After a very short but extremely brutal match, a victorious Mark Calaway and Rose Lewis arrived at their hotel suite at Nine PM. They both chilled out on their beds, eating food ordered from Room Service and watching TV. Rose's wheelchair was folded and packed under her bed.
Rose suddenly let out a belch. It was barely audible. Mark laughed. "Come on Rose, that was miserable," he said through guffaws.
"Oh yeah?" Rose said in challenge. "Think you can do better?"
Mark complacently set down his chickenwing, cleared his throat, and tapped his chest. "Watch, listen, and learn."
Rose laughed and then stayed quiet to watch.
Mark let fly a collossal belch, loud enough almost to shake the room. It lasted for a full ten seconds, thanks to him moving his mouth and his head to get as much out as possible.
"Thankyou, Thankyou very much," Elvised Mark, smugly. He resumed eating his chicken.
"Mark," Rose said after a seemingly-endless fit of laughter. "Can I ask you a personal question?" She looked at him and quickly added, "you don't have to answer if you don't want to."
Mark set his plate aside and lay back into the bed, relaxing. "Course you can."
"Why don't you have a girlfriend?"
"No one's caught my eye I guess," Mark answered, letting out another, considerably quieter, belch.
"How long ago did you last date someone?"
"About four years ago."
"What happened to her?" Rose asked, curiosity rushing through her.
"She decided one man wasn't enough for her," Mark replied.
"She cheated on you?" Rose said in disbelief.
"Yup," Mark said blandly. THere was a pause. Rose wasn't sure whether she should ask...
"Who was it with?"
"Paul Levesque," Mark said simply. He'd seen that question coming.
"Triple H!"
"Yep, Him."
"Oh Mark," Rose was suddenly swept up by guilt. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.
"Quit babbling, you little Queen," Mark said laughingly. "It's fine. Besides, I'm glad I found out what she was really like. Otherwise I'd have married a Whore."
"Oh, god...yeah, that's...hold up, who you callin' a queen? It was YOU who woke up with makeup on your face!" She retorted.
"Pfft," Mark waved his hand dismissively. "Only cause you put it on me in the first place."
Rose looked like she was going to answer but her mouth froze in a silent "O".
"So how about you?" Mark asked, satisfied enough that he'd won the argument to change the subject.
Rose looked like she'd just returned to Earth from orbit. "What?"
"How's your love life?"
"Non-existent," Rose replied. Mark looked at her in disbelief.
"Why not?"
"I'm not the kind of girl guys want to date. I'm too much of a 'tough chick'." She even mimed bunny-rabbit-ears. Mark wanted to laugh.
"The hell do they all call you that for?" he asked.
"I wear big boots, baggy pants and tank tops. I don't have a problem with getting my hands dirty."
"Hell I know several guys who would go for exactly that. You almost sound like Amy Dumas. And she has thousands of guys after her."
Rose looked at him quizically. "Yeah, but she's pretty."
"Hey," Mark interrupted. "Don't you dare say you aren't pretty because you are."
Rose brightened. "No one's ever said it quite like that before," she laughed.
Mark looked indifferent. "Well they should say it a lot, because it's true." He looked over at her. There was nothing but truth in his eyes. "Don't go emo on me girl, or I'll have to spank the living hell out of you."
"Sounds like fun," Rose joked back. Mark's face went suddenly blank.
"So what else are you interested in that most guys apparently don't go for?" he hastily asked. Rose laughed at his desire to change the subject.
"I like cars, bikes, metal music," Rose said, munching through her last chickenwing. "But I love the blues."
"Ditto," Mark chimed in. Rose raised an eyebrow. "I love the blues," Mark added.
"Cool," Rose replied.
"So have you ever had a boyfriend before?" Mark asked. Rose blushed.
"No," she said. "I think It's cause I don't wear makeup...you know, 'normal girl stuff.' Maybe I'm a freak."
Mark snorted. "You? A Freak? Honey, you're talking to a man that used to wear black makeup all over his face and pretend to be the Grim Reaper."
Rose chortled. "Yeah, but that was for the show."
"So?" Mark countered. "Thousands of people saw me like that."
"I still feel like I am a freak, y'know...for never having a boyfriend."
"You're not," Mark said firmly. "You just have high standards, and none of the hollow, superficial trash in this world has yet proven themselves worthy of you."
"You really think so?" Rose brightened.
"Yes, I do," Mark said, with calm authority. Rose calmed down and felt happier. Mark got up to take care of their empty plates.
As he did so, one of their forks slipped off the side of the plate, and hit Rose on the shin.
"Ouch!" Rose said. "That thing is still warm."
"Must have been some hot food," Mark quipped. He bent down to pick up the fork.
"Nice view," Rose said jokingly as she caught a full stare of Mark's buttocks.
Then it hit him.
"Hold up," he said, straightening up. "Did...did you feel that?"
Rose realised too. Her face was wide with surprise. Mark put the plates down onto the coffee table and turned back to her.
Mark knelt down between Rose's knees and started to massage her calves. "You feel that?" he asked.
Rose's face was dancing with happiness. "Yes.." she said, softly at first, but then again, with more confidence.
Mark allowed a brief smile of cautious optimism. "Gimme one of your legs."
Rose concentrated, face twisted up in effort. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, she inched out her left leg towards Mark's right hand.
Mark took ahold of her leg at the ankle.
"Rose, open your eyes."
Rose stared down at her leg. She had moved it! She could feel Mark's warm touch against her skin!
"Oh my god, Mark, I...I can feel it! I...I can move my legs."
"I'm taking you to hospital," Mark said suddenly.
"What? Why"
"Because if you've got the feeling back in your legs, they may need to X-Ray your spine to see if the swelling has gone down," Mark explained as he unfolded her wheelchair.
"Come on, let's go," he said, and wheeled her to his truck, before they set off for the hospital.