ready for the last chapter??

Chapter Eighteen

I was walking the next day, due to doctor's "extremely important orders". His words, not mine. Then again, he had the four years of medical school... I trusted him. The pain was excruciating, the swelling worse, and the sympathy unbearable. Cena just kept following me around, tending to my every need and whim like I was a cripple. Technically, and at the moment, I was, but I didn't wanted to be treated like one. His dream hadn't fallen out of arms reach. With this thought, the grief set in.

Stage one: denial.

I kept asking myself: "Why me? How could this happen?" That sort of thing. No crying. No dealing with the situation. In fact, every time JC would go to pack for another week (which he would always make a big deal about because "...what if I needed him...?" When did we both become so co-dependant?), I would start packing my own bag not realizing until I had everything I thought I would need. I would then regrettably unpack and continue my cycle of ice and heat.

Stage two: anger.

Stage four: depression

I skipped right over three (bargaining), because I had nothing else on the table. You can't make a bet with an empty hand.

Everything goes quiet. The lights follow suite, darkening everything around into a hollow abyss. The only thing left is the ring, sitting squarely in the center of the arena. Some artificial sunlight drips down from the overhead emergency bulbs so only a single circle is illuminated. Confetti litters the canvas, remaining the only remnants of this week's elaborate storyline. Something I like to call the illusion. Poetic, yet tragically realistic.

Some find the illusion comforting, something they can hold onto when they're in doubt. Others openly accept it, refusing to believe what lies beneath. Picture it: your idol, strong and handsome, valiantly fighting their rival and it all ending with a largely overdue celebration. I used to find the illusion comforting, and accepted it into my daily life, but not anymore.

I find myself sitting in the middle of the circle, legs crossed, staring at the giant screen hanging below the fist. My picture was just one that screen, JR and King wishing me the best of luck after I had to give a few words about my injury, and I couldn't help but keep that closest in my mind. My illusion was not only broken, but disappearing. Evaporating, even, from my existence. This was the last time I was going to be in a ring. My physical health wouldn't allow it.

And all for the sake of entertainment...

I spotted Cena appear from behind the curtain. His head dripping from the sweat running from his pours. Another tedious match, something I would never experience. Slowly, he makes his way down the ramp towards me, staring right back. I can see that he's smiling, but I know he's just as uncertain.

In this instant, it's like I can read his mind. He's asking himself what I'm doing here. He asking why this all seems so dramatic. Too dramatic. He's thinking about asking me what I'm thinking about, how I'm feeling. He always asks me that, even if he really doesn't want to hear. If he did ask, I would surely answer.

Pathetic.

He continues towards me, stopping at the bottom of the ropes. I wanted to leap up hug him. I wanted him to come into the ring, pick me up, kiss me, run his hands over my body, and tell me that everything was 'okay'. I wanted him to be the one to make all my problems disappear, and for him to make everything better. I wanted him to tend to me, even though I had hated it when he had done it a couple weeks ago.

But he didn't. And I didn't. Instead, I sat harder. I brought my knees, the injured knee still numb from the removed nerves, to my chest in an attempt to hide myself. If the situation was as bad as I was making it out to be, he would come to me and do all the things I wanted. He didn't budge. He continued staring for another few, incredibly nerve-racking and intense moments, then nodded towards the barricade. He scaled it with one leap, then placed himself in the front row of folding chairs.

An explosion of sound came from his pocket in the form of a 'riiiiinnnnnggggg.' I watched him sneak his cell phone from his pocket and turn it off. It was McWhore, no doubt. She was probably wondering where he was. She was probably thinking that she had a chance now that I was out of action. She would think that.

The silence was beginning to drive me crazy. It was making me reflect upon everything that had made me this pathetic. Yet, I subjected myself to it. And yet again, I wanted it to end.

Then the pity was washed away by a flood of anger ripping through my veins and cutting at my heart like razors. He told me he'd have my back! He told me that he's be there! Well he's here now and he's not doing a damn thing! "...talk..." The words passed through my lips on a whisper that was barely audible. I strained my eyesight to see more than just his outline when I realized he had no intention of doing anything. I felt the anger grow, forming a knot in my throat. "TALK!" I screamed, letting the pressure go.

He folded his hands to his chin and redirected his eyes to the floor. He was telling me: When you're ready...

Tears were running down my cheeks, staining them with the make-up I had be given to wear. Running further with every passing moment, more stains formed on the clothes I had been given to wear. This made me angrier. I tore at the material, shredding until I broke a nail. With that, the rest of my body crumpled to the canvas and I cried.

My dream, my illusion, was shattered...

And he couldn't fix it...

Stage five: acceptance.

There is a difference between recognition and acceptance. JC made me realize that and a most unexpected way. He sat me down one evening at his home, a quiet gathering of just me, him, and a small fire he had lit. It wasn't meant to be a romantic fire, but it turned that way before long.

He sat me on his lap, helping me a bit because my knee was killing from a particularly intense three hour session of physical therapy. It had been a month since my incident, and I thought I had gotten over it until now.

"Remember that talk we had about fate and destiny?" He smoothed some loose ends of my hair down into my ponytail. I nodded, resting my head on his firm chest. "I've watched you through this whole ordeal and I don't think that you're okay with it yet."

"I'm never gunna be okay with it."

"It's an obstacle. Eventually, you have to make your way around it. You have to realize that this is the point where you have to create your own destiny. You can sit back and wallow in your grief or you can say "I'm pissed and I'm not taking it anymore". Where's the old Ace I used to know? The girl who would kick anyone in the balls if they so much as looked at her the wrong way?"

"She's broken."

"She should hurry her ass up and heal. Even if she can't believe it now, she knows it's true. It's human. She can't stop living just because there was a road block. She should work as hard as she possibly can..."

I interrupted, feeling that this moment was in a need of an interruption. "Can we please stop taking about me like I'm not here?"

"Sorry... I was saying that you need to get back on the horse. Not to be cliche - since I think we're already past that - but you can't keep going like this because you're eventually going to get so swelled up in yourself, you're going to shut me out. And that, little miss diva, is going to mess with my plans."

"Plans?" My head raised from it's resting spot in curiosity.

One of JC's hands appeared from somewhere along his side, holding a small velvet box wrapped in a pink ribbon. "These plans."

"That was a hell of a proposal." I'll admit, I wasn't totally shocked. My fingers wrapped around his, squeezing hard to be sure that this was real. "Are you serious?"

"Completely, but please don't make me do the whole get-on-one-knee-will-you-marry-me crap. That's just corny."

"I would never dream of it." At least that's what I think I said. I was way too busy processing everything going on to fully remember. "Can I see?"

He teased me for a while, slowly opening the box then snapping it shut at the last moment. He did this several more times, laughing louder each time. Finally he took pity on my and showed me the contents. Nothing. "What the hell kind of shitty ring is this? It's invisible, cheap-o!"

"I knew that if I picked out something that I thought was nice, but you hated, I'd never live it down. We'll go tomorrow and look for a ring. That is, if you say "yes". You've neglected to do that so far." I leaned in and kissed him. Oh boy, did I kiss him. "I'll take that as a "yes"." He smiled, a little dazed by the intensity.

And so are the days of our lives...

Just kidding!

When the camera's turn off, everything goes back to normal. The glitz and the glam fade, and everything turns out to be as ordinary as usual. Mostly, it's like high school. But then again, an entire lifetime is like high school. Never ending and full of unwanted drama.

I know what happens when the camera's turn off. But my next lesson is going to be what happens when the wedding bells ring.

and so a sequel is born! you want to know when i'll be starting it?? add this story to your alerts list and i'll add an author's note stating details when i actually do got to writing it.

it's been a pleasure entertaining you. you have been an extrodinary audience and i will say that you are ALL rockstars in your own way. luv ya lots and i hope to hear from you again!

Nicole

aka Ruby Dust.

and for God's sake, keep on rocking!