Six

"Just what the fuck were you two doing together, Celeste?"

The silence in the car all the way back to the hotel had been thick with tension and anger. The only words spoken on the ride were Brock's stern words to Paul not to show up at their hotel room tonight. Celeste knew she was in huge trouble. For the first time in their relationship, she actually felt honest-to-God fear of Brock. Every nerve stood on end, making her vibrate. The second the hotel room door had closed behind her, Brock had started yelling. Nothing she said was getting through to him.

Knowing Brock for as long as she did, she knew it was useless to argue with him, but she was still trying to defend herself. To Brock, it looked worse because she had referred to him as "Mark". Calling him by his first name seemed to suggest to Brock that there was some sort of intimacy between the two of them. For the past half-hour, the accusations of her cheating had been flying. There was nothing she could do to make him see that she had done nothing wrong.

"He was waiting for me when I came back with my coffee, Brock," she reiterated for what felt like the thousandth time. "I swear. I told him to leave a few times."

"I'm sure you did." Her eyes widened at the sarcasm in his tone. She wondered if he knew that they had been talking for a couple weeks. Celeste was sure he didn't know; she had been so careful to make sure Brock didn't find out that they had been talking. She knew how bad it would be for herself and for Mark if Brock found out she was fraternizing with the number one contender.

"Excuse me?" Her temper was finally beginning to flare, the desperation and the fear dissolving into anger. She was appalled at Brock for accusing her of cheating while he kept her locked up by herself all the time. "You know what? If this is the way it's going to be, then I'm just going to pack up and go home. It's clear the only thing you want me here for is sex anyway. The rest of the time you couldn't be bothered with me. So, if it's sex that you want, I'm sure there's a few other women who can help you, if they haven't already..."

The sound of his palm hitting her cheek and the sound of her crashing to the floor shattered the argument. There was a deafening silence. Celeste looked up at him, holding her right cheek, her eyes wide in horror. White-hot tears streamed down her face. Normally, she tried to hide her tears, but she was too shocked to maintain any sort of composure. For all of his faults, he had never hit her before. For all his faults, she used to be able to say he had never done such a thing.

Brock's face was cold, unapologetic. She used the bed to scramble to her feet and she looked him in the eyes. The room was suffocating, and she needed to leave. She needed to get away from Brock. "I'll send for my things. I'm going home. It's over, Brock. Just...just...stay away from me."

She went to make her way out the door, but he grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her back to him roughly. "It's over when I say it's over," he growled. His voice was low and guttural, threatening. She stared back at him, her eyes a mixture of hurt and defiance.

"Let go of me, Brock. You're hurting me. I won't stand for this." She tried to shake out of his grip, but he wouldn't let her go. He loomed in close. He reminded her of a rabid animal, the way his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes narrowed.

"You'll stand for what I tell you to stand for," he threatened. "If you think for a second I'm going to stand for you whoring around, then you have another thing coming. If you think I'll stand for you whoring around with that freak, you are dead fucking wrong. You got it?"

"I haven't done anything wrong," she spat at him. Her voice was racked with sobs. She struggled to steady her breathing. "And after all we've been through, I hoped you had as much faith in me as I had in you. How stupid am I?" Her words stunned him. He let her go, letting her fall to the carpet. She sobbed. He disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. She heard the unmistakable sound of something shattering in the room. Not waiting for him to come back out, Celeste quickly made her escape.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry," Celeste said tearfully, holding her ice-pack to the side of Mark's face. "He got a good shot off on you."

"Looks like he got a good shot off on you, too," he pointed out angrily. He tried to move the bag back to her face, but she wouldn't allow it. "Jesus, Celeste, I've been doing this in WWE for at least twelve years now. This is nothing. Let me ice your cheek."

"Icing it won't do any good," Celeste told him. "I'm still going to remember he did this."

His emerald eyes softened, saddened by her words. He didn't care for Brock Lesnar, or the way he treated Celeste, but this was a new low. Her cheek was already turning purple, bruising from the force of his strike. The tears in her eyes began to flow freely again. He pulled her against him, until she sat on his lap at the edge of the bed. She rested her head against his chest and cried while he soothed her, stroking her hair. "I guess I kind of deserved it," she choked out. "I made him so mad, and then...and then...I accused him of being with a Diva..."

"Hey - hey! You did not deserve this, Celeste. I don't want to hear that," he told her firmly. He really wanted to tell her that her suspicions about Brock getting around backstage weren't completely false, but he knew she needed comfort more than anything. It wasn't the time to start burying Brock, although he was tempted. He was even more tempted to go back to Brock's room and rip his throat out. "Brock is triple your size. He had no reason to hit you." He had to struggle to keep the hostility out of his voice. He wasn't surprised that the feel of Celeste in his arms soothed some of the anger.

"I didn't think he had such little respect for me," she said with a hiccup. "I told him I was leaving. I want to be out of here by the time he gets back tomorrow night. I can't be here, and I can't be with him."

"You don't have to leave," he told her. "We'd all love to have you around, and we could all keep an eye on Brock."

"We'd? What, you mean all my friends?" She shook her head, laughing sarcastically. "Or is it that you just like having me around?"

"I like having you around," he told her softly, placing the ice pack to her cheek. She winced at the initial contact, but snuggled closer into his chest, crying softly. He rocked her slowly. He didn't know how things could get complicated so quickly. He knew that he liked Celeste Marlowe, but she was Brock Lesnar's girlfriend. There would be hell to pay for the both of them just for her being there. But one look at the bruising on her cheek and the tears in her eyes told him that whether she wanted it or not, he needed to protect her.

When he was certain she was completely asleep, he gently made his way to his feet, with her in his arms, and laid her down on the unmade bed. He brought the covers up over her and she stirred slightly, but her eyes didn't open. He went over to the mini fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of water. He knew what he needed. Liquor. But he knew that he couldn't leave her at the moment. He contemplated for a minute whether or not he should crawl into the bed with her. The couch was too small for him. As it was his ankles dangled comically over the end of the bed. The price I pay for being a giant, he thought to himself with a sardonic grin playing at his lips. He shook his head. They were both adults, both dressed, and he wasn't into taking advantage of women, even if he did like them. He pulled back the other side of the covers and climbed into bed, shutting off the lamp. Tomorrow he'd have a solution for Celeste. He just had to.