I don't owe anything or anyone of WWE. I owe Braeden. Thank you so much for the reviews. This for you rkolove, my beta-reader.
I couldn't believe it. It was raining - in Miami. And it was raining hard. The drops clattered against the window-pane. It sounded like a whole orchestra. When the raindrops hit the glass they shattered into millions of small pieces. They pulled together again into bigger drops until they were heavy enough to run slowly down at the pane. I don't know how long I watched this spectacle.
I turned around and looked over to the small couch. My crutches leant against the armrest. My gaze fell on the magazines that lay on the table. I hobbled over to the couch, took one of the magazines and flipped quickly through the pages like I had done a few times already that day. I put the magazine back again and glanced at my laptop that lay at the foot of the bed. I lay back on the bed again. I turned on my laptop and checked my emails. Nothing new. No surprise. I had checked them 20 minutes ago. I grabbed my iPod and put the ear phones in. I pressed 'play'. Nothing happened. I looked at it and saw what was wrong. I shifted the unlock button and pressed 'play' again. Nothing happened. I sighed. The battery was empty. I connected my iPod with the laptop and turned on the TV. I flicked through the channels. Once. Twice. So many channels and nothing to watch. I stuck on Sesame Street but I already knew the letter 'L'.
'Oohh, ooohhhh' The sound came from my laptop: ICQ telling me that I'd received a message.
Adam1973 Hey, you're there?
Mulder'sScully Right here
Adam1973 Time to call?
Mulder'sScully Hey, that's my question :-p
Adam1973 ;-) You call!
I switched from ICQ to the video call program and picked Adam's contact. I squirmed on my stomach, trying to find a more comfortable position. A few second's later, the channel was opened and I saw Adam on the screen. His hair was bounded together to a little ponytail and he wore his typical shirt combination which I liked so much. He was lying on a bed too, his back leant against the headboard. It looked like he was in hotel room, as usual.
"Hey Brae," he smiled "it's good to see you."
"Hey Adam! Thank you. It's great to see you. How are you?" I tried to take a closer look at him. I recognized the shadows under his beautiful eyes. "You look so tired," I said softly and got the urge to touch him. But all I could touch was the screen.
He smiled and put his fingertips on the screen where mine were. "You know that I used to look like a wreck after one sleepless night. Thank god for the invention of sunglasses. But I'll have a couple of days off after tonight, well two, but that's plenty!"
"Where are you?"
"We're in Chicago, finally. It was a long trip with cancelled flights and endless hours of hanging around. A lot of work during the last days. Flights all over the country. But good for the air-miles account," he explained, until he looked up and scowled. "There's someone at the door. I'll be right back." He stood up and laid his laptop on the bed. The screen was turned towards the wall and all I could see was the empty bed.
"Hey, come in. Brae's on the phone," I heard Adam say.
"I don't want to disturb you," said Jay's familiar voice.
"You don't. I'm sure Brae wants to talk to you too," Adam replied. Jay said something but I couldn't hear it, because he was practically whispering. Adam answered in a similarly low voice. They carried on like this for a while until I heard Jay sigh, as if he'd given up.
"Jay!" I called loudly "I know you're there. I can hear you!" I heard a sound like someone had fallen on the floor and the hotel room flew by until it stopped at Jay's face. He was sitting on the floor in front of the bed.
"Hey hun, how are you?" he asked with a smile.
"Thanks, everything's alright," I answered forcing myself to smile desperate to hide the fact that the first days of rehab were worse than I expected. I didn't want them to know. I saw Adam walking around the hotel room, his legs pass by behind Jay's head. Suddenly they stopped.
"I know that tone," Adam said, suspiciously. Obviously, I had failed.
"The first few days here were a little tough," I admitted. "But everything is alright now!"
The smell of coffee and pancakes filled the air. Breakfast wasn't long ago but the smell was bringing my appetite back. Most of the seats were taken. I stood in the entrance area of the small, cosy café and looked around. All I wanted was a cup of tea.
"What are you looking for?" Randy asked. I wasn't surprised that he was suddenly standing next to me. One of the first things that I'd learnt in rehab was that everything was a little different. There weren't so many people in rehab and there weren't so many places to go, so it was no coincidence to meet someone. It was normal.
"A free place," I answered, still looking around.
He started to look around, too. "There's one over there," he pointed after a few moments at a corner. I didn't see it. I stretched myself up onto my tiptoes and leant a little over to him. My arm touched his. My skin on his. It was warm and smooth. It felt the exactly opposite of what it looked like. I enjoyed the curious but gentle touch before we walked over to the table. He pulled the chair out for me, we sat down and ordered.
"Have you ever been in rehab before?" he asked when we got our order.
"No, never," I answered "I did some sports since I was a child and I had some little injuries like a pulled ligament or a sprained wrist but nothing bad. Nothing what I needed rehab for."
"Sport is murder!" he laughed.
"Yep, definitely!" I chuckled "Why are you here? I mean which injury do you have?"
"A torn muscle."
"Which one?"
"The pectoral muscle."
"Ah, the pec," I thought about this injury. It was a nasty one. You needed surgery and even with that it would take a long time to heal. And then you had to be really careful that it didn't tear again when you started to put weight on it again. It was a typical injury of people who do fight sports like boxing. "How did you do this?"
"Ehr … sport accident!"
We both started to laugh heartily. Tears filled my eyes and were almost running down my cheeks. After we calmed down again we sat there in silence. I had my hands wrapped around my cup and watched how coloured streams from the tea-bag soaked the hot water.
"What are you drinking? It smells so …"
"Wanna taste it?" I didn't wait for his answer and pushed my cup over the table to him.
"Sure!" he said and reached out for it. His hand covered mine. I looked at him and smiled shyly, but I didn't move my hand. He smiled back as his fingertips ran down my fingers to reach the handle. I slowly let go of the cup. He moved it to his mouth and took a sip. He waited a moment and took another sip.
"What is it?" he looked at me. "It tastes sweet but spicy at the same time."
Before I could answer I saw his gaze move. He focused something behind me. I followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at the clock on the wall.
"Damn it!" he cursed and stood up. "Sorry! Gotta go! I'm late," he hurried. I was a little disappointed at his unexpected awakening. I guess it was written all over my face because he looked at me with regret and paused.
"Completely forgot about time," he smiled "Actually I didn't care." And that just made me smile. When he saw my face lighten up again he left. A sigh escaped from me as I watched the puddle of tea at the bottom of my cup. I didn't know why. Suddenly I heard someone clear his throat and a hand was carefully laid on my shoulder. I jumped with fright and almost let my cup fall.
"Sorry Braeden," he laughed in his deep voice.
"Gosh! Randy!" But I wasn't mad with him. I was glad that it was him.
"I thought I had made my presence clear," he still laughed. "I'm really sorry, especially that I don't have that much time right now. Would you like to meet me at the bench this afternoon?"
Randy was already there. He had his laptop on his thighs, busily tapping away. He was sitting in the middle of the bench and his stuff was lying on his right side. When he saw me coming, he took his sunglasses off and smiled invitingly. He closed his laptop and watched me when I just sat myself directly next to him and put my crutches on my left side.
"And have you ever been in rehab before?" I started to continue our earlier conversation.
"Several times," he smirked.
"Several times" I repeated in complete disbelief. I thought about the first time when I met him at the bench. He was so relaxed. I thought now I would know the reason. "That's why you take it so easy," I stated my sudden realization.
"Take it easy?" he asked, obviously unsure what I was talking about. "I don't take it easy. Why do you think that?"
"You just seem to be so relaxed. You seem to kind of enjoy this a little."
"I try to relax for the first few days. I spend a lot of time at work and I travel a lot for my job … "
"What do you do?" I interrupted him.
"I'm a … " he hesitated. "I do … professional sport," he finished.
"You got injured at work!" I concluded.
"Erm … Yes."
I got the feeling that he didn't really want to talk about his job. I completely understood because I didn't want to talk about mine either, but that didn't mean that I wasn't interested. But I left it for now and continued to listen.
"I'm usually surrounded by loads of people and I don't have many days off. So, yeah, in the beginning I try to kind of enjoy rehab and spend some time on my own. I think I've brought about ten books with me that I've bought over the last year and haven't had time to read yet. And I don't even know how many DVD's that I've missed. I just enjoy being a little lazy and sleep as much as I can. That's real luxury for me. But after a few days I lose the interest and I start to feel like I should do something more. And that's the hard part. When you really realize your situation and start to feel … "
He didn't finish his sentence, like he realized on his own what he just said and what was still to come for him here. I thought that he would be used to the procedure of rehab but now I was sure that you'd never get used to it. Especially the mixture of feelings that would run through you during rehab.
He slightly smiled. "It's a little difficult."
I tried to smile, in an attempt to cheer him up. "No, it's not!"
"It's plain to see that you've never been in rehab before. There's gonna be a lot of ups and downs. But it's okay, somehow. It's normal. You'll see!" he sighed.
"And what do I do when I'm having a 'down'?"
"Call me," he smirked.
"Great," I replied ironically. But actually it made sense. "And I'll give you my number," I said seriously.
"That would be cool," he smiled, grabbed his phone and went to hand it to me.
"No." I refused it and took my bag. "I'm old school." I could feel him watching me as I took a felt-tip pen out of my bag. When I turned towards him again he put his phone back and as I moved a little closer he laid his left arm on the back of the bench, so that there was nothing left between us and I moved real close to him.
I held the cap of the pen between my teeth and removed the pen with my right hand. My left hand moved to hold his forearm. I carefully turned his injured arm to write my number on the inside of his forearm. I looked at his tattoos and hesitated. I tapped the pen against my chin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grin. I slowly moved my hand down his forearm to his palm, enjoying the feeling of my fingers sliding over his skin. When I reached his palm I hesitated again. I didn't like to write something into a palm. And I didn't like having something written into my palm. When you start to sweat or still have to work with your hands, the palm is the last place where you want something to be written. I sighed and turned his hand over. The back of his hand would be the perfect place to write my number on. The only thing that I didn't like was that everyone else would be able to see it.
I was still holding his hand as I thought about the possibility in writing my number on the back of his hand. While I was lost in thoughts my fingers started to follow the lines in his palm and caressed them. Suddenly he chuckled and ripped me from my thoughts.
"What are you doing?" he asked but he didn't seem to mind.
I realized what I was doing and glanced at our hands. I enjoyed it too much to caress him to stop immediately. Finally I remembered what I actual wanted to do and with a groan I let go of his hand.
"Just give me your phone," I mumbled still with the cap in my mouth where I put the pen back in. He grinned and handed me his iPhone. I added myself as a new contact. When I was finally done I turned on the cam and turned the phone around. I took the pen out of my mouth and shot a photo of myself. I put the pen back between my teeth and looked at the photo. Satisfied with it, I added it to the contact.
"Done!" I simply mumbled as he took back his phone. But something was strange. His smile was gone and his face had become serious. He eyed my lips with an intense look.
"What about me?" he asked. I didn't know what he meant. I wasn't sure how to react. I looked at him but his eyes didn't move.
"Hold it!" he said and I saw his hand move to the pen. I smirked and held the cap with my teeth. He took the pen and moved his arm from the back of the bench to hold my forearm. His hand was huge; it almost surrounded my arm. But he was so gentle and careful holding it. And his hand felt so good. Like his skin. The soft touch of his hand, caused goose-bumps to form on my forearm, where he wrote his number.
"Thank you!" I said when he was finished and looked at the number on my forearm.
"You're welcome," he smiled as he gave me the pen back. He let go off my arm and laid his back on the top of the bench. I could still feel his touch. I grabbed my phone, looked at his number and started to type it. He rolled his eyes.
"Eh … women's logic!"
"No!" I refused his statement. "That's MY logic!"
A lovely expression came over his face, a mixture of sweetness, cheekiness and something I couldn't quite figure out. "I think I like it," he whispered, as I leant my head on his arm.
