Chapter 5

"I do need a ride."

He had sent Joe and Colby packing before the hysteria set in. They had been winding down after the show; he had cut his hand and managed to make some small jokes about the situation before ushering them out. Jon made a remark about catching a cab, maybe hitting up a bar to prowl and they had both just taken off laughing, knowing he didn't like having 'wingmen' when it came to finding himself a friend for the night. It had been simple enough. He was slowly calming down, his face finally starting to turn back to its normal shade. She looked confused and he didn't really want to explain. Tressa had lost her husband and her unborn child. He hadn't died, just had a near-death experience, and had a new appreciation for infections.

"Great. You could've just said that instead of scaring the shit out of me."

Lord, maybe she would have a heart attack one of these days and be able to see Joseph again. That was NOT a good mindset to have. She nodded, keeping her distance from Jon, and regretted coming here to ask if he needed a ride. Why didn't she just leave and let him find his own way? Because he's my friend, one of my best friends, and I can't leave him hanging, she answered herself in thought, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hurry up. I have a stop to make before we go back to the hotel."

"What is it you're drinking?" Jon asked once they were outside and heading for her car, his luggage bag rolling behind him. He rolled his pale blues when she gave him a sharp look. "I grew up surrounded by alcoholics, there are signs you can't hide." Like the yellow beginning to creep into her eyes, giving her an almost jaundiced look. He bet most people ignored it, arena lighting was terrible at the best of times. "I doubt you sleep very well without it anyway." Drinking until she passed out, and probably miserable on top of being drunk until welcomed unconsciousness finally took her. "It's not beer; you gain weight on beer and you've lost quite a bit." So hard liquor then.

"Stop studying me like a goddamn test subject! It's none of your damn business what I do with what's left of my miserable life! Just leave me alone and worry about YOURSELF!" After today, Tressa had gone from being completely overwhelmed with grief and anguish to all-consuming rage. She couldn't believe Jon was judging her for drinking. "And no, for your information, I DON'T sleep without it because I'm plagued by nightmares of finding Joe, DEAD, in our bathtub with the shower sprays going! It numbs my pain, even if it's only temporary." Not to mention the unborn child she had lost one month after Joseph was put in the ground from an enlarged heart. "Can we go already? Fuck…"

"I'm not judging you if that's what you think." Jon stopped her from walking away and pulled her into the light of one of the streetlamps, frowning. No, she wasn't yellow, he could see the rage in her gray eyes, and he hated arenas. Especially the older ones, the piss poor lighting and he had just made an ass out of himself for nothing. "I'm a tool, darlin', forgive me?" He reached out a hand, sighing when she looked like she may actually spit in it. "I don't care what you do, or how you get yourself to sleep, Tres. I'm the last person who is going to…judge." His finger glanced over that band-aid; he had no room to judge. Jon was a grown man, a professional wrestler, and he had grown up in conditions that a lot of people didn't normally survive, but here he was…losing his mind over a small cut.

"I only drink at night when I'm alone." Her voice had lowered again, back to the stoic, flat tone she'd been using lately. "I didn't mean to snap on you." In a way, she did, but he didn't deserve her rage, or her pain inflicted on him. "I don't know what's going on with you, but…I'm here for you like you're here for me, if you need to talk about it. Whatever it is." Jon was the ONLY person she had confided in since Tressa had blackballed the rest of her friends in the company and out. Looking down at his bandaged finger, she reached out for it and slid her fingertips over the bandage very lightly. "I won't judge you either."

"Oh no, you would, darlin'. I judge myself." He laughed dryly, his hand jerking against hers before he pulled away. "Come on, let's get this show on the road. I hope your stop involves a place where I can get tequila and lime."

And probably a new box of band-aids and some antiseptic. What was he thinking, coming back to work so soon? His JOB was nothing except acquiring new injuries and, on occasion, a cut or two, every goddamn night! Groaning, Jon scrubbed his hand down his face, shaking his head.

"Come on, Tres," He looped his arm through hers, guiding her towards her car. "Before one of us loses our mind."

"I think we're way past that point, Jon." Tressa remarked, not pulling away from him because she found odd comfort being touched by him.

Maybe he felt the same way towards her. She didn't know. Everything had changed so drastically in both of their lives over the past year. Once they arrived at the rental, Jon put their stuff in the back before slipping behind the wheel, snatching the keys from her. Tressa didn't argue and buckled up in the passenger seat, knowing Jon liked to drive and told him where to go. The nearest liquor store was just down the street from the hotel. Before he had liked to drive, now he just wanted to. It was something he could control and he needed that tonight, after his little breakdown she had witnessed. He hadn't been able to control that, that was irritating.

"I got an infection while I was out, fucking MRSA." He confessed out of nowhere, his tone flat as he navigated the nighttime traffic with ease. "I nearly died from it; it was so bad." Of course, that was kind of trivial compared to what she went through, but…it was also the explanation for his behavior. "I got MRSA IN the HOSPITAL, the one place you shouldn't get anything from, you know? They had me on a drip for a week, pumping me with antibiotics."

MRSA was a very dangerous bacterial infection and, if it wasn't treated right away, it shut down organs. It could KILL a person! Tressa's mouth went dry at Jon's confession and she came to a very horrible realization. Not only had she lost Joseph and their unborn child, but she could have lost Jon too. All in one fell swoop, all at the same time.

"I-I'm glad you're all right."

Now she understood his reaction to the small cut and frowned, not blaming him a bit. MRSA was incredibly scary, and she could not imagine going through something like that. Jon was very brave, tough, and strong; it was no wonder he had shut himself off from the world, from her, from everyone. He had been fighting for his life.

"I-I'm sorry you had to go through that alone." Just like she had to go through the death of Joseph and her unborn child alone. They had both suffered a great deal and had to do it alone.

Fate was incredibly screwed up.

MRSA was a staph infection on steroids. Typical staph infections were easily treated with antibiotics. MRSA was, apparently, and this was terrifying to him since he had lived it, becoming quite common, especially in hospitals. Antibiotic over-usage had led to the rise of superbugs, super MRSA. He had spent over a month on antibiotics after that week of an IV drip of them, not the best time of his life. His triceps had been…bad, his arm had looked shriveled and his day-to-day had consisted of vomiting and other fun bodily functions occurring. Not polite for the public or anyone, really.

"Don't be. I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see it, darlin'."

She didn't know what else to say to him, so silence reigned between them until they arrived at the liquor store. While Jon sifted through the various tequilas, Tressa went for the straight Vodka. Clear bottle with blue lettering. Absolut. She hadn't found a more potent and better Vodka and made sure to buy a shot glass to go with it. Tressa paid for her purchase and waited for Jon to finish, rolling her eyes when he finally decided 10 minutes later.

"You're slow." She commented as they walked out of the store and waited for him to unlock the car before sliding into the passenger seat again.

"I was debating on if I wanted cheap, burning tequila or expensive sipping tequila." He had gone with cheap, burning tequila. The legit stuff, the GOOD stuff, one sipped like it was a fine whiskey or wine. The cheap version one shot down with salt and lime. He had also purchased a few items for his issues with potential, future cuts or anything that may lead to infection. "Absolut, huh?" Vodka…he didn't care for the taste of it, but to each his, or her, own. "Where are you staying?" Did she have a room reserved? Probably where everyone was staying.

What kind of question was that? "Where do you think, Good? I stay where the rest of the company stays – the same hotel." Some of the wrestlers and employees opted to stay elsewhere, but she wasn't picky. Jon usually stayed at the same hotel as the majority of the Superstars as well. "And yeah, Vodka has become my best friend at night. It's the only liquor that works and knocks me out the fastest." It numbed her too – no other had, and she had tried almost all of them.

"If you're looking to pass out quickly, you should try Everclear," Jon suggested dryly, knowing where she was staying, where they were all staying. It was easier for everyone to kind of stay at the same place and it also helped with 'accountability' and whatnot. He only half paid attention to some of these newer policies and 'suggestions'. "Though…it's also hell on the liver." Since the alcohol content was 95% volume or 190 proof, definitely hell on the liver. Also, highly flammable. "Or why not just get a prescription for sleeping pills?" Less havoc on the system and, since she wasn't one of the Superstars, she wouldn't have to worry about violating any of the wellness policies.

Tressa snorted, shaking her head. "Why? So I can get addicted to pills instead of booze? No thanks, I'll pass." She rolled the window down a little and fired up a cigarette since they were nearing their destination. "I'll stick with Vodka, but thanks for the advice."

The wellness policy applied to ALL employees in WWE, not just the Superstars. Everyone was accountable and if they pissed dirty, they were fined and suspended. Three strikes were all it took to be fired from the multi-billion-dollar corporation.

"And I'm not only looking to pass out quickly. I'm also looking to be numb. Vodka numbs me and until I find a better solution, this is it. Drinking myself into a stupor every night while crying, so I pass the hell out, wake up with a hangover, cry in the shower and then get on with my fucking day." Thankfully, tomorrow was the start of her 2 days off and she was going to her parents briefly, before grabbing a hotel somewhere to be alone. Tressa would house hunt again, but not until she was ready, and her parents were overbearing whenever she was there.

"Yeah, just you wait until the fun side effects of alcoholism kick in and Stephanie sends you to rehab." Jon snorted, lighting a cigarette before cracking the window.

He wanted to ask if she had considered therapy, the company offered things like that, grief therapy and support systems, or however that went, but he didn't. Chances were, someone had already done so, and she had obviously not tried it and wasn't interested, or it had made it worse. He pulled into the back parking lot of the hotel and then into a spot, turning in his seat to stare down at her.

"Want some company, darlin'? We can be miserable together."

Why was he miserable? That confused her because Jon had absolutely nothing to be miserable for. Granted, he had almost died from MRSA, but he SURVIVED it, so he should have been celebrating. Instead, he was freaking out over every little cut and putting himself into a state of panic.

"They do say misery loves company." Tressa hoped like hell Jon was prepared for her crying jag because it was coming. She could already feel the tears brimming in her eyes and needed to get inside, not wanting anyone else to see them. "If you really want to be miserable together…" That sounded wrong on a lot of levels. "Come on, then. Your room or mine?"

"Doesn't matter."

Jon didn't care what she thought about him or how she viewed his 'misery'. He had already thought it before; everyone had their personal issues and they all took precedence over others, while at the same time did not. It was weird. Like, he knew she had gotten the shittier plate and he sympathized, but it also did not diminish his own issues. If they really wanted to get philosophical, she didn't have anything to be miserable about either. She was alive and healthy; she still had a future to look forward to. It was just a matter of seeing through all the darkness and finding it.

"Ugh…" He groaned aloud, shaking his head at himself. He was no philosopher, no great thinker and he needed to stop now before he got a headache. "Your room, you can pass out there and I'll make sure I lock the door behind me when I leave."

"No. If you're keeping me company and drinking, you're staying with me all night. I won't have you pass out on the way to your room, Jon." Tressa informed him, stepping out of the car and guiding the way inside with their bags in hand.

Jon was insistent on carrying them inside as Tressa checked into her room while Jon did the same with his. Even though he was staying with her, he still had to check into his own room. Once they both had their own keycards, Tressa lead the way to her room and unlocked the door, waiting for Jon to step in before closing it behind him. She kicked her shoes and socks off before pulling the bottle of Vodka out of the brown paper bag, cracking it open. First shot down and another one followed after that as she moved to the bed and set the bottle and shot glass on the nightstand, staring up at the ceiling.

"Gonna crack yours open or what?"