Disclaimer: I own nothing and in no way am I affiliated with the WWE. If I was, I would make Cena and Punk share a bus, locker rooms, rental cars, media appearances, and buy them plane tickets to seats that were side by side. A little matchmaking never hurt anyone.
"And that's your seven day forecast. In breaking news, two of World Wrestling's Entertainment's top sports entertainers, the beloved John Cena and the rebellious CM Punk, have been involved in a plane crash on their way to a wrestling tour in Japan. The plane they were on disappeared from radar about six hours into the twelve hour flight to Japan and haven't been seen or heard from since. The United States Coastguard and Japanese officials have begun a search for the two missing men, but with so little data on the crash, Coastguard officials have likened the search to trying to find a needle in a haystack, if the men are even still alive. We'll keep you informed on any new information. Now, we go to South Carolina for an interesting story…."
Liz Cena happily sipped her morning coffee as she watched the best news she had ever seen in her life. John was officially out of her life forever but not his oodles and oodles of money.
Hearing her cellphone ring, Liz blindly reached for her cellphone and looked to see who was calling. It was her partner in crime. "You are such a genius, I could kiss you right now." She said, beaming into the phone.
"I think I'll pass. When am I going to get my money?" The man's voice was gruff and serious.
Liz let out a bark of laughter. "Now you know that I'm going to have the play the grieving widow for a few weeks before I have him declared legally dead, which will give me access to his money. I'll pay you as soon as I get the money."
"You better or you'll regret it." The man said threateningly.
She just rolled her eyes. "Really? What can you do to me, that wouldn't also hurt yourself?"
The man growled into the phone. She was so sure of herself, but didn't realize how easy it is to fall from such heights. "Oh, you would be surprised. Just get me my money." With that the man hung up on her.
Liz harrumphed to herself and rolled her eyes again. His empty threats didn't scare her. She had him by the balls and he knew it. She really didn't need to pay him because the job was already done and what could he do to make her pay him? Absolutely nothing. Liz smiled to herself and then turned her attention back to the morning news and her coffee cup.
Punk was still shaking in anger minutes after Cena had left the cabin. Who was he to call him a skinny fatass? He works out so much harder than Cena and watches everything he puts into his body. Punk had seen the proof in Cena's fridge that he didn't watch everything he ate. The Ben and Jerry's ice cream in Cena's freezer had stared back at him almost tauntingly. That was the moment that his dislike for Cena had turned into full-blown hate.
Admittedly, hating someone over the fact that they could eat ice cream and still look utterly fuckable was a little petty, but the ice cream was just the straw that broke the camel's back. There were a lot more reasons why Punk hated Cena.
When Punk first came to the WWE, he had his best friend Colt with him. For some reason, Cena had treated Colt like he was below him. Cena basically ignored Colt most of the time, but when he didn't, he glared at him almost as if he wanted him to burst into flames. Colt had not done anything to Cena to warrant such treatment and the strong loyalty that Punk had for his friend caused dislike to form toward Cena.
After a while, Colt was released from the WWE and Punk was left all by himself. He had been all alone and he had been easily persuaded to come to a party on Cena's bus. That's where he had seen the fridge and learned more interesting information. John had lobbied for Colt's release.
He had been so angry and he still was that Cena had done that for no reason. Colt had never been anything but nice to Cena even when he was being treated nastily.
Punk honestly thought that he had felt threatened by Colt. Colt had more wrestling talent in this little toe than Cena had in his whole body. If Colt had been given the opportunity, Punk knew that he would have replaced Cena as the top face in the company and Cena didn't want to give up his spotlight.
Every time Punk was reminded that Colt still had to struggle sometimes to make ends meet, his hate for Cena only deepened. He wanted his friend to have the same success he enjoyed and not have to worry about making rent or paying his car payment. It was all Cena's fault.
Punk's thoughts were interrupted by his stomach growling loudly at him. He was hungry, but he didn't want to move to go get food. Every time he sat up or walked, Punk's wound seared in pain. It wasn't like any pain he had ever felt before. The scab over the wound pulled painfully with every movement of his body and stung painfully like a paper cut but a million times more intense. In short, he was in the most pain he had ever been in in his entire life, even more than when he had fractured his skull.
All of a sudden, he was filled with a strong feeling of anxiety and dread. It was like that feeling that you get when you hear screeching tires and look in the rearview mirror to see that you're about to be hit. He didn't understand why he was feeling this way, but something was wrong, very wrong.
Ignoring his pain, Punk slowly sat up and looked around the cabin. Everything looked fine until his eyes landed on the gun propped up against the doorframe. That dumbass had forgotten the gun and who knows where the hell he went off to on this stupid island.
"Shit," Punk said under his breath. In his current condition, he wouldn't be able to survive this island without John. That hurt his pride in the deepest way, but it was very true. The anxious feeling only became more intense. Punk felt like he was going to jump out of his skin if he didn't get up and do something soon.
Not even thinking, Punk stood up and walked over to the door. Looking out, he searched for any sign of John nearby, but came up with nothing. His heart was pounding in his throat and his stomach felt as if it dropped out of his body. Something felt wrong. What? He didn't really know.
Acting purely on instinct, Punk picked up the gun and walked out of the cabin. His hip protested in pain, but he ignored it. Not knowing in which direction to head, Punk just walked where he felt led to. He had been walking for a while when he heard a deep growl and then he saw John sitting by a pond.
Punk was about to say something to John when he heard another growl. He stopped himself and looked around for the source of the growling. Upon finding the source, Punk felt his blood run cold.
A large cat, about the size of a panther, was crouched behind John; looking like it was ready to pounce.
Punk watched in horror as John slowly turned his head and met eyes with his. Punk saw surprise flash through John's eyes before terror took over again. John held his eyes and tried to communicate through his eyes, but Punk wasn't getting it. Another growl drew Punk's eyes from John's. The cat was slowing inching its way toward John. This was bad and it just kept getting worse.
Punk had a huge decision to make. Should he let John die from being mauled by a cat and be rid of him forever and possibly die himself without John's help or kill the cat and save John and possibly himself. Punk chewed on his lip ring and shifted his gaze to meet John's. When their eyes met, he realized that he couldn't let John die. He didn't know why but he couldn't let it happen.
Picking up the gun, Punk's side protested in stinging pain. He stifled the pained groan and leveled the rifle at the advancing cat. Aiming for the skull, Punk squeezed the trigger and the gun fired with a loud report. The cat dropped dead almost instantly.
Punk didn't realize he had been so tense and frightened until he relaxed. His knees gave out right from under him and he collapsed in a heap. His breathe was coming in short, rapid pants as he pressed his hand into his hip to try and lessen the pain.
As soon as Punk shot the cat, John jumped up from where he had been sitting and rushed toward Punk. Placing his hands on Punk's shivering shoulders, John asked if he was okay. Punk looked up at John with a blank stare, his breath still coming in quick pants.
Overcome with relief and thanks, John dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms tightly around Punk. He relished the feeling of touching Punk for the first time outside of the ring for a few moments, but then he felt Punk's muscle tense beneath his arms.
Feeling John's hot breath against his neck caused Punk to come back to himself. It felt nice being in John's arms, more than he wanted to admit. That thought caused Punk to tense in shock.
John eased him out of his hold and stood up. He extended his hand out for Punk to take to be able to get off the ground. With his wound, Punk would probably have difficulty getting up. His thought was confirmed when Punk refused his offered hand and struggled to his feet on his own.
Upon seeing Punk raise the gun and shoot the cat, John thought that Punk had forgiven and accepted him, but from the nasty sneer on Punk's face, John could see that he had been very wrong. Nothing had changed between them, as much as he wanted it to be different.
Disappointment flooded through John's body and he had to turn back toward the pond to keep Punk from seeing it in his eyes. Straightening his shoulders, John got back to business. "I'm going to grab the cat and bring it back to the cabin. If we can find a way to preserve the meat, we'll be able to live off of it for a week or two." John walked over to the carcass and hoisted it over his shoulders. He walked past Punk, turned and then raised an eyebrow as if to ask if he was coming.
Gingerly to save himself some pain from his injury, Punk picked up the rifle from where it had dropped when he collapsed and followed John back to the cabin. He couldn't believe that ogre! He had just saved him from a very painful death and had he even thanked him? Of course not! He was John freaking Cena, so of course he would be obligated to save his stupid ass. And then he had the audacity to put his grubby hands on him! He should have let that poor cat eat him.
Punk was pulled from his seething thoughts when they arrived back at the cabin. John hauled the carcass off of his shoulders and placed it on the ground before sitting down in front of it. He turned his head back to Punk and asked, "Will you get me a knife so I can dress this thing?"
Grunting an affirmative, Punk limped into the cabin and grabbed a knife from the cabinet. He had to fight the urge to throw it at John and hope it hit him straight in the heart.
As soon as John had knife in hand, he opened the cat and began to pull out all kinds of nasty things that Punk did not want, nor need, to see. He felt his stomach twist painfully at the sight.
Retreating to the cabin, Punk grabbed a bottle of water and then carefully sat down on his cot. His wound was stinging like a bitch. Pulling his shorts down, Punk saw little dots of red on his bandages, heralding that his wound had reopened. 'Oh well, it's not a big deal,' Punk thought to himself before taking a sip of water from the bottle.
John entered the cabin a few minutes later covered in blood and other unmentionables. He smelled, too.
Punk wrinkled his nose as he watched John take one of the blankets out of a cabinet and use it to wipe off his hands. He then grabbed another and his toiletries from his suitcase before turning to leave.
"I'm going to go and get cleaned up. I need to take the gun with me, so please stay in the cabin until I get back. When I come back, we'll find some way to make a sign or something so anyone who passes knows that we're here."
Punk rolled his eyes and grumpily said, "Yes, mother," as John walked out of the cabin.
John heard it, but he chose not to acknowledge the comment. He had already flown off the handle once today and he had enough damage control to deal with from that outburst.
After reaching the beach, John divested him of his dirty clothes and then waded into the ocean, holding his shampoo and body wash above the water. When the water was waist high, John placed his stuff on a nearby rock and then ducked underwater to get completely wet.
While washing the grime from his hair and body, John wondered how they were going to make something that would show that they were here. It was the single most important thing for their survival. Sure, John could keep them both alive for a while, but he was pretty sure that there weren't enough resources on this island to keep them alive on this island for the rest of their lives. They could try to build a raft and leave the island, but it was a suicidal gamble that John was not willing to take.
Once he was clean, John walked out of the water and grabbed the blanket he had brought with him to dry off. That's when he realized that he hadn't brought any clean clothes with him and he was not putting those nasty ones back on.
Shrugging to himself, John wrapped the blanket around his waist and then headed back to the cabin.
I didn't really want to stop right here, but I knew that if I continued, this chapter would huge. Sorry this wasn't very exciting, but I'm weaving a web for exciting and emotional things to come ;) so bear with me!
I've noticed that I received a lot less reviews on the last two chapters compared to the first. It's really discouraging because I feel like I'm not writing good enough chapters for readers to feel moved to review. Do you feel like I should continue to post this or not?