Chapter two- Thinking out loud.
My smile brightened as I stared into his eyes. For once, in a very long time, I didn't feel completely alone. I didn't feel like a total outcast. I felt like a part of something, a friendship. Friend, that was a word I had long forgotten and remembering the betrayal of my so called friends a while back, remembering how they didn't care if I was alive or dead, it resurfaced doubts. I pushed him away and looked down at the grass in front of me. I too picked a few strands and twiddled it around in my hand, forming a bunch, a friendship. But then the anger overcame me and I tore it apart, one by one I rejected the strands of grass dropping them to the ground or ripping them up into tiny speckles of green. I felt his eyes on me, watching me rip up the grass. I knew he was probably thinking I was a complete psycho I was starting to think I was. He broke the silence.
"Hey that grass never did anything to you," I turned to face him and saw he was smiling. A real genuine smile, something I hadn't seen him do for a while. Nearly the whole duration of his smackdown career, he hadn't smiled. Smirked, yes but a smile, no. It was nice to see and it cheered me up for all of a nanosecond then I remembered the rejection and the feelings I had. The last thing I wanted to do was get close to someone, trust someone again and have them destroy it, have them destroy me. I couldn't face another rejection, another slow goodbye. When it came to friends and family, or just anyone who cared or even just showed a slight interest, I just ended up hurting them or pushing them away, resulting in both us getting hurt. I didn't even mean to do it most of the time and that was the hardest thing to deal with. Most of the time it wasn't me, it was the drink.
I shrugged once again, feeling like I had done a lot of shrugging recently, as Punk pushed me a little.
"Hello? Are you still there?" I really couldn't tell if he was saying it in a joking or serious manner. When it came to judging people and their character, I was hopeless.
"Unfortunately," I sighed. He frowned at me.
"Thanks, that makes me feel great about myself." He replied and he regained his position of ground watching.
This was the most awkward conversation of my life. He was basically a stranger, a jerk stranger at that, and yet I felt comfortable. I felt myself, able to talk openly about myself and my past, about my issues. He didn't seem to mind. I wondered when he was going to start his straightedge preaching and his "I'm better than you" lecture. I knew it must be coming, or was it? Maybe CM Punk wasn't such an annoying, egotistical moron after all. Maybe he was an alright, misunderstood sort of guy.
Oh my god. I can't believe this, I thought to myself. How dare I, of all people, judge someone without really knowing them? The one thing I hate most about people is the way they judge me and my problem or addiction. And then I remembered that CM Punk was no ordinary person, he was the one who had been constantly degrading the WWE universe and superstars and divas (me included, though not directly) and calling us all pathetic for countless weeks on end. Week after week he would hold a straightedge intervention, demising the crowd and viewers. Telling them how sad they all were just because some people chose to have a drink with friends after work, or smoke a cigarette, or take one too many prescription medication pills. Well, I am not perfect; in fact I am far from it. But I don't want...no, I don't need someone telling me when I can and cannot have a drink. The anger was back, the anger that wouldn't stop until I drank. I could feel it swelling up inside like a bruised bone, I could feel it boiling to the surface. I tried hard to fight it.
"Please..." I said to myself, not realising I was thinking out loud. "Please don't, don't push him away so soon. Not now, not yet."
"What are you talking about?" he asked confused. I snapped out of my comatose like state, and my thoughts, and anger included, faded away as I looked at Punk's somewhat friendly face.
"Sorry, miles away. Can I ask you a question?"
He looked suspicious and hesitated for a moment.
"Is it something I'll want to answer?" the suspiciousness showed in his voice.
"How should I know?" I said more abruptly than I meant, in fact in quite a rude and snappy tone.
He backed down and shrugged, which I took as a yes.
"Did you mean what you said? Do I really 'have' you now?" I sounded quieter than I had wanted to sound, which was easily mistaken for doubtfulness.
He raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat confused.
"Of course. Like I said, if you want help, I'll help you."
"But what if I just want a friend? What if I just want someone to be there for me?" I was embarrassed to ask this. I knew Punk was all about converting lost causes to join his straightedge society, but I didn't really want to be a straightedge society member. I just wanted to me, and I was starting to believe that this alcoholic bitch I had become was the real me, or at least the new me.
He frowned again, this time looking a bit annoyed.
"It's all or nothing. Anyway it's getting late, don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked tentatively looking around. I didn't even know where we were. It was some sort of hill in some sort of field. I could just about see some traffic and the glow of the nearby city in the not too far away horizon. It was dark by now, pitch black in fact and I could barely make out what was in front of me. I could only just see Punk in the glow of the street, or should I say, park lamp. The field was right next to a playground of sorts and a little park, with a path and car park and garden of flowerbeds. In the light it would have looked wonderful, a true place I would have loved if I was my old self. On top of the hill we were sitting on, was a tree. A wonderful big oak, the branches hung over our heads, making it harder to see one another. The park lamp was about ten feet away and only a little blitz of light made it our way. The full moon shone in the distance and the stars twinkled, I spent a minute contemplating what Punk had said, whilst take in the surroundings. I wasn't even sure what state we were in. I knew that I would never come back here and it was a shame, in fact it was disheartening, I would have liked to know where this place was. It was like a movie scene.
The cold night air blew on us, making me shiver a little. I pulled my lighter out and stood up, minding my head on some low branches of the tree. I plucked a few sticks and leaves off the tree and scraped a bit of bark off the trunk and then retook my sitting position, the grass wet with what I could only imagine was night time dew preparing itself for the morning. I placed the leaves, sticks and bark on the ground in front of me and went about assembling it in an orderly fashion. I made it into a little woven pile, plaiting the sticks and stuffing the bark and leaves in between. Punk just stared at me, in either amazement or confusion; I wasn't sure which one maybe it was even both. I pulled out my lighter from my pocket again, expecting to hear a gasp from the straightedge superstar, who no doubt had something bad to say about me owning a cigarette lighter. I picked up the last remaining stick, the only stick I hadn't already used to make the bonfire like model and lit it with the orange flame of my lighter. I waited until the stick was satisfactorily on fire and then dropped it into the mixture of tree in front of us. Warming my hands as I went. At least now we had some heat and could see each other a bit better.
"Nope, no place to be. Nowhere to go and no one to be with." I replied, pulling a cigarette packet from my pocket. It was half squashed and I was down to my last three cigarettes. I didn't bother offering one to Punk, in fact I had expected him to snatch the packet from my grasp and cripple the cigarettes making them un-smoke able. Instead he just sighed as I once again lit the lighter, balancing the cigarette in my mouth and placing the lighter's flame at the end of it, watching the cigarette catch fire. I too sighed as I took a draw and felt the smoke in my mouth, taking it back before exhaling.
"Didn't know you smoked, or knew how to make a fire," he said, half disappointed and half amazed.
"I don't usually, but it's been tough the last few months. I need a release, a way to get rid of stress. I try to hide it at work, you don't mind do you because you know you're..." I stopped as he interrupted.
"A normal person who chooses not to drink, smoke or take drugs?" he shrugged. "Yeah, you see I don't actually have a problem with friends smoking or drinking or even accidently overdosing on prescription drugs, as long as it's in moderation. I know you don't smoke that much so I don't really mind, now you're drinking, well that's another story altogether right?"
I knew what he was getting at but I didn't want to own up to the fact that I had a problem. I was stuck in a weird place, somewhere between denial and facing the facts. It was weird, the things that went on in my head. I always thought I would end up being an alcoholic, a failure, a walking disaster, but I didn't think it would ever be this bad. I thought that one day I would be free and able to be my old self, women's champion even, a hall of famer maybe one day, FAR away. Those were thoughts I had as a kid.
Whether I knew I was an alcoholic or not, I didn't like the way he was implying I was. I didn't like the way he was making me angry. I couldn't even control the anger and that was the saddest thing, not being able to control the anger.
"I don't have a problem," I snapped.
"Never said you did," he put his hands up in defence.
"It was implied," I sulked as I stubbed out the tiniest remain of my cigarette on the grass.
"Isn't this a cute little scenery?" he asked, obviously changing the subject. I shrugged in reply.
"Yep, I guess so." I wasn't really in the mood for talking anymore, especially not about scenery.
"You know if this were a movie..." he began.
"But it's not. And you're not the sweet guy and I'm not the good but troubled girl. This isn't a movie, this is a real, twisted life and you're not the good guy. Haven't you been looking in the mirror the last couple of weeks...no months!?" I was really snappy and I didn't like it. But he didn't lose his cool; instead he rolled his eyes and continued.
"If this were a movie, I would be the mean, misunderstood but very handsome guy who always ends up being good in the end and you'd be the loner but beautiful girl next door and we would end up meeting strangely, in a cute little park in the middle of the night sitting on a hill perfectly positioned under the chestnut..."
"Oak," I interrupted again.
"Oak tree and talking in the candle...well firelight." He carried on completely unfazed by my correction. "And then at the end of our deep and meaningful conversation, I would say some quote that wasn't really in any way related but made perfect sense anyway and you would laugh or smile and the moon would shine on us and the stars would twinkle. We would look into each other's eyes and feel a real connection and then we would have our first kiss, then drive back home and go our separate ways for a while until we couldn't stand being apart any longer and then we would both try finding the other and not succeeding until the final scene, where we miraculously find each other and end up in each other's arms. Then we would end the movie with the final kiss leaving it open for a sequel, yet still having a perfect ending."
I couldn't actually believe this was the same guy who had once been considered the nastiest guy in the WWE. It was shocking, I didn't realise he actually had a heart.
"Oh how cliché," I rolled my eyes. "Perfect endings are overrated anyway."
I placed my elbow on my knee and put my head in my hand, watching the embers of the mini fire burn weakly.
"Glad you liked it," he smiled.
I shivered again; it was so cold I couldn't stand it anymore. It was freezing and Punk had noticed my lack of warmth.
"Want my jacket?" he offered removing it from his shoulders.
"Aww what a gentleman. No I'm fine," I lied, trying to sound mildly convincing.
"Ok," Punk said, though he didn't sound or look convinced. He placed the jacket by my side anyway and offered me a look as if to say one of us should have the jacket and it wasn't going to be him. Reading his mind, I picked it up and placed it loosely over my shoulders, automatically feeling warmer.
"Oh, well since you offered so nicely." I said and he smiled. For some strange reason, I couldn't help but laugh.
He smiled in return, this time a wider and warmer smile.
"No, don't wear it like that. Put it on properly," he insisted and sighing I obliged. Putting my arms through and wrapping it round my considerably smaller body. It was like wearing one of my dad's old shirts when I was a kid and I felt warm and safe, protected.
"Never leave me," I said seriously, shocking both myself and Punk.
A subtle, yet sincere nod was all I needed in return.
A/N- Well I liked writing that and it took me about 2 hours to write the first version. I think I might actually start developing this into a fic. The next chapter will be kind of where this one left off yet not exactly. It will most likely be them going home and/or explaining how and why they both ended up sitting there under the tree to begin with. I have a good feeling about this story and can't wait to show it to my dad and sister, my biggest critics and best reviewers. Hopefully they will like it because all I want is to make them both proud. They deserve it after everything they have done for me and helping me feel better. I love them very much.