Staring into the mirror he found himself asking a question that, he really hadn't contemplated before. What was it about him, that made him attractive? He stared for a few moments, it wasn't his hair. God no, it couldn't be. And if it was, those women CLEARLY hadn't seen him without straighteners. It could be his eyes. But it was rather pathetic to find someone so attractive purely based on their eye color. His nose pissed him off to no end, so naturally, that couldn't be it. And his lips were far too full and pouty. And as for his ears, they, quite frankly were his worst feature. He pushed himself back slightly, looking at his pecs and abs. He could understand why girls would like that. He smiled slightly knowing he had at least one feature he was proud of. He thought for a moment, before looking lower. Now, that wasn't a reason for girls to find him attractive. It was a bonus. And a rather impressive bonus. But not a reason. He sighed slightly, there was nothing pretty about Maryse. Or at least, nothing pretty about her when she had no make up on. Her disgustingly over blonde hair made her face look orange, even when wearing no make up, her ridiculously flat face looked so childlike and as for her body, without her pull in panties and wonder bra, she really wasn't anything special. But then again, even if she had the most amazing body in the world, it would never compare to Amy's. THAT was impressive. A lot of the guys backstage had said Amy was fat. She wasn't. She just, wasn't anorexic. She had a tiny bit of fat around her tummy and hips, but it was never really noticeable. She had amazing breasts. Again, guys backstage had questioned that, saying they were only amazing because they were fake. But Randy was sure they'd have been just as incredible without the implants.
He had found himself thinking more and more about her when he was with Maryse. A few times, he'd actually called Maryse by Amy's name. Not the BEST idea. And never at appropriate times, like when she was in front of fans, around her family, in bed┘Usually, those conversations would end with a rather angry Maryse crying and swearing at him in her native French. To be honest, those conversations had no effect whatsoever on Randy, but, in an attempt to make Amy jealous, he was keeping Maryse around, and she'd still be around that night. Just to flaunt her in front of Amy. Truth be told, he had not and never would move on. And no matter how much he tried, he just couldn't comprehend that she had. It, to describe the feelings, was as though someone had stepped on his heart the moment she walked out, and every day since, they had been twisting and turning their foot, making it hurt so much more.
Kicking the bin underneath the sink a little harder than he had intended, he decided maybe a shower was the best thing for him right now. A cold one. Stop him thinking about Amy. Not that it would work, but, anything was worth a shot these days.
Each one of Amy's bones ached as she tried to move out of the position she was currently held in. A best friend either side of her, one arm awkwardly wrapped round Patricia, Lisa lying on the other, their legs tangled in a less than comfortable position. Her throat was dry and her cheeks still felt wet, a tell tale sign that the night before had not been enjoyable. She sighed, slowly lifting her left arm from around Patricia, shaking it as she did so to get the blood flowing again on what seemed to be a dead arm. Pulling softly on her right arm, she unearthed it from beneath Lisa and her mass of pillows and after a good few minutes, she finally managed to climb out of the bed without disturbing the other two divas.
Making her way across the room, her bare feet padded against the plush white carpet. She liked this room. It felt more like home than her own room did. But then again, this room belonged to her and her only. Albeit under Lisa's roof, it was still her room. Unlike her own home. The home that was still registered under the name R. Orton, the mailbox that still received his letters, the bed that still smelled of Obsession by Calvin Klein, no matter how much she cleaned the linen. She walked across the hallway, glad of the cold wooden flooring to cool her feet, and into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bath tub as she began to run the hot water. Giggling to herself silently, she thought of the events of the previous night. It was most men's fantasy to have three WWE Diva's in the same bed, wearing nothing but their underwear, but it was hardly the same, given the circumstances. As the bath tub filled up, she added bubble bath, wondering where Patricia had put that white shirt. It would come in handy later that night.
After a long soak in the bath, Amy felt ready to take on the world but, as she made her way down stairs, she felt a sudden wave of nausea and rand to the bathroom. A few minutes later and she was in the kitchen with Lisa. "I am so sorry Amy. I should know better than to make sausages when you're in the house," Lisa apologized for the fifth time. Amy's eyes remained locked on the counter. Thank goodness, she thought to herself, rather scared of voicing her thoughts. I can't be doing with getting sick. Not now. Not tonight. That's the last thing I need.
She forced a smiled and nodded, "It's fine. I mean, I guess it's just the whole 'meat' thing, you know?" She said. A vegetarian and animal lover at heart, the smell of cooking meat had always made her feel rather queasy. "I mean, god, if meat should ever pass through these lips..." Lisa began to laugh childishly, a laugh which could easily hav been mistaken for a teenage girl after hearing a dirty joke. "Cooked meat, Lisa. Get your mind out of the gutter sweetie."
Patricia smiled walking down the long stair case, it was nice to see Amy could joke and smile after the night before. "you feeling better this morning?" the Canadian beauty asked, her long blonde hair scraped back from her face. Amy nodded slowly, the color slowly but surely returning to her cheeks. "And don't worry Amy, I'mma throw that shirt out now. Anything else of his you wanna bin?" Amy jumped from the stool she had been sitting on by the breakfast counter and ran, almost tripping over her own feet as she did so to Patricia, grabbing the shirt from her hands. "Amy, sweetie, you have to move on. You can't keep hurting yourself like that."
Amy frowned and shook her head, "It's not like that P. It's not me I'm hurting. It's him..."
A/N : Short? Yes. Sorry. R&R and I'll try my best with the next one :)