"He's out of control."
Technicians and handlers were scrambling around backstage, their faces scarred with surprise, discomfort and a little bit of fear. WWE ring announcer Angelle Harper turned away from the conversation she was having with Brie and Nikki Garcia, better known as the Bella twins, when she heard a loud bang and a crash. She turned back to them, their faces masked in unease. Angelle sighed. "I should go and see what's going on. If I don't see you tomorrow, just know that I'm going to miss you both." Their contracts expired in twenty-four hours and Angelle was crestfallen to learn that they had no plans on re-signing with the WWE.
She hugged the twin Divas, aunts to her twin daughters, and took off down the hallway to help her colleagues with the current, unknown and presumably sticky situation. She froze when she heard another bang. It only took her a few moments to realize that it was coming from the "Next Big Thing's" locker room.
She entered the locker room that was reserved for former UFC Champion and current WWE Superstar Brock Lesnar, ducking and narrowly missing a chair. It cracked the wall only feet away from her, and she bit her lower lip. Vince was going to be pissed to hear about this. So was John, for that matter. "This is complete bullshit!" Brock shouted at John Laurenaitis' assistant Marc, who had his arms held up as if he were the victim of a stickup. "This is what's wrong with WWE! You guys are a bunch of fucking double-crossers!"
Marc didn't say anything. Angelle was pretty sure he was too afraid to. Brock was a hulking mountain of a man, six-three and two hundred and sixty pounds. Angelle was even afraid of him; there was nothing cute and cuddly about his demeanour, not like Paul Wight, the Big Show. John followed Brock's UFC career, being the sports fan he is. Angelle got to learn a lot about Brock through John, about their days in Ohio Valley Wrestling to his first run in WWE. "Got nothing to say? You guys lied to me!" He pointed at John Laurenaitis, who looked flabbergasted at Brock's explosive behaviour. The locker room was in shambles. Angelle and Johnny Ace locked eyes in discomfort. He was a typical middle-management kind of guy that a lot of people hated, but Angelle and Johnny had never spoken a cross word to each other. "You promised me he would be going out on a stretcher! That I wouldn't look like a bitch!" He shook his head in disgust. Angelle knew that she was angry about the finish of his match with John. That's when she realized it wasn't a good idea for her to be there, but he spotted her.
"You!" He stomped over to her. "You in on the double cross?"
"Double…what?"
"Don't play stupid, bitch!" Angelle was taken aback. She'd been with the WWE for going on three years now, and nobody had ever spoken to her so harshly.
"That's enough, Brock…" Johnny started, but one evil, defiant look from Brock shut him up. He turned back to Angelle, his pale face going bright red, making the blonde eyebrows stand out on his face. Angelle felt herself shaking under his intense gaze. John was busy in the trainer's room getting his arm checked out.
"I don't have anything to do with how the match is planned, Brock. You've been here once before; you should know how insignificant we techs are when it comes to the program itself." Her answer had him dissatisfied, though. Her relationship with John Cena was enough to incur his nonsensical ire.
Before he could say anything, Johnny Ace grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. "You leave, Ange. I appreciate you trying to help, but you're making it worse." Nodding, Angelle went to let herself out of the locker room, but not before Brock fired a barb her way.
"Thank God you two can't have any more kids. One fucking Cena in this business is enough."
That stung. Tears burning behind her eyelids, she let herself out, keeping her head down to the floor. She felt worthless, lower than dirt. Useless. Not only was she bad at conflict resolution, but she had been verbally berated. Off-duty, Angelle threw down her radio and headphones on the nearest black trunk and entered the door that would take her to the main area. It was going to be a long wait for John, and she didn't to be seen by anybody.
Angelle opened her eyes to find herself in the all-too-familiar whiteness of a hospital room. She could hear the machines beeping around her, and she realized quickly she was strapped up with I.V.s and other ungodly medical equipment. Her body felt like lead, stuck to the bed and unable to move. Weighed down.
She scanned through her mind, trying to recall the events that brought her back to the hospital. The last thing she remembered was standing in front of her closet, trying to pick out a dress. Then she had felt dizzy. She called for John.
That's when everything faded to black. A surge of panic made her nerves sing; what about the girls?
Just outside the door, she could hear the sound of hushed voices talking. Where was John? And Lauren and Laurelle, their twin daughters she had had so much difficulty birthing? Something was wrong with Angelle, she could feel it. Her throat was scratchy, her mouth dry.
Since giving birth to the twins and a month and a half before, Angelle found herself suffering from all sorts of problems. Hair loss, not producing enough milk, too much bleeding. Now, here she was, in the hospital. She felt a passing wave of bitterness. The things they don't tell you, she thought. She found herself blaming the nurses who told her that the bleeding was normal. I collapsed at home; not a problem my ass.
After a few moments, Dr. Donald Storms entered the room, with John in tow. She searched their stoic faces for a sign of what was wrong with her. An ominous cloud hovered over them both, leaving her shivering with cold. John's jaw was set tight. Angelle struggled to sit up, but Dr. Storms put a hand over her chest, keeping her down.
"Stay down, Ange," John commanded curtly. Angelle was a little taken aback by his tone. There was something foreign in his beautiful blue eyes, something that gripped her. She wondered if she was going to die.
"The girls…"
"Kate and David have the girls until Phil and Liz arrive tonight," he informed her. She closed her eyes, relieved to know that her girls were safe. Her stomach unclenched, but her chest was still tight.
"What's wrong with me?" she asked, her voice cracking. Dr. Storms sighed. John crumpled down to a chair by the bed, his head in his hands. The tears that burned behind her eyelids spilled over and didn't stop.
"You're haemorrhaging. Badly. There's no way to stop it, except to remove the problem."
"Remove…?" she was confused and medicated.
"We need you to sign some release forms for an emergency hysterectomy." Her eyes widened, snapping to John, who nodded. He looked weathered and worn, drawing in a shaky breath that seemed to deflate him. Each movement he made told her that she wasn't in a nightmare. This was really happening. Lauren and Laurelle is it. No more children.
"We have to do this," John told her. "I'm not losing you. The girls aren't losing you."
"But Mom…Liz…"
"They're on their way. This is non-negotiable, Ange. We're not even discussing this."
Dr. Storms excused himself to go and retrieve the forms. The room was thick with silence. Angelle felt her hands shaking. The beeping of the machines weren't loud in her ears anymore.
"No more kids…"
"We can always adopt, Ange. We have Lauren and Laurelle. Don't play around with this by thinking, Ange. This has to be done. This is life or death." He stood, rushing to her bedside, taking her cold and clammy hand in his.
"I know," she sobbed. He held her awkwardly as Dr. Storms arrived with the paperwork.
John cringed as Dr. Rios stretched out his arm. Between the burning in his arm and the pounding in his head, he felt like crap. He still had Raw to get through, and then he was thankful to go home for the week to be with his girls. They were spitting images of their mother, with the chocolate hair and her perfect nose, but they definitely had his eyes. The girls were staying with Ronee, his mother-in-law, while they were on the road.
It had been a long few years for John. In 2009, he had met Angelle Harper, then the assistant to Stephanie McMahon-Levesque. She had a lot of dark clouds that hovered over her, but they had weathered the storm together. The pregnancy wasn't planned; it happened when he had chased her to Italy. His mom was still a little miffed that they weren't married, but John knew it had to be the right time. With the pregnancy complications and the hysterectomy, he just hadn't found the right time to do it. He didn't want to marry her because he knocked her up; he wanted it to be right. Just right.
The door opened and Phil Brooks, better known as CM Punk, entered the locker room, dressed in tattered jeans and an old Primus T-shirt. Their relationship was awkward, to say the least. Phil and John had both been pursuing Angelle. After John won out, he began seeing Angelle's twin sister Liz. Recently, he talked her into dyeing her hair back to its natural brown and growing it out, something that creeped out both John and Angelle.
"You seen Ange anywhere?" Phil asked. John shook his head.
"No. Why?"
"Brock Lesnar's blowing a huge shit-fit about that finish. She got caught in the crosshairs," Phil informed him. John felt his jaw tense; Brock wasn't the same guy he had been when they had started wrestling. He had become a big bully, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of personality that John thought was unacceptable. He had become a guy used to having everybody kiss his ass. WWE had originated that, John knew, but after leaving them high and dry in 2004 to pursue his "dream" of playing professional football, John knew Vince had no desire to cater to him. John, as the face of the WWE, was caught in the awkward stand-off.
"What?" He cringed again as they tugged his arm another way.
"Yeah. Johnny Ace said it was really unacceptable. Apparently he took a shot at her medical procedure."
"Fuck me."
"I'll pass. Anyway, she's disappeared. Your car is still in the parking lot, but she's nowhere to be found."
"Goddamn it. She answering her phone?"
"If she were, do you think I'd be here?"
"Duly noted."
"Well, it's not broken, John, but we should sling you up for a little while. Just until you get comfortable." John nodded, and Dr. Rios went about fetching a black sling for him to wear. "You're Superman, what's this going to hold you back? Two weeks?"
"If that," Phil quipped. John had famously recovered from a torn pectoral muscle in four months, an injury that would have kept a lesser man out for a year. Triple H had once told John that he healed like a mutant.
"I could kill Brock Lesnar," John replied irritably, wincing as the trainer began to wash the blood off his forehead.
"I could, too. Who knew he'd be a bigger diva than Dwayne?" John snickered. Phil was notoriously outspoken about his anger that Hollywood actor and former WWE Superstar Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson had come back to main event WrestleMania with John. Phil had accused Dwayne in the press of being aloof and having a big head. John felt the same way, but at least Dwayne didn't throw chairs at officials. He was at least respectful.
John felt a pang of worry that accompanied the pang of anger that had engulfed him. He knew Angelle was a survivor, but she was very fragile as well. She wasn't used to having abrasive personalities like Brock around. But Brock was out of line, and he knew he was going to have to talk to Brock. After all, he had three kids and a wife. He should know better than to talk to a woman like that.
Randy Orton and Stephen Farrelly, two SmackDown Superstars, were disappointed and disgusted to hear about Brock's behaviour backstage. No stranger to outbursts himself, Randy knew better than to pass judgment. But hearing he had attacked John Cena's girlfriend, that had pissed Randy off. Sure, he had messed with a few Divas back in the day, and had even been verbally abusive. But marriage and fatherhood had really changed his outlook on things. Brock had become a bully, and that bothered Randy.
Stephen, better known to millions as Sheamus, was getting a first-hand look of the Brock Lesnar he had read about in the press. He wasn't impressed, at all. "I heard he wrecked the goddamn locker room," Randy informed Stephen as they walked out into the main area.
"Has anybody seen Angelle, fella?" he asked. Randy shook his head.
"No. I have a hunch, though. I think everyone else is too frazzled to think after all of that bullshit," Randy replied. "Care to come with me?"
Stephen shrugged. "Not like I have anything better to do."
They entered the elevator, and Randy pushed the button to go up to the box seats. "You really think she'd be here, fella?" Stephen asked. Randy nodded.
"Sure. The car is still here, and she doesn't want to be seen. What better way to not be seen than to go hide out in the skybox?" Stephen nodded. Randy and his wife Samantha happened to be very good friends with John and Angelle. "Angelle's not that hard to read. She's very predictable."
"She's done this before?"
"Yeah, but it's been a long time. She got into a catfight with Melina at WrestleMania last year."
"Oh, yeah. I remember that." Melina had thrown a full-on meltdown over being left off the card in favour of Trish Stratus and Jersey Shore star Snooki. When Angelle had so logically pointed out that Melina's anger would be better directed at Snooki, Melina had physically attacked her. Angelle had thought about quitting that night, but John, Randy and Eve had talked her out of it, saying they would miss her if she weren't around. Ronee had also talked her into it, saying that Angelle needed the social interaction. It was true; Angelle tended to retreat into herself more often than naught. It was a constant battle to keep her out in the open.
The elevator door dinged open. Randy fired off a text to John, letting him know he was on the prowl. He gave John the location and he promised to be there in a few minutes. Randy looked at the doors, all closed. "How are we going to find her, fella?"
"Open the door, Einstein," he replied, reaching past Stephen and opening the door to room number one. Stephen scowled at Randy and went to the next door.
"She's in here, fella," Stephen murmured. She was sitting with her knees to her chest in the armchair closest to the back of the room, undetectable from the working techs in the ring. Her eye makeup was smudged from the crying she had done in the twenty minutes she had been gone. Her body was still softly quaking with silent sobs.
Stephen knelt down in front of her. Randy watched them from the doorframe. "Angelle? You okay, love?"
"How could he be so mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Randy pulled out his phone and texted the location to John. Snapping his phone shut and sliding it into the pocket of his jeans, he disappeared to meet John at the elevator. "He was so…hurtful. I've never even spoken to him before."
"I know. Nobody thinks you did anything wrong, Angelle. He's just a jerk." He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. When she had started losing her hair after pregnancy, she had cut it all off in a boy cut to spare the embarrassment. Now that her body was back to normal, her hair was only chin length. She usually kept it styled and cute. On this night, it was feathered out and spunky, her dress hot pink and sparkly.
"Thanks, Stephen."
"Don't mention it, love. He's out of his mind going after a pretty little thing like you." Angelle smiled.
John rushed into the room, his arm held up in a black sling that contrasted with his green T-shirt. "Ange…" He shook his head. Stephen moved so John could crouch down in front of his wife. "Phil told me what happened. Are you okay?" He looked down at her shaking hands. "He was out of line, Ange. Don't even pay attention to what that asshole had to say."
Easier said than done, she thought sadly. John knew that the hysterectomy was always going to be a touchy subject with her. John knew it wasn't so much about having children, even though she did want at least one more. It was about the fact that she had been given no choice in the matter. There were a lot of conflicting emotions that she had been trying to sort out for the past year and a half, but it didn't seem to be working too well for her at times. It was a long hard road, but John knew they could weather anything.
"Come on, Ange. It's time to get the hell out of here," John informed her. Angelle nodded, allowing him to take her arm with his free hand and help her up. Shooting an odd look at Stephen, he led Angelle out of the room.