Prologue
Randy Orton
It's been eight months, and I'm still having a hell of a time coming to terms with the fact that she just walked away from everything that she had worked so hard for. The dream is dead, she had told her father. She just gave up. The worst part is I can't even blame her, considering what happened to her.
She just couldn't take the pain anymore. The heartache and the betrayal were too strong for her to push aside. I can't blame her, but I can damn sure blame John Cena, the sick motherfucker. He deserves to rot in Hell for turning her dream into some sick, unbearable nightmare. No matter how hard she tried to put things aside, I could see it affected her.
At first, it was like that fear we wrestlers get when we get hurt. We jump up and brush it off as if to say, We aren't hurt. We're okay. But the cracks in her armor didn't take long to show. Slowly, but surely, she drifted away from me, not wanting me to touch her or speak to her. She stopped caring about her appearance. Work became torture, with him always looming around backstage to serve as a constant reminder of the past. He drove her out of the place she had spent her life dreaming of getting to. I can never forgive him for that.
After she left, life didn't get any better for her. Like so many other WWE Superstars and Divas before her, Amberlea Brennan fell into her own pit of personal hell, ignoring everybody. She drove away anyone that cared about her, myself included. When she quit, Vince had tried to do everything that he could to keep her, even offering her more money to just train down at Ohio Valley Wrestling, but she didn't want it. I could see it before she left; the passion in her eyes was long gone. No amount of money would fix that.
Before she left, she had started drinking more. I'm not talking about that pussy shit like beer and wine; she was making best friends with the good Dr. Daniels. Within months, Christy Hemme had it spread backstage that she was a full-fledged alcoholic; something Amberlea always denied to me. I had no reason to buy the rumours. After all, Christy is a gossip and Amberlea wasn't having any psychotic meltdowns or remorseful about her behaviour. She just drank and wallowed in her own pit of misery, where nobody could reach in and pull her out. Believe me, I tried so hard.
It wasn't long before she was put on anti-depressants to numb the nihilism and the depression she felt. Then came the Percocet for all the injuries that she had accumulated over the years that hadn't had a proper shot to heal. Then came the Xanax for anxiety. It happened so fast, and before I knew it she had faded away from me. The worst part was that it happened so fast that I couldn't stop it. She just slipped through my fingers.
Vince caught wind of what was happening with Amberlea, and it concerned him. He has eyes and ears all over the place, so it doesn't surprise me that he would have found out. Out of desperation, we had set up an intervention. We were all terrified that she was going to become another pro wrestling statistic. Unfortunately, Amberlea had overdosed at the intervention. It was terrifying; I'm still haunted by the way she foamed at the mouth and convulsed in my arms. She almost didn't make it, which was scary as hell. The fear of living the rest of my life without her is still too much for me to even think about.
Amberlea's father Charlie had been devastated as we sat around and waited for her to get her stomach pumped. We all knew that she was battling some horrible demons and some terrible trauma, but we never thought for a million years she'd take it that far. I'm still searching for signs - it's been three months - but I can't see anything, no matter how hard I look. She had told Charlie that she wanted to go and see her mother, who had died when she was young. Charlie had been heartbroken, in so much pain, but after watching Amberlea's free-fall from grace he agreed to put her in the hospital on a 5150 psychiatric hold. She had been furious when she found out she was being held there, lashing out at everybody around her. Charlie was beside himself; I was with him the entire time, smoking like a chimney, afraid of everything.
Then, it got worse. The information about her drugging, the overdose and her hospitalization made its way onto the Internet, onto the dirt sheets and even Perez Hilton. The news sites seemed to revel in her personal horrors, while the marks behind their computers praised the "Mystery Rapist" for getting a piece of that. It was some of the most disgusting stuff I've ever read. It took everything I had not to track every last one of them down and kill them with my bare hands. It's been a long, arduous road from Hell for Amberlea, but she's a strong girl.
At the moment, Amberlea is spending a bonus fourth month down at the Pasadena Recovery Center in California, a long way away from her home here in St. Louis. She needed to get away from every person who had ever hurt her, and California seemed like the place to go. Beautiful scenery, neutral territory. Since she lives in Los Angeles, Melina - a developmental Diva about to make her WWE debut - takes a drive down there once a week and reports her progress to us. Amberlea won't return my calls.
Charlie informed me that she's been learning coping mechanisms that she never had, that she's been dealing with things she's never really had to face - like the death of her mother. When the pain of the things in her life became too much for Amberlea, instead of facing it, she worked harder at becoming a professional wrestler. With her WWE departure, she had no way of coping with anything, and vulture doctors were waiting for her with prescription slips to numb the pain. He told me that she's sounding a lot better, but I've been too chicken to phone her.
I'm playing hooky from work. I told Vince that I had some nagging injuries in my neck that I needed to rest. Vince gave me a week to ice it down, but I'm taking off to California in about an hour to go and see her before SmackDown touches down in Anaheim next week. Tour the facility, see where she's been staying. I plan on having a good talk with her - if she'll allow it. I just need to see her, to feel her in my arms again, to know that she's all right. I just need to see her, if for anything else than to get the image of her overdosing and hospitalized out of my head. She had gone straight from the hospital to rehab, but it's done nothing to stop the nightmares, the horrible and vivid daydreams where she died en route to the hospital from the intervention. It's been such a long few months, my mind has been fucked to the fullest extent. As happy as I am that she pulled through, that she's starting to understand things and come to terms, there's a part of me that still wants to grab her and shake the shit out of her, telling her never to scare me like that again.
I miss not having Amberlea on the road with me. I miss our road trips and our movie nights. I miss the Thursday night dinners we used to have once a week to stay grounded before our friendship had splintered. We are all so damaged, so fragmented, so splintered. There's nothing I can do about it. It pisses me off to know that this is all John's doing. He'll never redeem himself for as long as he lives, and I don't know why he's not in jail. It's like everybody is covering this up. I hope he can't sleep at night; I hope the nightmares of the effect he's had on Amberlea chokes the life out of him like they suffocate me.
Mom and Dad aren't sure if it's a good idea that I go see her out in Cali. They're worried that I'm going to cause her to relapse in a blaze of anti-depressants and cocktails. They warn me that I'm going to be bringing with me old memories that she is working hard to forget, even if I don't intend to. I know I'm being really selfish in going, but I need to see her for nothing more than my own well-being. I need her. I can't be without her. It's killing me.
Charlie Brennan's never held me responsible for anything that's happened with his daughter. I still talk to him regularly and go to his house for dinner once a month to get progress on Amberlea. He's always quick to tell me he doesn't blame me, Vince or the business for what happened to his only child. He does, however, rest a lot of blame on the broad shoulders of John Cena. Charlie tells me regularly he would give anything to sucker punch John right in the face for the atrocities he committed.
I looked around my bedroom after I locked up my suitcase. Nate's going to come over and stay while I'm gone so Killer, my snake, gets fed. My plane ticket is resting on the nightstand. The WWE locker room is demanding a full, in-depth update on Amberlea when I get back. There's huge heat on John backstage for what's happened, especially because in spite of it all, he is still Vince's "Golden Boy", the number one merchandise seller, the one the children want to come and see.
At the end of the day, the reason John is still with us is because he is good for business. But, personally, the fact that he is still here at Amberlea's expense sickens me.
John Cena
Everybody is still looking at me like I ran over their dog. Fuck them all.
Amberlea left the WWE eight months ago quietly. I wanted to stop her. Hell, I would have done anything to keep her here. But since Randy branded me the candy-man, nobody will allow me to get near her. It's a restraining order without the legalese. Nobody's letting Randy near me, either; word around here is that he's got it in his head that he can kick my ass or something.
Amberlea won't hear me out. She still refuses to talk to me, and won't even answer her phone anymore. She doesn't think that there's any way I can defend myself over what happened. The worst part is, since her departure, I've heard all of these rumours, but nobody will confirm or deny them. I've taken to the Internet to get my information about her and her life, and if what they are writing is right, then she's gone down a real dark path since she left this familial umbrella.
The Divas give me nothing but dirty looks now, like this entire situation between Randy, Amberlea and I is any of their business. They don't understand how much I love and I care for Lea. They don't get how this entire situation has hurt me. Trish Stratus looks at me like I'm lower than dog shit, and Lita acts like she's afraid to be left alone with me. For that matter, so does Molly Holly, Victoria, Stacy Keibler and Gail Kim. With the minor exception of a few people, everybody acts like they'd rather kill me than work with me. Vince just ignores it.
I wish somebody would just tell me what in the hell is going on with Lea. I'd love it even more if she would just give me the time of day. Let us hash things out and get our friendship back on track. Since the day that Randy sucker punched me in her driveway, he's done one fuck of a good job keeping her away from me. While what happened to her was horrible, why is it my fault that I wanted her to live her life?
If the rumours going around the Internet are true, and the crisis with Lea did happen, then I can only hope that she finds the inner peace that she needs. I'm trying to figure out if she's in treatment, but nobody's telling me anything, not even Vince, Stephanie or Shane. She's not answering her phone, and when I went to her townhouse, I was informed that she had moved. To where, nobody but Randy knows, I'm sure.
One thing is for sure: I will never, ever forgive Randy Orton for all of the problems that he has created between Lea and I. For fracturing our friendship - she was my friend before she was his. How fucking dare he! Never in a million years will I accept any apology that he even tries to attempt with me when he realizes that he was wrong for what he did.
The worst part is that her family - her father Charlie in particular - refuses to talk to me, and has even gone so far as to take Randy Orton's side in this whole mess. A little while ago, I tried to call Charlie to get an update about his beautiful daughter, and he just hung up on me without saying so much as a word.
Amberlea Brennan
For the past four months I've been falling in love with the beautiful California sunsets and the smell of the ocean in the air. The sun was slowly beginning to fade behind the horizon, casting a fiery orange glow over the water. Pink, orange and bright violet pierced the skyline, a beautiful sight that I could get used to for the rest of my life if I wanted to. It's crazy to think that I've never really stopped and taken a breath and realized the splendour of California.
There's a beautiful garden here at the Pasadena Recovery Center. I'm currently sitting in the middle of it, sneaking in some meditation before dinner. Birds chirped and water rushed in my ears. Sometimes it feels good to meditate, to be outside of myself with nothing but nature around me. I couldn't ask for a more beautiful or serene setting than what I have here at the Center. The feeling of peace, balance and relaxation is absolutely lovely.
Nobody wanted me to walk out when I left the WWE eight months ago. Vince McMahon was upset, throwing money at me and practically begging for me not to go. He was willing to add all sorts of provisions and incentives and pay raises to my contract. I think he worried about me heading over to TNA, but it had nothing to do with that. I just needed to leave and piece my fragmented mind back together.
What happened between John Cena and I was probably the biggest reason why I left, next to the burnout and the stress that comes with being a WWE Diva on the road three hundred days a year. I sold my townhouse and moved to the other side of St. Louis. Just about everything was left in boxes; I had no desire to unpack. No matter where I went, I just didn't feel like I was at home. Not even with Dad. I blacked out my mirrors with T-shirts. John took something valuable from me, and he left me feeling cheap, disgusting and used. That's something I've been working through, though I know it's not going to go away overnight. I thought about leaving Missouri altogether, but Daddy made it clear he wasn't packing up and moving again. I know now that it was selfish of me to think that he would.
The worst part of it all is that my budding more-than-platonic relationship with Randy Orton suffered. In spite of his best efforts, I let things fall apart because I didn't think I was worthy. I still don't. He's never given up on me, something that baffles me. When the nightmares started, the straight glasses of vodka began. Then the panic attacks started when I thought I saw John at the library, at the grocery store, at the airport. Before I knew it, I had distanced myself from Randy and I was on a cocktail of pills that made me a zombie.
I can't recall the intervention. That, unbeknownst to them, had been the day I had decided to end it all, to go be with my mother and get away from the terrible life that I had been living the past four months. Despite my best efforts, the only thing I can remember is waking up with the machines beeping. My stomach had been pumped. The doctors told me I was on a 5150 psychiatric hold, because the people around me thought I was a danger to myself. When they told me this, I sobbed. I felt so dangerous, so disconnected from myself. In my anger, I lashed out at everyone - Randy, Daddy. I haven't spoken to Randy since I was hospitalized. He still hangs out with my father, I know, but in my anger I had told him not to bring up Randy, and I'm too much of a chicken to cave. But he's still in my thoughts all the time; I still regret how things went down between the two of us. I've come to the realization that he must hate me for the pain and suffering I caused him. For the nightmares I'm sure he has. I deserve it. My counsellor Bob tells me not to feel like what John said to me about being a tease has any kind of validation, but it's hard. Anybody that would have told me a year ago that things would get so complicated, I would have called them crazy.
When the hold came off after seventy-two hours, I decided immediately to go and get treatment for all the problems that seemed to be taking over my life. By that point, I was desperate to regain control, some sort of clarity and balance. I was a bit afraid that I had become addicted to Percocet and Daddy was worried about the drinking. Coming out to California had been a calculated decision; I wanted to be a neutral place. Sometimes Melina and her boyfriend John Hennigan come and visit me. How they found out I'm here, I don't know, but I've found myself becoming closer with Melina. Trish phones as well, but I know she's busy with her spot as the top Diva.
Rehab is so much more intense than I ever thought it would be. Facing all the hard things, like John, the fracture of friendship and the death of my mother, hasn't been fun. The general consensus is that I have a lot of reasons to feel the pain I feel, but it's about trying to channel it in a healthy way. Yoga's been a big help. I've even started writing music, even though I can't play an instrument to save my life. I keep a journal as well, to keep my thoughts organized. The doctors and technicians think that I can leave at the end of the month. They're proud of all the outlets I've managed to find. I wonder why I never thought of looking at them before.
I talk to my dad semi-regularly, thanks to the rules of rehab, but they're pretty lenient with me. He assures me that nobody at home faults me for anything. I'm ashamed of myself for falling apart the way I did, but Bob tells me every human bumps into a bad patch now and then. I still see what happened in my head clearly; Randy hitting John, John on the ground with his jaw in his hand, eyes full of hatred. It still hurts a great deal, but the doctors tell me it's normal.
"Hey…there you are."
Turning, I saw a young tech by the name of Tasha standing behind me. She's a short little spitfire - I don't even think she's five feet tall - with bright violet hair and a ton of tattoos. She's a total sweetheart and, as she puts it, a former crackhead. We kind of took to one another here, and I have this small feeling that she and I are going to be lifelong friends over everything we've bonded over. "Hi, Tasha."
"I figured you'd be out here, Amber. Everybody's gotten a little bit worried about you being gone so long. It's dinner time, you know. You must be hungry."
"Kind of. I'm sorry," I apologized sheepishly, standing to my feet. "I just thought I'd come out here and meditate, but I suppose I lost track of time, didn't I?"
"It happens to the best of us," Tasha said with an understanding smile before she turned away from me and walked back into the building. I took a moment to look back at the sunset that was starting to fall behind the water. Despite the clarity this place has provided me with, I'm still so confused about so much.