His eyes opened groggily as he awoke from the anesthesia. All he saw was white walls with some ugly painting of an old woman that was probably the hospital's lame attempt to liven up the room.
He turned his head to see his best friend sprawled out over the small recliner, his long legs almost touching the floor oven after being thrown over the arm of the chair. His friend's hood-covered head signaled that he was asleep and the snoring that emanated from it told him that he was in a deep sleep.
The bed-ridden man looked around him, trying to find something that would fly easily and wouldn't take much strength from his free arm. He found a small tissue box and chucked it across the room at his sleeping companion, managing to hit him square on the head.
Randy woke with a start. "What the fuck?" he asked, looking around and finding the smiling culprit in the bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes before walking to the bed. "How ya feelin' man?"
"As good as could be expected," he replied, dismally. "It fucking sucks that it had to happen now, though. I was really looking forward to our match at No Mercy." It was a routine move, a hip toss, but it just had to go awry, ending John Cena's over year long title reign. And there he was, laid up in a hospital bed, talking to the man that, chances are, he would've given his title up to.
"I know, man. Me too," Randy said just as disappointed. "I hear that Vince is scrambling to get things back on track without you. I guess they don't have much faith in me."
"Dude, don't talk like that. They all know you put asses in seats, even if it is just to boo your ass," John laughed before feeling a twinge of pain emanating from his surgically repaired pectoral muscle. "Fuck."
"When do you start therapy?" Randy asked his best friend.
"In a couple weeks, but I still haven't found anywhere to stay. I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do."
"Oh, shit, I almost forgot," Randy said, rummaging through the pockets in his track pants and finally pulling out a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Paul gave me this to give to you. I guess it's the name and the number of the hotel that he stayed at both times he injured his quads. Looks like there's a chick's name on there, too. I guess she's the manager and took care of just about everything for him."
John nodded as Randy looked at his watch. "Hey, Cena, looks like I'm gonna have to get outta here. I got an appearance in Wisconsin tomorrow, my flight's in a couple of hours."
"No problem and, uh, if anyone even says anything about you not getting the belt, let me know. I'll come beat 'em with my good arm," John smiled, causing his friend to laugh.
"Will do, take care, man," he said and walked out the door, leaving John to rest.
Elizabeth Wisdom stood in the elevator, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor of the hotel that she managed. She sighed as the moving car stopped and the number 25 lit up above her. She walked tiredly to the door of her penthouse, unlocking the door and immediately throwing off her shoes. Those damn heels had been killing her feet all day long and she couldn't stand them a second longer.
She walked through the lavish penthouse to the kitchen, popped a frozen pizza in the oven and sat at the kitchen table, letting out a big sigh. It was days like those that she wished she wasn't in charge of that place. Her employees were mouthing back, she was short-staffed due to people calling in "sick" and nobody else would volunteer their precious day off.
So there she sat, praying for a release from everything, but instead her phone rang.
She groaned to herself as she got up and picked up her phone. "Hello?" she answered, her voice laden with irritation.
"Hey, Lizzie, did I catch you at a bad time?"
For what seemed like the first time that day, she smiled. "No, Paul, it's alright. I just had a horrible day, but getting to hear one of my best friends' voices, brightened it a little."
Paul Levesque laughed lightly into the phone. "What can I say? I'm naturally a ray of sunshine; I brighten everybody's day," he smiled. "But I am calling on business, unfortunately."
"Don't tell me you've gotten injured again. Maybe you should just get a house down here instead of staying at my hotel."
"Haha, very funny, Liz. Actually I'm calling on behalf of a friend of mine."
"Please don't tell me it's Randy Orton. I can hardly stomach the guy on TV. I don't know what I'd do if I had to put up with him in real life."
"No, Liz, it's not Orton. Plus for the most part, the TV Orton is just an act. Sure, he can be a pain in the ass sometime but he's not like that all of the time."
"Well, then who is it?"
"Have you not checked WWE's website?"
"Aww, damn it, no. I forgot to do that while I was trying to run a whole hotel today," she said, rolling her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if Paul might have gotten hit in the head one too many times with a steel chair.
"John Cena got injured last night. He tore his left pectoral muscle right off the bone and he had surgery today and should be there tomorrow. The doctor's say he'll be out anywhere from eight months to a year."
"Damn, that sucks. He was having a good title run, too, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, over a year now."
"Maybe you'll get it back now."
"I doubt it, they're really pulling for Orton. Anyway, I want you pull out all the stops for him, just like you did with everyone else and Vince wants you to be personally in charge of all his scheduling and stuff. Even though he's injured, he's still supposed to make appearances so the fans don't forget about him."
"I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon."
"Me neither. But, I hate to cut this short, but I get going. I'm at a house show now and am expected out in the ring in a few. I'll talk to you later, Lizzie."
"Okay, hit me up when you're in town next."
"I will, hopefully it won't be on injury."
"I hope not. Have a good night."
"You too," he said and hung up.
She set the phone down on the table. As if she didn't have enough going on with the hotel, she was going to put in charge of another hard-headed wrestler. She loved Paul, Dave and Adam, but damn, they were so nitpicky about everything and she had no doubts that John Cena wouldn't be the same. She stood, leaning against the counter for awhile, thinking about what the next day had in store for her. She was brought from her thoughts when she smelled something burning.
She turned to the oven and saw that the pizza she had put in was nearly black. Cursing up a blue streak, she pulled the no longer edible pizza from the oven and threw it away. "Looks like it'll be room service again tonight."
So, here it is, guys, the first chapter of Clumsy. Thanks to Michelle for giving me the idea and sorry it took so long for anything to come of it, but better late than never, right? Also a special thanks to Queen Cena for reading this before hand and letting me know that it was ready to post.
I hope you all enjoy it and don't forget to review! With this being a new story, I really need your input! Thanks!