Soldier

by cheskie

A JOHN CENA FIC. Your time is up...my time is now.

11. Confrontations

So many reviews…Couldn't stand it! :D :D :D

To the others I reviewed, thanks for the nice opinions. And for Skittle, I hope you've seen more of Randy in Chapter 10…but right now I'll give more attention to the John/Torrie romance in the next chapters. And hey,I knowyou hate thegirl, andnow thatI think about, maybeI will pair Dawn Marie with someone. If you would like it to be Eddie...well...just read this chappie and you'll see whatI mean.Hope you won't hate me…(Bradshaw is boring!)

REMINDER: I didn't make the rap on Chapter 9. John Cena rapped it himself when Dupree won his first match on a new-improved SmackDown episode. Check out all of his raps in his official web, john-cenadotcom. It's a really great site!

Errmm…can you guys check out my other fic OUTSIDE THE ROPES? It's not a John Cena fic, experimenting has been going on in my head for the last month now and I would like to focus on RAW this time like in MISANTHROPE focusing mostly on SmackDown. Strange pairing may I add, but its good enough for me!

I'll be in hiatus for a while, finals are coming and I've barely studied….can't bare to get out of the Top 10! Here's Chapter 11!

I sat in a bench outside the principal's office, feeling conspicuous and out of place. It was Thursday afternoon and I just got out of class, preparing to make a dash in my dorm room until a senior approached me and said Mr. McMahon would like to have a word with me. I haven't done anything stupid lately, and I'm used to going to the principal's office from the start of the year.

But in some sick way, I suddenly felt uncomfortable, with Vinnie Mac calling me out right now. And I exactly knew the reason why.

A week had passed since that horrible accident after Spring Night at the Halsey Manor Lodge. Big Show tried to throw Torrie Wilson off the 25-ft. ledge, upset from his loss in the Great American Award. Kurt Angle went up to save her but he ended up being thrown off for all his trouble.

The image kept playing in my head as if it was a CD stuck in a recorder. Images of Kurt Angle falling off that ledge, cracking his head open and his head tilted in a weird angle. And whenever I remember it, it felt like the whole thing happened just yesterday, and sure as hell I want to forget all about it, but I can't.

When the whole school found out, the once lively students had barely shown signs of life the past few days. They were afraid, angry, confused or sad. And who could blame them? Roaming around the school with the perpetrator still on the loose was everything but a flea bite compared to the rest of it.

I tried to remember that night again. When I eventually woke up from my faint the night before, I was in the local hospital. Nurses told me that both Torrie and I were unconscious when the paramedics came to the hotel. I wanted to talk to Torrie, but the nurses didn't let me, saying she was in a shock, too scared and shaken up to speak. The best doctors in the state had been in the operating room for several hours now, fighting hard to keep Kurt alive. But the worst part was Big Show was missing from the scene.

I sunk down from the bench even lower. My headache over the days wore even more so, slicing through my skin like a sharp razor blade upon hearing any kind of sound. I buried my face in my hands. This trauma was getting the better out of me.

Suddenly, the office door flew open, a 20-something office clerk walking in front of me. I looked up.

"John Cena, Mr. McMahon would like to see you right now." the clerk told me.

I nodded mutely and followed her inside the room. Sounds of ringing telephones and the beeping fax machines were the only noises, giving the office room a busy interior. Finally we stopped in front of a door that read: Vincent Kennedy McMahon Jr., School Principal.

"He's just waiting for you right now," the clerk said quietly. "Don't forget to close the door behind you."

Then the clerk left me alone. I knocked on the door loudly.

"Come in," came the reply.

I took a deep breath, closing my hand around the door knob, pushing it open, revealing the luxurious interior of the principal's office.

There were bookcases on the sides lined up with history books, encyclopedias, school yearbooks and photo albums. Trophies and medals were sealed in glass cases, while certain paintings decorated the painted deep blue walls, the dark blue carpeted floor under my shoes freshly vacuumed. Standing lampshades, potted rubber trees and ferns took up the space at the corners. A dark mahogany table was on the center with a bunch of papers, pens, and picture frames strewn on the top. Behind the table was a huge, black desk chair facing the window, the only open space that gave the room sunlight.

And when the desk chair swiveled around, the one who sat on it was the Big Boss himself, Principal Vince McMahon. He eyed me now, his orbs in his usual habituated superiority.

"John Cena," McMahon queried. "We meet again."

I shrugged. Didn't feel like talking.

"Why are you still standing there?" he boomed out. "Sit down, boy! We have important matters to discuss."

I begrudgingly sat down to one of the two leather chairs facing him. Any day for me would be good enough to talk with this old coot; but not today when you are still trying to get over the fact that you have seen your General Manager fall off a ledge with a 50:50 chance of him living. Meanwhile, the Big Boss still eyed me warily, as if looking at me would pry anything out of my head.

"I'm here now, Boss," I said, breaking the silence. "What do you want?"

"About the Spring Night incident." McMahon answered immediately.

I winced inwardly. I know this would happen.

McMahon drew back, leaning to his chair. "Police has been telling me that you've been avoiding them and not taking their calls this past week. Are you running away from something, Cena? Something that you've been hiding?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not running. And I'm not hiding."

"Then why don't you want to talk to them? You'll just have to answer their questions." he suggested.

"Maybe because I don't want to talk about it," I said sarcastically.

"You should. You are a witness."

I frowned. "Well…I fucking hate being one."

McMahon had a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You're still a hard-headed jackass, Cena. Any normal person would have to use a goddamn crowbar to pry anything important out of you."

"Sor-ry. Just born this way." I scoffed.

"Alright then," McMahon said, his smile turning into a challenging smirk. "If you're gonna be that way, that's just fine with me. So if you're not going to face the cops, would you at least let me do the questioning? You can't shut up forever, which I know you can't possibly handle to yourself. So what do you say?"

I thought for a moment. Vinnie Mac and I didn't exactly have the warmest, fuzziest relationship, since this guy always gives me warnings for dismissal for my misdemeanors for a million times now, but I know he can't do it anyway, because he didn't want to lose any of Springville's shining stars, for fear of no one enrolling here.

To McMahon, money and power was everything. Who knows? Maybe after this discussion, he'll probably leave me alone.

"Okay, aight," I replied. "Get a hat, a baton, and a gun for all I care. Hell, I can wait right here."

"Let me start now, at least," McMahon dictated, sitting up straighter in his chair. He fished out reading glasses from the drawer, wearing it down to the bridge of his nose, then he shuffled some papers in his desk. "Where were you before the incident happened?"

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "On the parking lot watching Eddie and Rey throw up."

McMahon grinned. "Ah, the two heirs of the Latino legacy. Go on."

"I was about to drive them home when I heard some noises coming from the ledge of the hotel, so…" I said, letting my voice drift away, knowing the principal will get my point.

McMahon bunched his brows. "You have now gotten to the part of Wight trying to throw Wilson off the ledge. Do you know why he took her up there?"

"I-I don't know…" I stammered, for fear that I'm just jumping to conclusions.

"Come on, Cena. Just tell me what you know." McMahon urged.

I sighed. "You asked for it. We all lost the Great American Award that night to that loon Bradshaw. I thought that was the reason Big Show snapped, but I was dead wrong."

"Why is that?"

"Show was screaming at Torrie that time, something about her making fun of him when he lost the award."

McMahon's brows were so bunched together, his wrinkles were showing, a look of confusion. "Wilson making fun of Wight? Seems uncanny for the young lady to do that to him."

"I know."

"What happened next?"

"Kurt Angle showed up. He went up to the balcony to save Torrie, trying to tell Show he really was a fool. They trash-talked the whole while, until Show grabbed Angle by the neck, and then…"

I paused, the words somehow caught in my throat. McMahon raised his brows. "And then what, Cena?"

I bent my head down. "He threw Angle off."

Silence descended on the office. My wrists were balled up tight, my knuckles turning white with my actions. Mr. McMahon exhaled a long deep breath, studying me with his perturbed expression.

"I would like to say that Kurt Angle suffered a grade three concussion because of that fall," McMahon regarded me calmly. "A trauma like that would have broken you and Wilson down yourself. Up until now, Angle still isn't waking up."

"What about the leg?" I said huskily.

"The leg…it's a different story."

I didn't say anything. Just when you thought the pressures of the last week was now melting away, here goes another one to bother you one more.

"It's hard for me to tell his parents the news, but I'll have to take the risk," he went on. "By now, I would like to keep these matters personal for a while until Kurt Angle returns to school. If ever you're going to tell it to anyone, make sure they know how to keep secrets. Is that understood, Cena?"

I nodded politely.

"In case you want to know, Paul Wight is now expelled from the team, but he is still under probation, and I'm gonna make him take anger management classes until this problem subsides."

"Anger management?!" I repeated, rebuffed. "The guy almost killed someone!"

"I'll make the decisions here, Cena," McMahon declared, pounding his palms on the desk. "I'll have no choice but to suggest earlier curfews around this place."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. If this is what McMahon wants, that's fine with me. It would be much better if he left me alone now, never talking about his subject anymore for the rest of my life. I've had it all up to hear. I don't even know why I care.

"Well, that's all I have to say," McMahon concluded. "You have explained your side very well, providing me enough evidence to the police about your story, but I hope I'll never see you in this office again. You have to get on your track."

Out of the groove. Off the track. That's turning into the story of my life.

I rose from my chair and extended my hand to Principal McMahon, to show there were no hard feelings. I couldn't trust my own voice, but at least I could make the gesture. He shook it warmly.

"Thank you very much, John Cena," he said. "You're dismissed."

After I left the office, I didn't know if that conversation made me feel better. In fact, I felt worse than ever. Leaving the main building, I headed to the dormitory, wanting to talk to Eddie and Rey, knowing that they would understand.

When I reached the dormitory, I sprinted to both their rooms. I knocked and knocked, but no one even answered. Then I noticed a piece of paper taped on the knob. I took it, reading the message inside.

To J,

If you are reading this, we're obviously not around. Eddie dumped Vicky before Spring Night. Caught her hanging out with Evolution in the RRC. Gone to the mall for babe hunting. Might sleep at Eddie's and come back tomorrow.

About the incident past week…we really hope you're fine. Me and Ed are getting worried about you, so don't do anything stupid. Love, Ed and Rey.

P.S. Don't worry—we'll tell you more about the breakup. We'll see ya tomorrow.

AGAIN. Another girlfriend dumped by Eddie because of Evolution. Maybe I'll have to talk to Randy about this. Or maybe not. If I was in the mood. Even so, it's so hard to think of Eddie getting over something so easily.

There goes a snowball's chance in hell for letting all my frustrations out. I leaned my head against the door, crumpling the note and throwing right on the floor. No one was around to notice me anyway.

I shielded my face with my hands. I feel like I'm getting a nervous breakdown.

"I need to drive," I blurted out in the silence of the hallway. Then I walked down to the staircases and exited the dormitory, burying my hands to my pockets as I walked to the parking lot.

Yes, you heard it right. When I say I needed a drive, which means I have a car. I held my breath when I reached my new vehicle.

There it was. A metallic blue BMW. Dad finally caved in after my bellyaching and sent this baby right to me just this morning. A few people actually stared at the car with envious looks this morning, and being a swellheaded guy such as me should be going around and bragging to the people. But like I said; I wasn't in the mood. Getting a car in this time of tragedy would get my excitement looking like sparklers rather than skyrockets. By now, the car is still beautiful, but it seemed to lose its life and luster in the inside.

Just like me.

I shrugged, opening the car door and hopped inside, inserting the key in its ignition, revving up the engine. I took out a CD from the glove compartment and turned up the volume in the radio. When I took the wheel, I sped the car out of the parking lot, out of the SC campus. As I drove on the road, I didn't really know where I was going, but it was enough to make me do something rather than pulling my hair out.

Passing through medium-sized buildings, seeing a couple of teenagers skateboarding and girls doing it with the roller blades, I sang along with the radio, gradually relaxing. I hope I won't see anyone important, or my day will be officially ruined. That's one thing I won't be able to handle, because I will go totally irate again and get the short-term memory effect.

"La la la la la, it's the motherfuckin' D-O double G, Snoop Dogg!" I sang out. "La la la la la, you know I mark it with a D-R-E…"

Suddenly, I saw a flash of two familiar blondes in a certain café. I stepped on the breaks hard just in time to stop the car at the place across it. I killed the engine and glided silently down the tree-shrouded street. I sneaked up on the same café from the opposite side of the street and rolling to a stop at the curb about a yard away. It wasn't the optimum viewing site, but I was feeling kinda nervous to go any closer. From where I parked, I could see the café' sign by the door and small chairs and tables lined up outside, and if I leaned way forward I could just glimpse the front of the café.

The door sign said "Café de Rene."

"Well, where have I seen that before?" I muttered.

I was still trying to figure out why the owner of that café would choose such a stupid name until I saw one of the familiar blondes once again coming out from the inside of the café. It was Rene Dupree, wearing a good suit, talking to someone from the door. And as usual, he has a white poodle in one hand, the same poodle mutt that he just recently named Fifi.

Before I could react, I saw the other blonde come out…only this time it was a girl. Tall, tan, with curly blonde hair…

My jaw dropped. Torrie?!

I was completely awestruck. How could she have gotten over her trauma? It took me a week, dammit! And now she's dating someone? What about me?

"Calm down, Johnny," I reminded myself. Then I turned my head back on the café and squashed down in my seat even lower. Dupree was now helping Torrie to a chair, then they both sat down and chatted for a while.

I felt my face grow hot. This French fry was asking for more pranks. Dating a girl that I'm hitting on. I realized at that time that I had never truly been jealous before. I was completely unprepared for the racing heart and roaring in my ears that accompanied the sight of that—that Dupree's hand on Torrie's arm. I was so upset I could barely breathe.

Shaking my head, I decided to eavesdrop. Torrie and Dupree were still chatting, and from this distance, it was enough to hear what they are talking about.

"Is this a good seat, sweetheart?" I heard Dupree ask Torrie.

Torrie nodded. "Yes, I'm good enough right here."

"Sweetheart," I mocked. I continued to strain my ears.

"Now, can I ask you something?" Dupree said as he poured red wine on Torrie's wineglass. "Why were you laughing at the Big Show last Friday?"

Torrie's eyes widened, obviously taking the question unexpectedly. She didn't reply.

"It's just a simple question, Torrie," Dupree said. "Why were you laughing at the Big Show last Friday?"

Torrie got out of her trance. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't expect that…" she stammered. "Like I said to the police, I wasn't laughing at the Big Show. I was laughing at Jackie's joke when Big Show came. Honestly!"

Ah! So that what happened! Torrie was innocent this whole time!

Dupree let out a fake guffaw. "You expect me to believe that?"

I drew back in my seat. What the hell was Dupree talking about?

"I-I thought we're here to talk about—''

"You're lying to me, Torrie, You're so obvious…" Dupree drawled, cutting Torrie off. "It was your fault. If it wasn't for you, Kurt Angle would now be sitting in front of me drinking and enjoying our French wine."

My jaw dropped again. Torrie looked completely offended as she stood up abruptly, backing off a few steps, a look of complete hurt in her lovely face.

"It was your fault, Torrie," Dupree went on, going near her. "You are vain and selfish. It just goes to show…that Fifi…isn't the only bitch in this restaurant!"

"What…the…hell…" I hissed. What's more annoying than seeing the girl you like dating another guy was the same guy offending the girl you like. I ran my hand through the car door handle, ready to hop out of the car.

But even before I opened my door, Torrie retaliated—and did the most unexpected—she slapped Dupree right across the face. Dupree felt his face, turned back to Torrie, grabbed a wineglass, and threw the red wine right on Torrie's eyes. Torrie shrieked, rubbing her eyes, blinded by the alcohol, the stain completely going through her brown dress. Then Dupree carried her body up, attempting to do a body slam, something amateur athletes do to their enemies.

Before Dupree threw her down, I snapped out of my hypnosis and hopped out of the car, ran down across the street, and speared Dupree with my shoulders like a bull. Dupree writhed in pain as he let go of Torrie, her body caught perfectly by my arms, crashing plates and stumbling along tables and chairs in the process. Before Dupree got up, I ran across the street with a blinded Torrie still in my arms, put her inside my car, went to the driver's seat, revved up the engine, stepped on the gas pedal, and drove back to SC, desperate to get away from the restaurant.

"Where—what—'' Torrie got out, still rubbing her eyes.

Not taking my eyes off the road, I reached for the glove compartment and opened it, fishing out a day-old water bottle and then I gave it to her. "Rub your eyes with this," I told her.

Torrie took the water bottle from my hands with her eyes widely shut. Then she washed her eyes down with the water, blinking and blinking continuously. The smell of red wine stunk the interior of the car, so I rolled down the windows to let the smell out.

When Torrie finally managed to open her eyes, her gaze immediately gave me an immediate once-over. "Cena? Why are you—''

"Dupree threatened to body slam you when you were blinded," I said, ready for my explanation. "I just passed by and then I came—''

"You saved my life," Torrie finished for me.

I nodded, embarrassed. "Yeah…that was the idea."

Torrie's gaze shifted to the window. "Just—just take me home, please…"

"No, you won't," I told her. "That French fry will be bound to get you again. Stay in our common room for a while."

Torrie's eyes went to her lap. "O-Okay…"

After few silent minutes, I parked my car right in front of the SC parking spaces. I turned off my engine and hopped out, going on to the other side of the vehicle to open Torrie's car door. She managed to stand up, but she was still slightly trembled. I took off my blue SC jacket and held it up in front of her.

"Wear my jacket," I offered.

Torrie hesitated, then stepped towards me, her high heels echoing on the tar and concrete beneath us. I reached out to wrap my jacket around her, her eyes still on her feet, too scared and shy to look at me.

I felt half nervous, half excited. I actually expected Torrie to cry now and then, but she didn't. I slipped an arm around her shoulders, not even flinching one bit. We started to walk together to the dormitory. When we reached our building, I was relieved to see there were actually few people around. I made a final turn to a corridor and then guided her to the common room.

The common room was on the right on the lobby of the dormitory. There were cushy sofas, large carpets, and coffee tables surrounding the big chandelier hung up on the ceiling, providing warm light for the common room. There were sodas and snack machines lining the walls, and soft music floated in the air, giving the common room a nice, homey design.

I let Torrie sit down to one of the sofas as I looked for quarters inside my throwbacks pocket, running to the soda machines. Then I went back to her, handing her a fresh, unopened bottle. "Here. Drink this."

Torrie took it, eyeing the label. "Papaya?"

"It's good for the belly."

Torrie opened the juice and drank some as I sat down right beside her. Neither of us said anything at the moment. Torrie drank up half of the bottle until she spoke.

"Look…I…uh…I'm really sorry about this," she said.

"Don't be," I replied.

Torrie looked at me, her green eyes holding my blue ones. "But I am. What I'm really trying to say is that…thank you. For saving my life. For saving our lives."

I shrugged, trying to humor her. "I get that all the time."

Torrie chuckled quietly. I fixed my confused gaze at her. "You…you're laughing."

Torrie made a face. "What? Were you actually expecting me to cry?" she challenged.

I nodded. "Kind of."

"Well, you're wrong," Torrie said, smirking. "A girl like me can't always be touchy the whole time."

I cocked a brow. "Why is that?"

Torrie sighed. "Because I've been through that road before. And it got me a lifetime of looking over my shoulder. I don't want to go back there again."

I understood what she said. "Don't look back, look forward. Is that it?"

Torrie nodded, smiling. "Yeah…that's the one."

We went silent again. What I really wanted to do was to ask her about that frenzy with Big Show, but now that I heard it a moment ago right from her mouth, Torrie proved to herself that she was innocent. She looked like she didn't want to talk about it anymore, and neither do I. Besides, McMahon's warning really hit me at home.

If ever you're going to tell it to anyone, make sure they know how to keep secrets.

Secrets. Yeah right. Like a normal guy would even get to keep one in this school. Torrie was into the whole accident anyway—no one needed to keep a secret around her. I was so drowned in my own thoughts that I tried not to notice Torrie staring at me. I squirmed in my seat, feeling uncomfortable.

"Wh-why are you looking at me like that?" I said distractedly.

Torrie tilted her head, looking more closely at me. "You know…I really haven't noticed it before...but you are really cute."

I couldn't say anything at that moment. The hottest girl in SC just told me that I'm cute. Of course no one human would react so easily! I looked back at her again. Despite her now messy hair and the odor of wine still clinging at her, she still looked beautiful.

I blinked, thinking that this was a dream. "I-I'm sorry I was hallucinating. What?"

Torrie chuckled again. "And humorous too. I'm really serious Cena. I never really gave much attention until now. And the people love you too, especially the ones from RRC. You must be mighty proud of yourself."

"I guess," I blurted out. "Well…I think you're really nice."

Torrie smiled and looked away, blushing. If I'm gonna tell this girl how I really feel, it would have to be the perfect time. So if I'm gonna still meet her in the near future…well…I'll just have to wait for that.

"So are you gonna be alright?" I asked her.

Torrie nodded, taking deep breaths. "Yes. I'll be fine."

I nodded too, leaning back in my seat. Then Torrie spoke up again.

"You're a really cool guy, Cena. We ought to hang out sometime."

I thought about what she said. The tension of Kurt/Big Show incident was still in the air between us, but what the heck? What's the point of turning back to the past when you could see what's happening next? In this past week, I thought of nothing but fear, anger…but there is still tomorrow. I have my friends, my reputation that I would still like to hold on to, and a girl that I would like to my chances with. I know I will survive. I always do.

Don't look back. Look forward.

I looked at Torrie, who looked slightly confused. Then I smiled widely at her.

"Like I said, honey. I'm happy to be around."

(t.b.c.)

This must be the suckiest chapter I've ever made. And I'm sure you guys are thinking the same, I'm not perfect you know. Please tell me if this was THE SUCKIEST CHAPTER I'VE EVER MADE!!!