Chapter Thirteen

The need for a quiet, reasonably private area was great. So great, in fact, that they had spent at least thirty minutes looking for one since he'd caught up with her outside the locker room. She didn't mind in the least that he was a step or two ahead of her. It gave her the opportunity to calm her nerves. They had been frazzled since her shameful dash to the bathroom that morning. She wished she had a cigarette, and mentally cursed Dean for making her crave the disgusting things.

No, she wished she had two. One to smoke now, and one to smoke after what was about to happen.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Elizabeth followed the much larger man down the backstage corridor. He was a mass of flesh, she realized. This was the first time she'd ever been in close proximity with him alone, aside from the occasional brushing past. The lights overhead as they made their way around Wardrobe gave her the opportunity to take in the extensive tattoo work on his skin. Although she knew he was harmless, she felt a tremor of fear as he opened a door. If he wanted to, he could break her in two.

She slipped by to enter the room when he motioned for her to precede him. It was a closet-sized office, heretofore unspoken for by any of the crew. The couch against one wall, two uncomfortable-looking chairs and a small desk made the room seem tinier. But it would do for their purpose. The door clicked shut behind him and she turned in time to see his smile.

"You look scared."

"Do I? Sorry." Elizabeth rubbed her palms against her thighs. She wasn't scared. Not really. She just didn't know him well, aside from what she'd seen onscreen. His persona in the ring and on camera was formidable.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked, moving to sit on the couch.

"No." She sat as well, trying her best to look relaxed.

"You'll do fine. For now you just react to what I say and do." He pulled out his phone, eyes on her while his fingers moved over the screen. "I just wanted to meet with you so we could go over the current plan."

"I appreciate that." She was starting to relax. "Has the plan changed since yesterday?"

Bray Wyatt shook his head. "Tonight we don't interact. That starts up next week – unless they change it. Have you gotten your script?"

"Just the memo from Creative." She instinctively reached for her purse, only to remember leaving it in the dressing room. She would come unprepared. Wetting her lips, she drew in a shaky breath. "Sorry, I don't have it… But anyway, they're going to film me getting ready in the dressing room and I'll find evidence that you and your family has been there."

"Right. I'm guessing it'll be the lamb mask." He smiled again. "Good thing Erick has a few extra now."

"John usually carries a couple extras of his gear in his bag and some on the bus, too. A few years back we flew into London a day early and the airline lost his luggage. He had appearances to make and no gear, so after that he began to make sure he has plenty even in his carryon." She chewed on her lip again, this time to keep from frowning at the memory. John had been livid.

"You're alright with the plans, right?" Bray asked. "I have a tendency to ad-lib and don't want to push it too far."

"I… Think so," she answered after a moment. "There isn't a plan for me to be sacrificed in the ring, is there?"

His laugh was warm, almost comforting; the difference between this one and the raspy chuckle he used on-air was substantial. "Not that I know of, ma'am."

"Call me Elizabeth." They would be working together closely for at least the next month or so. 'Ma'am' was too formal. Relaxing more, she settled a little more comfortably on the couch. "So, I'll find the mask during my segment. From what I gathered, they want me to be freaked out. Have they told you more about what's going to happen in the future?"

"I've just gotten a general plan. Little things to have you scared, and I'll start talking about you in my promos with John. Erick and Luke will start showing up during your interviews, then I'll get in your head. You sabotage John at Extreme Rules. Or try to."

"Because God forbid he lose," she blurted without realizing. The words slipped out too easily. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment when Bray raised his eyebrows. "I didn't mean – I just – Am I going to do any promos with you?"

He looked at her thoughtfully for what felt like ages. As though he wanted to know why she had uttered the words. Then, thankfully, he looked to his phone and cleared his throat. "I hope so. I've caught a few of your interviews. I think you'd do alright."

"I just don't want to look or sound stupid. You're a natural on the mic, and so are a lot of others. I have this fear of dragging any of the segments down." She wasn't good enough to be put in a promo with him, she thought, tucking one leg beneath her. She would probably sound like a fool.

"You won't. I wasn't always a natural as you call it. It takes practice. When I was down in developmental I would spend hours on promos. Studied tapes and asked questions then went home and practiced in front of a mirror until it looked and felt right. You'll do fine, Elizabeth." He set his phone aside. "I think we'll get this done without any of us looking stupid. And I have a few ideas that I've given Paul to run by Creative."

"…Sacrifice in the parking lot?" she guessed with a small smile.

"You're obsessed with sacrifice," he laughed. "And you obviously haven't been paying attention. The Wyatt Family isn't like that."

"What's it like?"

His face took on a dreamy expression. He began to speak, telling her that John Cena sat on a throne of lies. That he, Rick, and Luke were determined to rip open he lies and expose the truth. The things that John stood for – hustle, loyalty, respect – were empty words meant to enslave the masses. Bray wanted only to set them free. To show them that he world was a cold, lonely place, where the so-called heroes were truly villains. Erick and Luke were there to make sure that people paid attention. For them it wasn't about winning the battles, it was about planting seeds of truth and winning the ultimate war.

Elizabeth shivered at his words. She wondered if he had any inkling that his analysis of John's onscreen character was true. Bray didn't seem the type to pay attention to the rumor mill, which had been churning full-force in recent days. She wanted to ask him if he would bring up the whispers backstage that John was unfaithful. She refrained, though, staying quiet as he went on. Nodding when he told her that she would have to start believing what he said about John, she absently picked at the hem of her jeans.

"Will you have a problem following the buzzards, Elizabeth?"

She smiled, appreciating the way he seamlessly shifted from Bray Wyatt the character and Bray Wyatt the man. "I don't think so…" she trailed. "But I do have one request."

"And what's that?"

"If I come out to be ring side while you're in a match, I want to sit in your rocking chair."

His face split into a grin. Chuckling, he pointed a finger at her. "I like you."

"I like you too," she admitted.

"Now tell me about Elizabeth Cena. What's she like?"

"Huh?" Immediately she wrinkled her nose. The sound that had escaped her resembled that of a goose that had been stomped on. Any hopes of masking it with a round of coughs were dashed, so she merely cleared her throat and continued picking at the hem of her jeans. "What do you mean?"

"The character," he explained.

"Oh. Right. Um." She faltered. She hadn't given her character any thought. Really, she'd thought that she would be a silent presence, with perhaps the occasional horror movie scream thrown in for good measure. However, Bray seemed to think her capable of doing more.

"She's married to the face of the company. She got a job with the company so she could travel with him. What did she give up in order to do that? Does she believe he's the hero he's made out to be? Or does she secretly despise his neon colors and never-give-up attitude? Does she resent him? Does she worship him? Will she be easily swayed to my teachings? Or will I have to take her apart piece by piece to make her see the light?" Bray's tone and expression were serious. Another sign that he took his career very seriously. "Is she somewhere in the middle? Still worships him because he's the superhero Prince that her mama read her stories about, but has started seeing cracks in the façade of braveness?"

Elizabeth's stomach twisted. How could she answer those questions? Would she be able to differentiate the two versions of herself when the time came? She didn't dare say what she truly felt about her husband. Rumor mill or not, that might shock the man across from her. Then again, maybe it wouldn't. She began to chew on her thumbnail as she pondered the questions. There was no way she could be expected to know all this so soon. She had only just learned about the storyline the day before.

Had it only been a day? It seemed a lifetime had passed since Stephanie had told her of the plans. The long evening at the arena for Raw. The dreadful hours on the bus with John and Melissa. The comfort and security of Dean's arms holding her while she slept. The unbelievable passion they'd shared that morning.

The horror of finding Roman watching them. The disgust over her wanton actions in front of a witness. The muffled conversation between the two men once she'd gone to the bathroom.

I want a piece of that.

What the hell did that even mean? He wanted to sleep with her? He wanted a threesome? The words had plagued her since she'd heard them. She'd almost dived into the shower before hearing Dean's reply. And she hadn't had the nerve to bring it up when she'd come out. There had been the usual morning rush. She'd promised herself she'd ask him what the hell was going on but, before she had been able to, he and Roman had left for interviews.

She'd gotten a few phone calls from Dean since he'd darted out, but they had been hurried. She hadn't seen him since getting to the arena, though she was sure he was there. Hopefully she would be able to see him before the show.

Growing aware of the fact that Bray was giving her that analyzing look again, she wet her lips.

"I don't know," she finally answered. "And I don't know that I'm even cut out for this. I don't know the first thing about creating a persona. They've thrown this on me without any warning, and things are so screwed up—"

"Elizabeth." His tone was gentle, as was the hand that patted her arm. "Don't worry none, alright?"

"Easier said than done," she muttered.

"Just think over some of those questions I asked. If you get a chance, throw some ideas down on paper or your phone or whatever. We'll work on it together."

"You'll help me?" she asked in surprise.

"Told you I like you." He stood, and held out a hand to her. "Yes, I'll help."