A Twist of Heart; Change of Fate
Chapter 1 - Familiar Stranger
"Just another ring-rat," I giggled to myself as I closed another WWE based fan fiction story. The name's Yasmin, 29, straight, single…virgin. I've been a fan of the WWE for about 9 years now. I've seen my share of the greatest superstars of this era, and the worst. I'd never truly been to a WWE event, yet I can sort-of picture myself in the audience cheering, rather loudly for my favourite superstar.
Originally, my brother had started me on this 'wrestling-fever' or so I'd call it. But, I'm pretty sure a story of how my brother got Smackdown vs. RAW the video game, and how we truly became wrestling fans would be much too fascinating for you readers, so I'll skip ahead. I know what you're thinking, "Oh, this is probably just another ring-rat story, she sleeps with him, they fall in love, everything works out." Think again ;).
So, here I was, sitting on my bed in my dorm, scrolling through my blog's dashboard. There was a picture of Randy Orton, video of Edge, quote by Cena and a picture of Jeff Hardy. Now, I won't lie to you. I love these men. I fan girl over them at times, so what? Sue me. These men are heroes for me, yeah, yeah…surely, it may sound cheesy, but it's true. To be quite blunt, I scream every time they step out and walk towards that ring. So, could you imagine my expression when I'd won front-row tickets via a local radio show?
"Packed everything," inquired my roommate, Misty. She was short, about 5'1, blonde-haired to about her shoulders, blue-eyed, freckled, and thin.
"Yep," I replied much too excited to further provide a longer answer. I tied my wavy, brunette hair in a messy ponytail and gazed into the mirror. My brown eyes stared back at me as I half-smiled at my appearance. My one dimple and clef had shown itself slightly today. I brushed my Randy Orton shirt off, and stepped out with my faded-blue distressed jeans and black converse. Simply dressed, but then again, what do you wear for a wrestling event?
I was going to be staying at a local hotel closer to the arena to make it easier transportation-wise. Before leaving the school compound, I once more confirmed with the principal the length of the stay at the hotel, and the date of my return.
"2 days," asked Mr. Pine. His blue eyes looked up at me.
"Yes, sir, Monday and Tuesday," I replied. He gave a slight smile and nodded.
"Alright, seeing as you're one of our top students, we won't have any problems allowing you to go to this…event. Mind you, I don't think the board would be lenient if it were to occur again." I slightly nodded at his remark.
"Well you'll be back Wednesday morning, I presume."
"Yes, sir." He gave me a nod of encouragement and I rose to my feet. I bed him farewell and was on my way to locate the hotel. I hailed a cab and in no more than an hour and a half was I there, standing in my very own suite at the hotel. It was decent: one bedroom, kitchenette, sitting area, and bathroom; the walls were very simple, but who could complain?
I glanced at the clock in the hotel suite: 5:30pm, it read. I tilted my head slightly. Perhaps, I could sneak in a trip to the hotel's restaurant. I dropped my sole suitcase onto my bed and grabbed my purse. I walked my way down to where the elevators were located and pressed 'Down'. Soon, the doors opened and I'd been on my way to the restaurant. I stepped in, and immediately I could feel people's eyes on me. I was about 5'11, I wasn't exactly skinny, or fat, but I was slim. I had curves in 'all the right places' some might say. I slowly fought through the crowd of stares and grabbed a piece of bun and butter from the buffet table.
"What is she wearing," I heard some girls snicker at me behind my back. Of course, I paid their irrelevant comments little to no attention. 'I'm just going to go and finish this bun and butter over at that far table,' I assured myself subconsciously. I begin to turn around, and BAM! The dish falls out of my hand and my buttered bun (stop laughing, rude people) slips onto a handsomely polished shoe. I look up to apologize, and of course who do I see?
"Whoa, sorry there," his deep voice said slowly. I looked up into his greyish-blue eyes. Yes, I was looking into the face of Randal Keith Orton. I open my mouth as if to speak, but as embarrassingly as the buttered bun slipped out of my hands, no sound escaped. He stood there almost waiting to see if I'd say something. He chuckled lowly at my attempt to apologize, then I felt his eyes look down at my shirt. "Oh, a fan," he asked me.
"Y-Yeah, I was just about to head to the arena," I replied. He smiled at me, and I could feel myself smiling back.
"So, I guess I'll see you there," he remarked as he leaned towards me. I looked up at him and gave a slight smirk. Little did I know, the slight lean towards me was an attempt to grab a napkin. I blushed slightly and left his presence. Could this be real? Had I actually met him? I shook myself out of the minor daydream I felt coming on.
Once more, I hailed a cab and ,in about 30 minutes, found my front-row seat at the arena. The lights turned a vague shade of red and 'Burn It To The Ground' by Nickelback started filling the arena, followed by the missile-like pyrotechnics. This is it…RAW had begun. The cameras circled everywhere, the people were crazy, and I, I was barely able to contain myself as John Cena stepped out to his theme music. Many cheered for The Champ as he entered the arena, some, of course, booed. I was starstruck. This larger than life hero was right before my eyes.
"It's Monday night RAW, and this capacity crowd seems so psyched!" He yelled as the crowd again divided themselves into cheers and boos. I, of course, cheered as loudly as possible. John merely smiled and laughed a bit at some comments that seemed to top others. "Now, last week, CM Sucks and the Nexass came out after me again-" Boos followed with this statement, "Yeah, so now, CM Sucks isn't good enough to be a singles competitor, no, he's hired himself a couple of bodyguards. Bodyguards which I've managed to take out in one week. So, here's what I'm sayin', CM Sucks. You want me? Let's go right now. Right now, one on one, man to man." The crowd of course cheered extremely loudly at this.
I smiled to myself thinking, this is it. This is what I've been waiting f-
"Excuse me, ma'am?" asked a rather tall man wearing a shirt which read 'Security'.
"Yes, sir, can I help you?" I asked somewhat worried.
"Yeah, you're wanted backstage, ma'am." I nodded and swallowed hard. I kept glancing back trying not to miss a hint of the action. We were near the sort-of 'lobby' you might call it when I was led down another flight of steps and past a couple of drapes.
"Just wait right here, ma'am," the security officer instructed as he handed me a backstage pass. I nodded and obeyed the instructions. From here, I could hear all the action taking place around the ring.
"There she is," a familiar, deep voice said again. I snapped my attention back to the tall man in front of me wearing nothing but his wrestling gear accompanied by another rather tall man, with greying hair, beige jacket and a smug look on his face, Vince McMahon.
"This is the girl," inquired Vince as his eyes shifted up and down at my posture.
"Yeah, this is the one. She's got the look, Vince, you've got to give her that," Randy said once more.
"Hmmm…I suppose you're right. Say, what's your name?"
"Yasmin, Mr. McMahon," I said softly as I extended my hand. He smiled and shook it.
"Say, would you be interested in being apart of a recent storyline?"
"Uhh, I'd love to," I smiled and glanced at Randy who too had been smiling.
"Right, so come this way…we'll get you changed." Vince dictated the storyline to me as I was led to the locker room. Basically, I was supposed to be this masseuse who'd be responsible for taking care of cramped wrestlers after their matches. Most of the superstars are supposed to come off a bit forward to me, but the superstar I would 'fall in love with', you could say, would be John Cena. Eventually, I'll appear on Smackdown to find that I'm infatuated by Edge. Basically, it's the Matt Hardy/Edge/Lita story just in a different format, and a bit more PG-13.
I was changed into a sort-of low cut white dress, and my hair had still been in the same messy ponytail. I waited in the men's locker room as told.
"Well hello there," a voice chimed in. I gazed up at Mike Mizanin. "Wanna help me with a cramp in my shoulder, darling," he asked, his voice sounding smug. I laughed sarcastically, as was in the script.
"Mm…I think I'll pass," I continued to 'set up my equipment'.
"Now, listen here," Miz began to raise his voice, and he seized me by the arm.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Miz…what's goin' on here," inquired another familiar voice. There from the shadows appeared John Cena. Miz released my arm and glared at Cena. Cena in turn glared back, and Miz scoffed exiting the scene. "You okay there," he looked at me. To be honest, I was melting.
"Y-Yeah…" I looked up at his eyes. He smiled and pulled his shirt over his head.
"How about a quick massage, Miss…"
"Yasmin," I smiled and sat him down. I did as was instructed and massaged his shoulder. After a 2 or 3 minutes, we were informed that the scene was finished. I smiled, completely satisfied with myself.
"So uh, that was a nice massage back then…just now," he said standing up. I smiled.
"You've had experience," he asked. I shook my head.
"None, not till just then." I began packing up my supplies when he reached a hand over mine and pulled me closer to his chest. His charm was impeccable, and his physique- A throat cleared behind us, and I'd spun around on my heel only to see those famous greyish-blue eyes.
"There you are," he said lowly taking my hand out of John's and holding it in his. I smiled.
"Mr. Orton, I can't express how grateful-"
"Hey now, lovely, 'Mr. Orton' is my father. It's just Randy," he said smoothly as his lips gently touched my opisthenar. I blushed.
"Well thank you, Randy," I said softly. He made a gesture which looked to be a wink then diverted his grey/blue eyes to John.
"Leaving?" He asked John coldly.
"Sure. Have fun…" he teased as he left. Randy raised one eyebrow and looked back down at me.
"You look great," he smirked. I blushed once more and expressed my thanks, smiling. "I think you can change out of it now, I mean, if you want to."
"Uh, yeah," I said, "I'll be right back." I gathered up my clothes and retreated to the showers. "U-Umm.." I stuttered while looking at the shower heads separated by nothing.
"Problem," Randy asked as he followed me into the showers. I nodded.
"There's uh, no doors," I laughed a bit and looked at him. He smirked and grabbed a towel holding in front of me. It about covered everything. "Don't look," I warned. He chuckled and I successfully changed into my previous attire. He let the towel slip out of his hand and smirked. I smirked back slightly and looked up at him.
"Listen…um, I'd like to see you tonight. A few of us are getting together," he said moving a bit closer to me. I gazed into his eyes unable to speak. He smirked a bit, "Suite 1432, what do you say?"
"I'll think about it," I reassured him placing my hand on his bicep as he slowly began moving even closer. He looked at my hand and then back at me. I quickly removed it, and he chuckled lowly. I bit on my lip and attempted to make my way past him until I felt his hands seize both my arms pinning them close beside me. His eyes scanned my lips as I backed up against the cold, tiled wall. My heart was thumping with an incredible force that I'm almost sure he could've heard it. He leaned in almost as quickly as he'd seized my arms. His soft, warm lips collided with mine, and although the scenery wasn't exactly perfect…this moment was.
His hands were clenched around my arms even tighter, his body now pressed against mine, and my back now glued to the wall; I felt as if I were going to suddenly become a pile of goo on the floor. His lips moved with an intensity mine fought to keep up with. I felt my hands wander onto his shirt. I tugged at it, and he raised his arms. Almost instinctly, I began pulling the shirt off of his slender body. A husky 'ahem' was heard behind him. His lips pulled away from mine, and I could feel his reluctance. He looked at the stranger. My eyes followed his to see a fit, perspiring, John Morrison with folded arms and a smug smirk.
"Havin' fun, are we," he asked as Randy and I stood there, frozen.
"Why don't you get lost, glitter boy," Randy challenged as I felt his hands climb their way to my waist pulling me close and off the wall. By now, I'm almost certain that my legs had become like goo. I placed my hands on Randy's bare chest as Morrison's eyes shifted from Randy to me. I quickly diverted my eyes to the broken tile over at the far left corner of the room, that someone no doubt had punched. I could hear Morrison give a slight chuckle.
"I'd love to, but seeing as this is the men's locker room, I mean I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure I'm entitled to being in here a bit longer, and besides, your match is next," Morrison stated matter-of-factly. Randy released my waist.
"Tonight," Randy whispered to me, his deep voice sounding unusually soft. I looked up at him, and his lips curved into a smile. He turned away from me, and strode out of the room. I too was about to follow Randy in his exit of the room.
"What's your name," Morrison blurted out from behind. He moved a bit closer to me, and I could see the scars left from his previous match.
"Yasmin," I replied. He nodded and smiled. I courteously smiled back and retreated out of the room. Although I had no idea where I'd been going, I continued walking, perhaps for fresh air to think, perhaps back to my seat. I couldn't think, not now, not after the recent occurrence. I walked out into the 'lobby' of the stadium and looked at my alternatives. To my right, was the entrance to the arena, to my left was the fresh air that I'd convinced myself, I was very much in need of. I'd begun climbing out to the parking lot when footsteps were heard behind me. Frightened, I walked even more briskly. A hand had caught my elbow when I turned around and delivered a punch to the stranger's face…until I realized, it was an all-too-familiar stranger.