Sweet Misery

Author's Note: I originally began writing this story about a year ago. I never continued it… I'm not sure why. As I went back over the story a few weeks ago, I made a few changes to the plot, and decided to rewrite it. Suggestions for characters and plot ideas are always welcome, and I'll try to fit them into the story somehow. Anyway, enjoy, and be sure to review.

Summary: John Cena and Tayla Scott are nothing alike. He's the 'bad boy, don't-give-a-shit' type, but away from the spotlight he's different. Tayla is the 'over-achieving, prissy, spoiled rich girl', or so everyone seems to think. From the moment they meet, they don't like one another. Soon certain situations force them to spend more time together and they end up growing closer. Can two worlds really collide?

Characters: John Cena, OC (Tayla), Randy Orton, Dave Batista, Rey Mysterio, & more

Rating: This story is rated M for Mature, with language, strong sexual content, some minor substance abuse, and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own WWE, nor am I affiliated with them. I don't own any of its characters mentioned in this story. Tayla is a figment of my imagination (more or less—although bits and pieces of her character are based on real people). John is going to be a bit younger than he is in real life for the sake of this story.

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Chapter 1: Empty Dreams

'Honey, would you get that? I'm on the phone.' Her mother shouted from upstairs.

Tayla walked into the front hall and undid the locks on the door, and then opened it. 'Hi, can I help you?'

'Is this the Scott residence?' A tall, stern-looking man questioned. He was accompanied by a shorter, chubbier gentleman who was wearing a badge. Squinting, she read "Sergeant" on it, and the realization that it was the police finally hit her.

'Yes. What's going on?' The eight year old shifted the weight from one foot to another nervously. Had she done something wrong?

'I'd really prefer to talk to Mrs. Scott. Is she home?'

Tayla nodded and yelled upstairs for her mom. A few seconds later a young woman came running down the stairs. 'Tayla, I told you-' She stopped when she realized there were two police officers outside the door. She opened the door further and motioned for them to come inside.

'Evening officer, what can I do for you?'

The officer nodded towards Tayla, proposing that she leave the room.

The woman look worried. She turned to her daughter, 'Sweetheart, would you go watch TV?' The little girl obliged reluctantly, but decided to stay close to hear what was going on. She headed upstairs, but sat down on the top step where she was out of view.

'What is it?' The woman's voice was much quieter.

'Ma'am... there's no easy way to say this… there's been an accident.'

'What? What on earth are you talking about?'

'Is your husband's name Ethan Scott?'

'Yes…'

'Well, there was a horrible accident a couple of hours ago. Your husband's car was struck on the driver's side by another vehicle. Apparently the driver had been drinking and-'

The woman held up her hand, 'Wait a minute. Where's Ethan? Is he okay?'

The two men glanced at one another. After what seemed like minutes of nothing but dead silence, one of them finally spoke up, 'I'm sorry, miss. He's gone.'

Tayla woke up startled in a cold sweat. She sat up in her bed and glanced around the darkness that had enclosed upon her bedroom. The dark scared her.

She threw the covers from her body and dropped her feet to the floor. The clock beside her bed read '3:42', which meant that she still had a couple of hours before she had to get ready for dance. Tayla was exhausted, but she rarely got a full night's sleep anymore, and she knew if she laid back down, she would be staring at the plaster on the ceiling until her alarm told her it was time to get in the shower.

She got up, and pushed her door open a crack, peering out. Good, her mother was sound asleep. She tiptoed into the hallway and headed downstairs. She found her guitar sitting on the sofa in the living room where she had left it hours ago. She sat down on an end of the leather seat and picked it up, setting it in her lap. As she was tuning and adjusting the cords, her mind wandered back to her dreams.

'Why'd you have to leave us, dad?' She thought to herself, 'If you were still here, mom wouldn't be the way she is.'

She struck a couple of cords and then continued to adjust them. The only time she had a few free minutes to play her guitar was late at night when her mother was asleep. From the minute she got up every day, to the minute she went to sleep every night, her mother had a strict schedule set up for her. Mostly, her schedule consisted of dance for several hours in the morning, college classes with her tutor, occasionally meeting with her talent manager, and then more dance.

She stayed up for the next hour or so playing around with her guitar and her lyrics, and then decided she had better get into bed before her mother woke up and found her out of bed. She wouldn't just be pissed about her being up that early and not getting enough of her 'beauty sleep,' she'd be even more pissed that she was up playing her guitar. She had never told Tayla why she hated it, but she imagined her mother felt she didn't have enough time to focus on all of her activities and her music.

Tayla placed her guitar on the top shelf in her walk-in closet, where she hoped it would be invisible to her mother if she ever happened to wander in there. She laid down on her bed, pulling the covers up around her.

Empty. Her bedroom felt so empty. Her life felt so empty. She had a lot going for herself, dance… modeling… decent grades… hell, she even had every material item she could hope for. Still, she felt that a huge part of her life had been missing ever since her father passed away, and those things hardly helped to fill the void at all.