Chapter Seven

Randy Orton

I really doubt that tonight could suck any hard than it already has.

So, back in September, they put me on Raw while they sent John to Europe. After coming back, John told me how they were applying a white boy rapper gimmick to him, thanks in large part to him doing a freestyle on the bus with Chuck Palumbo, Rey Mysterio and Rikishi.

A few hours ago, I had a match against Stevie Richards. Now, here I am, sitting here in the doctor's office with a fucked up shoulder that's going to no doubt sideline me for a few months. Just when I thought I had some kind of momentum going to, and now it's all shot to shit.

My brain went to my dad when I first realized I was hurt; my dad who wore a cast on his arm for three years because he was wrestling so much that he refused to allow it to heal properly. I'm supposed to call Vince when I finally get the hell out of here, whenever that may be. I've already been stuck here for the last three hours, getting poked, prodded and X-rayed. I exhaled; this night could not possibly get any worse.

When the doctor returned, he told me the news that I hoped I wouldn't have to hear. I was going to need surgery; my shoulders are hyper mobile, and I will be sidelined from wrestling for a few months. I could always ignore it, but then I think about my father. Jesus; this is the last thing I need; I was just starting to get a little bit of momentum as a baby face. Now, it's all gone down the drain.

I let the doctor put me in a sling, pretty much telling me not to do anything until I contact a surgeon in the morning. Easier said than done there, Doc. Fucked over does not even begin to describe how I feel.

I left the doctor's office to go call a cab, irate over the bad luck. Hopefully they wouldn't release me while I was injured. Family lineage only goes so far when you aren't around to pull your weight. "Goddamn it," I cursed, trying my damnedest to keep my anger in check when every nerve and fibre of my being wanted to create the biggest scene.

She was waiting for me in the middle of the waiting room, dozed off, looking like an angel. I couldn't believe it; she came to pick me up. My heart was warmed by the friendly gesture she was making. I approached her and sat down beside her. She stirred, eyes opening to rest on me. "You're out? What did the doctor say?"

"When did you get here?"

"As soon as the show ended. I thought since you left in an ambulance you were going to need a ride to get back to the hotel."

"That's thoughtful. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"So what did the doctor say?"

"I'm going need surgery and a few months off."

"Jeez, Randy. I'm sorry to hear that. Just do what the doctors and Vince tell you and I'm sure you'll heal up that much faster." We stood to our feet and began making our way out of the hospital.

"Yeah…and if Vince tells me to work through it?" She scoffed.

"It's a different era than your father's, Randy. I can't see that happening. Worst case scenario, though, they'll figure something out to keep you on TV so the fans don't forget."

"I hope you're right. Because I'd sure feel like everything is a waste of time if that happened."

"Nothing is ever a waste of time, Randy. Everything will even out, injury or not," she informed me. Sometimes I hated her stupid, naïve optimism, but tonight, I appreciated it. One of us had to be happy, and it sure in the hell wasn't going to be me.

John Cena

I had no idea that the trip to Europe was going to be such a life-changing experience for me. It feels like now, after less than six months in the biggest professional wrestling organization in the world, that everything is falling into place for me, and I couldn't be happier.

Somebody in the front office, sitting at the front of the bus had heard me freestyling with a few of the guys at the back of the bus for fun while we were traveling from one town to another. Just a way to kill the time. Next thing I know, this is my gimmick. This is what's going to set me apart from everybody else, and this is what I need to run with and make work. And I think I can do it. I know I can do it; after all, I've been freestyle rapping for years with my friends.

Randy moved out a few months back, just before they put him on Raw. Headed back to St. Louis to be close to his family. Can't say that I blame him. It's been a bit hard for Amberlea to take, but we still live within a few hours from him, so she's not complaining too much about it. We still try and get together when our schedules manage to clash, which has gotten a bit harder since we got called up. She's kind of lucky now that she's not the only one on Raw, that Randy's at least there with her.

So far, so good in terms of my rap gimmick. The crowd doesn't seem to care for it too much, but I know if I work harder I'll make them want to see me get their asses kicked. That's what it's like to be a heel.

My tag team partner Rico Constantino got called up here; playing a flamboyant manager of sorts to Billy and Chuck before turning on them to join up with this Three Minute Warning tag team. I shudder to think that I would be the one to wear some of the stuff he's wearing. Sure, I'm okay with looking completely and utterly ridiculous; after all, I'm prepping to dress up as Vanilla Ice for Halloween this year. But the leopard print pants are too much, even for me. It's good to see him, though.

Lisa got called up to Raw in August, with her immediately feuding with Trish Stratus. In turn, they took Amberlea and stuck her in a feud with Molly Holly in hopes of teaming Lisa - who is now Victoria - with Molly so that Trish and Amberlea can align in tag matches. So far, since Lisa's arrived, it hasn't happened.

So, as far as things are going at this point, everything is wonderful. I get to leave tomorrow for SmackDown, where I hope I've got enough to make the fans hate me with a passion. They have me working with a lot of vets right now, including Eddie Guerrero and his nephew. I'm very lucky there; they have just as much family lineage as Randy, if not more, so it's been great picking things up from them as I go. They're talking about turning me heel right now. It's awesome. I'm pretty much going to become the anti-Superstar, and that's going to do wonders in setting me apart from everybody. Randy and Amberlea still have yet to find their niche, what makes them comfortable and sets them apart, though I will admit Lea's finisher, the Fleurs du Mal, which is French for Flowers of Evil, is a pretty sick finisher. Randy and I both just about had a heart attack when she did that move for the first time to Jazz, of all Divas. How could she have held out that move on us? It was insane! That's when she showed us her notebook full of different promo ideas, match ideas and move ideas. On a side note, her standing moonsault has improved considerably over the past few months. Everyone comments on it. In the past six months or so, she's become a greater athlete than what she was in Ohio Valley Wrestling. And I'm honestly pretty proud to say that I was a part of that. I'm pretty sure Randy's proud of it, too, even if he never utters a word about it.

Amberlea Brennan

We got back to Randy's hotel room after stopping by a twenty-four hour Seven Eleven to get some Tylenol and hot chocolate. He was miserable, and I can't say that I blame him. I don't know exactly what's going through his head, but considering his father's injury and his paranoia of suffering the same fate, I can only imagine he's suffering from a complete mind-fucking.

I helped him out of his jacket, hanging it up for him. He was in his hotel room all by himself, thanks in large part to Jamal jerking him around until the last minute before rooming with his tag partner Rosey and Rico. So, he's injured, paranoid, upset and all alone. It just doesn't seem right.

The clock said it was one-thirty in the morning. Randy and I were going to drive back from Illinois, figuring we could make it back quicker if we drove and didn't have to wake up at three AM for baggage checks and screenings. Not that I minded; I just hoped it wasn't going to be awkwardly quiet as it usually is when he and I are in a car alone together. Anyway, he was going to need me to drive tomorrow, considering he was one armed and injured.

"Come on. Let's get you ready for bed. We got to be out early tomorrow." He nodded. "I called Trish and told her I was going to stay here in case you need anything."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"The couch. It's a hide-a-bed, Randy. Anyways, you're injured; you can't be by yourself right now, so don't even think about arguing with me." He sighed, shoulders slumping. He winced as his injured shoulder slumped. "See what I mean?" He nodded, sighing again as if that would change the situation. Once I gave him a couple Tylenol tablets, it was time to get down to business. "Come on." I grabbed him by his good arm and led him into the bedroom. "You need to get as much rest as you can, and so do I, since I'm driving the entire way now."

"Sorry, Amberlea…"

"Don't. It happens. I hope you'd do the same if this was me," I replied. I helped him out of his sling, making the movements a gingerly as I could. Last thing I wanted to do was to be the one that hurt him worse.

Once I helped Randy out of his clothing - a very, very embarrassing and awkward task, by the way - I helped him into bed, making sure his shoulder was comfortable until we could call the surgeon tomorrow afternoon. Once I was sure he was settled in, I shut off the lights and left him in the room to try and get some sleep.

I tried to pull the hide-a-bed out quietly, which in my case meant that it sounded like somebody had let a bull loose in a china shop. Once I had it all set up, I got changed into my pyjamas and settled in, turning on the television. I wasn't too tired, thanks in part to my little catnap at the hospital. I got under the blankets and turned on the television, flipping it to Late Night with Conan O'Brien. My thoughts were with Randy in the bedroom, trying to get himself comfortable enough so that he could sleep. I've been fortunate enough to have never been injured, maybe with the exception of my trampoline escapades as a kid.

My thoughts were also with John. It's been a while since I've spoken with him. I know he's been keeping himself busy with the new gimmick that WWE decided would get him over. There's no doubt in my mind he'll click with the fans. The man has so much personality that I'd be worried if he didn't click on some level. Charisma connects; that's just all there is to it.

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep during Conan O'Brien; after all, it had been a long, chaotic day, even by WWE standards. My only hope was that Randy could at least get a couple hours of sleep despite the pain.