A/N: Sorry guys, life got ahead of me again. I really did want to post this Sunday, but it just didn't end up working out. Also, I wrote this chapter before Jericho's shoot last night on Raw, so I'm gonna pretend for the sake of the story that Amber didn't know about Punk's past. Maybe she didn't see that episode or something. I know, there are some holes there, but I didn't want to rewrite the chapter, and couldn't find a tactful way of her incorporating that into a conversation. So I decided to leave it as is. Especially since I'm way too angry at Jericho and the entire WWE right now to deal with that. On a happier note, thank you to my one loyal reviewer StephNexus. Everyone else: please keep the reviews coming! They motivate me to write.
After looking up and down the street to no avail, I did a quick web search on my phone, finding out that there was a shopping center a few tenths of a mile from the hotel, and that it was pretty much a straight shot to get there.
I walked without hurrying, enjoying the fresh air and the freedom of moving under my own power. When I got there, I decided to get breakfast before doing anything else, acquiring a breakfast sandwich and a coffee and sitting down at one of the food court tables. Luckily it was early enough in the morning that the tables hadn't become disgusting yet.
I ended up taking the majority of the coffee with me, because I'd finished the sandwich and didn't feel like sitting anymore. I'd done plenty of that on the bus ride. Then I walked around until I found a directory which pointed me in the direction of my destination: Hot Topic.
I found a new pair of gloves that were almost identical to the ones I'd had, and ended up looking around for a while longer. I'd forgotten how much I loved the store. When the store clerk finally rang me up, I had two new shirts, a necklace, and the gloves. But I figured I'd earned the right to splurge a little, seeing as how I hadn't gone shopping in several months for anything besides groceries.
When I left the mall, I sent Phil a text. On my way—Amber
My phone buzzed. OK. I have your luggage in my room. Didn't want anyone to get any funny ideas—Punk
Something to look forward to, I thought, before replying. Thanks. See you soon—Amber. When I got close to the hotel, I donned the new gloves. Phil's jacket covered everything it needed to, but I wanted the extra security. I'd taken enough risks in the past twelve hours to last me a lifetime.
By the time I got back to the hotel, the fans had dispersed (or had been dispersed, I wasn't sure) so I was able to use the more accessible front entrance, allowing me to get upstairs more quickly than when I left. I knocked on Phil's door, and he opened it, making a ridiculous face at me when he did. I chuckled, and he rolled my bags out the door. "Jesus. What the fuck do you have in here, rocks?"
I smirked. "Yep. Boulders, to be precise."
"I might have known." He glanced down at my gloved hands as I shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back to him with my thanks. "I see you triumphed over the mall."
I shuddered dramatically. "It tried to eat me. But yes, I got out alive, barely. Anyway, I desperately need a shower and a change of clothes—"
He sniffed the air. "I concur," he said, a look of disgust on his face. Then he snickered.
I punched him. "You're a dick, you know that?"
"Yep" he quipped in response.
"ANYWAY," I drew the word out pointedly, "Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was gonna suggest we head out to the gym in an hour."
He laughed and agreed, shutting the door and leaving me to drag my luggage down the hall to my room.
I showered for a long time, letting the hot water work out at least some of the tension in my muscles. When I finally coaxed myself out from under the stream, I wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror to examine the damage done by yeserday's chair shot. Nearly my entire back was covered in black and blue splotches. Ah well, it goes with the territory. I reminded myself. I'd had worse.
Then I threw my hair back and put on my new Slipknot shirt and a pair of yoga pants. I wasn't really in the mood to deal with wrestling gear, and I wasn't far enough removed from yesterday's incident to be able to reconcile with changing in public. I didn't look like much of a wrestler, but it would work for a sparring session. Then I went over to Phil's room, knocking on the door. "Ready?" I asked.
He nodded, hauling his bag with him. "Let's do this."
When we got to the gym—some hole in the wall wrestling facility with an attached Planet Fitness—the ring was already occupied by Wade Barrett and Cody Rhodes, so we worked out for a while first. When they finally—and I do mean finally, they sat chatting in the ring for a good twenty minutes after they were done fighting—vacated the ring, we had been alternating between strength and cardio for a little over an hour. After a quick water break, we climbed into the ring.
We fought on and on without a decision for over an hour. When we hit the eighty minute mark, we were both panting on the ground, drenched in sweat. "Draw?" I choked out between shallow breaths.
"Sure" he replied. "That was the best fucking match I've had since Bryan turned into a jackass."
"That was the best match I've had, ever." I responded. "Just reminds me how much I hate fighting girls. Or fighting men who fight like girls, which is a lot of them."
He laughed at that, then turned contemplative. "You know, you've got enough skill that you really could be fighting the guys."
"Yeah, but McMahon has rules about that… and I'm fine with that. For now."
Phil raised an eyebrow. "For now?"
"Oh I'm hoping to raise some hell eventually, but not until I make a name for myself" I hedged. In reality, I had no solid plans whatsoever yet, but I did want to end up in coed matches eventually, just for the challenge. But like I said, I'd need to work my way up through the women's roster first.
He shook his head at me as we finally summoned enough energy to roll out of the ring. "Mystery wrapped in a goddamn enigma. You're gonna steamroll right over this company, aren't you?"
"Oh fuck yes. That's the goal." He laughed, and we made our way out to the car. When we got inside, it was 2pm. "Plans for the rest of the day?" I asked casually, not having any frigging idea how I was gonna pass my evening.
He sighed, starting the car. "I think I'm on drunk duty. Nearly the entire Raw roster is going clubbing, and somebody's gotta make sure no one does anything too stupid. And that pretty much always falls to me since I don't drink anyway."
"Ugh" I rolled my eyes. "Gotta love having to parent your drunken, belligerent coworkers."
"Sounds like you speak from experience," he noted.
"Ohh yeah. I'm no stranger to that role either." I remarked, remembering my days in FCW where pretty much every weekend was spent playing designated driver for people who I didn't even like.
"Straightedge?" he asked, "or do you just end up going out with a bunch of schmucks?"
I laughed. "Straightedge. Well… both, actually."
"Wanna come along?" he offered. "It'd be nice to have some sane company."
I snorted. "Sane? Me?"
"Ah, good point. Sober, then." He quipped.
"I'd punch you," I remarked, "but considering you're driving, I'd rather not risk my own life in the process."
"I win." He smirked. "But seriously, you want to come along later? It would be nice to hang out with someone who wasn't drunk."
I could tell from the tone in his voice that he genuinely wanted me to come. I couldn't blame him. Sitting alone in a bar watching a bunch of other people drink themselves into stupidity isn't the least bit enjoyable. At least if someone else is there you can carry on an intelligent conversation. "Sure," I smiled. "It's not like I've got any plans. I guess I can tolerate your presence for a while longer."
He threw one hand over his heart as if I'd just stabbed him. "Oh that hurts."
"Yeah yeah," I smirked at him. "Keep your hands on the wheel there buddy. You're not gonna be any good as a designated driver if you kill us first."
With that we pulled into the parking lot, agreeing to meet up around six to head to the club. Since I had a little less than four hours to kill, I decided to make use of the hotel laundry machines. Then I slipped out of my gym gear and cleaned up a bit, washing off the copious amounts of sweat that had accumulated from the intense workout earlier. I was done in plenty of time to put my laundry in the dryer without having to worry about some asshole throwing them on the ground. Then there was nothing left to do but wait. I decided not to bother getting ready yet, I still had three hours and at most it would take twenty minutes. Instead I settled in to watch a marathon of Law and Order: SVU.
I was able to really get into the plots this time, and was interrupted only by my phone's alarm going off, reminding me to collect my laundry.
When 5:30 rolled around, I sighed and dragged myself off the bed reluctantly. Why the fuck did I agree to this again? I grabbed a pair of grey skinny jeans, a blackshirt with a silver skull and crossbones on it, my leather jacket, and combat boots. Once I was dressed, I threw my hair back in a loose bun, leaving a few loose strands to frame my face, and decided that that would have to be good enough. It was just gonna be a night of collecting drunks, I wasn't really out to impress anyone. Satisfied, I slipped my wallet and keycards in my pocket, and headed down to the lobby.
Despite being a full ten minutes early, Phil was already standing there, wearing dark jeans and a plain black hoodie. He looked me up and down. "Interesting." he commented ambiguously.
"What is?"
"Well…" he hesitated.
I rolled my eyes. "Out with it Punk."
He smirked. "You just aren't really conforming to the normal clubbing look. Most of the women generally wear dresses."
I shrugged. "I don't give a shit. And if I can't fight in it, I don't wear it. Period. Regardless of the stupid unwritten rules that everyone else seems to follow like a fucking herd of sheep."
"Awesome." He said, grinning at me.
"Thanks. Besides, 'dark' works a lot better for me than 'sleezy little whore'. I figure it's better to be yourself. It's a lot more comfortable that way."
"Agreed. I fucking hate conformists anyway. If your only reason for doing something is because everyone else is doing it, there's something seriously fucking wrong with you." We chuckled, then walked to the car. "By the way," he asked, once we were inside, "do you drive?"
"Yep," I responded. "Why, is the Straightedge Superstar planning on deviating from the lifestyle?"
He laughed at my thick sarcasm. "Nope, just wondering in case we need to drive more than three people back. After a point I really don't trust people in a cab."
"Fair enough." There were the coherent drunks who knew enough about what was going on, then there were the catatonic drunks who didn't even know their own fucking name. The former you could coax into a cab and send on their way. The latter had to be escorted straight to their bed, because that was the only way they were gonna get there.
We arrived at the bar, parking out front. "Here we go," I muttered.
Only a few members of the roster were there when we first arrived. "Oh lovely, it's gonna be a late night." Phil groaned, seeing the emptiness of the club and realizing that the true partiers wouldn't even kick off until much later than we'd hoped.
"Great." I said sarcastically. "Well, let's get a table. If we're gonna make a night of it we might as well be comfortable. Maybe we can have some fun at least."
We did, and ordered a massive plate of nachos and two Pepsis. "So, what made you decide to be Straightedge?" I asked casually as we waited for our food.
He shrugged. "I was pretty much born this way. My dad was a lot like your mom" he confessed quietly, "so I never really saw the point of taking away your control and changing yourself into another person. Same for you?"
"Yeah essentially," I responded. "I always vowed not to turn into my mother, so I figured the best way to ensure that would be to stay away from substances altogether. Not to mention I've never been able to pinpoint a moment in my life where it would be better to not have a clear head, or to relinquish control of your body and mind. I have to admit though, I stole the term from you."
"Phrase theif." he laughed.
"Yep," I admitted. "I shamelessly stole your word. What a fiend!"
He raised his eyebrows in an expression that was just so CM Punk that I couldn't help but crack up. "Well at least you admitted to… what?"
I couldn't stop laughing. "Oh, nothing."
"Ugh. Women." He replied, rolling his eyes.
"Uhuh." I didn't get to respond further because our food arrived. The next few minutes were spent in silence as we munched on the surprisingly good nachos. By the time the food had disappeared, about half the roster was there, and they were already starting to kick off, drinking and dancing to the absurdly loud music of the club. Everyone was happy to see Phil, or at least they seemed to be when they walked in.
"The funny thing is, they'll hate me later. No one likes the chaperone." he remarked.
While everyone else just said a quick "hi" to us and went about their business, Beth Pheonix ended up pulling a chair up to our table and staying for a while. She seemed eager to meet me, and even more eager to chat with Phil.
"Well, I have to say it's quite refreshing to see a new diva who isn't a little twig who gave up on modeling and decided to join WWE instead." she started, after making her completely unnecessary introduction. "I think you'd be a good fit for the Divas of Doom, actually. Of course, it would be on a trial basis until you prove yourself a bit more, but I think we could form a beneficial partnership for both of us. After all, we are trying to accomplish the same goals."
Yeah, to eliminate people like you I thought harshly. Meanwhile, both Phil and Beth stared at me expectantly, waiting to hear my response. I thought it out quickly. "Well," I said casually, "we have a tag team match against the Bellas on Raw Monday, right?" Beth nodded. "Then let's see how that goes. I'll give you my answer after the match for the entire WWE universe to hear." I already knew exactly what I was going to do, but I now I needed to mislead her a bit so she didn't see it coming. My plan would work a lot better that way. "Besides, a public alliance formation would really shake up the show. The crowd's gonna love it." The excitement in my voice was genuine, but it was not caused by looking forward to allying with Beth. Quite the opposite.
Beth smiled, falling right into the arms of my plan. "Awesome. It'll be great to have you along for the ride New Girl." I neglected to correct her false assumption that I'd just agreed to join with her. I had her right where I wanted her.
She turned away from me and chatted with Phil for a while. She was very animated, while he just seemed bored. I found it kind of odd that she wasn't picking up on body language that I found blatantly obvious after only knowing the man for about a week, but said nothing. I could have been reading the situation wrong, and even if I wasn't, I knew nothing about the dynamic between the two of them. Not to mention, it was absolutely none of my fucking business. However, when she finally left, I had to ask the question that was at the forefront of my mind. "Are you guys going out or something?"
He shook his head. "We have less than nothing in common," he explained. "Aside from wrestling, of course."
"Then why exactly did you just let her talk your ear off?" I asked, thoroughly confused.
Shrugging, he ansered. "I don't know. I guess because I try not to be a complete dick all the time. Besides, I've burned a lot of bridges, and before you came along I didn't really talk to much of anyone for any amount of time. Beth's alright, she's less of a ditz than most of the women, and less of a jackass than most of the men. Are you really gonna ally with her though?"
"I'm gonna give the WWE universe something to remember me by on my TV debut" I answered cryptically. I'd found out via email this morning that I would in fact be on the live Raw show this Monday, and Beth's offer of an alliance gave me the perfect opening I'd been looking for to make a memorable entrance into the WWE. I didn't mind the idea of telling Phil was the endgame was, but not in the middle of the bar where the walls have ears and the woman in question could be anywhere in the darkness of the room. Besides, it would make an interesting surprise.
"This falls under the 'rasing hell' category, doesn't it?"
I laughed. "I'm just gonna enter with a bang, one way or another. Gotta make an impression somehow."
The patented 'Punk smirk' on his face said it all. "I have no doubt you'll do just that." He looked around at the crowd. "Well, that seems like just about everyone."
I looked around as well. "Wait, didn't you say the entire roster?" The club was filling up, but not nearly enough to represent all of Raw.
"I should have been more specific." He answered. "These are the regulars. Plenty of people don't come out on 'group outings'. The biggest assholes tend to have their own parties, unless they have business with the divas, because nearly all of them come out every time." He nodded his head in the direction of a corner where, if I strained my eyes against the dark haze that was the club lighting, I could see Alberto Del Rio with both Bellas in his lap.
I made a retching sound, and Phil laughed. "Yeah, that about sums it up."
It was the first time I'd seen the women since yesterday. "I have half a mind to go over there and demand that they give me my shit back, but chances are they already burned it, and besides, women with that little self respect tend to make me lose my lunch, and I have a feeling Del Rio wouldn't enjoy getting puked on."
"I would actually pay to see that." Phil answered, chuckling at the image of his rival's very expensive looking suit covered in sick.
I laughed. "I think a lot of people would, but as a wise jackass once told me, 'I try not to be a complete dick all the time.'" I looked around at the crowd and then back at my companion. "Fuck this shit." I declared suddenly. "Let's dance."
Phil looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Er… what?"
"Playing chaperone doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves. And besides, I think this is the one club I've been to where the music doesn't absolutely suck." I referenced the hardcore rock pouring in through the stereo.
The music and hours of pent up aggression and days of pent up excitement combined and hit me in a wave of ecstasy and inhibition that no drug could provide.
He laughed. "CM Punk doesn't dance. I have a reputation to uphold."
I glared at him mockingly. "What's the matter? Afraid of getting made fun of?" I taunted.
That dragged him out of his chair. "What the hell. Why not?"
We made it through one song before fighting our way back to the table. The club was way too full, we were both horrible dancers, and the smell of alcohol on the floor was absolutely sickening. "Okay," I admitted, "that was a fucking bad idea. But you gotta admit, it was fun, aside from the massive crowd of assholes."
Laughing, he responded. "Never. Again. I can't believe I let you talk me into that."
"Agreed." We shook on it, smiling. "Well, at that was one for the books."
"If there's a book of absolute fucking fails, then yes. Otherwise, that never happened." He smirked.
The wave of adrenaline had worn off, and I was content to sit back and chat, which we did for the next hour or so while watching the crowd.
A/N: Well, the two versions of the story are officially caught up. And I know this chapter might seem like a complete filler, but a lot of seemingly small things that happened here are going to become very relevant in chapters to come. So stay tuned, I promise this was more important than it seemed. And also, please review!
