long chapter... a lot of talking... i don't necessarily like it, but it isn't the worst thing i've ever written. actually, i think it's kind of cute. keep in mind, it's corny-cute. i want it to be that way. just cuz...well... that's how life is sometimes.

Ruby

Chapter Nine

"I want to go in a completely different direction," Mr. McMahon paced in front of me when I was sitting in his office the next week. "I heard that you got in to a fight in the parking lot last week..."

"Not a fight...more like a squabble." I slowly nodded.

"A fight in it's lowest form." He corrected. "With Michelle McCool?" I couldn't help but make a sour face when he said her name. "You know she's not a Raw superstar yet. Hasn't filed a new contract. I think we can get a good rivalry out of you two."

He had no idea! Not only would I be able to beat her ass, but I'd be able to do it for a reason. But then again, I've never wrestled before. "What are you thinking, Mr. McMahon."

"To put it bluntly, I'm thinking of making you a manager for a short amount of time with the possibility of 'ring-time'. You don't think I'd send you in there with absolutely no training experience, do you?"

"No..." I shifted in my seat, looking at the clock. "Who would I be offering my... services... to." That sounded so skanky!

"Well, there was a certain superstar who overheard me talking about the subject to one of my people..." One of his people... interesting. "...and he volunteered."

Great, I rolled my eyes, some low-life superstar who needs someone to stand next to him to make him look better... "Jeff!"

Jeff Hardy walked through the door, proudly displaying his Intercontinental championship on his shoulder. "Vince...Acelynn..." He smiled, sitting next to me.

"You?" I put my hand to my mouth and whispered, hoping Mr. McMahon wouldn't see. Who knows what plans he might have for me if her heard the story on the plane...

"Now the only thing we would have to do is visit the writers and tell them to come up with something believable." He continued to pace, only giving a nod to acknowledge Jeff's presence.

"Believable?" I asked, once again shifting in my chair. All this seemed so sudden. And to think, three weeks ago I was standing behind a camera backstage. Then again, three weeks ago I hadn't known I was in love with my best friend. And I most certainly hadn't made love to him. Weird.

"Yeah... why would there be a match between Jeff Hardy and John Cena. In theory, it doesn't make sense... but on paper..." He continued, sitting at this desk and picking up the receiver to his phone. He was about to dial some numbers, but I stopped him.

"What are you talking about? Why would that EVER happen?"

"You didn't know?" Jeff winced, placing his belt in his lap and staring at it. "Michelle is John's new manager." My mouth dropped.

"Until a contract is signed, she's just someone accompanying him to the ring." Vince resumed dialing then slammed the phone down, hearing a busy signal. "I haven't made up my mind about her yet."

I thought a moment, rewinding everything in my head. He said he loved me, yet she's going to be his manager... I thought that would make me mad, but it didn't. "I'll do it." I stood after my statement, almost knocking the chair over. Jeff stood and followed.

The hallway to the diva's locker room was long, and there was no one to talk to but my new "partner". He was walking faster than me, so I grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "Why did you do that?" It was a stupid question, but it needed to be answered.

"To help out your career." He shrugged, trying to act like it was really no big deal. But it was a big deal. He was potentially giving me my boost towards being a wrestler. My dream.

"Okay...now what's the real reason?" I hardly knew this guy, but I like to think that I can read people pretty well. "I bitch-slapped you pretty hard on that plane. Why would you want to help me after that?"

"Because I saw everything. I saw how you looked at him on the plane. I saw how you looked in the parking lot. I saw how you looked in Vince's office a couple minutes ago. Each time, a different phase of devastated." He leaned against the wall. I leaned next to him, figuring that this was going to be a long conversation.

"Jeff Hardy, if you were a hole, I wouldn't be able to climb out." He gave me a sideways glance like I was crazy. In theory, I probably was. "It was supposed to be a metaphor to how unbelievably deep you are."

"I've never been compared to a hole before." He snickered. "I've also never seen something this incredibly sad." I took that as a insult. He saw this, and quickly followed up with, "No... that's a good thing! Okay, before I can do any more damage, I need to ask. Can I write about you?"

"What?"

"It's another one of my art-forms. I write emoetry."

"Great." I agreed. What else did I have to do? "Can I tell you the truth?"

"Obviously."

"I want to move past all that. Seriously. It affected my career for a while, and that's my dream. Ever since I was little, all I would do was wrestle with my brother or Cena in my backyard. Once, he even broke my arm because of it. Cena, not my brother. But I don't want to remember that anymore."

"Did you talk to him after the whole parking lot thing?"

"Kinda..." I was not about to tell him what happened. "But now I realize that I'm not mad at him. Or McWhore. It's not even one of those things where I'm mad at myself."

"Then what are you mad at?" I shook my head, not really wanting to talk anymore about it. "You have to be mad at something or else you would have been able to move on."

"I'm mad that no one told me. I grew up in this really closed neighborhood. Kind of like a Stepford thing, but without the robots. I was always the most close-minded person I knew, and even just saying that is an example. I lived in a bubble. I just wished someone could have warned me that one day my heart would be on my sleeve. Or at least told me to get the hell out of my fucking bubble." I sneered. It was nice to talk to someone about this. Like this. Someone completely unbiased and uninformed. I think, in that moment, I had let my anger go and moved on.

"Well you'll have to square with that someday." He pushed himself up from the wall and started walking down the hall again. "I have to go get ready for my match."

"Right. I have to change, too."

He nodded and continued down the hall. I watched as his frame became smaller and smaller as he walked away, and I was truly grateful that I had that run-in with him on the plane. The first one. Where I looked like an idiot with a blanket over my head. The memory made me laugh for the first time in a long time. Or a week, but that seemed incredibly long to me.

At the end of the hall, Jeff turned and started walking backwards to look at me. "Hey!" He yelled, running into people he was passing. "Get out of the fucking bubble!"

I laughed, thinking of how majorly corny that was. Still it was good for someone to finally tell me.