To say they had a perfect relationship would be a lie. They argued constantly, perhaps because John was never at home, but traveling, with his work. He had tried to maintain the perfect relationship, but his idea of perfect, was far from Maria's idea. You see, after Maria's release from the WWE, John failed to understand how unhappy she was. He failed to see that, although she hadn't been some sort of main eventer, that business meant something to her and each day, she grew to miss it more and more. John, being the typical guy, thought that good food, sex and a couple nights out could cheer her up. But sadly, those "couple of nights out" finally brought everything to a head.
"John,"said Maria, her eyes never leaving the WWE champion as he tucked into his steak, fully making a mess of the napkin, which was tucked into his shirt. So this is the father of my future children ? She thought, I don't think so. "John,? Can you hear me?" She said, her food untouched, barely a sip taken from her water. She sighed looking at her nails, trying to muster enough courage to tell him what was on her mind. She waited until he had taken a particularly large and meaty part of his steak and blurted out, "I'm pregnant."
Now John had never been a stranger to shock or surprises, he was best friends with Randy Orton and Johnny Hennigan for goodness sakes, and with Adam Copeland sometimes tagging along, you always had to watch your back, for many reasons. But upon hearing this news, and considering he had just began to swallow his food, he began choking. His face turning a nasty shade of purple. Gasping for air, he gripped the edge of the table and motioned for her to help him. The waiter came over to the table, immediately beating on his back, clearly not wanting the title of "the waiter who killed the champ". Maria sat still, a monotone look across her face. As the color slowly returned to a now breathless John, he looked up at her, a horrified look on his face, "You're what?"
Maria smiled, her boyfriend regaining composure. "Well I knew that would get your attention." She smirked, a look of sheer confusing now appearing on the "Doctor's" face. "I'm not pregnant you moron. You really think I'd end up with something of YOURS inside me?"
"I didn't hear you complaining last night," said John, a moronic grin appearing on his face, much like the one his friend Randy was famous for.
"This is exactly what I was talking about last week. For god's sake John, not everything comes down to sex. You seem to think everything is about sex, food and wrestling. News flash, it's not. I have needs John. And they're ones you CLEARLY don't understand. You don't have a clue about me do you?" Maria said, her kohl rimmed eyes bulging.
"I uh, I know your bra size?" he said, grasping at straws, hoping to find something he knew about her. "34C. Right?"
Maria sighed, before taking a sip of her water, her eyes closed tightly. "John, without looking, tell me the color of my eyes. If you get it right, I'll stay. Get it wrong, and we're over. No more 'Maria and John'. No more nightly sex for you┘well unless one of the guys backstage help you out," she said, giggling at her own little joke. John was openly homophobic and the thought of sex with a man, made his stomach churn.
Ok big man, John thought, his mind going into over drive. If you get this wrong, that means no sex for a while. Well, at least until she's calmed down. I should say blue. Everyone's eyes are blue. Amy's aren't. Maybe Maria's ain't either? Wait. What did that blonde chick on that show say? CSI. That's it. The hot chick. Torrie? No. Terri. Brown eyes. She said something about brown eyes. "Brown?" he said, smiling. Positive that he was right.
Maria sighed softly, pushing the chair back from the table and gracefully getting to her feet. "Goodbye John," she said taking slow deliberate steps. "Come see me when you understand women."
John sat motionless, quite shocked by the event which had just transpired. He sat, still as stone, staring at the plate in front of him as the woman he claimed to love walked out of the restaurant and into the cold November winds. Unaware of his surroundings, seemingly unconscious if you will, he sat for perhaps ten maybe fifteen minutes. Doing nothing. Nothing at all. Most people passing him in the restaurant may have assumed that he was deep in thought, but in all honesty, his mind was blank. Empty. Dry. He had no thoughts whatsoever, not knowing what to do.
"Your bill sir," a rather obnoxious waiter said, tapping him on the shoulder, knocking him out of his drought of thoughtlessness. John turned to him, quite shocked at the mans insensitivity and impeccable bad timing.
"My girlfriend just left me. I have no idea what's going on in my life and apparently, all I think about is sex. And you ask me about my BILL?" he said, face curled in disgust.
"Well it's got to be paid. I need to make a living."
"You try going out every night in front of fans who either hate you or love you, never knowing their reaction. Putting your body on the line each night. And when you come home, all you want is a nice long, sex session. And what do you get? A breakup."
"That's very nice sir. Now bill?" said the waiter, small plate in hand, jingling it at John's eye level. Snatching the plate, he made sure he took as long as possible, his actions deliberate and precise as he pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, flicked through all the bills and then, finally, deciding he wanted to pay by credit card.
"Oh, card's not accepted here? Are they? Or are we not high end enough for that?" He said, placing the card on the plate before handing it back to the waiter.
After a long hassle of paying, John found himself leaving the restaurant alone. They had driven from Maria's apartment, meaning they had used her car, meaning he had no drive home. He sighed, his thin dress shirt no protection from the strong winds, his jeans blowing along. "Might as well be naked," he said darkly, slowly walking along the street, keeping close to the building, so as to perhaps hide himself from the wind.
Turning the corner at the end of the building, he smiled slightly as the winds eased up, coming from a different direction to the one he was walking. Maria's last words to him playing in his mind, "Come back to me when you understand women." He sighed, rolling his eyes┘it really wasn't his fault that he didn't understand women. He had grown up around his three brothers, his male cousin and his father. His mother rarely had any intervention in his development as a child. He had always been told to "be a man". And now, he spent ninety percent of his time around men. In such a testosterone fueled environment, he had to continue to "be a man" or be constantly teased that you "batted for the other side". Unless he was trying to get her into bed, he rarely spent time around a woman. Maybe that's why I don't understand them? I wish I could he thought sadly...
After his long walk home, too depressed to even think of hailing down a cab, he sat in his kitchen. A large white plate in front of him, full of cookies and a large glass of water. It was unrealistic of him to think that only females ate themselves into a stupor after a break up, as he found himself planning on doing exactly that. Picking up the plate with one hand, and the glass with the other, he walked into the living room, placed the crockery on his coffee table and planted himself onto his couch, narrowly missing sitting on his sleeping dog Rupert.
God I hate that thing, he thought, pushing the dog along the couch. He had had the poor canine since he was six years old, naming the now old and fragile dog after his favorite teddy bear, something which he now regretted. "Who calls a dog Rupert anyway?" he asked aloud, causing the dog to look up, but once realizing he wasn't speaking directly to him, the dog placed its head back down on its paws and made a large sighing-like noise. "That's it, you turn against me too." He said, groaning and beginning to eat his cookies.
As the cookies were demolished and the plate cleared, John's stomach began to bloat and he suddenly felt sick. Taking a large sip of his water, he groaned loudly and pushed himself from the sofa. "I'll clear up later," he said, making his way up to bed. In bed, he contemplated watching television for a while, or perhaps having some "private" fun. But if he was honest, he was far too tired for all that┘
Closing his eyes he mumbled once again, "I wish I did understand women."
Sometimes that old saying is true...you should never wish for things, that you wouldn't want to cometrue.
Sorry to those who read this within it's first twenty minutes. It had many probles considering grammar. Hopefully, I've fixed them.