Scar Tissue
A/N: I don't really have a note, just the disclaimer that I don't own any of the guys, or girls, I mention here. If I did, I would be sunning myself on a beach in Maui right now, not writing a story. Enjoy!
It was often said that the most successful guys in the business were the ones who used their own personalities inside the ring. The Rock, Stone Cold, Triple H, Shawn Michaels, The Undertaker, John Cena, Batista – all of them displayed elements of their in-ring character in every day life. They just turn the amp to eleven when they got inside the ropes.
But regardless of how real they all tried to keep it, the truth was that every Superstar lived, to a degree, with a split-personality disorder. All of them managed to live somewhere outside of themselves for the fans. And no matter what demons they all faced alone, the struggle for balance was one they shared.
One of the first rules she had learned in the WWE was to be sure to keep her personalities separate. There was in-ring Trish, and there was behind-the-curtain Trish, and the line between the two should never be blurred. The guys who found their careers shortened, and their families waiting in the welfare line, were the ones who couldn't figure out where the ramp ended and real life began. And she had always prided herself on making that distinction pretty well.
In-ring Trish was a total ho with no problem sleeping her way up the ladder, as long as she ended up on top. She quipped at the audience, acted like she was better than everyone, and had nothing nice to say to anybody who would threaten her title.
But out behind-the-curtain Trish had always been everyone's favorite diva for a reason. She was a hard worker, never complaining about storylines or opponents. She was pleasant to everyone, even the people she didn't know, and she always wore a smile. There was never a bad time to ask "real" Trish for an autograph – she didn't mind stopping and talking to anyone who had helped put her where she was.
Until now. Trish slid into the booth across from her friends and mumbled a sheepish apology for being late. For the first time in her career, she wasn't sure which Trish was the real one. After Randy had left her room, her thoughts wouldn't stop churning, keeping her up all night with tortured questions about what she was doing.
"You look like shit," Lita pointed out, pushing a plate of bacon toward her friend.
Trish gave her a withering look. "Thanks," she stated flatly, sliding her sunglasses onto her head. She wasn't hungry, but she knew that abstaining from the meal would only make them ask questions.
As it turned out, Lita didn't need a reason to press an issue, whether it needed to be pressed or not. "Seriously, Trish, you look like you haven't slept in a week." She buttered her toast without looking up, and Trish kept her eyes trained on her plate. Stacy was watching her, she could feel the other set of eyes, but she wasn't about to acknowledge her, either.
"I haven't," she finally admitted, taking a bite of bacon. It tasted more like cardboard against her tongue.
With an eyebrow raised in interest, Lita finally looked up. "Yeah? He's good, right?"
She felt her heart drop in her chest. For a week, she had watched every one of her friends dance around the subject of Randy, a million unasked questions in their stares. She hadn't lied when she told him they didn't talk about him. Because, until that moment, they hadn't.
"He's good," she shrugged apathetically. Reaching for a glass of water, Trish met both of their incredulous stares. "What?"
"He's not good, Trish," Stacy corrected, sincerity emanating from her dark eyes. "He's amazing. He's the best."
Trish rolled her eyes. It was bad enough the kid thought he was that good. But did everyone on the face of the planet have to agree. "Look, I agree, okay?" She threw up her hands in defeat. "He's got game, mad skills, whatever."
Lita looked around the room and then winked at her friend. "He's not here. You can be honest." When Trish rested her elbows on the table and ran her fingers through her hair, the red-head rolled her eyes. "What is it?"
Even after months of not really speaking, Trish felt good knowing that Lita could still read her. Sure, they shared time in the locker room – but it wasn't the same as the way they used to sit and talk for hours. She was glad to find that the bond seemed stronger than the strain she had put on it.
"Can I ask you something?" Lita nodded, as did Stacy. "Is he better than Matt? Better than Test?" She looked at her friends, who exchanged glances and then nodded slowly. "Really? Even though you guys were totally in love with them? Randy's still better?"
Lita cleared her throat, afraid that she was unqualified to answer the question. She had known Randy longer than any of them, and her arrangement with him was hard to describe, at best. "Stace?"
Stacy didn't want to answer questions about Orton, either. She could point out that her relationship with him hadn't been so different than the one with Test. But that would mean admitting that she had been in love with him, and the shame she still felt at her own stupidity wouldn't allow the words to tumble out. Nodding, she picked up her fork and hoped it would be answer enough.
It wasn't. Trish and Lita just watched her eating and waited for more. "Look, I loved Test. But Randy's like, I don't know. He's just," she stopped again. "He's indescribable. The ways that he can make you," there was a sigh as she blushed, "I don't know what it is about him, Trish. But when you tell yourself to stop worrying about what he's thinking, or not thinking, and you just feel what he's doing? It's the most amazing thing in the world."
Snapping her fingers, Trish pointed at her blonde friend. "That's the problem. I can't do that. You guys, for a week, I have tried to shut off my mind and not worry, but I can't do it anymore. Last night, after he left, I just started thinking about how it was with Carter."
"Carter couldn't hold Orton's jock," Lita spat after swallowing a bit of pancake.
Trish's eyes widened at the statement. "I'm sorry? How would you know shit one about Carter's ability to hold anything?"
With another roll of her eyes, the Southern diva shook her head. "I don't have to. Trish, Nobody is as, um, gifted as Randy," she stated pointedly.
It was true, and Trish could nod in concession. But she licked her lips and lifted a strawberry to her mouth pensively. "I'm not saying he's not one of the best ever. I mean, there really isn't much he can't do." She sighed and took another drink of her water. "I'm just not sure that he's the best I've ever had, okay? I mean, say what you want about Carter," she aimed her comment at Lita, "but he fucked me because he loved me. He would do things to me because he wanted me to know that he cared about my pleasure.
"Randy does things so that he can pat himself on the back for gettin' me off." She threw her arms in the air and then sank into the booth, defeated.
Stacy cleared her throat and sipped her juice. She had tried to remain silent, neutral, but it was becoming harder. "Don't act like you're not doing the same thing," she finally accused. Trish looked up but didn't move. "You're not fucking him just to prove that you've still got it? You don't do a little victory dance every time he comes, knowing that you're the best the Legend Killer ever had?"
Trish could hear the jealousy in the young woman's voice, but chose to ignore it. "Of course I am," she admitted. "But that's what I'm saying, Stace. It can be the "almost best" sex I've ever had. I just think it was better with Carter. Is it so bad that I like a little side of heart with my sixty-nine-ing?"
Lita nearly spit her coffee across the table. "Sorry," she apologized quickly. The statement was so sincere, so dryly delivered, that it struck her as funny, but she recovered and wiped her mouth as though nothing had happened. "Look, Trish, for as long as I've known you, you've been in love with the idea of being in love. Even when you're fucking around with randoms, you're thinking about the day you meet the right one and it all just clicks." Reaching a hand out, she rested it on top of Trish's. "The sooner you realize Randy's not gonna be that guy – that he's not even capable of being that guy – the easier its going to be for you to just lay back and enjoy it."
With a heavy sigh, she changed the subject and the three slipped back into "chick athlete" mode. They discussed hockey, football, and the upcoming Royal Rumble. Trish managed to push the entire Randy situation out of her head, chalking it up to PMS or something equally cliché.
After twenty more minutes, they paid their bill and started for the parking lot. "What is that?" Stacy asked, her eyes scanning her purse for the source of a loud beeping.
Trish reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "It's the only way I hear it," she blushed as she lifted her bag into the car with one hand held the phone to the ear with the other. "Hello?"
"Trish?"
There was only one thing that could have made her situation with Randy even more confusing. "Carter. What's up?"
I just wanted to throw a quick note in here to ask you guys a question. I had an idea today for Cena-centric fic, and I want to start it after I finish this one. He's the only one of my "Trifecta of Sexy" that hasn't starred in a longer fic yet, and I finally have an idea. My question is this: Do you guys wanna see him with Trish? Or is there another diva that you think would be hotter? I haven't written anything starring anyone else before, but I'd be willing to try, if there's a demand for it.
