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~ Chapter 3 – Confused ~

Not everyone is clear. There is sometimes a fine line between what we see and think opposed to what others see and think, and when those lines are crossed, chaos sometimes ensues. So much is happening at the same time, so much is coming and going, keeping your head on straight is becoming a daunting task. After the storm passes and the waters still, even then it's hard to clarify what had just happened. You're disordered, muddled, puzzled, perplexed, baffled, confounded, mistaken, and there seems to be absolutely no way to clear your jumbled thoughts long enough before the storm strikes again, leaving you vulnerable for yet another disaster.

-x- -x- -x- -x- -x-

Sitting in the backseat of an unrecognizable vehicle – something common and unnoticeable – Ted DiBiase Jr. peered out of the window, his cerulean eyes taking in the sights as they passed by, though he wasn't really seeing them. His mind was in another place, recalling a time that happened not too long ago. It happened hours before, in fact, when he had gone to the Saints Hospital to get his brother to patch up a grazed bullet wound that was inflicted during a raid. That part was no problem – he had raided heists before, gotten shot before, but nothing hurt more than getting rejected by his own brother.

Randy DiBiase was strong-willed and incredibly stubborn, knowing exactly what he wanted and didn't give a damn if he was supported or not. He went for it, no matter what anyone said, if Randy thought it would help him in the long run, he would shoot straight for it, no questions asked. That was something Ted admired most about his brother – the man's determination and will power was astounding. Even when their father – Ted DiBiase Sr. – disagreed and utterly hated Randy's decision to get out of the mob and pursue a career that helped and healed people instead of hurting them, Randy didn't even hesitate. Those admiral traits were something that Ted didn't possess, though … not in the slightest.

The vehicle pulled into a narrow pathway off the side of the road, jarring the younger DiBiase out of his thoughts long enough to look around. The sky had turned a dark gray colour, the wind picking up, blowing the trees in different directions. The season had turned uncharacteristically cold for the early fall, the leaves already changing colours and falling from the trees. Beside him, a man named Jason Reso sat, a cell phone pressed against his ear, talking adamantly to whoever was on the other line. Sighing, Ted rolled his eyes and turned his attention back out the window. He had never really liked the guy, but his father always insisted that Jason come along. It was as though the man didn't even trust him, his own son.

Regardless of what Ted Sr. thought of him, Ted closed his eyes and allowed those insecure thoughts to swirl around, temporarily taking a hold of him, influencing him. He was always the last, always coming in second behind Randy. His resistance only fueled their father's determination to reel him back in, to convince him that their lifestyle was by tradition, which meant that it was imperative that Randy come back and continue their line. It was a game of tug-a-war with those two. Randy would get several steps ahead of him, only for Ted Sr. to find something that dragged Randy back. The battle never stopped and wouldn't until the eldest DiBiase son was back. But if that were so, then where did it leave Ted?

Invisible … a substitution until the variable came back.

The pang of hurt that came with the knowledge of not being that important to the family hurt, but the look on his father's face whenever he looked at him hurt even more. If anything, he probably wished that Ted were the one who ran off. That way his beloved son would have still been there, would have been able to relish in the victories of their battles. No, Ted was still there and it was Randy would ran. And it was Ted who stood in the corner and watched his life slowly go by, knowing that he was trapped in an endless cycle of loneliness, neglect, and hate.

It wasn't long until the vehicle pulled up to a large mansion, the lawn cut perfectly with lights running along the edges of the driveway, the effects welcoming to those who were visiting, but ominous for Ted, who knew what lied behind those solid oak doors. The car rolled to a stop and the two men in the backseat emerged. Ted maneuvered his shoulder some, wincing at the shooting pain that shot through his arm. Granted, he was feeling a lot better than he was before he got to the hospital – Randy honestly did a fantastic job at cleaning the wound – but his arm was still stiff and sore. Jason barely gave the younger DiBiase a glance as he shut his cell phone, the thick suitcase clutched in his hand as he walked up the steps to the porch.

Ted and Jason walked into the house; the only sound was their footsteps as they echoed through the entire mansion. Ted hated that place. The history was gruesome, the ground tainted with death even though the mansion had only been there for seven years. There was just too much death, too much suffering, and too many memories of the screams of terror that filled those walls. It was enough to send chills up Ted's spine and an eerie feeling to set in. Ted Sr. wasn't a big fan of lights, which was probably why half of the house was cast into darkness; the only lights available were either from small lamps on side tables or by the numerous amounts of candles that were placed around the house. Heading up the winding staircase, Ted and Jason made their way to the top story where the only room that resided up there was Ted Sr.'s office, which had a view of the entire property, a huge bay window in the back of the room that also gave him a lovely view of the river.

After giving a quick knock, Jason reached out and grabbed the door knob, twisting then pushing it open before stepping back and allowing the younger DiBiase to step in first. Upon hearing the noise, Ted DiBiase Sr. looked up from the piles of papers on his desk, his eyes expectant.

"Well?"

"The raid was successful. We were able to get the money those bastards owed us back and have eliminated them. No evidence was left," Ted said, his voice revealing nothing as he told his father the news.

"That's good to hear," Ted Sr. nodded his head in approval before making room on the large desk and motioning for Jason to come forward with the briefcase. The man stepped up and placed the briefcase carefully on the desk, as though the contents inside were fragile and would break under the wrong conditions. It was opened and the counting began, the two men making sure that everything was all there while Ted stood back, his hands behind his back as he waited for his father to dismiss him. "You were injured, Jr."

Ted blinked and stared at his father in surprise for a moment, shocked that he even noticed that there was something wrong. It took a lot for Ted Sr. to tell that there was something up, especially when it had anything to do with his youngest son. The fact that he actually noticed sent a ray of hope warming up the coldness that had seeped its way into Ted's heart. He took a tiny step forward, a small smile appearing on his face.

"I'm alright, dad," He said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "It was just a graze. I got the guy afterwards easily."

"If you were as good as you say you are then you wouldn't have gotten shot to begin with," Ted Sr. said, not even bothering to look up from the stacks of money that were flowing out of the briefcase. At the moment, he was reclaiming what was lost and now found to him. "How was he?"

Furrowing his brow, the frown deepening on his face, Ted cocked his head to the side and stared at his father. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised at all when he received that response, but Ted couldn't help it. He needed his father's approval, needed his father to know that he wasn't the screw up. He actually gave a damn and wanted to help in any way possible. Why he couldn't see that and honestly believe him was a mystery to the younger DiBiase. Why he thought otherwise was beyond him. There was no surprise when Ted felt his heart drop, his hopes immediately crashing to the floor at the disapproving tone of his father's voice.

"He …?"

"Yes, Ted, he. He as in your brother Randy, he," The father answered, looking up to give his youngest son another disappointed, annoyed look. "You got shot and you went to the hospital to get Randal to fix it up. How was he? What did he say?"

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Ted sighed quietly and cleared his throat before opening his eyes once more, those cerulean orbs shining. "He wanted to know what happened, why I was there, what I did."

Ted Sr. nodded his head and kept his eyes trained on his son, waiting for him to continue, holding his breath, hoping for the words he so desperately wanted to hear. "Then …?"

"Then he said that that was the last time, that he didn't want me to come back asking for his help. He wants nothing to do with you or this business."

The patriarch of the DiBiase family sighed in disappointment, his eyes falling to the floor while he shook his head – both in annoyance and sadness. He just didn't understand why Randy was pushing them away, why he was so adamant about staying as far away from them as possible. It just didn't make any sense to him. And then he looked up and saw the disappointment standing in the middle of his office, his eyes like a puppy – so full of attention and hope. It sickened him.

"You can leave now," He finally growled, his eyes flashing before he turned his back on his youngest son, turning his attention back to the briefcase full of money.

Ted didn't do anything for almost a full minute after those harsh words spilled from his father's lips. The venomous tone, the icy edge seemed to slice him right then, leaving a dull pain in the center of his chest. He felt like a child, one that had been scolded and was desperate to get back on their parent's good side, to see them look upon him in happiness and pride instead of hate and frustration. His father wasn't going to do that, though. Deep down inside – no matter how much he wished he it would happen, not matter how much he wished his father would change – Ted Sr. would always hate him.

Randy was his only son. Randy was the one that would succeed him when it was time. It was always about Randy. Randy, Randy, Randy, Randy …

He felt like he wasn't living his own life, like the man sitting at the dining room table wasn't him and the woman running around the house with a phone pressed against her ear wasn't his wife. He didn't even know those people anymore. There he sat, cup of coffee in hand, and all he could think about was getting out, finding a way to get free of that life. It was hard, trying to pretend that he was happy when all he wanted to do was run, to get away, and to start over … to act as though the past six months never happened. It was horrible thinking such a thing so early in a marriage, but nothing felt right anymore. He felt detached and completely alone, his feelings empty when it came to his wife, to the life he had now.

"Wade? Wade!"

He blinked, snapping out of his daze, his dark green eyes focusing on his wife. When they were dating, she had been so sweet and kind, her smile lighting up the room and his heart, but now … well, just the mere presence of her cast a shadow over his entire mind, body, and soul.

"Can you even hear me?"

"Yes, sorry," Wade said, giving his wife, Michelle Barrett, his full attention. "What's going on?"

"Now that you've snapped back into reality, I'm getting ready to head to work. Before I go, I left a list of things I would like you to do before I get back. There's not much, but I would be very appreciative if they were taken care of."

"Hang on, you left me a list? Seriously …?" Wade asked, his eyebrows rising incredulously. Does she honestly think of me as a child?

"I only did that, because I don't want you to forget," Michelle said, her slender frame slipping into her jacket. "Besides, not only do I have a shit load of tests I need to grade, I also have lady's night with Layla and Rosa. I don't have time to do any of that."

If there was one thing Wade Barrett hated, it would be those damn Fridays where his wife would leave him alone to be with her friends while he stayed at home, left in the horribly depressing thoughts that seemed to plague him even while he was awake, not just in his dreams. He cared about Michelle even though he wasn't happy. He wanted her to be happy, which was one of the reasons why he hadn't said anything to her yet about those feelings. Another reason was because he wanted her to figure them out, to see that he wasn't happy, that the smile on his face was forced … that it was all forced. She wouldn't see it, though, no matter how obvious Wade tried to make it.

"Can we just … can we just talk? For one second," Wade finally said, his voice neutral, but his eyes screaming in desperation. He could take it anymore.

Cocking her head to the side, Michelle furrowed her brows, staring at her husband in confusion, not really understanding what Wade was saying. The look on his face – so dark and desperate, yet so hopeful – and the tone of his voice weren't helping all that much. Pulling out a chair, Michelle slowly sank into the seat, her grey eyes remaining locked on her husband's dark green orbs.

"What is it, honey?" She asked, her voice taking on a tone full of worry and confusion.

"Let's get out of here. Let's just call in sick for a week, pack a bag, get in the car, and just drive."

"What?"

"I want to get out of here, Michelle. I feel like I'm suffocating in this time. It's all the same thing, nothing ever happens. I want to be spontaneous and wild like we were when we were younger. What do you think?"

For a moment, Michelle didn't say anything, too shocked and confused by Wade's outburst to really understand what he was asking of her. She slowly shook her head, staring at her husband questionably, watching as his eyes slowly faded as the excitement drained the longer he stared back at his wife – the woman who changed more than he could possibly imagine.

"Wade … no. How can you even suggest that? We can't leave right now; we have responsibilities, bills, and a future to plan. We don't have the time to be spontaneous!"

"That's what the word means – drop everything and just do it," Wade said, smiling. He pushed his coffee to the side and leaned forward, peering over at his dumbfounded wife. "Come on, love. Let's just go and have some fun."

Michelle leaned forward, her gaze sharp as she glared at Wade, her annoyance over the situation getting higher and stronger the longer they stayed on topic. "No! God, I have no idea where you got this ridiculous idea from, but you really need to swallow it and let it go, because it is not going to happen. We aren't teenagers anymore. We were wild and stupid and we didn't care about the next day. Living in the moment was all we really cared about, but times have changed. We have jobs and bills and a future to prepare for, so running off to have fun is irresponsible and just not happening."

Her mini-lecture now complete, Michelle stood from the table and walked over to her purse which was on the counter, her heels the only sound resonating in the silence that befell them. Grabbing the gloves that were inside, she flung her purse over her shoulder before picking up her school bag.

"I'll be home later tonight. I'm going to stay over to get these tests graded then I'm coming home to get ready for lady's night with Rosa and Layla. I'll talk to you later, honey. Love you."

He didn't move or say a word as she went out of view … didn't move or say anything even after he heard the car back out of the driveway and take off down the road. Wade sighed and closed his eyes, putting his head in his hands, the hell of his palms digging into his eyes. He knew he should have seen that coming, knew that the attempt would be futile, especially when he knew that Michelle changed. She was no longer that kind, funny woman what was his best friend. She wasn't even that anymore.

His marriage was coming undone and he was slowly falling out of love with Michelle Barrett.

John Cena was not only hurt by his fiancée leaving him – because he honestly felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest – but he was so unbelievably angry. He was angry that Rosa Mendez was so selfish. He hated that she was so spoiled and had to have everything her way, otherwise she's pitch a complete fit. He hated that she cheated on him, that she betrayed him, because she was bored. Not only that, but John was angry with himself for being so naïve. He knew getting involved with someone like Rosa was going to be a handful, knew that she was a high-end girl that required a lot of attention. But he thought she was different, thought that she was more than looks and materialistic things. And she was for a while. Rosa was sweet and funny and fun to be around. She was supportive when he said he wanted to join the police force, though she voiced her concern for his safety numerous times through training. And then everything just … stopped – while John focused all of his attention on his work, Rosa …

That was the frustrating part, knowing that the warning signs were so clear, but he was just too blinded by his ego, by his own will to make it big to actually see it. In doing so, he neglected the one person he was doing it all for. While he was doing his own thing, Rosa was off doing hers and, while she was gallivanting around Saints Ville, she met someone who actually gave her the time of day. As much as he wanted to blame her, John knew that most of the blame was solely on him.

His feet had carried him to a neighboring coffee shop, which was a regular spot for him. His mind and thoughts swimming around Rosa and the horrible mistakes he had made, John got in line and ordered his regular coffee order, not really knowing what he was saying. Only when he paid and walked out of the coffee shop did he finally notice that both of his hands were full. He had ordered Rosa's favourite mocha like he did every day. Closing his eyes, John took a moment to just breathe, because he honestly felt like he was losing his sanity. John shook his head, hating the fact that Rosa was taking over his thoughts, imprinting her lovely self permanently in his head. Not only that – he just spent four dollars and fifty cents on a mocha he wasn't even going to drink.

"I hope you aren't going to waste a perfectly good cup of coffee."

His hand hovering over the trashcan, John furrowed his brow, turning around to see who was addressing him.

"Oo, you don't look too hot, Johnny," Candice Michelle said, a friendly smile on her face before she actually looked him over, her countenance then morphing into concern. "Are you alright?"

To say he was shocked was clearly an understatement, his sapphire eyes going wide as he stared at the one person he never expected to see step foot back in Saints Ville. She was a lot prettier than he remembered – her dark brown hair a bit shorter than it had been last time he saw her, hanging about an inch or two inches past her shoulders. Her smile was as friendly as it always was, making her brown eyes sparkle.

"Candice?" That was all he seemed to be able to make out, the shock hardly wearing off. She nodded her head, smiling and laughing at the incredulous look on his face, and it was enough to temporarily make him forget about Rosa and his loss. "Oh my, God, you're here!"

"I know, shocking, right? I never thought I'd be back here, either," She came closer, smiling brightly at one of her best friends, the same guy who she grew up with.

"No, I never thought I'd see you again, not after what happened."

"Yeah …" She broke eye contact for a moment, just long enough to push those memories to the back of her mind. Candice knew coming back to Saints Ville would mean reliving old memories, facing ghosts from her past. She didn't want to now, though, not when she was face-to-face with the one person she missed the most, with the one person who knew the truth and didn't judge her. "How are you, though? Something's wrong."

John smiled weakly and handed her the mocha, leading her to a free table that wasn't surrounded by a lot of people. He couldn't help but chuckle some. Candice was always perceptive of him, able to tell if there was something bothering him despite the façades he put up to trick people into thinking everything was alright. Candice saw right through them, though.

When the two were settled, John sighed and started running his hands over his coffee cup, his sapphire eyes locked on the letters on the plastic holder, though he wasn't really reading them.

"Rosa and I aren't getting married. She broke things off, packed up half the house, and moved into her new boyfriend's house, John pursed his lips, the anger and sadness that he pushed back finally coming back to the surface. He shook his head and pressed on. "Apparently, I drowned myself in my work and completely forgot about her."

Candice reached over and took his hand. She could tell that he was hurting and needed some type of comfort and 'I'm sorry' wasn't going to cover it.

"Have you?"

"I don't know. Rosa knew I was passionate about becoming a police officer. She knew this is what I wanted to do with my life."

"If she thinks you were neglecting her then it might have something to do with overworking yourself?" Candice suggested. Once she saw the glare that was shot her way, the brunette knew she was getting close. "Don't give me that look, Cena. You and I both know you enjoy working yourself to death."

"It's not like I was never home! She likes to make it out like I'm the one who did wrong! She cheated on me!" John said, emphasizing his point by jabbing himself in the chest several times.

"But you are blaming yourself," Candice pointed out, taking a drink of her mocha. She cringed before looking down at the hot liquid. "Ew, is that caramel?"

"Yeah, I bought it for Rosa like I do every week, only to realize that we aren't together anymore," John answered, rubbing his tired eyes. The Latina was really fucking with his head.

"At least you don't have to waste twenty bucks on this horrible drink anymore. This shit really sucks," Candice stood and tossed the unfinished mocha in the trashcan before taking her place in front of Cena again. "Who is the guy Rosa cheated with, anyway? Anybody I know?"

Right on que, a red sports car pulled up, the tires screeching to a halt at the curb. The doors opened and two people – a man and a woman – emerged. John cursed silently as they walked to the coffee shop. Rosa Mendez walked into the shop while Alberto Del Rio stayed outside, pulling out his cellphone, or at least that's what he started to do before he caught sight of John.

"Please do not tell me that he is the one Rosa left you for. The guy is clearly a player. He'll leave her ass in a week."

"Is he coming over here?" John asked, scratching his back, trying to peer over his shoulder without looking so conspicuous.

Candice watched the Latino for a moment before sighing, turning her attention back to John. "Yeah, he is. Look alive and be on your best behaviour."

Whatever John was going to say was drowned out by a thick Spanish accent coming from behind him.

"Ah, John Cena, at last we meet."

He closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them, turning his attention to Del Rio, channeling everything he had into not pulling out his gun and shooting the man who wrecked his life in the face.

"Can I help you with something, Del Rio?"

The Latino chuckled to himself, the snide, narcissistic smirk on his face growing when he saw the look that was being thrown in his direction, as well as Cena's stiff posture.

"Actually, yes, you can," Alberto said, going into his jacket pocket, pulling out a bundle of papers. "I would appreciate it if you made these – how you say – disappear."

"Are you fucking serious?" John demanded staring at Alberto with a look mixed between anger and shock. He couldn't believe Del Rio was seriously asking that of him. "You know I could arrest you for what you just asked of me."

"Smart move, dude," Candice said, her sarcasm clearly evident in the tone of her voice. "Smart move …"

"Ah, you have a friend with you," Del Rio purred, his dark eyes sliding over to Candice, winking.

"Okay, it's time for you to get the fuck out of here, right now!" John said, his voice much louder than before, gaining the attention of several of the other patrons.

"John!"

The sound of Rosa Mendez's voice appeared to be of an angel's, but at the same time, like nails on a chalkboard. Her hair blew gently with the wind as she stormed over, her honey brown eyes blazing when she caught sight of her ex-fiancé. Storming over, John couldn't help but look her over, taking in her appearance. The clothes that she was wearing looked very expensive – it looked as though Alberto had been letting Rosa play with his credit card. The fact that she was having the time of her life while he was suffering just angered and saddened him. His defiance kicked back in, though, especially when Rosa sent him a glare, which was why he immediately sent her one in return.

"What the hell are you doing!" She demanded, going so far as to putting her hands on her hips, like she was scolding a child.

"What the hell are you doing getting pissed at me!This guy is the one who approached us!"

It was only after John motioned to Candice did Rosa actually take notice in the other woman who had stood up and moved out of the way. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at Candice.

"Who in the hell is this!" Just as Candice opened her mouth to reply, Rosa raised her hand, putting a stop to whatever it was that she was going to say. "Never mind, it's not important. Back the hell off, John. It's time to let go. We are finished."

Looping her arm through Alberto's, she looked Candice up and down in disdain before they turned around and headed off, but not before Del Rio shot John a smirk. His dark eyes then turned to Candice, looking her all over before winking.