A/N: New Steve/Trish story, yeah! So after writing a one-shot about them and listening to Sarah Bareilles' 'Gravity', I decided to finally go through with the story I've so badly wanted to write since last year, but just couldn't find the time to do so. So here's the new story and I hope you like, guys. Remember: don't like the couple, don't read. Its that simple.
The bar reeked of old cigarettes and beer, yet she mentally told herself to keep walking. She needed this. She needed something to clear her mind, whether that be driving around for hours, unsure of as to where she was actually going or entering an unknown bar such as this one to get a quick fix...or two, maybe. She hated the burning sensation alcohol left in her chest after swallowing it down, but tonight was a different story. She didn't care what burned her chest or the male dominant atmosphere, for that matter. All she wanted and all she needed was for the recent events in her life to be blocked out for a few hours, so she could be able to grasp some kind of peace of mind.
The last few weeks had been a tough one for her, indeed. She was unable to focus on her work with Tough Enough, resulting in her missing two training periods and a cut in her pay, going through marital problems that just couldn't be fixed with a few hugs and kisses, and most of all dealing with the fact that her father could possibly be on his deathbed after a sudden and mysterious case of pneumonia. Never had she dealt with any of the kind, nevertheless all at once, especially something so serious such as her father suffering an illness that could take him away from her right at this very moment.
The thought only sent chills down her spine and made her crave the alcohol even more. She didn't want to think about how much he was in pain and wanted to get better for not only her, but for her sisters and mother as well. She didn't even want to think about when she did arrive back at the hotel later on that evening, World War III would surely take place the moment her body walked through that door - that was she and Randy's usual routine the last couple weeks and by now she was used to it.
Taking a seat in one of the busted bar stools, her eyes carefully scanned the place - it looked even worse than when she came in. Bowls of half eaten beer nuts lie spilled all over the tables while the patrons, which mostly consisted of men and a few women gathered around betting money or dancing to the jukebox that apparently needed to be banged on with a fist every so often in order for a song to play. What was she thinking when she pulled up to this bar? Shaking the assumptions of the patrons and their seemingly rough ways out of her mind, her eyes turned to the bartender, who looked the most rough out of all the people in the run down demolition hang out.
A line of piercings gracefully aligned his bottom lip as a mural of tattoos covered his neck, arms, and knuckles. The black tear drop beside his right eye gave her the notion that he had either done some time in prison or killed someone, making it hard for her to keep her composure. Never in her life had she ever declared herself afraid of another living being until now and quite frankly, she had every reason to be. The burly man behind the counter gave a quiet snarl before grabbing a small napkin and placing it on the counter for her drink.
"What will it be?"
"Uh...mmm...a sco-whisk-," she couldn't even get her words out, seemingly irritating the baldheaded man even more than before she entered the bar. He rolled his eyes and placed his large hands on the counter, giving her a scowl that if it wanted to, could burn a hole right through her soul. The brunette quickly shut her mouth once he was face to face with her, jumping slightly once he was a mere few inches away.
"How you gonna come in a bar and not know what you want? You're lucky there's a menu up there, girl or else you wouldn't have been getting any service tonight. Did you not read the sign?" he inquired, a Southern accent rolling from the tip of his pierced tongue.
And for the second time that night she found herself stumbling over the words that couldn't be any more simple to say, "Wha-what sign?" she asked quietly.
"That sign!" he barked, pointing his finger at a large sign in the window that explained how their service worked - no decisions made before heading to the bar, no service. The thing might as well been slapped on her forehead since it was so plain to see. If she didn't feel like an airhead moments before, she did now and the bartender obviously didn't care enough to apologize for his blatant rudeness. When he saw that the brunette had yet to open her mouth or even eye the menu, he rolled his heavy blue eyes again, wondering just what was wrong with her. Did she not comprehend well? he thought.
Running his hand over his thick beard, the bartender let out a weary sigh before asking, "Are you alright?"
Her eyes couldn't even meet his in correspondence, looking down at the finished wooden counter as if her attention was solely focused on that when in reality it was focused on the unfortunate events that was only now starting to take a toll on her life. Any other time she wouldn't have even let her emotions get the best of her to the point where a stranger had to check on her well-being, but tonight she did and there she sit again not knowing how to respond. She knew nothing of this man, yet here he stood, eyes focused directly on her, saying the words her husband should've said a long time ago.
No, she never did respond, but it was quite clear from the get-go that she wasn't alright, allowing the drink slinger, who didn't look too friendly before give her a sympathetic look. Without saying another word, he went about his way to grab a shot glass from the cupboard and a bottle of Jack Daniels, hoping the drink would relieve her of her apparent gloominess.
Once he sat the glass of hard liquor down on the mini napkin, a frown a crossed his worn down face. Still no eye contact. Not even a thank you.
But wait...it seemed as if he made judgement too soon, because the second he turned his back to tend to yet another patron, a small 'thank you' happened to be sent his way, followed by a 'how much?'. His blue eyes met her brown ones, for the third time that night and his face softened, "Don't worry about it, hon."
She could try. How was it that a man she had only met tonight seem to care more about her current state of mind than her husband did in the last few months? There were many nights when she found herself rocking herself to sleep in the guest room, while Randy lie in the master bedroom sleeping the night away. She knew he heard her cries, yet never did question him on his lack of sympathy and his poor role of being a supportive husband.
The brunette wrapped her fingers around the shot glass full of whiskey, only now wondering if she was doing the right thing by taking this alcohol and trying to drown her never-ending sorrows or instead going back to the hotel room to once again make an effort to talk the situation out with Randy, knowing he probably wouldn't be in the mood for any of that, especially these days when Orton was going through his own round of personal problems that he just would not allow anyone, not even his own wife who couldn't even catch a break if she tried, to help him.
At the moment, he was currently dealing with yet another shoulder injury. But of course, being someone of high caliber such as him, injuries would just have to wait since both RAW and SmackDown rosters found themselves running thin due to the amount of injuries sustained from the constant overhaul of work the last few weeks. Orton didn't want to say it, but it was quite obvious he as in need of a break, which not only made his behavior even more irritable than it had been ever since the marital problems started. There was no doubt in mind Trish wanted to be the rock she promised herself she'd be for him many times before, yet Orton just would not let that happen, courtesy of his own male ego.
Trish drew the glass to lips, taking in the blunt aroma of the alcohol before gulping down the harsh contents. Well, cheers to nothing, she supposed. In an instance her brown eyes closed in an effort to distract her from the piercing pain that would settle in her chest the moment the hard liquor entered her body, throwing her head back just as fast to get it down her throat and once it did, a series of coughs escaped her lips, granting a few stares to pass her way. Nice, she managed to embarrass herself yet again.
Wiping the liquid from her lips, her eyes looked up and met the bartender's who came with yet another shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. Ready to pour yet another round of Jack in the small glass, he was stopped dead on his tracks the moment her hand went up as sign of having enough of the hard liquor. This wasn't what she called a form of clarity, not in the least. She'd damn near coughed up a lung at the expense of thinking this would free her of the nagging inhibitions in mind, when the only thing it brought was pain in her already heavy heart, so standing to her feet, the brunette slapped a ten on the finished counter before going about her way.
The summer rain splashed against her skin, granting a faint sigh to pass between her lips. She couldn't deny it, after feeling like such crap in the bar, the rain deemed to be the only thing that actually settled her thoughts, surely wasn't the first round of alcohol that she could only withstand after the first shot was passed down. The rain appeared to be her only form of solace, which only could only bring forth the thoughts she didn't want to imagine in the first place: yet another confrontation with her dear husband, Randy Orton.
Tucking back some of her damp hair behind her ear, Trish started for her car. Maybe she could take the long way back to the hotel tonight, then that'd give her a little more time to prepare herself for the inevitable. Every footstep she made, she managed to remind herself to go just a tad bit slower than before, that way she could still find the time to prolong the spewing of words that would take place in a matter of a few seconds just as soon as her presence was known. She didn't mind if by the time she did reach her rental she'd be drenched from head to toe. The fact that she couldn't, but would allow herself to go through yet another series of reasoning with Orton for no particular reason only made the trip back to the hotel that much harder.
The second she got to her rental, a fresh wave of anxiety caught her by the throat. She wasn't scared of her husband, not in the least, but she just didn't have the strength to argue with him. The only thing she wanted/needed from him was to feel his embrace, something she couldn't remember the last of, even if she tried, especially now more than ever when she couldn't get rid of the shivers that the now pouring rain brought to her. Now she regretted not listening to the news forecast for today. Luckily she'd be in her rental in just a few seconds, surrounded by the warmth of her favorite cardigan - just as soon as she found her keys, wherever they happened to be. She rummaged through the purse, finding nothing but her wallet, one last stick of doublemint gum, and a few other items that clearly were not her keys. Well, wasn't this just nice? By now she couldn't even manage to keep count of how many times she fucked up tonight, this one being the biggest of them all.
"Relax, Trish. Relax. Just retrace your steps," she told herself, doubt dripping from her every word the more she realized that she'd gone ahead and lost a pair of keys that she didn't even own. The loud, booming noise of thunder nearly made her jump out of her skin, petrified to even look any further as she found it ever so difficult to move or even breathe. Once she was able to catch the little breath that she had she started back for the bar to retrace her steps, hoping by time she did find them, the storm wouldn't be any worse and she could get back to the hotel all in one piece, whether Orton had bitter words for her or not. She honestly didn't care.
Passing the few parked cars along the side of the road, she used the backlight from her cell phone, looking under each vehicle to see if the missing jingles happened to be under there, but as she expected they weren't. She didn't want to go into full panic-mode, for there still happened to be one last place to look: the bar. The moment she walked back into the stale tavern, dripping head to toe from the rain that had gone ahead and betrayed her, she was greeted by none other than the same drinkslinger from moments ago. A smile playing at his lips, something Trish didn't even think was possible the first time she came around here.
"Looking for these?" He questioned, holding the electronic keys at hand as a sigh of relief escaped her lips. There were people in this world that were selfish, such as her husband and then there were people, such as him, who might not have always been the nicest of the bunch, yet still happened to have an ounce of care for others, even if he didn't know them-or to her at least. Maybe there were some good men left out here, surely wasn't her husband, but as always she would never admit his faults, for he'd let her know that everything that was going so wrong between them was her fault. She didn't believe she was solely responsible for she and Orton's constant bickering, but she wouldn't declare that he also was to blame for such.
"Thank you...so much."
"No problem. You better keep up with those next time or someone else will find 'em and you definitely won't be getting them back. Safe drive, Toots."
"I-I will. Thanks again." And with that, Trish turned on her heel out of the bar, feeling a little better than she did when she first left the bar. As she started for her car, her cell phone rang, stopping her dead in her tracks. Randy. Pressing the green talk button, the brunette placed the phone against her ear, coldness from his husky breath making the hairs on her body stand in place, "Hello?"
"I need you to grab me some painkillers from the drugstore, my arm is on fire."
"I thought we discussed this already, taking painkillers isn't a good idea, Randy. Look: when I get back to the hotel, how about I give you a massage. Fair enough?"
"No, that's not fair enough. If I wanted a massage from you I would've asked. Can't you see I'm in pain? Some silly massage isn't going to help when I have a damn autograph signing tomorrow. I need the painkillers. Now."
The brunette rolled her eyes. Her foot wasn't even out the door five minutes and already Orton couldn't help but whine about his injuries. "Can you at least wait until tomorrow when it's not raining? I'm drenched. Maybe you could ask one of the-"
"No, I want them now." Orton demanded, more serious than he'd ever been with her in all their six years of marriage. He let out a small wince before his breathing got any heavier, "If you actually did love me, you would just go ahead and get the pills for me. I don't care if it's not a good idea, I can barely move my fucking arm right about now and sitting on the phone with you isn't going to help, so either you get them for me or I'll do it myself. And I'll find way."
Before Trish could even respond, Orton already hung up the phone, leaving her to stand there in the wet garments she'd so badly ached to get out of. So much for coming straight to the hotel after her escapade. Brushing her brown hair out of her face, the former wrestler started back to the rental again, allowing herself to get lost in the rain, never once spewing another word. She was going to grab the painkillers from the drugstore, possible lightning in the distance and all. And she was going to like it, whether she wanted to head to store during these conditions or not. If she loved Randy as much as she said she did, she would do anything to make him happy - even going as far as risking her own safety at the expense of seeing him no longer in pain.
The Canadian brunette started down the sidewalk, slowly, letting a few salty tears fall from her cloudy brown eyes, wiping them before they could reach her cheeks. What was she crying for? she thought to herself. People risked their lives for their spouses all the time, so this was no different, but of course it was. There was no reason that the painkillers couldn't wait til in the morning, yet Orton knew, regardless of the wet conditions, Trish would bypass his rudeness and do anything and everything, knowing he couldn't do such on his own. And if she didn't, the guilt-trips would surely take place and he knew how to work those good. Wiping the fresh tears that made their way down her cheeks the brunette stopped at her rental, ready to make yet another stop until she was greeted by none other than a strange fellow, who appeared to have followed her to her rental.
He stood there, a goofy smile etched across his skinny, long face as a cowboy hat, that lie lazily atop his head covered his scraggly, brown hair. Trish's face grimaced as her eyes took a good look at the thin man. He looked like he hadn't showered in days, not to mention looked so familiar, yet she couldn't quit pinpoint just who he was, while ultimately too stiff to move. None of that mattered anyway, seeing as that he was now inching his way closer to her rental, possibly thinking she was going to go home with him tonight when that was quite the exact opposite. She had a husband of her own to go to home to, whether or not if they had seen eye to eye with eachother the last few months or so. Never taking her eyes off the man, who looked well over the age of forty, her fingers, as much as they didn't want to move absently dove through her purse, moving anywhere and everywhere to grab her keys that were damn near glued to the bottom. Unfortunately, she couldn't keep the purse in her grasp much longer, making the handbag and contents inside fall to the ground immediately.
"Oh, I'll get that for you!" He exclaimed, practically breaking his neck to help the younger woman, but to her dismay she didn't need any. Just for him to leave her be, so she can get out of this horrific weather and change into some warm clothes.
"That's okay, I don't need you to do anything, thank you!" The fitness instructor raised her voice, but to no avail the man clad in a pair of wranglers and a flannel shirt would just not listen. With a smile on his aging face, the brunette man handed over the turquoise purse. In an instance she snatched the purse from his hands, finally grabbing the keys once and for all to unlock the doors so she could get out of here, away from this man.
"Ooh, feisty, aren't ya?" He slammed the car door closed after she opened it. "Hey, what do you say we have a little fun? Huh?"
"Excuse me?" She wanted him to reiterate the question just to make sure she was hearing right. How dare he ask her something such as that and think there would be no consequences for his blatant rudeness. Funny how she dealt with the same day in and day out from Orton, yet because he was dealing with his own problems within his shoulder injury, she didn't want to come off as if she didn't love him, although he knew she did. Niceness was her weakness and Orton knew how to play into that damn good.
"I have a husband, you know? And I really don't think he'd appreciate your blunt attitude. Now if you'll excuse me I have somewhere to be and you are most certainly not helping the cause."
"Not helping the cause, huh? Don't tell me you're one of those stuck up bitches, who think they're too good for a guy like me? I saw you in the bar flirting with that fat fuck of a bartender, so don't pretend like you have a husband. I know you don't. While you were too busy flirting the night away with him you could've been with me. Why don't you just stop beating around the bush and have a little fun with me, huh? I know you wanna get out of these wet clothes just as much as I do." He fingered the wet collar of her shirt until her hand quickly swatted his grimy fingers away from her body.
He continued, "Oh, you like it rough, don't you?" A light chuckle escaped his lips, setting up for the grand finale. In an instance he shoved the former Diva's body close to his. A hearty laughter escaped his thin lips, but not for too long because he soon found her fingers grazed across his dark eyes, howling from the excruciating pain of nails digging and tearing into his flesh, blinding him momentarily and giving her just enough time to get away from him. Her fingers yanked the door of Nissan Armada open, struggling to put the key into the ignition. Just as she found the hole for the key to go into, she was thrown from her car onto the ground, feeling a fresh cut on her forehead from the pavement that showed no mercy.
"You done fucked up now, bitch," her attacker growled, wiping the blood that formed under his eyes. "Now we're going to have some real fun. No one is going to hear you and no one is going to give a damn about you either." And with that, he yanked by her hair into the shadows, kicking and screaming, yet no one would hear her for the simple fact that no one was around in sight. Her body smacked against the brick wall of the alley as a quiet whimper escaped her lips. She was about ready to fall to the ground, slumped in a ball until he once again grabbed her by the hair, holding her face oh so close to his. The foul stench from his breath made her cry even harder and only made him that much angrier.
"Please," she begged him, tears mixing with rain. "I have a husband, who needs me. If you had any kind of common decency you would just let me go."
"Shut up!" He spat and slapped her square across the face. "Now let's get ready for the fun, shall we?" He dipped his head down to meet his lips with hers, and before either of them knew it, her attacker came falling down like a ton of bricks, into the nearby trashcans. For someone who wasn't too big, he came crashing down with a hard thud that made the hysterical brunette jump.
She looked down at the fallen assaulter before meeting her brown eyes with a pair of familiar blue ones that she'd known for over a decade. Without saying a word, her savior's gruff voice broke the thick tension in the air, a voice that she had never felt so good to hear until now:
"Let's go." He said, placing his hand on the brunette's shoulder, so calm and collective over the scene that had taken place only moments ago. It was quite obvious that he didn't want to shake her up than she was already was, but there would definitely be some explaining to do as to why she was even in this part of Houston when she should've been in the area close to the hotel.
After getting situated in his own vehicle, a heavy sigh passed between her lips just thinking of the disaster she called a night. She could hear the police sirens in the distance, they were ready to take away her attacker, but that still didn't make her feel any better about the things she so deeply regretted throughout earlier in the night. Had she not left her keys in the bar this would've never happened and maybe-just maybe that would be one less thing that would occupy her mind, but of course it happened anyway.
"You okay?"
She was far from okay, but wouldn't let Steve, or anyone for that matter know that. She didn't want to go to the hospital and surely didn't want to talk about the events of tonight. All she wanted and all she needed, at the moment was to get out of these wet clothes and forget tonight ever happened, but she knew that wouldn't happen, not anytime soon at least. She'd go back to the hotel and explain something to Randy as far as why she couldn't meet his fulfillment, but as of right now, she just didn't want to be reminded again of this night. Not now, not ever.
Well, should I continue? Please review and tell me what you think. :)
