EPISODE 12 MONEY IN THE BANK

I awoke suddenly one night, must have been 3:00 am, lying next to my fiancé, when a little voice in my head said, All your dreams are at the other side of this relationship. I wanted to excel in my career and main event WrestleMania, but in my personal life, I did want to get married and become a mother one day. Just not with him by my side.

After four months of being engaged it had become inevitable this needed to end.

For several weeks I said to myself, Next time we fight, it will be over. So I’m not proud to say that when that fight did happen, with me out of town and over a text message, I broke it off.

He moved out while I was away in Europe for a two-week tour. I did feel bad, I liked him, but I knew it would never work. I knew it from the first day we met; I just wanted the company in this often isolating industry. And that was so very wrong and selfish of me.

Once I had cleared up my personal life from the hole I had buried myself in, my professional life suddenly started to bloom.

I felt like a magnet of good energy. I felt free, alive, and utterly invincible.

Suddenly I was more engaged in work, more invested in my friendships, and more creative.

We were approaching the Money in the Bank PPV. And I would be part of this year’s ladder match. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, they might give me the briefcase.

I’d been working so hard and the people still liked me, mostly based on my underdog status and online presence. Whenever I wasn’t featured on TV, I would always go to WWE’s digital team and film something, anything. An interview, a silly pun video. Or make my own (what I found) funny videos or stories for social media. But it would at least give the internet audience a chance to get to know me when I wasn’t being showcased on TV.

Charlotte was also going to be out of the picture after this match, as she had to get surgery, so who better than me to win?

Alexa Bliss! That’s who.

Oh, well, there’s always next year, I comforted myself.

“Who should be the last person on the ladder before Alexa wins?” our producer TJ asked the group.

“I think Becky would get the most sympathy,” Nattie chimed in.

We were the first match on the main card that night and Chicago was a rowdy bunch as always.

I went through the curtain not fully knowing what to expect. We thought it was a good match, but was it? We thought they would sympathize with me the most, but would they?

I took the ring in the beginning while the rest of the girls scattered looking for ladders. The crowd immediately started chanting my name. Oh, cool, they like me!

Whether it was a semi-Irish connection between the natives and myself or if it was that they genuinely hoped I’d finally pull one out, they rallied behind me like I was their hometown gal. As soon as I would put my foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, the applause and cheers got audibly louder.

I finally made it to the top of the ladder. The briefcase was in my hands. But where was Alexa? Fuck. She was late. I was fumbling, trying to not take the briefcase off and accidentally win but also trying not to look like a complete incompetent idiot. Finally, what felt like ten minutes later she showed up to tip me off to a chorus of boos.

I crashed onto a ladder below before bouncing out of the ring. I watched as Alexa climbed to the top and unhooked the case. A mix of cheers and boos cascaded through the arena.

Well, I thought as I rubbed the goose egg on my head, I think that went all right.

We all dragged our broken bodies back to gorilla, where we were met with a standing ovation.

“It was the right call to have you up there last,” TJ remarked. “I think they liked you,” he said as he smiled like a Cheshire cat.

The next day, the crowd’s favorable reaction to me became the talk of the town. It’s not very often that someone catches fire with little momentum, so when it happened podcasts and online outlets alike were urging the WWE decision-makers to take notice.

Which they did—and pushed me to become the number one contender for the SmackDown women’s championship against Carmella at SummerSlam that year.

After two years of failing to capture any gold, and for the first time ever, I was getting a one-on-one title match at a major PPV. It felt like me and the audience were all on a tandem surfboard, riding this WWE wave together.

Could I be the confident, unapologetic champion that I was not in 2016 but wished I was? Only time would tell.

Or would it?! Heavens no! This is wrestling! We need friction; we need controversy; we need… betrayal! Kind of…

Charlotte, who had been out for surgery, rushed back from her time off. You could rip an arm off that woman and it would grow back a week later. Nothing kept her down and just about nothing kept her out.

In an act of heroism, she ran out to save me from a merciless beating I was receiving at the hands of the dastardly champ.

When Charlotte had done her duty and chased Carmella away, she offered me a hand up.

I would have rather taken the beating with honor than be spared a whupping but show weakness. I wanted to stand on my own two feet, be it success or failure.

Her interference won her a spot in our match. Now it would be a triple threat for the title and the crowd was not happy about it.

Charlotte had been so prominently featured since we were called up three years ago, and the crowd felt that this was my time to shine and she had bogarted it.

Ultimately, this was the plan of Creative. Charlotte was going to win at SummerSlam, and I was going to turn (heel) on her. And somehow, someway, the creative team could not see how I would be the babyface in this story.

Not only would Charlotte win in the triple threat—on the night that, in the fans’ eyes, was meant to be a monumental coming-out party for me and my return to the top—but she would pin me to do it while I had Carmella on the verge of tapping.

“The turn needs to be justified” was a note that came from the production office.

Justified? But I was the bad guy? They were about to turn me into a badass megababyface.

When the day came, SummerSlam 2018, I asked one of the writers, “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes, the understanding is that you’ll likely get a babyface reaction here in Brooklyn, but that’s just ’cause they’re a heel crowd.”

There was a certain amount of tone deafness from the creative team. Or maybe they genuinely thought that Charlotte was a strong enough babyface. As good as she is, she’s a natural heel. But this was setting her up for failure.

She knew this wasn’t going to work and was visibly upset by it. “They’re going to turn you into Stone Cold.”

Meaning I would be a complete badass. She was right. I didn’t have anything else to say about it except to shrug. Being booked like WWE’s biggest draw in history was nothing I was going to object to.

If done right, this was going to catapult my career like never before. After years of taking a backseat, I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

That night, before going out, I was warned of several things.

“Because this is a heel crowd, they’ll likely cheer you when you turn.”

I mean, it’s not ’cause they’re a heel crowd, but cool.

“Don’t look at them in recognition.”

“No problemo.”

At the end, I had Carmella in my finisher and as her hand raised up to tap the mat in submission, the crowd on their feet cheering, bam! Charlotte hit me from behind with her finisher “natural selection.”

One. Two. Three.

“Annnnnnndddddd neeeeeeewwwwwww SmackDown women’s champion Charlotte Flair.”

A mixture of cheers and boos while I sat there looking heartbroken. Internally, I was happy as can be, knowing that this would be the biggest moment of my career.

Charlotte stood over me, title in hand, face apologetic as the tension in the building rose. She prospered from my despair and everyone knew it. I got up and went to her, the audience unsure of what was about to happen. I hugged her, and they erupted in a chorus of boos. They hated that I didn’t stand up for myself, that I was just going to accept passing the baton yet again.

As Charlotte hugged me she whispered to me, “This is your moment. Give it all you got.”

So I did. I slapped her so hard it was felt by the PE teacher who failed me all the way back in Ireland and back in time. The crowd let out their biggest pop of the night.

As I steadied my focus on her, trying to summon venom and hatred in my eyes, I couldn’t help but think, This is fooooooking cool!

The audience was chanting “Becky” and “You deserve it,” which could be interpreted in two ways: Either it was directed at her and she deserved a beating. Or they knew this was the start of a new journey for me. A new push, and that I deserved it.

I did what I was told and never looked up at the crowd. Though I so badly wanted to take them in. We had been on such a journey together.

I walked back towards gorilla, only looking back at the damage one more time before getting through the curtain.

Charlotte soon followed me through and we hugged and thanked each other.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, woman, I’m good,” she responded unconvincingly and a little standoffishly.

I knew she was upset. I’m not sure if she was hurt physically or mentally.

“Are you sure? I whacked you pretty good.”

“I’m all good, seriously,” she insisted, the tears building in her eyes.

You would think she is untouchable by watching her on TV, but she’s an emotional and sensitive lady who wants to be liked.

In the story, she was supposed to be the good guy. But everyone could identify with my story. The one who always tried their hardest. Was never the best, or the strongest, or the most naturally gifted, but who had heart and fire and fight. They knew what it was like to be passed over for that promotion or not asked to that dance. Charlotte’s story was much less common. Most people aren’t born into fame, or a multitime champ, or built like a goddess. The storytelling was all wrong. I knew it, and she knew it. But it worked in my favor.