Her Head v. Her Heart
A/N: Thanks again for the reviews. I'm glad you guys are diggin' this. I fully intended to post another chapter in The Emancipation first, but this one came to me a little easier than that one did. So tomorrow, you will get another chapter in that story, but for now - here ya go. I don't own anyone mentioned in this story or their characters. Y'all know that. Also, I don't know if there is a universal training facility for the WWE in Stamford, but for the purposes of this story - there is.
"You guys, come on," Stacy begged as she, Lita, and Trish headed out of the women's locker room and toward the parking lot of the company's Stamford training facility.
"Sorry, Stace, but me and Edge are heading up to Manhatten tonight. He wants to catch some alone time before everybody starts gettin' into town tomorrow," Lita explained, holding the door for Stacy and Trish.
All three women squinted against the sun and slid designer glasses over their eyes. "I'm supposed to help John pack tonight," Trish explained. With a roll of her dark eyes, she huffed. "I swear to God, you guys, if they didn't keep that belt locked up for him, he would forget to take it to the arena most nights. I have never, in my life, seen anyone pack the way that boy does."
Stacy stared at both of the other women in disbelief. Lita's eyes were scanning the near-empty parking lot, and Trish seemed to be in some happy-go-lucky la la land. It was weird to see Trish so happy all the time. And it was throwing Stacy's world into a bit of upheaval. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day either of you begged out of Girls' Night," she stated, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
Lita located Edge's car, speeding into the lot and heading straight for them. "I never thought I'd see the day you begged in," she stated distractedly, shooting a smile and a wave at her new boyfriend. With a quick hug, she said good-bye to her friends and took off.
Trish bit her lip and considered Stacy's sad demeanor. Her break-up with Randy had been hard on her, and Trish really did feel bad. There was a sick sense of guilt in her gut that poor Stacy, who had never been anything but loving and loyal to her man, was ditched by a lying, cheating womanizer, while Trish, who had never really tried to stay faithful to anyone, had her choice of two great guys. "Sweetie," she started.
The loud sound of "My Time Is Now" filled the air, as Trish blushed as she reached into the front pocket of her gym bag. Her cell phone was blinking wildly as her boyfriend's single blasted from it. "Hey, baby," she answered, reaching out an arm to keep Stacy at her side.
"Hey," John yelled over what sounded like bad techno music and cat calls.
Trish put a finger in her ear and strained to hear him. "Where are you?" she asked.
He laughed as the sounds of the ruckus faded. "Sorry about that," he cleared his throat. "Um, Chris wanted me and Randy to check out some lunch buffet at this strip club," he answered, a slight tone of apology in his voice.
"Oh, nice," Trish laughed. Stacy was watching her, but she couldn't wipe the stupid grin off her face. John always made her smile. "So, is it any good? The buffet?"
"Nothin' better than what I got at home, baby," he said, his voice turning serious.
She hated when he got serious. "Nice save, Romeo," she started, as Stacy began to fidget. "Did you just call to tell me I'm hotter than a bunch of strippers, or was there some other reason for this check in?"
"Um, yeah." He hollered something off to the side and she wondered for a moment if he had forgotten about her. "Sorry, baby. Randy's eating his lunch of some chick's stomach. It's entertaining. Anyway, have you left the gym yet?"
"I'm in the parking lot," she said. The thought of Randy with a stripper made her angry as she watched Stacy sadly talking to someone on her phone, just a few feet away. He was one of John's closest friends, and he wasn't a bad guy. She didn't mind having him around. She just felt guilty for liking him, after everything her own friend had gone through.
"Great," John said happily. "Can you run down to my locker and grab my IPod? We kinda left in a hurry and I kinda forgot it," he trailed his sentence off at the end.
Trish rolled her eyes again. He always kinda forgot something. "Sure. I'll just leave it on the kitchen counter if you're not home."
"You don't have to make a special trip," he assured her. "Just bring it with you when you come over tonight."
Stacy snapped her cell phone shut and let out a string of expletives, causing Trish to jump a little. "Ya know what, Sweetie? You're kinda on your own tonight. Me and Stace are havin' Girls' Night."
Stacy's wide eyes seemed to fill with a smile for the first time. She mouthed "really" and Trish nodded, giving her friend a wink. "Tonight?" John asked into the phone, his disappointment evident.
"John Felix Anthony Cena," Trish stomped her foot and spoke sternly. "You are twenty-eight fuckin' years old. If you can't pack your own damn clothes for a four-day road trip, then you don't deserve to have clean underwear every day," she ranted.
"Woah, woman!" John laughed. "Where did that come from?"
She grinned sheepishly and turned away from Stacy. "I don't know. Baby, look, I'm sorry. I know we had talked about spending tonight together before everything got all hectic and crazy, but Stace needs me." She took a deep breath. "We could use a designated driver, ya know?"
But he laughed and she could picture him shaking his head. "Awe, hell no," he answered emphatically. "The last time I spent an evening with your drunk-ass friends, I had to keep you and Lita from punchin' each other in the face, and then I spent an hour listening to Stacy insist that her tongue had grown fuzz." Trish laughed loudly and then tried to swallow it back. "So, thanks, but not a chance in hell."
"Alright, fine. What's your locker number?" Stacy waved at her and called something about meeting at her house later, before heading toward her car.
Trish listened as John gave her a locker number and combination while she wound her way through the halls of the training facility and into the men's locker room area. "Somebody's in here," she whispered into the phone.
"Probably just Dave," John answered from his end, and Trish felt like her heart had stopped. She could hear the shower running, and to imagine him standing under the spray, in all of his naked glory, made her body tingle. "He's always there later than everybody else."
"Alright, so it's 367?" He affirmed and Trish found the door, spinning the lock. "Where is it in here?"
John cleared his throat and she heard a door slam on his end. "Sorry, what was that?" She repeated the question. "Um, try the top shelf, behind the deodorant bottle," he directed.
Trish cast a look to her left, only to find her own face, several times over, staring back at her. There were professional shots, and candids, taped all over the inside of his locker, as if they were in high school. "John, your locker's so cute," she gushed. The picture in the center was her favorite – had been since the day Lita took it. They were at a Red Sox game, John in his jersey and hat, grinning like an idiot. And Trish was on his back, legs around his waist, her chin resting on the top of his head. They looked like two high school kids without a care in the world.
"It's not cute, Baby," he corrected. "It's masculine." The voice he used made Trish laugh again. "And laughing at me makes me feel very small, and insignficant," he chided.
"You are not small," she assured him, drawing a prideful laugh from his end of the phone. She pushed the deodorant can aside and gasped. There, in the corner of the shelf, sat a long, black, velvet box with a note. Happy Anniversary, Trish. Been the best month of my life. Here's to more – John. "You," she gasped, opening the box to reveal a delicate platinum chain with carat diamond charm, "are the best boyfriend ever!"
A loud clatter behind her snapped her attention away from her gift, and she tried not to react as she turned to see Dave, bending to pick something up off the floor. Dammit – had he heard that? John was saying something, but she couldn't listen as she watched his broad back straining to maintain control of his emotions.
She had loved him – thoroughly loved him with the kind of forever love that she had always hoped to find. And she sensed, with a twisted sixth sense, that he had felt the same. It was in his eyes every time he watched her move across a room. It was in his expression every time she caught his eye, whether he meant to be caught staring or not. When they were together, it hung in the air between them – they didn't have to say it – it was just there.
Until Trish realized that she wanted him to say it. In the beginning, she had loved the mystery of the big man, the silent strength that emanated from him. She had been drawn to the fact that he didn't need words when a smirk, or a wink, or an action would do. And when they did talk, it was about their future hopes, career goals, and family dreams. But it was always the same. He always listened, and he let her imagine what their lives would be like together. Sure, he would agree, but he never talked about how he felt, or what he wanted. He never even tried to tell her what she meant to him or how she made him feel. He bought her things, took her places, and turned her body upside down and inside out on a nightly basis. But she wanted to hear the words.
After nearly a year, she started to feel more like a sixty-year-old married woman than the twenty-nine-year-old vixen she portrayed on television. Sure, the stability and security of Dave's love, the routine of working and then visiting his girls, or her family, was comforting. But it was also mundane. And finally, even his amazing pleasure skills weren't enough to keep her around.
She had packed everything, explained that she wasn't sure the relationship was the right thing for her anymore, and then left his house without a look back. She remembered the sound of something heavy hitting the wall as she moved toward her car, but she couldn't go back. She had determined that one word, any word, would have convinced her to unpack her bags and pledge her undying devotion to him. But no words came.
Meeting John wasn't supposed to happen. At least not two weeks after she had ended her previous relationship. But he was John – charismatic, funny, and never at a loss for words. He gave her, from the beginning, with the things she had long desired. He wasn't afraid to publicly display his affection – whether at a ball game, a club, a shopping mall, or a pre-show meeting in front of the entire company. And he wasn't afraid to leave her a rambling voice mail messages about how beautiful she was or about how much he wanted her and missed her. He wasn't afraid to spend half the night telling her exactly how glad he was to have her in his life.
Lita called John "the rebound" guy. Trish wasn't entirely sure that her red-headed friend was wrong. But the rebound guy made her life fun – he let her forget about all the adult stuff that she dealt with on a daily basis, and let her be "not quite thirty" Trish.
"You still there, baby?" John asked.
But Dave had turned, slammed his locker shut, and stalked toward the door. "I'll call you later," she said into the phone, snapping it closed as she ran after him. She didn't know what she would do when she caught him, but she had to say something.
As he reached the parking lot, he stopped abruptly and turned, catching Trish's eye. "What?" he demanded. She took two steps backward at the sheer anger in his tone. His eyes softened when he recognized her fear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he stammered, looking at his feet and then back at her. "Did you want something, Trish?"
She stepped forward, leaving only a few feet between them. "I hate this," she said finally, not sure what words would tumble out of her mouth, only knowing that they were tripping over each other to be heard. "I hate this awkward bull shit that happens every time we're near each other. I hate not knowing if you hate me or if you wish I was dead or if you just wish I'd go away. I hate that it's so damn hard to be around you, but even more, I hate that I can't stop being around you. I hate that I can't stop thinking about you," she stomped her foot.
He smirked. Just the faintest hint of a smile in the left corner of his mouth. "You hate it?" he asked. She nodded. "You hate it, Trish? Why don't you put yourself in my shoes for a fuckin' second and think about how it feels from this side?" His voice was hushed, as though whispering was the only control he could grasp. "You just fuckin' left, Trish. You didn't tell me shit about why or what happened, you just took the fuck off. With someone else. You're damn right it's hard. How in the hell do you expect it to be easy?"
He had just spoken, in thirty seconds, more than he had said in their entire ten-month relationship. Or so it seemed to Trish. Without thought, she lunged toward him, wrapping her arms around his massive shoulders and pressing her lips to his. She didn't know what force was taking her over, but it was stronger than she could fight. To feel his mouth in reality, rather than the shadow of her fantasy, made her groan with delight.
But after a moment of indulgence, he put her feet back on the ground and shook his head. He made no attempt to hide the pain or confusion in his eyes. "I'm not doin' this, Trish. You have the best boyfriend ever now. I can't watch you destroy his life, too."
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked toward his car. She would have to see him again – that they worked together, and she had no choice. But, for the first time, she knew that her relationship with Dave Batista was over.
This chapter's challenge quote is credited to me ex-boyfriend, Scott, who once served as designated driver for me and my "drunk-ass friends." The next day he told me that he had spent an hour listening to Arykah insist that her tongue had grown fuzz. (I think it was more like twenty minutes, but it probably felt like an hour to him.)