A/N: Yikes! I had to re-write this chapter three times until I thought it was perfect... so I hope it's good! Gonna go party, it's my brother's birthday... woot! Oh and excuse the name ofthis chapter...
Chapter Three
The journey in John's rented Cadillac Escalade was peaceful. Torrie had fallen asleep ten minutes after they had left the hospital, John drove all the way to the arena and found out that the doors had been locked and called Charlie to learn that they had both his and Torrie's belongings.
She looked so angelic. The top of her head rested lightly against the window as her hands were grabbing hold of the navy blue sweater John had lent her. That was the least he could do, after all she was still in her skimpy wrestling attire…
John couldn't help but watch her sleep soundly every time he had the chance to. He found it cute how she had hid her face with his Boston Red Sox cap, shy of showing her face and how she slept with a wide smile that stretched from ear to ear…
"I wonder what she's dreaming about…" John muttered under his breath with a cheeky smirk.
It was somewhat boring when she was asleep, not that they had spoken a lot today. In fact, today was the only day where they had barely anything to say to each other and it was also the only day they didn't tease each other… This didn't feel right…
Thinking back, about the incident at the arena, when Torrie had run after the ambulance, John couldn't help but feel goose bumps wash over his body at the uncomfortable sight of Torrie bawling her eyes out like that, jealousy also swam through his veins...
He was envious of Peter and there was no doubt about it. John had always really wanted a loyal, loving and caring girlfriend – just like Torrie. He wanted someone he could have a laugh with and always feel comfortable around – someone like Torrie. He wanted someone he could spoil and pamper and someone who would do the same for him, someone who could take care of him and be there for him no matter what. The only person he could envisage himself with for the rest of his life and the only person fit for this role was… the one and only … Torrie Wilson.
"Of all people, I have to share this room with you…" groaned and aggravated Carlito, taking a bite out of his apple.
"As if I even want to share this room with you…" Mark Jindrak taunted back as he struggled to rollover in his single-sized bed and turn his back rudely to Carlito.
"Don't make me spit my apple at you…" Carlito threatened as he stood by Mark's bed and towered over him.
"Don't make me shove that damn apple down your throat as well as your sad-ass gimmick!" Mark twisted his neck around to warn him.
"Man you're just jealous…" Carlito shrugged as he went back to his bed and sat on the edge of it, staring at the TV, trying to hide the fact that he was somewhat afraid of Mark, after all, Mark was a whole lot taller then Carlito and his biceps were the size of Carlito's head – including his fuzzy afro…
"Jealous of what?" Mark asked in disbelief as he arched his eyebrows.
"Man you know I'm cooler than you…"
"Whatever…"
"I am…"
"No you're not…"
"But I am…"
"No, you are not…"
"I am!"
"Not!"
"I am!"
"Not!"
"I am!"
"Not!"
"I AM!" screamed Carlito as he took a daring step towards Mark.
"YOU ARE NOT!" Mark yelled back as he leapt out of his bed and glared at Carlito dead in the eye.
The room was exceedingly silent but tension was present. The two men were fed up of each other's impolite, not to mention childish, comments. Realistically, the two were just fed up of being abused by Smackdown writers. The backstage morale had been like this ever since people were comparing their show to RAW and how RAW was the 'A' show and Smackdown was the 'B' show…
Ever since Mark moved from RAW in the 2004 lottery draft, he hadn't been in a decent storyline, not that he did on RAW… but he was getting fed up of it and found himself regularly in a bad mood and constantly frustrated at every little thing and in this instance, Carlito was on his nerves.
Carlito was one of the top heels and yet everybody loved him and he loved the attention, they loved him more than some of the babyfaces on Smackdown. Something happened one day and they lost interest in him… they invented the Carlito Cabana which was a sad, pathetic version of Chris Jericho's Highlight Reel… plus Carlito hardly did anything except invite others to his show and watch his guests beat the crap out of each other…
"I'm sorry man…" Carlito sighed before apologising, he sat down on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.
"Me too…" Mark said shaking his head as he soon calmed down. The two of them realised what was happening to them. They were on the same level and a lot of guys felt this way, except they didn't dare to say anything…
"When was the last time you were on TV?" asked Carlito casually, taking another bite of his apple as he lay on the bed and gazed at the ceiling.
"Can't remember," shrugged Mark as he climbed into tiny bed.
"I don't get it, why do we have to share rooms? Even people like Simon Dean on RAW gets his own suite… I don't get it man…" Carlito sighed.
"I never had this kind of problem when I was on RAW…" Mark explained. "I kinda wish I was back on there-"
"NO!" Carlito spat, interrupting him as he sprang to his feet. "Man, stay true to your brand! RAW basically abandoned you…"
"No, they just put me here so I'd be used…" Mark argued, not believing what he was saying himself…
"Well you haven't been used in a reasonable storyline since… forever!" Carlito chuckled as Mark frowned at his comment.
"Yeah I have…" Mark lied.
"Forget it, I won't even embarrass you by asking you to name one…" Carlito smirked acting as if he was doing Mark a favour, which he sort of was. "The problem is, that the Smackdown writers suck… the RAW writers are just better… As if the wrestlers there are any good! I'd say the best wrestler on RAW is Chris Benoit and he was from Smackdown originally… other than that Victoria is the best…"
"Victoria?"
"Yeah…" chuckled Carlito. "We're no different to those guys in RAW, they're just over pampered and overrated! We kick it old school style, we don't need nothing fancy, we stay humble… and… cool!"
"You talk a lot of shit…" Mark chuckled.
"It's good shit though," Carlito added. "I mean… we're just as good as any of the RAW superstars! Like you for instance… you're just as good as your buddy Randy Orton, if not better looking I might add…"
"Why thank you," Mark blushed coyly… not sure if that was something he'd like to hear from another guy…
"I'm just sick of how the Smackdown writers don't even try to come up with better storylines… Vinnie Mac loves RAW, but we'll make him love Smackdown…" Carlito grinned sinisterly, Mark looked frightened at Carlito's devilish smile. Obviously Carlito was up to no good and he was keen on finding out what diabolical plan in store for Smackdown…
How embarrassing could this be? How bad could this look? Very, was the answer. John was forced to carry Torrie into the hotel lobby and what a sight it was. He was too frightened to wake her up that he… carried her into the hotel!
John kept his head hung low in embarrassment, wearing his cap equally as low… luckily he had taken it off Torrie… He could have died if he was seen like this…
"Hey John! What the heck are you doing with Torrie Wilson!" teased Randy Orton as he lounged with the hotshots Paul Levesque, better know was Triple H, and the legendary Ric Flair. The other two men laughed as they heckled at John. He ignored them, but felt his pulse race and his cheeks warm up as he quickened his pace into the elevator.
The only way for John save face now was the rush into the nearest elevator, the only elevator that was on their floor was one that was occupied by a young couple who just stared at John and did not even have the courtesy to hold the doors open. John bravely stuck his foot, holding open the gap through the doors.
"Ouch!" he winced in pain. The doors immediately opened as he rushed inside, accidentally knocking Torrie's head on the side on their way in.
"Huh?" Torrie mumbled dazed as she clutched at the throbbing head.
"I'm sorry!" John apologised. The couple beside him giggled at his daftness, he shot them an ice-cold glare which shut them up instantly.
"Where am I John?" she asked him groggily.
"We're at the hotel, go back to sleep…" he hushed.
"Ok," she nodded as she dozed off in his arms. Finally the doors opened to the 8th floor and John sped out, this time being careful not to injure Torrie…
He headed for his room, Room 808, which was luckily nearby… He rummaged through his right pocket for his key card, whilst trying to carry Torrie single-handedly with the other hand. It was impossible to find, so he put her down and leaned her against the doorframe as he quickly search through his pockets, Torrie was about to get her face smashed flat into the ground but luckily, John caught her before she could. She woke, finding herself in compromising situation with John Cena. He had pinned her against the door, their faces millimetres apart, their bodies pressed firmly against each other's as they looked into each other's eyes unaware of this. Torrie broke their eye contact as she fell asleep, her head falling and resting on his right shoulder. He inserted the card in the slot and removed it whilst he opened the door and carried Torrie in, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms clung tightly around his neck. Luckily he had the privilege of staying in the suite, unlike the less fortunate superstars who had the normal rooms and worse, rooms they had to pay for themselves.
He carefully removed Torrie from him. She stuck to him like glue and almost had to rip her off of him, laying her gently on the bed and tucking her in.
"I have to change…" she muttered, her eyes still shut as she attempted to remove her top. John's eye widened. His devilish self would've turned some music on and thrown jell-o at her whilst watching her strip… but John being angelic – most of the time – listened to his conscience and prevented her from doing so.
"No, just go to sleep," he hushed her as he gently moved her hands away and wrapped his jumper around her and carefully lay the duvet over her.
"Thank you…" she said softly.
"You're most welcome," he answered, not sure if there was much use, after all she was asleep…
"I love you…" she said. He froze. His jaw dropped in amazement as his heart skipped a beat or two. Did he just hear that correctly?
"What?" he asked her, hoping for her to repeat.
"I love you Peter…" she exhaled as she twisted around in the bed. It was like a stab to the chest with a sharp knife that someone just kept twisting and digging deeper. It was unbearably painful.
"I love you too…" he said subconsciously. The strange thing was… it felt right to say it…
Heading for the settee he removed his shirt replacing it with a vest as he kicked his sneakers to a side. He lay on the couch, totally knackered, wondering why it had hurt to bad. It was not like he was rejected, but yet it felt like he had been. He wasn't expecting her to say anything like that at all, and she had no reason whatsoever to, but it was such a shocker… he just wished that she didn't mention Peter and that she directed those three words to him…
A/N: What did you all think? Please review! I know there was a lot of John/Torrie... but that's cos I love them to bits and can never stop writing about them... less of that pairing in the next chapter - promise xP !
You may not know this, but I'm a BIG Smackdown fan, I just like it SO much more than RAW - I get a very negative vibe when watching RAW, but SD makes me happy, it's moreenjoyable in my opinion...So this fic will be pretty much anti-RAW...
Don't take it personally!I just dislike the brand inequalities and how RAW is said to be better than Smackdown - that's just not right... shouldn't they be even? I'm all about equality and crap like that so yeah...
Oh and anyone who hates Carlito... I'll make you love him! I used to dislike him... but now I've realised how COOL he actually is... LOL!