Okay, I can't read my reviews but it doesn't mean that I will stop writing. I love writing too much to quit. I've been here for two years—haven't I?
Another one-shot. As dark as this is. It's nearing to fluff at the end. Almost. :P Just read it. Also, I'm not a rapper. You can ignore my crappy rapper lines, or attempt at it really.
Crumpled Hope
"Story of a couple of boys,
their joy all started with a toy."
They're around ten years old.
Ten year old Randy Orton's eyes are bleeding with silent tears and there's a painted frown on his face and the tiny bangs of his hair in front of his twinkling blue eyes and a tiny pale hand extends to touch the broken ted fire truck and he holds it close to his heart and the others laughing and snickering at the boy that's too old to play with toys and usually there'd be "there's no way you're too old to play with toys" with a signature concentrated glaring solid John Cena blue eyes—
John Cena sits down beside the ten year old boy and the thirteen year old presses his back near the tree and he gives a broken smile to show that his middle teeth's broken to bits and that makes Randy Orton chuckle under his breath as John's mouth instantly shuts tight and he feels more of a loser than Randy looks right now as he extends his arm towards the broken red toy, staring at it and then grinning, 'looks like we have to perform surgery, what you say, um…?"
"Orton," Randy responds, with pride brimming through his voice at the sound of his last name being said, "Randall Keith Orton."
"Okay, Randall," John sees the glare in Randy's eyes and he continues anyways even though he knows well that Randy doesn't like being called Randall and he lets his hand drift towards the two broken pieces and he stares at it and he's sure he can fix it as he brings his hand towards his backpack and he pulls out glue and sticky tape as he tapes the two pieces back together and he watches as Randy's eyes enlighten.
"You never introduced yourself," Randy suddenly realizes, watching as Randy tried to use the fire truck, successfully playing around with the used to be broken piece of nothing and now, it's mended and he hopes that he can one day grow up and fixes stuff for other kids because he wants to be a nice little boy, doesn't he?
"Jonathon Anthony Felix Cena—what? You used your full name, too!"
"Okay, Jonathon," Randy smirks, having John's face plaster with disgust at the usage of his full name and he feels like he's in the 80's when he'd called him Jonathon and he watches as Randy bats his eyelash.
"Why are you playing with toys anyways?"
"It's fun making up your own fairy tale." Randy says, holding up a action figure of a blue eyed brown haired boy that looks fairly tall and is wearing a fireman costume, "this is me!"
"Really, where's me?" John asks, arching an eyebrow, and he doesn't really care what the others are saying because as far as the chicks know, this could be his baby brother and he knows that the girls like a man who takes care of a child and as John's thoughts trail out of reality, Randy pulls out another brown haired blue eyed doll, "this was the old me but it could be you, too!"
"Why are you taller than me?"
"Because I am," Randy sticks his tongue out as he looks back at his play set and he puts 'John' right towards 'Randy' and he looks back at John, grinning. "How does this look like? We're friends!"
"Kid, not to be rude or anything but I'm thirteen years old—I don't really play around with dolls."
Randy's warm eyes harden. "Everyone says that," he says as he grabs onto his comfort food, being a ripped up bar of Twix, and he bites through it, feeling the gooey mushy hard candy sink between his teeth and the caramel making it harder for him to digest but he eats it anyways.
John blinks quickly, batting an eyelash and it's as if the Orton boy is closer to him because he feels Randy's breath on his face, hot and sweet, with the scent of Twix on in his mouth and as John realizes that there's a bit of chocolate on Randy's mouth, he leans down towards Randy's face and licks the chocolate off his face, making Randy's body turn rigid and Randy's eyes well up with tears again as Randy moves his face and John's mouth accidentally catches Randy's and John moves his tongue into Randy's mouth and—John, this is a ten year old boy!
When John realizes this, he stops the kiss and watches as Randy's tears run down his cheeks, softly sobbing, he stands up and runs off, leaving behind his play set with tears springing down his pale face, stinging him as if it's a fire lightening up inside of him as his sobs can be heard from a distance…
"Sixth grade, his smile breaks,
Standing near the goddamn lake,
He put my heart on brake,
Hear me out now, you don't know what a smile makes,
Makes me want to bite in his heart like it's cake."
It's like seeing a nightmare again for the first time.
Fifteen year old John Cena walks towards where the twelve year old Randy Orton stands and the smile on his face just disappears and Randy's heart flops with horror as John stands beside him, their bodies pressing, their eyes staring and nothing can come out of Randy's mouth as John tries to lean down to capture his lips in a much needed kiss but Randy jumps back, shaking slightly, remembering the memories that had haunted him for two years, the memories that made others laugh and joke about him being gay and as John watches Randy's body shake with fear, John's heart sinks to his chest when he realizes how much he's taking advantage of such a young boy.
John's ready to leave when he turns back towards Randy Orton. "W-what if I don't want to leave?" John finally says, walking back, more confidently to the young twelve year old Randy Orton as the Orton boy stares at him, with those solid blue eyes that never seem to melt anymore as John's heart races and races and races and races—
"If you don't want to leave," a thud from John's heart that means that it's nearing to burst from his chest and Randy sits beside the lake, his eyes staring, almost glaring, at the water and John realizes that he's glaring at his reflection and Randy's body slides off into the cold water, feeling the rush of cool water burn through his skin and John's heart just instantly stops.
John just instantly jumps in the water.
Reaching out for Randy Orton.
Wanting nothing but to hold his body close, but to feel the body press against his, but to feel Randy's breath on his face, just to be alive—as the fifteen year old spots a pale, pale, pale body in the water, he grabs it, and takes it to the surface, pushing him to the water and watching him splatter and spit out water as if it's acid in his throat and he stares at John, with a painted smile on his face and his eyes are trying to decide whether he's alive or if he's dead.
"If you ever do that again…" there's a deadly, vicious tone to John's voice, a hint of horror and hate then he stops when he realizes that the soaked green of Randy's t-shirt is clinging onto something darker on the inside and John almost throws himself onto Randy, slipping off the younger boy's t-shirt even with Randy's constant screaming and shouting and after John's fed up, he covers Randy's mouth with his hand, almost calming him down instantly as John sees the various deep cuts on Randy's chest.
"Who did this?" John's voice is even more deadly, more brutal and there's this edge in them that shouldn't have been there. "Who did this, Orton?!"
After two years, he still remembers his name.
It had always run through John's head.
A melody.
A way to fall asleep. Hearing that name. Laced with perfection, laced with sweetness, and it's the look in his bleeding tears running from his eyes that make everything all tear John's heart into pieces.
"Um—I-I did."
"You did this?!"
John's never seen so much pain and twisted agony and horrid desolation in streaks of blood before, so fierce – some look like they've been from the tip of a razor, quick and painless but some are so deep that they must've taken a knife – and as John's fingers trace through the dried clustered blood on Randy's chest, Randy whimpers and shakes from anything him. "Y-you made me do it. You scared me…made me think that there's something seriously wrong with me…you broke my fairy tales."
John realizes the emotion, the paint that's weighing with each heavy word that slips off Randy's tongue, and he feels genuinely sorrowful as he stands up and watches Randy spit off a little bit more water now that the water's rushed to his mouth and he looks up at John, staring at him darkly, 'you've ruined my life."
"I didn't know," John's honest and serious.
"You liar!" Randy exclaims as John stares at Randy's face, paling with each breath he takes, and he takes his breath short and sharp, as if he'd just finished a race, panting and hyperventilating. "Just get away from me! I don't want to see your face again…or I swear I'll kill myself right in front of you."
John wants to stay something but he stands up and he looks back at Randy's face and he looks like he's going to cry if John doesn't go away right now and as John's footsteps are the only thing heard, Randy scrambles to wear his t-shirt, and he sits beside the lake and looks back at his reflection.
In Randy's eyes, he can't see anything.
Nothing.
"Dreams spit out images, of when he's around ten,
We talk about being good men,
One day, we'll be like that awesome guy, Ben,
But we want to know the how's and when's."
John Cena's never had good dreams.
Except this once.
Of the ten year old Randy Orton with a smile plastered on his face and his blue eyes glistening in the darkness and he's sitting down by the lake, with a foot inside of the cool water, staring down as the drops of water cling to his boots and John sits there too, both of his feet inside of the water but his eyes are only on Randy Orton's face, the cuteness of the chubby face as he smiles.
It's not even real.
But John takes what he has right now.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Hmm…I guess a doctor."
"Saving people's lives?"
"Yes, something like that."
In truth, John Cena's always been interested in medical culture and he'd been wanting, ever since he was six and had watched the first episode of General Hospital and House, M.D., to become a doctor and it's his wish as he closes his eyes and hopes that one day, that'll come true and he'll be a world famous doctor that everyone will like and he feels so childish but so very cleansed out of his worries—like this is his guilty escape.
He'd never had an escape from reality before.
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Randy?"
"Fireman." Randy answers, easily.
"To save people's lives?"
"No," Randy answers honestly, and there's a twinkle of white in his eyes as the ray of sunshine hits his eyes just right so that there's this piece of innocence that everyone misses in Randy Orton. "Because I've always thought of fires…you know, hot, fiery, almost anything you throw at them, they become worse…"
"I hope I find a cure for your fire."
"I hope someone can drag my body out before I burn."
We don't really know how we'll do it.
We don't know when we'll do it.
We just want it to happen.
"Yo, he stole my damned cut heart,
Made my blood his freaking art,
we're riding both on a love shopping cart,
From Isle 1 to 20, romance starts."
John Cena truthfully knows that he's lost his heart at the age of sixteen when he had slept with his two year boyfriend but it doesn't satisfy him.
It just doesn't.
Every kiss, every breath, every touch his boyfriend does is nothing compared to the two times he'd spend with Randy Orton.
It's nothing like that.
It's not the same fire.
It's not the same fire that's lacing inside of him.
And he's wondering—
Isn't he supposed to find the cure?
Oops, maybe he'd gotten infected too.
As Blake walks towards John, kissing him softly on his lips and slipping his hand into John's jeans to feel John's boxers rub against his hand and all John can do is stare at Blake's eyes – they're blue eyes.
But they're nothing like Randy's.
They don't have the same solidness of Randy's eyes.
They don't have the same ferocity of Randy's eyes.
They just don't.
He finds his fire burning harder.
Seems like a thirteen year old knows better than he does.
"Will you love me, baby?
Yes, no or maybe?"
John just watches.
"I love you."
It slips off.
In front of the mirror.
As John holds onto a teddy bear, running his finger through the sandy brown fur and wishing, only wishing it's Randy's hair and he stares into the cold, motionless black eyes and he just wishes, just wishes, that it's Randy's eyes and he just guesses that there aren't fairy tales in real life and he throws the bear towards the corner of his room and he stares at it, glaring at it.
"You joking? You hate Orton! You hate yourself. You hate the world, who are you, John Cena?! Don't you know yourself anymore?"
No, the boy that wants to be a doctor isn't in him anymore.
No, the boy that's kissed a thirteen year old isn't in him anymore.
No, John Cena's escaped.
And there's nothing really condensing in his eyes anymore.
But pain.
"'Cause I don't want you dead,
I don't want you painted red,
All I want is to hold you in bed,
'Nough said."
John takes a break from his singing and walks off, sighing as he looks at his lyrics once more, before shredding them to pieces onto the floor then his head twists to find a face poking inside of the room and those precious baby blue eyes are staring at him and they're so hard that they're candy that John wants to bite through.
John wonders how it'll be like to feel Randy's skin brush against his right now.
He looks so different.
John looks so different.
They both look so different.
But they still have the same heart, still have the same crumpled hope, still have the same want for fairy tales to come true but they just don't.
"That was about me," Randy concludes, wrinkling his nose as if in disgust, 'isn't it, Cena?"
"Yes," John manages to squeak out, as Randy stands up straight, with a straight back and hard blue eyes and John walks towards him and they're both staring at each other and they know that they pretended like the things that happened before never really happened but it's still there and it's still an engraved memory in their brain that refuses to go and Randy watches as John's hand punches him, hard, in the face. "You're the one who ruined my life! You're the one who made me feel like no one will ever care for me because of that stupid mistake I did when I was thirteen!"
"You kissed a ten year old!"
"I pulled off. You didn't have to cut yourself because of it!" John exclaims and their eyes are both cold and rigid and they both see themselves in each other's eyes and they don't need to say anything as their breaths slip off, sharp and short ones, constant ones.
"I did anyways! You scarred me for two years, Cena! You didn't care. You were still all happy go lucky while I was the one on the floor of my bathroom with a razor ripping through my chest!" Randy protests, taking it all in, remembering the vivid memory as if it's a nightmare.
"Happy?" John repeats.
His eyes brim with dark humor as he laughs, he laughs such a bitter laugh that it makes Randy jump up from his position and he feels as if he's heard the Undertaker screech out his emotions. "Happy? Me? If you can call standing in the mirror for two hours to find something there but only seeing a monster! If you can call wearing my father's sweatshirt in the middle of the night, just to feel as if I'm someone else, even if just for one minute to feel humane for once in your life, if you think that's happy…" John's voice rasps and he finds himself slipping down, sitting straight, on his bed. "…yeah."
Randy's eyes bear no sympathy and John's heart tears out of his chest. He'd never said these words to anyone before and here was Randy standing, pretending as if John didn't just pour his heart out to him, and he's watching John slowly die on the inside and he doesn't care – it makes John not want to care if he lived or died either as he grabs onto Randy's hand and pulls him to his lap and he sees the little smudge of blood that's against Randy's lips and he presses his lips to Randy's, feeling the blood rush to his head and he knows that he needs the blood.
He knows that he needs the blood rush to his empty heart and he'd take Randy's anytime as he licks and kisses and he truthfully doesn't care if Randy's kissing back but as Randy twirls around, heading for the door, John's heart skips a beat and he stares at Randy, still tasting his blood in his mouth, metal, and just imagining that it's the faint taste of Twix in his mouth instead of blood.
"Randy…" John almost begs. "Please."
"Please what?" Randy spits back.
"I need you."
"Shut up, Cena."
It's how cracked and broken Randy's voice is as Randy falls into John's arms, sobbing softly, clutching onto the back of John's shirt, pouring his bleeding heart out to John, feeling John cling to him, hold onto him and then it's midnight and John remembers that he's married and Randy remembers that he has a daughter and a wife before he stands up and starts to wake away, stops and looks back at John Cena. "…just too late."
"Yeah, because I don't believe in fairy tales anymore," John Cena.
"One day." Randy almost promises.
"One day…" John agrees, with tears gathering in his eyes as he walks over to Randy, and pulls him into a full lipped kiss, and it only tastes like one thing and one thing only…
Goodbye.
"I love you."
Randy doesn't say anything as he slips towards the door, shutting the door from behind him and John stares down at the floor. He'd just told him he loved him. No wonder Randy's leaving without saying it, too because Randy just doesn't feel the way John does. If he did, why wouldn't he say those words?
John's head races.
He walks towards his 'Randy' teddy bear and grabs it by the hand, putting it on his bed and brings another teddy bear with the same appearance, and he puts on his cap, his 'John' teddy bear, as he grabs onto 'John'.
John's heart tears just a little bit.
"Guess what, Randy?"
"What?"
"I don't think I can find a cure for stepping out of the fire."
"One day."
Those words, so laced into his heart, tearing up the very existence of him on the inside because he doesn't believe it.
"…I don't think so."
"Why?"
"We just got burned…"
Nothing's left but crumpled hope and faded fairytales and burned victims that don't know how to cure heartbreak this severe.
At least I didn't kill anyone!
Review?
If you review me with a review saying how horrible my rap was… well, I might explode. :P
;) Sam