delight.

Smiling, Sahara collapsed back against the sink and mirror, with errant strands of blonde clinging to the foggy surface.

It was but a few moments…

”Lauren. Jesus! What the fuck did we do?!”

She giggled out an, ‘I think you just gave me my physical!’, as she continued to smile at her doctor.

”Oh, my God, Lauren…I–I–” He backed away from the blonde, running both hands through his hair as worry began to consume him. He quickly pulled up his pants and began stuffing his shirt back into them, buckling his belt. ”This was a mistake…”

”Doc. Slow it down.” She shoved herself off the sink and approached him. ”We’re both adults. Right? This is between us. But you can’t go home like this. Wives can always smell other women. It’s like an instinct thing. So wash up.” She patted his crotch with a devious little smile on her face. ”And relax. There ain’t no cameras in here. No microphones. As far as anyones concerned, we did nothing…”

He nodded nervously, ”What about…I kinda, I kinda finished in you and we didn’t use pro–”

”–don’t worry about that. Trust me. Okay?”

She gave him a gentle pat on the cheek as if to say ‘Good boy’ without actually saying it. ”Just say you conducted the required physical on me for clearance in case any prying eyes ask why we went into my bathroom together. They won’t wanna know anything more. They won’t care. Just tell ‘em it’s Doctor Patient stuff. I mean, you couldn’t give me a physical out there in front of those cameras, right?”

She was somewhat making sense. He nodded again as her hand slowly moved down his arm and finally to his hand where she touched his wedding ring.

”Nobody has to know. Okay? You don’t always have to be the good guy.”

He nodded, motioning to the sink, ”Okay, I’ll uh–I’ll just get cleaned up then?”

”Yeah. You do that.” Bending down she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself again. She exited the bathroom so he could clean himself up. Closing the door behind her, she stood at the door for a few seconds and listened intently. The second she heard the sink turn on, she quickly tiptoed across the apartment to his lab coat hanging by the door and fished around in his pockets.

”Bingo”, she exclaimed as she pulled his Rx pad out. She glanced back to the bathroom door as she ripped off a few pages so as to not make it obvious. She imagined a doctor would tend to notice if too many of these were missing. She put the rest back where she found them. Rushing to her bedroom, she stuffed the blank scripts in her dresser drawer with a smile.

She laughed to herself.

”Men are so stupid…”

~~~~~

FIGHT Tower
Sahara’s Bedroom

Three. Little. Pigs.

Still dressed in just a towel, Sahara holds her iPhone out and sweeps her damp hair back and over an ear on either side. Her voice was something just above a whisper, and hurried…

”Hey, Space Granger! Actually scratch that. Let’s just go with Betsy Granger this time. You deserve that much. Sorry, but I ain’t got a lotta time to focus on you this week. I got this whole doctor thing goin’ on at the moment, and I gotta take care of this whole PR mess I created and it’s blah. I’m sure you’ll hear something about my weekly antics in due time. I … kinda made a scene. But whatever. You don’t care about that. So I’m gonna have to make this short and sweet.” ”So this weekly thing got me thinkin’ about what kinda children’s story shaped my life? I’m gonna be quick, but trust me when I tell ya it made an impact. It really did. I’m sure you’ve been thinkin’ on it yourself. But for me? It’s the Three Pigs, without a doubt. Now I know how most people see this story; Hard work pays off. But that ain’t how I saw it. I’m sure you already know the story so I’ll kinda be summarizing here, cuz like I said, I’m kinda in a hurry.”

Sahara pauses and quickly glances out her bedroom door before looking back to the camera.

”So for starters you got the lazy pig that built his house outta straw or something weaksauce. Like, I mean, who does that? Straw? It wouldn’t stand a single rainstorm let alone a wolf comin’ around huffin’ and puffin’! I mean, at least he got done quickly so he could play and stuff. So he’s got that goin’ for him.” ”Next up ya got the twig Pig. Not as lazy as the straw pig, but still pretty damn lazy. Again, that ain’t gonna stop a fucking Wolf. I mean, it’s twigs. You use twigs to start campfires, not build houses. So that one’s out…but again, at least he got to lay around and do what pigs do for a little while…” ”And then ya got the brick pig. I mean, nobody questions how this fucking pig somehow came up with the money to get bricks and cement and reinforced steel doors and stuff, but whatever. He got it, and he built a fucking brick fortress. Which had to take like a year or something insane. I mean, have you ever seen how long it takes to build a house, let alone one made outta bricks?” ”So I gotta ask, Betsy. Where the FUCK was this wolf the entire time?! Had he just gotten off his fat lazy ass and dropped in for a visit at any point during the year plus it took him to build that house, he wouldn’t have had to huff or puff anything down! He coulda just waltzed on up while these swine were still building their stupid houses and had a fucking pig roast.” ”So what’s the real moral of this story?! The early bird gets the fuckin’ worm.” ”And wolves are stupid. Shots fired.” ”I’m that early bird, Betsy. So let’s cut the shit. This ain’t about the past. This ain’t even about the future. This is about right now. Right here. Right now. You know I’m comin’ off a loss to one of your own little sidekick boy toys, or whatever the hell you NSQ kids call each other. So you know damn well I’m gonna lookin’ to rectify myself. Rectify? Is that the right word? Naw. Right myself! That’s it. You know I’ll be lookin’ to right myself after what happened on Venom.”

 

“Look, it’s pretty clear we ain’t ever gonna see eye to eye. You’re you. Whatever that is. And I’m me. Whatever I am. Look. I want you to know I respect you. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re … nice. Sweet even. Maybe not Jennie Fenix levels of sweet, which is like cavity inducing, but you seem pretty fuckin’ nice, despite the company you keep. So if it’s good with you, I say we just go out there and put on a show, and let the chips fall as they may. Just like last time when we met in the ring. One of us won, one of us lost, and the world kept on a’ spinnin’.”

 

Sahara looked away from the phone really quickly, having heard something in the other room.

 

”Sorry, Betsy, one second…”

 

Holding the phone against her chest, it was complete darkness with some mumbling and murmuring.

 

”Sorry about that!” Sahara refocused the camera on her face. ”I got a visitor and I told ‘em I needed a few minutes. So where was I? I uh–right. Let the chips fall where they may! I’ll be honest. I got nothing negative to say about you. I think yer–” She puffed out her cheeks, searching for the words. ”I think yer a bit weird. But who isn’t? I think you’re talented. But of course you are, you’re in FIGHT. It’s not like they’re in the habit of not accepting applications but then taking anyone and everyone that’s got a pulse and calling them a star. But most of all, you’re inventive. You get it, Betsy. Wrestling is about being … more than just another wrestler. It has to be. Or none of this stays interesting. It’s about unpredictability. It’s about creating havoc … and I’m really fuckin’ good at that. And it’s about tellin’ me who you really are…”

 

”Lemme tell ya something someone once told me when I first got into this game. Winnin’ is easy. A lotta guys are doin’ it. Especially when it doesn’t matter. It’s fun. I’m sure you know that. I know plenty of guys and gals that got career records that’d make your head spin. But then ya look into those numbers a bit, you’ll begin to see what I see…”

 

”It’s like the Big Bad Wolf and those Three Little Pigs. Don’t tell me how much you win. Tell me when you win. I’m sure 99 out of 100 times, that Huffy Puffy Wolf won those battles. I’m sure he dined on many a swine in his time. But that one time he lost … that’s the one they wrote the story about. That was his PPV moment and he blew it…cuz he didn’t win when it mattered.”

 

”But maybe I got that in common with that Big Bad Wolf. I may not have won it all given the circumstances of the events we were all involved in, but I sure as hell showed up at the two biggest shows this place put on. And I’m gonna promise ya right now, I’m gonna continue to do that.”

 

”It’s what I do…”

 

Sahara pounds her chest a few times, showing some love and respect.

 

”Hey uh, mad respect to ya, Bets. Someday we’re gonna look back at all this and laugh about it over a beer or something…I know ya don’t like me very much right now. And that’s fine.”

 

”But you will grow to respect me.”

 

”Just like all the others…”

 

Glancing away momentarily, Sahara looks back to her phone.

 

”Hey uh, I gotta go, Bets, I’ll see you at Venom!”