Title: One Hell
Author: Undertaker's Diva -and- Hunter's Goddess
Rating: R
Summary: He's one hell of a wrestler. One hell of a fighter. And this is my attempt at one
hell of a story.
Disclaimer: I don't own the wrestler mentioned in this story, I don't own his character, or
any other's that might be mentioned with in this story. All rights belong to Vince
McMahon, the WWFE, and Titan Sports. I know you are probably wondering why I'm
being so professional, well, I'm going to try and put a lot into this story, so I thought it
would be the right thing to do.
________
The day was hot. But what would one normally expect on a hot July day. And not to
mention we are in Texas. The heat can melt fire, if that was at all possible. And if it ever
does become possible, it will become so, in Texas. He shielded his eyes as he glanced up
at the hot sun. "Damn it's hot." He muttered quietly. He was outside washing his new
black Corvette. It was his day off from the glamorous world of professional wrestling, and
he decided to do something normal for a change. He was going to wash his car.
His pants were splattered with water and soap suds. He had long since shed his black
tanktop and he was starting to feel the tingle on his back. He knew he'd probably get a
sunburn. It didn't really bother him. What bothered him was this damn little dent on his
new car. "Where the fuck did that come from?" He cursed the invisible reason. "Must've
hit a rock." It's something everyone says from time to time. You find a dent on your car.
And instead of fessing up and saying 'you' must've dented your own car, you blame it on
running over a rock. A small little rock was shot from your tire and somehow the wind
carried up over your car, causing it to dent your hood.
Right.
He began doing what everyone does in this situation, he began trying to scrub the dent off.
We all know if you truly believe you can scrub something hard enough, it'll come off.
Right?
Wrong again.
"Why the hell is this not coming off." He told himself. The voice in his mind was already
calling him an idiot. So his outside persona decided to do it too. "You're an idiot." He
stopped scrubbing and scratched his head. He had the sudden feeling of dejah vu. He
decided to rinse the car off one more time before he started the task of waxing. He hadn't
decided how many times he'd wax his car, probably as long as it took before he could see
him self in it. He was spraying the tires when he heard a soft ring. He turned toward the
noise and walked over to grab the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hello."
"Um, can I help you?"
"Yes, would you like a subscription to.."
-click-
He laughed and tossed his cordless phone back on the grass. He didn't have time for any
magazines and what-not. His job was on the go so often he barely came home. He loved it
when they did shows in Texas, it meant he'd get to stop by his house. He loved his house.
It had been his father's, it was left to him in the will. He shook his head and reached up to
wipe the sweat of his brow. Instead he wiped the soapsuds on his arm all over his face.
"Damnit."
He started laughing at what the scene must look like to the neighbors. Here he is, a big six
foot six inch pro wrestler standing out in front of his house with soap suds all over his
face. He stopped laughing and turned to go back into the house, before he reached the
doorway he remembered the phone and ran back to get it. it suddenly started ringing.
"Yes Miss Cleo, my psychic powers are working today." He said laughingly to himself.
"Hello."
"Hey, it's me, what are you doing?"
"Washing Sasha."
"You named your car after your ex girlfriend."
"She's only my ex due to unfortunate circumstances."
"Right, like she dumped your ass.
"Exactly."
"So you going to look her up while you're off?"
"Maybe."
"Yeah, good luck with that buddy."
"Thanks, later."
"Bye."
John Layfield laughed as he hung up the phone. He took one last look at his car before
walking inside. "It's too damn hot to be outside right now." He mumbled as he shut the
door.
John walked over to his comfy leather sofa and sat down. He hasn't talked to Sasha in so
long. He didn't even know where to start. They'd been high school sweethearts. She knew
he loved wrestling. But neither of them were aware of how much of a pull it would be on
their relationship. Five years ago was when they broke it off. Or when 'she' broke his
heart. Maybe now that he was back home she could take him back. And forgive the man
he once was, and forget who he has to be on screen. This new man that runs his life and
drove away her's. This damn Bradshaw.
_________
TBC
Author: Undertaker's Diva -and- Hunter's Goddess
Rating: R
Summary: He's one hell of a wrestler. One hell of a fighter. And this is my attempt at one
hell of a story.
Disclaimer: I don't own the wrestler mentioned in this story, I don't own his character, or
any other's that might be mentioned with in this story. All rights belong to Vince
McMahon, the WWFE, and Titan Sports. I know you are probably wondering why I'm
being so professional, well, I'm going to try and put a lot into this story, so I thought it
would be the right thing to do.
________
The day was hot. But what would one normally expect on a hot July day. And not to
mention we are in Texas. The heat can melt fire, if that was at all possible. And if it ever
does become possible, it will become so, in Texas. He shielded his eyes as he glanced up
at the hot sun. "Damn it's hot." He muttered quietly. He was outside washing his new
black Corvette. It was his day off from the glamorous world of professional wrestling, and
he decided to do something normal for a change. He was going to wash his car.
His pants were splattered with water and soap suds. He had long since shed his black
tanktop and he was starting to feel the tingle on his back. He knew he'd probably get a
sunburn. It didn't really bother him. What bothered him was this damn little dent on his
new car. "Where the fuck did that come from?" He cursed the invisible reason. "Must've
hit a rock." It's something everyone says from time to time. You find a dent on your car.
And instead of fessing up and saying 'you' must've dented your own car, you blame it on
running over a rock. A small little rock was shot from your tire and somehow the wind
carried up over your car, causing it to dent your hood.
Right.
He began doing what everyone does in this situation, he began trying to scrub the dent off.
We all know if you truly believe you can scrub something hard enough, it'll come off.
Right?
Wrong again.
"Why the hell is this not coming off." He told himself. The voice in his mind was already
calling him an idiot. So his outside persona decided to do it too. "You're an idiot." He
stopped scrubbing and scratched his head. He had the sudden feeling of dejah vu. He
decided to rinse the car off one more time before he started the task of waxing. He hadn't
decided how many times he'd wax his car, probably as long as it took before he could see
him self in it. He was spraying the tires when he heard a soft ring. He turned toward the
noise and walked over to grab the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hello."
"Um, can I help you?"
"Yes, would you like a subscription to.."
-click-
He laughed and tossed his cordless phone back on the grass. He didn't have time for any
magazines and what-not. His job was on the go so often he barely came home. He loved it
when they did shows in Texas, it meant he'd get to stop by his house. He loved his house.
It had been his father's, it was left to him in the will. He shook his head and reached up to
wipe the sweat of his brow. Instead he wiped the soapsuds on his arm all over his face.
"Damnit."
He started laughing at what the scene must look like to the neighbors. Here he is, a big six
foot six inch pro wrestler standing out in front of his house with soap suds all over his
face. He stopped laughing and turned to go back into the house, before he reached the
doorway he remembered the phone and ran back to get it. it suddenly started ringing.
"Yes Miss Cleo, my psychic powers are working today." He said laughingly to himself.
"Hello."
"Hey, it's me, what are you doing?"
"Washing Sasha."
"You named your car after your ex girlfriend."
"She's only my ex due to unfortunate circumstances."
"Right, like she dumped your ass.
"Exactly."
"So you going to look her up while you're off?"
"Maybe."
"Yeah, good luck with that buddy."
"Thanks, later."
"Bye."
John Layfield laughed as he hung up the phone. He took one last look at his car before
walking inside. "It's too damn hot to be outside right now." He mumbled as he shut the
door.
John walked over to his comfy leather sofa and sat down. He hasn't talked to Sasha in so
long. He didn't even know where to start. They'd been high school sweethearts. She knew
he loved wrestling. But neither of them were aware of how much of a pull it would be on
their relationship. Five years ago was when they broke it off. Or when 'she' broke his
heart. Maybe now that he was back home she could take him back. And forgive the man
he once was, and forget who he has to be on screen. This new man that runs his life and
drove away her's. This damn Bradshaw.
_________
TBC
