A/n : Took me long enough, but I'm back. I really, don't know what's going on with this story, and I'm only finishing this chapter because I'm jealous of the fact that Angelic Torture's muses are working for her )
Randy sat in the drivers seat of a luxury rental car, keys clutched tightly in his hand. He had no intention of going anywhere, he just couldn't face going back into that arena, knowing that Trish would have told the rest of the girls. And so he had decided that it was best for everyone if he just sat in the car until he was certain his match was going to start. He groped around in the glove compartment, looking for the cell phone he had thrown in their earlier, but, due to being stretched across two seats, he found himself rather uncomfortable. "Fucking rentals, made for midgets," he whined before opening the door to give him more leg room as he lay across the seats, now looking under the passenger seat for the phone.
Gripping the slim, black piece of metal, he sat up grumpily, pulling the door closed again and readjusting his legs under the wheel. "Six new messages," he said," big surprise there." He laughed sarcastically, raising the phone to his ear. After five strangely stalker like messages he was about to hang up, until the sixth came.
"Randall. It's me. Your mother." came the voice. Randy rolled his eyes, ok, so after a few two many chair shots to the head, some of his brain cells had gotten loose, but he wasn't stupid enough not to recognize his own mothers voice. "Becky just told me about your new girlfriend. Apparently your father's known about it for a while. I assume she'll be at the gathering? Well, I don't know when you're going to get this. Knowing you, not for a good few days. But remember, three weeks. You better act somewhat respectable, goodness knows I don't need showing up around your father's side of the family. Well, be safe." Without thinking, Randy's head collided with the top part of the wheel. She had to be kidding? It wasn't as though he didn't know he only had three weeks, but to be constantly reminded? He sighed.
"Schizophrenia has got to be hereditary," he said rubbing his temples, the cell once again thrown to the other side of the car. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of a way to get out of it. I could say she cheated…NO. Mom doesn't want embarrassment. She could have died? No. They'd expect a funeral. He sighed and tried his best not to think at all. Normally, this was easy for him, but with so much pressure, it seemed like taking down Khali would be a lot easier than making his mind go blank right now.
"Get up Wiseact, your match is next," came a female voice, the car door opening. Randy screwed his eyes up. He wasn't sure who it was, and to be honest, he didn't care. All he knew was that she had been in that locker room when Trish had gone back in, so chances were, she knew of what had happened.
The diva laughed and leaned over, if he thought she actually believed that he was asleep, he was very much mistaken. She smiled and placed her hand on his cheek. She wasn't getting her pay check docked just because he wouldn't get up. Randy squeezed his eyes tighter shut, her hands were fucking freezing and it didn't really feel too good, considering he was boiling hot. "It's a shame you're sleeping," she whispered. "Cause, well, I was kinda here to tell you, that, I think I love you." She watched his eyes flick open quickly. "Knew you weren't sleeping. Now get up. McMahon says if you don't get in there in forty six seconds, I lose one third of my pay check. So MOVE."
Randy got out the car and locked the door quickly, speeding up his pace as he walked through the parking lot. "Amy," he said, catching up with the diva. "You just said…"
Amy smirked. "You're not the only one who knows when to lie." She laughed pushing the backdoor of the arena open, walking through them and striding away from the superstar, a smirk evident on her face.
"Typical," Randy muttered, dragging his feet along as he walked to his locker room. "She says something like that? Should have known she was lying. Not bloody fair." He sighed and pulled off the baggy shorts he had been wearing over his wrestling trunks, and the warm Jordan sweater which covered his chest. "It's never fair these days. Everyone else gets to be happy, except me."
He rolled his eyes and changed his old sneakers into his wrestling boots, lacing them up faster than usual before drinking 90 of the bottle of water lying beside him. No time for petty routines and rituals today, he quite frankly, wasn't in the mood for them. Walking along the hall, people just seemed to move out of his way, maybe it was his facial expressions, his body language, or just his all round being, but they all seemed to realize that getting in his way probably wasn't a good thing to do.
Ten minutes later and he was lying back in his locker room. Same old matches, week after week. He'd go out, act all cocky. Taker would intervene. End of. It was getting tiresome, even for him. He spread out, lying along the bench in an incredibly uncomfortable position. He laughed, "Rey wouldn't even fit on here." It seemed everything was too small for him. Or maybe, he just felt it was. He sat up. That was the answer. Rey. Well, Smackdown.
If he couldn't get any Raw divas to lie for him, there had to be a Smackdown diva who would. He sat up, trademark smirk reappearing on his face. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that before? He paused, because he had been hoping Amy would change her mind. He sighed, what the hell was it about her? She was a bitch, she acted like a total guy and she hated any sort of civilization so why did he like her so much? He rolled his eyes and began to pack his bag. He had a flight to catch. A flight to Baltimore. A flight to Smackdown.