Callie Berry
I rested my head against the inflatable pink tub pillow, allowing my body to soak in the wonderfully hot bubble bath I drew for myself. I'd be a liar if I said that I wasn't aching in every muscle after the war I just waged with Jessa Bolt. She got a few good shots in; my face isn't going to be looking too good for the next week or so. But at least I'm not the one sitting in the hospital bed, with nurses coming in and out every few hours to check up. Jess may be the champion, but she's got a target on her back, so hopefully the little bitch gets all the rest she can. Because the second she steps foot back onto my show, I plan to send her ass right back to the hospital.
Out in the "living room area", Dave's watching TV. He's cranky because I told him I'm not in the mood for sex tonight. Dr. Rios checked me out before I left the arena and told me there's no serious injuries, but my ego is bruised. The thought of Jess hitting the barricade face-first after I knocked her off the cage made me smile; too bad a shot to the face is no cure for ugly. What a moment, though, when her little friends came running down to ringside to check on the little princess.
I flicked a bundle of bubbles that covered my stomach and watched it fly aimlessly through the air before it landed on my knees. I sighed and sank further into the water.
Once again, Shane McMahon and Jessa Bolt have seen to it that I get fucked over thoroughly. Even with a few hours gone, I'm still angry about them springing the bullshit cage match stipulation on me. I mean, seriously, what good is Stephanie McMahon if she can't do anything, if she can't keep her brother on her radar?
I don't know what Jessa has done to get Shane in her back pocket, but it's dirty pool. Never in a million years did I think Jessa would stoop low enough to panhandle to the boss' son. I really thought she was better than that. I never sought out Stephanie; she's married to Hunter. It's guilt by association.
My eyes opened when I heard Dave knocking on the door. "Did you fall asleep in there?" he called.
"No. Just relaxing."
"Ric and Hunter are coming up. They want to go partying."
I groaned. "I don't want to do anything."
"I know. They want a guy's night. Hunter's leaving Steph at the hotel, too. Would you be all right if I left for a bit?" Would I? No, not really, because I know what kind of a man he is. Not that he'd have the balls to show up here with a woman on his arm on a night like this, but I know that if I let him go, there's a good chance that he might not even come back tonight. I sighed.
"Go. Have fun." Inside, I was boiling, though. I had fought a war tonight, a war that I lost. Where's the comfort? Why isn't he sitting with me and strategizing the next phase of the plan? Either Dave picked up on my tone and didn't care or he's just fucking oblivious, he disappeared from the door. I could hear him walking away, hear him murmuring under his breath.
I thought about Jessa in the hospital; is she there by herself? Probably. Her relationship with Brock is far from perfect. Randy's done a terrific job of driving a wedge between the two of them. Sometimes Dave and I like to sit and listen to them fight. It takes everything I have not to laugh some nights.
I heard the knock and then some laughter, and then the sound of another door closing. And that's it. I'm by myself.
How is it possible to feel alone when you're with somebody twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? Seriously? I hate that Dave knows how to push my buttons, and how he makes me feel so isolated. For a moment, I thought about calling up Trish and Stephanie and going out for a girl's night. But then I saw the giant bruise on my hipbone and just decided to stay in and rest. Jessa and I had taken a lot out of each other. It wasn't a wrestling match for the ages by any stretch, but with swollen faces and bruised bodies, we took out years of pent-up aggravation on each other.
In high school, Jessa always talked about all the things she wanted to do with her life. She never understood that she couldn't do all of it. Of course, though, it just means that she has to go out and prove everybody wrong. She wants to do movies, she wants to do music - she picked up an acoustic guitar in high school, but she sucks at it - and she wants to do radio. Of course, wrestling is first and foremost, but she's one of those lame-os that wants to experience everything. She wants stories. She never looks in the present, she's always looking to the future, where she's going to be in five years, ten years. I've always asked her what's wrong with living in the present. She never could come up with an answer for me.
Ten minutes after Dave left, I got out of the bathtub and dried myself off. I thought about calling room service for a hot fudge sundae, but I realized it was late on a Sunday night, which means everything is going to be closed. I thought about calling Dave and asking him to get me some ice cream from a 7-11 or something, but I realized he may not even come back here until dawn. The idea of him slipping under the covers with me, smelling like sweat, alcohol and another woman pissed me off. I shut off my cell phone and slipped under the cool covers. I'd like to think that Dave is a smart guy, and that he realizes pushing my buttons tonight is the last thing he wants to do. But I don't know. Evolution seems to make every guy unpredictable in some facet.
It didn't take me long to fall asleep. At least I get to fall asleep in a beautiful hotel room. Not like Jessa, who has to fall asleep on some thin mattress with beeping machines and bitchy nurses. I may have lost, but I still got the longer end of the stick.
