POV #3

"I don't like blonds."

That statement wasn't directed at me. It was directed at Adam in response to a question he had asked my best friend, Randy Orton. And it was an answer that spelled the death bell for me.

There aren't too many things in my life that I can say I'm...what's the word?...ashamed? Yeah. There aren't too many things that I've done in my life that I can say that I'm ashamed of. It all comes with the territory. A man with my kind of pride would never do things that warrant shame.

Well...that was until two weeks ago.

In the beginning, Randy Orton and I were never friends. It's not like we hated each other, it's just that I was the A student, the teacher's pet, the voice of the freshmen, and the most beloved amongst my peers...While I was all of these things, Randy was simply a tyrant. If trouble ever had a name, it was surely Randy Keith Orton, and by design I stayed away from him out of the thought that he bullied people just because he could.

I was wrong.

In our graduating year of High School, I was treated to the sight that started it all. Not our friendship; our...shame. Actually, it's my shame, but I think it's only fair to say that possibly Randy feels a sense of shame for me too – I tarnished my pride and our friendship – hence making it "our" shame.

I haven't confirmed the truth of that yet...but...

Randy was sitting on the stage in our High School gym. The school band had already finished their practice, and Randy decided to stay back a few minutes to perfect his craft. If anyone ever lived for a talent, Randy Orton was born for the sole purpose of playing the bass guitar. He never once practiced because ever since birth, he was just able to play that instrument with the sort of skill many famed guitarists take years to accomplish.

My mistake was probably opening the door and seeing him play all by his lonesome atop that stage. In that moment, the image of Randy holding his guitar across his lap and strumming idly away at the strings burnt deep into the core of my eyes. It's an image I have yet to forget.

But...sadly, it's an image that's been washed over by my shameful act.

We moved on to University, and from there we became friends. At first, Randy wouldn't say much and it began to worry me that maybe I was talking too much and therefore stepping on any chance he had to speak. In time Randy put those fears aside by saying this:

"I like hearing you John." He cracked a small, thin smile. "You always manage to clear my mind."

That was the moment I fell in love with Randy Orton. Or rather...now that I have the chance to think about it...that was the moment I realized that I was in love with Randy Orton.

And that's something I'm ashamed of. But, it's sadly something that pales in comparison to...well...my actions.

Barely a year into our University tenure, a graduate by the name of Chris Jericho came around looking for band-mates. I didn't take much to Chris – his attitude then reeked of a man focused on solely gaining laurels at the cost of everyone else – but it would take a deaf man to not realize the talent Jericho has in his voice. Truthfully, even after I witnessed that talent, I did not comply to joining this group until Adam Copeland – a man I love to hate, but respect nonetheless ...he was a second year– convinced me otherwise.

And alas, out came Fozzy. Randy and I have toured the world times over together –he as the adored bassist, and I as the lovable/hated drummer – and on one night I decided to step outside my boundaries. I knew there was no hope for him and me, but I did it anyways.

A few months ago the band hit a rough patch. Album sales were on the rocks, and WWE was looking to boot us right then and there. Being the designated clown of the group, I dressed up in what could only be described as the most ridiculous outfit in history, made my band mates smile, and in the heat of it all...I kissed Randy Orton.

I knew right then and there that what I did was a mistake, but thanks to the fact that I was acclaimed by the others as "stone drunk", I had something to blame that stupidity on. This time however, I've only got myself to blame.

This time...well, this time I clearly saw the line, and crossed it.

"I don't like blonds."

Of all the things that can come to mind at this particular moment, I have to wonder why the hell that has. As if standing in front of this door is not enough, I'm downplaying myself into an even deeper hole.

"Are you gonna come in sometime today?" His cool tone – so blasé and unaffected by the shameful sight of me – drags me into his world. I then realize that I am standing in the open doorway of Randy Orton's house.

And for some reason, I've forgotten why or how I came here.

Nevertheless, I walk in. For reasons I refuse to try and comprehend – knowing full well that they're far out of my reach – Randy is wearing nothing except for a loose-fitted pair of jeans. That tanned torso is already sending my mind to places it doesn't want to go...I mean, after all, it has been two weeks since I last saw him.

It is not his fault. After we had sex, I got up and told him to write it off as a tragic case of "me taking advantage of a saddened you". He agreed to it, and let me be. I told him I'd see him the next day, but come on. Who was I kidding? There was no way in hell I was going to be able to just forget our one night together, and go back to the class of being just friends. There was no way I was going to honestly look him in the eye and not want more.

There was no way I could ever again smile so carelessly around him.

"Why did you come, John?"

That wasn't fair, I thought, seeing that I had yet to figure out why the hell I dragged my sorry ass over here. I search my brain for some explanation. Some wondrous, and to-be-taken-seriously reason as to why I was here when for two straight weeks I went against my word and never showed up on the tomorrow and days-after-that.

I choose to shrug. My shoulders have never felt heavier.

Randy scoffs a bit, and simply stares at something on the floor. There's a small smile cracking his face right now, but it's not the usual order of arrogance. It looks like I feel. It looks disappointed.

"Right." He states bluntly. "Then let me ask you this John." His eyes slide slowly back up to me, and tangles my own pair of blues in that icy stare. "Why didn't you come? Why, even though you said you would, didn't you show up the next day? And the day after that?" In one move he's now literally an eyelash-length away from me. His eyes are staring into mine with the intent to dissect. "Why didn't you come, John?"

"I...I uh..." I shift my gaze quickly to the left as if something suddenly appeared there, and then look back at him when my thoughts return. "I couldn't come back." Is that really the best I can do? Is that really the reason? I don't know, and by the looks of things, Randy knows that truth as well. "I'm sorry."

"Well..." His voice grates hard against the back of his throat. "...that's too bad because I don't want an apology John." He slightly tilts his head and I follow the movement with my eyes. It brings a sort of sadistically pleased look to his face. "So tell me...why did you come here?"

I still can't answer that question. The two week hiatus that saw me meditating on my past in order to fix my present never did provide me with the answer I was looking for. Then again, maybe the question was never right. Maybe I should never have been looking at the how to fix this, but rather I should have asked "Why do I need to fix this?" Or better yet:

Does this really need fixing?

In that moment I realize something. I am a man filled with pride. I'm filled up so much with that pride that I even take pride in that fact. However, even the proud can fall. Even the proud has to somehow succumb to the pressure of shame. But...it's not the shame that the proud should look upon. Rather, they should look at what's considered shame to others, and then see if it matches what's considered shame to them.

Randy never once considered what I did as a shameful act, so why did I?

"I came here to fix us." He throws me a slightly raised eyebrow. "Our friendship is tarnished Randy" Where was I getting this strength from? "...and honestly I thought it was destroyed, but I came back because I don't believe that to be true anymore."

"Really?" Randy asks through that sieve of a tone. "So what do you believe John? What's the truth now?"

I draw in a sort of deep breath in order to rally my thoughts. "I believe that our friendship evolved. What I did isn't the thing that killed our friendship...it's the thing that pushed our friendship beyond its borders and turned it into something else."

He straightens himself and gives me a high smile. I have no idea what it means, and instead I take the silence as a means to continue.

"Truth is, I came back to tell you something I should have said the day I woke up next to you. Arguably, it's something I should have said a long time ago, but when I think about it...no matter what I could have changed, I'd never have the guts to say in the past." Contrary to the former minutes, my eyes are now focused steadily on Randy. "I don't regret what I did. I don't regret taking advantage of you, and I certainly don't regret being in love with you for all these years. So..." I pause for a moment to allow my mind to catch up on things "since we aren't just friends anymore, I thought it was best to start anew."

To this Randy gives a look of confusion. I can't blame him. I'm still asking where these words are coming from.

I take a step back – mainly to get away from all that heat he's exuding – and hold out my right hand. "Hi. My name is John Cena." Randy continues to look confused. I continue to look serious. "I know you're not fond of blonds, but for the longest time I've been in love with you. And now I no longer want to just be friends with you." The smile I found difficult to muster for two weeks comes back the moment I see the small smile slowly etch across Randy's face. "I want to be with you Randy. And I am no longer ashamed to say that."

I, John Cena, drummer for the band Fozzy, am a man of extreme pride and unmatched strength, but right now I'm trying my utmost hardest not to shake myself out of my skin.

Randy Orton simply stares at me before grabbing my hand and pulling me to him. He throws me a long hug.

And I return the favor.