Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC's. I am simply a fan-girl visiting the WWE playground. I swear that no WWE superstar, diva, or other personal were hurt during the writing of this fanfiction.

Chapter 15

(Mercedes P.O.V.)

I heard John when he boarded the bus. I was about to say something when Mack spoke up explaining that he'd picked me up at the airport hours earlier. I nearly cringed when Mack had told John to listen to me when I was ready to talk. A few minutes later I did cringe when John gave Mack the keys to his hotel room – opting instead to stay on the bus with me. I played with John and Mack's words in my head. Was I ready to talk? Hell, I'd better be ready to do something; after all I did just fly all the way out here. I waited till I heard Mack leave the bus and John make his way toward the bedroom before I sat up. Standing I wrapped the blanket around me – pulled the pillow into my lap and waited for him to reappear. I didn't have to wait long. "Hi" I murmured that soft one word almost foreign in the near silence of the bus. As he continued to move closer to where I sat the spastic butterflies living in my stomach grew larger. I glanced around the bus, "I hope I'm not intruding or anything I know your busy. I just thought…I just thought we should…well you know, we should talk."

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(John's P.O.V.)

Leaning against the counter, I watched her. Absently I wondered what she was wearing under that damned blue blanket. "Was she intruding?" How was I supposed to answer that question? This bus was my private space; an escape from the pressures of the outside world. So in the strictest sense I suppose she was intruding. I mean after all, no woman ever stayed over here. Hell I couldn't remember a woman outside of my mom who had ever even visited the bus before. Mercedes was definitely setting a number of firsts here. Did that mean I wanted her to leave – hell no! Did that mean I was sure I wanted her to stay – hell no! I opted for safe. "You're not intruding Cedes, you're welcome here anytime. I'm just surprised to see you."

"I'm kinda surprised about it myself John," she declared with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

I waited for her to elaborate – she didn't. Soon the awkward silence that filled the bus was nearly deafening. "I'm scared John!" Her words were barely more than a whisper.

"Of what" I questioned unable to read the expressions racing across her beautiful if somewhat sad face.

"Of this…" she gestured between the two of us "of dating…of us…I don't know John – everything."

Stepping away from the counter I kneeled down in front of her. I could see the tears welling in her dark eyes. The obvious gut-wrenching fear splashing across her sad features. Attempting to cover her face with her hands she blurted out "I killed the last man I dated!"

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(Mercedes P.O.V.)

What the hell was wrong with me? Did I really just say that? Did I really just tell John, that I killed the last man I dated? How could I be so damned stupid? I could barely watch as he stood up – taking a seat next to me on the sofa. I nearly jumped out of my own skin when he took my hand in his. "Talk to me baby girl."

His words a soft demand. My mind flooded with images of Jake. I could feel my tears sliding silently down my cheeks. "I hardly….I hardly know where to begin."

As he squeezed my hand, I watched him guardedly. "Just start at the beginning baby girl. Take your time we have all night."

I tried to process all the memories racing break neck through my head. The first time Jake and I met, our first "real" date, the first time we slept together, everything including the night he died. Some days I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror; could I handle seeing that same look from John? Absently I noted when John let go of my hand. I shuddered when he wrapped his arm around my shoulders pulling me in closer. My only response was to give in; to rest my head on his shoulder and my hand across his chest. It was strangely reassuring to feel his solid strong heart beating against my hand. A hint of cologne, fresh air, soap, and something-something that was pure John; whatever it was it made the simple act of breathing in and out that much easier. Looking back I wonder how long we sat like that before John spoke "What was his name?" His words were soft almost tender.

Maybe just maybe I would get through this after all. "Jake Webster," I replied my voice thick with self-doubt and fear.

He sat quietly – patiently waiting for me to continue. I was grateful he didn't push. "Jake and I met in college. We became best friends almost instantly. Before long we'd gotten an apartment off campus and were living together. I know it probably sounds naïve or maybe even a little cliché but Jake was my first everything. I loved him with everything I had. We were so good together. I was convinced someday we would marry…." My words trailed off.

John gave me my space, simply holding me close allowing me to set the pace. Taking a deep breath I pushed past my foolishness and embarrassment. About a year ago things changed, I didn't notice it at first. I wanted to believe that everything was going to be all right. Before long I couldn't deny it any longer Jake had a serious drug and alcohol problem. The sweet kind man I fell in love with could be the devil himself when high or drunk." I shuddered as I self-consciously brushed a hand across my right cheek; my mind flooded with the pain of the first time he struck me. "Suddenly everything was my fault. Stupid shit at first; things like keeping the apartment clean enough, making the right things for dinner, or how I did the laundry. Things just gradually got worse."

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(John's P.O.V.)

I don't care who you are; you work in any professional sport long enough you live to see men and women on drugs. You learn real quickly what it does to their bodies and minds. Watching her thoughtfully, I noted the way she self-consciously touched her face. That stupid son-of-a-bitch put his hands on her. I knew it – as sure as I was breathing. I don't give a damn who you think you are. No amount of drinks or drugs gives any damned man the right to put his hands on a woman. A real man walks the fuck away first. I could feel my anger rising I wanted to protect her. I wanted him here, right now, in front of me so I could kick the holy shit right out of him. Lost in my own thoughts I almost over looked her silence. Pulling her closer, I ran my hand along her back stroking her long hair. "I'm right here Mercedes…just keep talking." She seemed to settle a little in my arms, without warning her words continued.

"As things do," she began with a shrug "they went from bad to worse pretty damned quickly. The whole time he bitched about the apartment – things between us seemed good. Then one night he came home drunk and or high I don't know which – hell maybe both for all I know. He immediately wanted…well he wanted…it! I went along with him. At first things were ok, but he couldn't…." Her words trailed off again the embarrassment clearly written on her face. The dumb ass had come wanting sex and then was too wasted to do anything about it. I didn't like where this was going.

I knew she wanted to bolt. Her body was strung tight. Telling this story had to be killing her. Telling this story while sitting here so intimately in my arms had to be a nightmare. For a brief moment I thought of letting go – giving her space. Yet I knew I couldn't do that. She needed to finish this – tonight. If I let go, she would bolt and continue to keep her secrets bottled up inside. I watched, a little saddened, as she turned in my arms pushing her back against my chest. The closeness was still there but I could no longer see her face – her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her holding her snug and tight. The feel of her fingers clutching at my brought a small sad smile to my otherwise dark features.

"That night" she began again the emotions a little more evident in her every word "opened a down pour that I couldn't stop. Suddenly everything that was wrong in life was my fault. I wasn't woman enough to do anything right. I was too fat. I was too skinny. I was too damned smart or stupid depending on the day. After about two weeks he stopped touching me completely. I forced myself to be ok with it. I told myself that it was just phase that we would work through it together – like we did everything else. This past February things came to the boiling point. His best friend was having a birthday party. I didn't want to go. I knew that he would just get shit-face drunk – I didn't want to be the designated driver again. Against my better judgment I went. I guess we'd been there about two hours when I lost track of him. Worried I went looking for him. A few minutes later I found him in some spare back bedroom." Her words came to an abrupt halt, as she took a shuddering breath, as her words picked up again her words were void of any emotion at all.

"There he stood in the middle of the room with his pants around his ankles. He had some sleazy little thing on her knees in front of him. I was instantly sick to my stomach. Nearly certain that I was going vomit, I screamed and ran from the room. I was out the door and headed for the pick-up when he caught up with me. I demanded to leave. I even managed to get in the driver side. Slamming the door shut, I locked it behind me. Searching my pockets for the keys, his crazy tapping against the glass startled me. Looking up there he stood looking half crazed waving the keys in front of my face. I let him in he promised to drive me straight home. We were about half way there, when I decided. I told him we were over – I was done. I couldn't live like this anymore. I didn't want to stay with him one more second. Despite the late hour, the minute we got back to the apartment I was going to get in my car and leave. I didn't care what time it was or that it would take me nearly two and half hours to get to my mom's. I was leaving immediately and that's all there was to that."

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(MercedesP.O.V.)

The words came easier with my back to John. If I couldn't see his face then I couldn't see what he must think of me now. If he didn't blame me for this mess yet he would when I finished. Better just to spit it out. "I'd never seen another human being get so angry so fast. He was beyond livid."

I paused, the sound of my voice strange to me. Although I could feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, my voice was empty of any emotion – a dark void. My courage was slipping I had to finish this now. "He continued to scream at me – evil hateful shit. Seconds before the crash he told me he would see me in hell before he would let me walk away. I wish I could say I was brave – that I called him on his bull-shit. The truth is I believed him. I was certain that if I tried to leave that apartment that night he would've tried to kill me. I don't know why but, I remember sliding as close to the passenger side door as I could. Who knows why, but my movement seemed to anger him further he let go of the wheel and reached for me. Instantly I heard a horn blaring, we both looked up in time to see a large delivery style truck coming at us. Jake tried….it was too damned late but he tried to get us out of the way. The next thing I know…I'm lying on the side walk…I could barely move the pain was unbearable. I look across the way I can see Jake…I know…I know…he's…he's"

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(John's P.O.V.)

The emotion returned, her voice carrying a sharp razor like quality to them. I knew without looking that she was crying. It was a strange sensation to be pissed at a man I've never met, but I was. In that second, if I could have laid my hands on 'Jake Webster' I would have killed him myself. Her tears were my final undoing. How many tears had she shed over this man (and I use the term man loosely)? "Look at me?" I asked with all the fierce gentleness I could. Nothing no response or acknowledgement of any kind, I tried again "Mercedes…baby-girl look at me!" Still nothing.

This was getting me where. Standing from the sofa, I saw her visibly wince in response. She was physically preparing for the worst. I stood watching her a moment longer. She refused to look me in the eye. Although there were no real outward signs – I could see her internal defenses going back up faster than most people can change their socks. "No-way" I thought "the two of us had come too far I was not going to let her shut me out." Taking her hand I drew her up from the sofa. Gently I brushed the tears from her face. She still refused to look at me. "Fuck this!" I muttered before scooping her up in my arms bridal style. Holding her tight, I moved just a little before returning to the sofa with her sitting snugly across my lap. "Mercedes…you have to know that none of this was your fault. Baby-girl you did nothing wrong."

For the first time in over and hour her eyes finally met mine. "How can you say that John? If I'd kept my mouth shut that night we may have never had that accident. Jake would still be alive. How can you say this isn't my fault? A man is dead and if it's not my fault, than who the hell's fault is it?" She demanded as the tears continued to mix with the anger and confusion swelling her deep eyes.

"Baby-girl, I know you loved him – I get that I really do, but there something I need for you to get. I need for you to understand that there was nothing you could have done that night to save him. You said yourself it was a party. Had he been drinking?" I waited a beat and then two. I took then slow nod of her head as a yes and pushed on. "He was drinking and driving Cedes. Chances are more than good that he would have crashed that truck with or without you in it. You cannot spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for his mistakes. He didn't have the right to abuse you. He sure has hell doesn't have the right to your tears. It was tragic fucked up accident. If it's anyone's fault baby-girl it's his not yours." Did she believe me? After all this time was it even possible for her to believe me?

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(Mercedes P.O.V.)

I felt John as he released me and stood from the sofa. I could feel my own body shutting down – once more preparing for the worst. My inner voice was screaming, throwing a world class temper-tantrum in my head. "No you bastard – you were supposed to be different. You were supposed to understand. Don't do this to me!" I think both me and my inner voice went into a form of shock when John simply – quietly scooped me up in his arms and settled back onto the sofa. "What the hell was he doing?" I wondered in utter confusion. I confess to killing my boyfriend and he scoops me into his arms to hold me tight. What the bloody hell kind of sense did that make? His words vibrated over and over in broken fragments through my mind. "Not your fault…didn't deserve it…not your fault…his fault not yours" In the subsequent silence I tried to gather my thoughts – I had to say something – anything. I just had no idea what the hell that was supposed to be. With a voice barely above a whisper, I smiled looking into his beautiful emotionally charged blue eyes I wondered aloud "Do you want me to go?"

His response was instant and automatic "Hell no baby-girl! I want you to stay right here with me this weekend where you belong."

"You want me to stay?" After everything I had just told him he still wanted me to stay. What kind of sense did that make? My confusion must have been evident on my face; his next words answering my unspoken questions.

"Baby-girl what you've told me here tonight – it changes nothing. I still think that whatever you and me have between us could be something pretty damned special. I'm not going to turn loose of that without one hell of a fight. So….we can go as slow or as fast as you want, but I'm not giving up on you or us."

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(Mercedes P.O.V.)

I woke up the next morning curled up alone in the center of John's bed. It was well after two am when we finally finished talking. I think both of us were physically and emotionally whipped. We he scooped me up once more and headed for the bedroom I wanted to object. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that the sofa was fine. Truth was, I was just too damned tired too argue the point. Besides the idea of being alone right now – even if it was just on his sofa left me more than a little freaked out. Setting me on the edge of the bed, he headed for the bathroom. Ten minutes later he was back in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs carrying one of this red arena t-shirts. Changing quickly, I think I was asleep before my head hit the people. I certainly don't remember John sliding into bed behind me or holding me till well after nine am the next morning.

Yawning and stretching I pushed the uneasy feeling of waking up alone. Last night may have made things crystal clear to John but I still had shit ton of shades of gray to overcome. I heard the bus door open, at first I thought it was Mack returning from the hotel then I heard John humming. The smell of hot coffee and something that smelled deliciously close to bacon and eggs filled the air. It was enough to force me from to bed and off to face the day.

Author's Note: I had expected this chapter to be much much longer, but that does not seem to be the case. So I will end here for now and wish all of you happy reading. Thank you to everyone who is kind enough to read, review, follow, or add to favorites you guys are hands down the very best. Please let me know what you think in the box below. Until next time xoxoxoxoxo OZ