Alright I think that this is my first WWE story on this site. I have it posted on Waattpad and on Mibba, so if you think that you've seen this before, you probably have. I do not own the WWE, or any of it's properties. I do not own any real people, places or things mentioned. All trademarks and copyrights belong to their respective owners. The following events are fictitious and even real events and people are being used in a fictitious manner. This story will contain foul language, mature themes, and mentions of mental illness as well as physical injury and chronic illness. Read at your own discretion, and do not waste you're time to lecture me on why I shouldn't say fuck so much. I think that's all. Enjoy.
In my dream, I was sitting at a traffic light. I turned up the radio, when my favorite song by Pearl Jam came on. Just then the light turned and I started to go. It was a moment of normalcy quickly followed by a bright light a crash and then nothing.
I awoke from my slumber with a start, causing me to shoot upright and fall off of my couch onto my hardwood floors, all while smacking my head off of the coffee table in the process.
"God damn it," I muttered, rolling onto my back.
I heard fast heard hurried footsteps come towards me. 'Who the fuck is in my apartment?' I thought worriedly. All my worry disappeared though, when the concerned face of my step brother appeared above me.
"Colby? What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
"A better question is why are you on the floor?" he asked, looking down at me. Both of him. Shit.
"What's on my head?" I asked, putting my hand on it.
I pulled back and saw red.
"Blood," Colby said, not in the least bit amused.
"Well that's not good," I said.
"Alright we're going to the hospital," he said.
"Nooooooooo," I whined. "I just need a bandaid."
"Yeah, not happening. Where's your purse?" he asked.
"I don't know," I answered. I never carried the fucking thing.
He sighed before getting up and returning with a towel, which he pressed to my head.
"You do realize how terrible that is for you, right?"
"You do realize that I don't give a shit, right?" I replied shoving another bite of ice cream into my mouth. "Your fucking crossfit shit's more likely to kill me than this delicious wonderful bowl of birthday cake flavored goodness."
My brother sighed, knowing that this was a battle not worth fighting.
I mean seriously it was one fucking bowl of ice cream. One. I didn't even have ice cream on the reg all like that.
"How much longer?"
"Well Colby Jack, we have…" I picked up my phone and checked the time. "Five minutes," I answered.
"Ugh," he groaned.
I wasn't concussed as Colby had feared. However I did need stitches and my head hurt like hell. Once we had returned from the ER with an adjusted prescription and a promise to go back in five days, I had decided it was time to touch up my roots, and to fix the two toned mess that the WWE Universe same to associate with my step-brother, better known as Seth Rollins.
I rolled my eyes. "Baby," I replied.
My step brother and I were close. His mother married my father, and we were one big happy Mexican-American Armenian mix of a family. Well sort of happy. Most of m life, I suffered from Alpha 1-antitrypsin deficiency (A1AD), which ruined my liver and lungs, resulting in me being the second person to receive a double lung and liver transplant.
Colby was my best friend. When I was sick, he was my link to the outside world, and was the only person, who didn't treat me as if I was dying. That was until afterwards, when I got out, as I started to get better, then he became ridiculously over protective. He eased up and no we were cool. That didn't mean that he wasn't still over protective at times.
"Why are you here," I asked.
"I can't come hang with my sister for a couple of days?" he asked.
"I'm not saying that you can't. I'm just saying that you're a work-a-holic, and visits are rare. Your answer, however, makes me thing that there's more to it than that." There was something in the tone of his voice. Despite what he said, I knew that there some other reason he was there. I mean he normally called first.
"I love how you instantly think I'm up to something."
His obviously false innocence gave him away. I raised my brows at him. "Spill," I ordered.
"There's-"
"Colby," I said in a warning voice.
He raised his hands in surrender. "Doc's hurt, and the WWE needs a fill in," he said.
"And they don't have a line out the door of other options?" I asked.
"I mean there are a lot of people, but I kind of overheard and said you'd do it."
"Colby!" I snapped. If he had asked, I wouldn't have been so upset, but he hadn't so now I was pissed. "What the hell?! You didn't think a 'Hey, Lev. There's an opportunity that's presented itself, and I was wondering if you would be interested.' Ugh!" I shook my head. "You do realize that I haven't practiced done anything even remotely medical in months, right? That I'm out of touch."
"You'll be fine. You're the smartest person I know. You're already a doctor, most people are still in school to do what you do. You've already worked for a major sports organization."
I rolled my eyes. The connections I made in college landed me an internship with the Miami Heat's head physician. Once it was finished, I didn't pursue a position with the organization. Instead, I took a break and did a bunch of stupid shit. I'd gone from practically living in a hospital, to doing part of my schooling in one to doing work that could be done in a hospital.
I wanted to go do something, to actually live.
I sighed. "Idiot." I wanted to run my hand through my hair, but there was bleach in it. "Fine, fucker. I'll do it."
His eyes lit up.
I shook my head. "Don't get too excited."
His face fell. "Wh-"
"Because fuck you, I hope your hair turns into fucking straw," I said, making a run for the shower.
"Wait! Lev!" I slammed the door and locked it. "CHOKE ON THE BLEACH BITCH!" I yelled.
Author's Note: This has been posted elsewhere and it's kind of on a hiatus, but I'm going to post what I have on here too, because why the fuck not.