Disclaimer: I do not own John Cena. The only people I own in this story are Camilla and the original characters I have come up with. As with most stories on this website, this is PURELY a work of FICTION; nothing more, nothing less.

If there are aspects of John's life that I get incorrect, please don't hang me for it and send me hate messages. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FROM MY BRAIN. WHICH MEANS I GET TO MAKE UP WHATEVER I WANT.

Despite being the centre of attention, surrounded by his family, friends, and friends of friends, and friends of those friends; in a condo where the music was playing from speakers in every corner; where food and alcohol were rampant; where people were dancing, singing, drinking, eating, talking, and laughing; where girls were coming up to him by the pair to console him and offer their support, with little winks and smiles and flirty touches of the bicep; with grown men patting him on the back, telling him he will be ready to go in no time, John Cena had never felt more alone.

Isolation in a room full of people was the worst. Especially when the feeling of isolation wasn't apparent – all people saw was the fake smile plastered on his face and the blue arm sling he was wearing. Besides his immediate family, the people he was surrounded by didn't have much sympathy for his injury because they knew he'd be able to bounce back quickly. This was John Cena after all – he was Superman. He'd done it before, more than once. But this time, he wasn't so sure.

First came the divorce. He and his wife – his high school sweetheart – and supposed love of his life, could not stand each other's presence. They had been having problems for a while, none of which John admitted to anybody because he didn't want them worrying about him. These problems had inevitably come crashing down. She turned out to be someone different than who he thought he knew, and this crushed him. He'd known her for so long. What did he fail to see, in all those years? Yes, he was the one who filed for divorce, but she didn't make things easy. It was all done now – she had her money and the house and everything she wanted so she would never have to see or hear from him again – but John still felt that he had become less of a man because of this failed marriage. He'd spent so much of his life with her, and now she was gone.

As if the divorce wasn't bad enough, he was now plagued with an injury that forced him to stop doing what he loved to do most. In a botch that was not his fault, but instead the fault of his competitor, he had landed badly and tore his pectoral muscle as well as broken his elbow. His entire left arm was a write-off. Doctors advised him not to wrestle for at least six months. Six months?! How was he not supposed to do what he loved for six months? He feared it more than anything – at least work pushed the thoughts of his failed marriage to the back of his mind. Now it was all he could think about, and if he could ever find a woman, at this point in his life, who wasn't going to want to be with him for his money or fame. Was he ever going to be happy again?

"I want to propose a toast!" he suddenly heard his oldest brother, Dan, yell to the small crowd of people that had formed around him. "Let's all hope John has a speedy recovery, and when he gets back, wins the WWE Championship! To John!"

"TO JOHN!" everyone screamed out around him, taking sips from their glasses or downing the shots held in their hands. John smiled graciously and raised his glass of water as a sign of gratitude before taking a sip. Soon, most of the people dispersed and John found himself looking around awkwardly at everything that was happening before him. Everybody was having so much fun; nobody would ever know that this was supposed to be a party for his successful shoulder surgery. Everybody drank as if it was a birthday party.

"Heeeeyyyyy John," a voice cooed from beside him. He looked to his right to see Amanda, a friend of one of his brothers, with about three other girls behind her, smiling and looking on with wide eyes. "How are you feeling?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

John didn't know Amanda well enough to have a solid opinion of her, but he was always a little off-put by her presence. He didn't quite know why. Perhaps it had something to do with how much his brothers talked about her antics – he'd heard a number of stories throughout the years – or perhaps it was because he just didn't know her all that well. "I'm okay," he said plainly. "Surgery went well. Can't complain."

"How long are you out for?" she asked.

"Six months."

Her face scrunched up at the revelation. "That sucks," she offered her opinion, to which John obviously already knew. "Are you gonna be here the whole time?" she asked again.

John shrugged his shoulders. "Probably," he said, not really knowing the answer himself. "Boston's got some decent doctors," he said sarcastically. He had a good idea what she was going to say next – it was what all the girls were saying to him.

"Well, if you ever need anything, John, don't be afraid to call me," she offered with a quick rising of her eyebrows and the biting of her lip.

John didn't quite know how to respond to such an advance. He inverted his lips into a tight line and nodded his head once, acknowledging what he just heard. He didn't need sex. What was it with everything thinking that getting laid would solve all his problems? Before he could think of something to say back to Amanda, in her semi-drunken stupor she noticed a friend walk into the room and decided to yell out her name and run towards her, two of the other girls behind her following suit. Soon he was left alone again...well, almost alone. One girl still lingered, one that had been behind Amanda but hadn't said anything.

"Hi, I'm John," he introduced himself politely, seeing that the girl felt totally out of place and lost, her friends abruptly running away from her.

"I'm Camilla," she said softly, shaking his hand. "I'm really sorry to hear about your arm."

"That's okay," he shrugged his shoulders, a small smile on his face. "It'll heal in time. It's nothing I haven't experienced before."

A silence fell between the two, and John looked out into the party again, seeing everybody so happy and talkative and having a good time. He wondered if he would ever be like this again. He wondered if he could ever forget the past year and what it had done to his psyche and emotions.

"John," he heard Camilla call him softly, getting his attention. He looked at her. "You're not happy."

The fact that she had said it as a statement, not as a question, immediately told him that she could see it. She could see his pain, his agony. She could see what he was going through. He didn't know who she was or where she came from, but she saw it. There was no denying it now.

"How could you tell?" he asked, defeated.

"I can see it in your eyes," she responded timidly. "You're not happy."

John hung his head at the revelation that now hung in the air. Out of everybody in the room, including members of his own family, she was the only one who could really see what was going on.

"Do I do a good job of hiding it?" he asked.

She nodded her head, a concerned but knowing look on her face.

"JOOOOHNNYYYY!" another girl's voice screamed out, and soon he found one of Amanda's half-drunken friends running towards him with her arms spread wide, a wine bottle clutched in her left hand that was still in the bag. What a mess. Being John Cena, he smiled anyway, and extended his one arm out to greet her and talk to her. More girls crowded around him again, asking him questions and touching his arm gently. He tried looking for Camilla in the midst of the commotion, but she was already gone.

As the party came to a stop at about 1:30, John watched as the last of his friends left the condo. Some still lingered – Amanda and her girlfriends in particular – but the one face John was hoping to find again was missing.

"I think we're going to get going soon," Amanda said to no-one in particular, though John thought she probably directed it most towards him. What did she want? Did she want him to invite her to stay the night? No chance.

"Are you guys driving back or something?" he asked, not wanting them to drink and drive by any means.

"Camilla's getting the car," one of Amanda's friends told him, much to Amanda's dismay. She whipped her head towards her friend and gave her a quick glare and rolled her eyes. She wasn't supposed to say that. John was supposed to offer for her to stay because he didn't want her driving at night.

At the mention of Camilla's name, John perked up and was suddenly attentive to whatever these drunken girls had to say. "So you girls know her too? What's she like?"

Amanda looked at John questioningly, as if he was crazy. Did he really just ask about Camilla? Did he even know who she was? She didn't see them talk once throughout the entire night. How did he even know her name? "She's not worth your time," Amanda scoffed. "She's not worth anybody's time, apparently."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked.

"She's so quiet. Like, she never says a word...probably because half the time she thinks she's better than everybody else in the room," Amanda said.

"I highly doubt that," John countered. He understood the quiet part – but because she was self-centered? Hardly. She was probably just shy. It didn't help that her friends kept ditching her throughout the night, something John thought was probably a common occurrence.

"It's true. She thinks she's so high and mighty because she works at the Museum of Fine Arts and her dad is some diplomat for the Canadian Embassy," Amanda jeered, her friends nodding their heads like robots to everything she was saying. "I mean, she's a nice girl and all, but she's not holier than any of us. She needs to lose the attitude."

'Yeah, because what you have going on right now isn't attitude at all,' John thought. Before he could say anything, one of the robots looked at her phone and announced to everyone, "She's downstairs waiting," signifying that Camilla was ready with the car.

Amanda sighed dramatically but proceeded to say goodbye to John's brothers, making sure to hug him last, and a little bit longer and tighter than everyone else before finally making her way out the door. With her gone, John looked over at Dan, who was sweeping the floor.

"Can you drive me to the Museum of Fine Arts tomorrow?"