Book 2-What The Hell?!

My eyes slowly open, and I feel extremely groggy because of oversleeping. As my eyes focus, I look around at the walls surrounding me, seeing nothing exactly familiar about the room. I sigh, and painfully turn over to my side, feeling some kind of restraint that I choose to ignore. A small, digital clock with green numbers reads 1:52. "Holy shit!" I exclaim. "Vince is gonna be pissed."

I sit up slowly, then realize that something is on me. I look down at myself, and see only my underwear covering me. "What the Hell?" I say aloud. I focus my eyes even more to see little things with wires connected to my chest, and see an IV in my arm. "Damn, am I in a hospital?" I look around, see nothing that even resembles a hospital. There isn't even a TV in here. "This can't be a hospital…this room looks too normal." I look at the machines that are suddenly catching my ears with their insistent buzzing. "What the hell? Are these miniature machines?" The machines that I've been used to seeing in regular hospitals are way bigger than these ones. "Weird," I finally say, and begin to ease the IV out of my arm. I remove the little suction cups off my chest, and set everything on the bedside table.

As I begin to dig through my suitcase beside the bed for clean clothes, I wonder aloud, "What city am I in?" Laughing, I shake my head. "God, I must've been really beaten if I can't even remember the city I'm in!" I stand upright, enter the bathroom, and close the door, not bothering to lock it. Quickly, I draw a hot bath for myself, and add the last of my bottle of moisturizing bubble bath. White suds immediately form under the running water and spread throughout the huge tub. I undress and remove the white patch on my forehead, noticing the improvement on the gash, sit-or rather lay mostly down-in the tub, and sigh contently as the bubbles cover my body up to my shoulders.

In fifteen minutes, I've cleaned myself with strongly scented body wash, shampooed and conditioned my hair, and shaved my legs. Now, I choose to relax as I lean back on the porcelain siding, and soak up to my neck in the bubble mountains surrounding me. Barely two minutes pass by when the bathroom door suddenly swings open, and of all people, Mark steps in. Shocked, I can do nothing but stare with my wide eyes and my mouth hanging stupidly open. Mark looks at me for a second before his eyes widen, then he hides behind the door. "Sorry," he says, somewhat embarrassed. "I came up to check on you, and you weren't in bed. Had to make sure you're all right." After apologizing, he steps back out, closing the door. I hear a loud groan come from the other side.

Confused like never before, I pull the drain plug out, wrap myself in an enormous green towel, and step onto the fuzzy, blue bathmat. "What the hell is going on here?" I ask myself quietly as I dry off and begin to dress. "Why is he in my room? Of all the rooms and of all the people…" I shake my head, the questions hanging in the air without answers. I dry and brush my waist-long hair, replace the white patch over my stitches, then gather my things, and step out of the bathroom.

The first thing I notice is Mark leaning forward in a chair in the corner, his head propped up on his hands, his arms resting on his knees. He looks up as I cross the room to my suitcase. "I just wanna know one thing, Mark," I say to him as I toss my things in my suitcase, and close the top, "what's goin' on?!"

I wave my arm, indicating the room. "I am where? You're here why?" I ask, ignoring his statement, putting my question words last as I slip back into an old childhood habit, which happens when I do not really understand such things.

"I hate when you do that," he tells me, meaning my habit. "It's so childish." I give him an evil look. He sighs, and motions me to sit on the edge of the bed. I do so, and he sits beside me. "We were talking at the arena, you were apologizing for acting so bitchy, and the next moment, you crumpled to the floor."

Mark continues, "Someone called the EMT's, and they took you to the hospital. I would've gone, but Vince wanted the show to go on, but soon after, I went to find out about you. A lot of us went, actually; Joanie was really worried. When the ER doctors came out, they told us that you had slipped into a coma, and it was impossible to predict when you'd wake up."

Mark shakes his head. "No," he replies, then slowly continues, "they told us that a tumor had burst and caused some sort of problem, which forced your body to shut down." He cracks a smile. "They gave us a really graphic description, though, but that's basically what they said." He looks at me, and his smile fades as he sees my serious tone. "Anyway, they wanted to keep you there `till you woke up, but Vince would have none of it, knowing you hate hospitals. I volunteered to keep you here, at my house, where the docs could come and check on you all the time. I guess, for some odd reason, I felt responsible."

"You were in a coma for three weeks," Mark begins again. "When the second week came around, the docs kept telling me that after the second week, you'd begin to deteriate, and have brain damage if you ever woke up. I wouldn't give up on you, so I forced them to keep you going. Which reminds me…someone should be coming soon to check on you."

He shakes his head, and replies, "No, I went to the TV shows. See this." He rolls his T-shirt sleeve up to his shoulder on his right arm, exposing an ace bandage around his bicep. "This kept me home for that first week, except the day after the PPV, and limits me to the TV shows."

Mark replies, "Nope, `cause I've got an important meeting to attend tonight." With that, he stands up. "You hungry?" I nod, and he motions me to follow him. "Food's in the kitchen."

I follow him out of the bedroom. I notice that the carpet, like the one in my room, is a hunter green, and feels soft under my bare feet. Toward the right are two other rooms, one on each side of the hall, with another hallway going to the left of this one, and on the left is one more room on the opposite side of the hall. Mark turns left, passes the room, and descends down the stairs. As I follow him, I count the steps; there are exactly thirteen. At the bottom of the staircase, Mark goes through a huge doorway on the left while I look around.

On the right of the stairs is a living room, very spacious, with two overstuffed, comfortable-looking armchairs, a huge, long sofa, coffee table, end-tables on each side on the sofa and one beside both armchairs, and a big-screen TV facing the furniture. Behind the sofa is the front window, which happens to be a bay window; I love that kind. Beyond the living room is another set of stairs, and even further is another room, which looks like a study. I smile at the way the entire house seems so coordinated, with all the walls painted in a bluish-white color and all the carpeting is hunter green. I look in front of me. Down the hall a ways, there's a front door. I turn back, see another hallway under the stairs we came down, and look up at the white rails. There's a kind of nook where one could hide, and I smile at the observation. "A great look-out, eavesdropping spot," I note.

Quickly, I enter through the doorway, and step into a large kitchen. In the center is a counter island, surrounded by many sleek barstools. On the other side of the island, by the rather large sink and even larger dishwasher, stands Mark, his back facing me. I walk around the right side of the island, and hop myself up onto the counter area beside Mark. I watch him prepare BLT sandwiches for a bit before I tell him, "Nice place you got here."

Catching his not-so-settle hint, I slide off the counter, landing lightly on my feet. "Sorry," I somewhat mumble to him, and meander to a close-by barstool. I notice a dining room off to the right of me, with a dark-stained oak table and same style chairs.

Mark sits beside me a minute later, and places a plate before me. I look down at the BLT and chips with French onion dip, then back up at Mark, who's staring at me. Before I can ask the question playing in my eyes, he answers my puzzlement by saying, "It's just that you look so different with you hair down. It's usually in a braid."

I look back up at him. He's holding his sandwich midway to his somewhat open mouth, as if shocked by my question. I don't blame him being shocked; I'd never usually ask a guy about my looks. Hesitating at first, he finally answers, "I-yeah, I guess I do. It brings out your unusually-colored eyes." Before I can respond, he takes a big bite out of his BLT.

I smile, feeling a slight blush come to my face, pick up my own sandwich, and begin to eat. Once I finish the BLT and most of the chips, I next ask, "So, why so many so many bedrooms for a single guy?"

He swallows before replying, "I don't live here alone, most of the time. The room at the end of the hall is Glenn's, mine is on the opposite side, and Luke's is by the stairway. The others are all guest rooms."

Rapid footsteps sound from the hallway, and in bursts a young boy, running at top speed, who collides with Mark's legs. With a deep chuckle, Mark effortlessly picks the boy up into his arms, supporting him by putting his arm underneath the boy. "Did you have a good day in school?" Mark asks him.

Mark turns slightly toward me, saying. "Luke, I'd like you to meet Ally, the lady who was in that coma for a while." He looks toward me. "Ally, this is my seven-year-old son, Luke."

Luke and I look at each other. His hair is a light brown with a bowl-like cut. The boy isn't very tall like his father. `How can this boy be Mark's?' I think to myself. `He doesn't resemble him at all. Wait! His eyes…he has his father's eyes.' Luke has the same piercing green stare.

I raise my eyebrow as I catch Mark's embarrassed glance toward me before he looks back at his son. "Luke," he says, kneeling to put the boy down, "why don't you go start on your homework. I'll be in with you in a minute."

I think over his simple statement as I finish eating my chips. I rinse off my plate, and place it gently into the ceramic sink basin, then decide to stop by the living room before exploring the house.

I walk out of the kitchen, past the stairs we had descended earlier, and into the living room. I stop behind the sofa, where Mark sits hunched toward the coffee table, and Luke sits on the floor beside him, his school things spread out and a workbook open before him. `I've been knocked around so much in my life, I can't even remember second grade,' I think to myself. "What's the subject?" I ask aloud.

The suddenness of the question catches me off-guard, and I look down at Mark. He has leaned back, his head titled back, and is looking at me, interested in my answer as well. `Where else can I go?' I ask myself. There's my mother's, but she's got enough to do with caring for herself. I have no siblings, and all my other living relatives, which come from my father's side, live in Ireland, and I haven't seen them since I was seven. I look back at the boy, his green eyes, surrounded by a sweet face, are full of hope and wonderment. My heart melts at the sight, and I just know he'll be a heartbreaker someday. "I'd like to," I finally reply, "if you want me to."

Luke's face breaks into a boyish grin that reaches his eyes, which sparkle with happiness. "I really want you to," he says, then turns back around, and begins to work again. I look back down at Mark, who's still looking at me. His eyelids are half-closed, as if in a dream-state or deep in thought. "Mark," I call out softly. His lids open fully, focusing again. "I'm going to explore a bit, okay?" He nods, and hunches back over to help Luke.

I walk to the left, passing the second set of stairs, and enter the study. To my left is a wall full of books of every kind. Books line the opposite and back walls as well. An oak desk and rolling chair sit before the back wall. A new-looking computer sits on top of the desk. In the middle of the room is a glass coffee table. A large, comfy green sofa is on the far side, a green over-stuffed armchair to the right diagonal of it, and two more armchairs of the like on my side of the table. The last wall, on my right, has pictures hung on it. Stone gargoyles sit on each end of the marble mantle, and a gray-bricked fireplace finishes off the room. "Cozy," I say to myself.

I step out of the study, and turn to the stairway. Another hallway is between the wall and the stairs. I head down it, and peek into the door on the left. To my amazement, this huge room is a library, with bookshelves reaching the ceiling. Noticing the high ceiling for the first time, I begin to wonder how one would reach the higher books when I see the rolling ladders. Armchairs and little round tables are scattered throughout the room. I also note the two bay windows with hunter green, plush window seats on the far end.

I close the library door, cross the hall diagonally a few paces, and open the door. It's a half-bath, with a sink, a medicine cabinet above it, a toilet beside the sink, and a wooden cabinet in the corner. I close the door, and open the next one a few feet to the left of it. Inside, there are tons of medals and trophies from Mark's years, I'm sure. A few might even be Luke's. I close this door, and head to the end of the hall.

I hang a right as the hall ends, and almost immediately, there are huge sliding glass doors on my left. I gaze out of them, focus through the screens, and see acres upon acres of green grass, tall conifer and deciduous trees, bushes, and flowers, all of many different kinds, statues and stone benches sporadically placed around the grounds, and fountains throughout the scene. There's even a large pond in the middle of it all, and a swimming pool just a few hundred feet or so to the right of the house. Suddenly, I realize that this beautiful scene is just the backyard. "Wow!" I say to myself.

I continue to my right until I reach another hallway on the right. I stop to open a door on the left a quarter of the way down the hall, and walk into a gym, with all the state-of-the-art equipment needed for the perfect workout. Closing this door, I walk another quarter of the way down, and open a door on the right. Inside are a washer, a dryer, a laundry hamper, and many blue laundry baskets. Once again, I close the door, walk another quarter down, and open the door on the right. Inside this door are the water heater, the central air/heater control, and the control box. Across the hall is another door, and I open it. This is a walk-in closet that contains coats, hats, gloves, umbrellas, and other such items. There is even a hefty supply of thick, warm blankets. I close the door, walk past the stairs, and into the living room.

Satisfied, I finish watching the cartoon with Luke. After the show ends, Luke turns the TV off. This gives me the opportunity to ask him some more questions. `Poor kid,' I think. `He doesn't want some stranger asking him questions.' I ask him anyway, "Do you like that your dad's in the WWF?"

"If he's not here, and Glenn isn't either, then Ms. Potter, my long-term babysitter, is here," he answers again. "She used to use your room, but Daddy made her use one of the other guest rooms."

"And when he's home, what's that like?" I ask him these questions because of my curiosity of what the child of a wrestler goes through; God knows, I'll never get to have one of my own.

He looks deep into my eyes, unsure of what to do. Sighing, he says, "Well, it's like he's transformed into this different person. He always laughs at the women's stupid jokes like he's drunk or something…he's just not him." He stops to take a breath, but I'm surprised at this mature discussion of his deepest feelings, considering he's only seven. "What I really hate is how his `girlfriends' always talk to me with a fake voice, and say things so simply, like I'm dumb or something, but I'm not dumb!"

He takes a second to think, then shakes his head, making his hair fly out around him like an active propeller. "No, you're different," he answers. "You talk to me like I'm worth being with, even though we've only known each other an hour." He looks down at his hands in his lap. "They always lied to me, his `girlfriends'." Luke takes another deep breath, and looks back up at me. His clear eyes have a reddish color, so close to tears, it probably hurts to hold them in. "You won't do that, will you?"

As dinner cooks, Luke shows me his room, which is pretty big for a kid. His walls are covered in a light blue, and there are posters of Spiderman, Superman, Batman, and a few other superheroes everywhere. A twin-size bed sits just to the left of the door, and a walk-in closet to the right. A bathroom is across from the entrance door. In the corner, across from the bed, is a 24" TV on a rolling cart, with Nintendo 64 and Playstation systems underneath, with various games strewn about. Toys clutter some areas of the room, but it is mostly clean. "I love what you've done with the place," I say to him, laughing as he stands in the center, arms spread out in a `Ta-da!' fashion.

The doorbell rings, and we race down the stairs to get to the front door. I beat him by an arm length, and open it. Behind the screen door is a man with short, grayish brown hair, glasses on his face, and a large bag in his hand. He seems surprised and speechless as he looks at me. "I don't believe it!" he finally says.

He opens the door, and walks right in. "Why, you look like you'd never even been in that coma!" he replies, quite astounded. "If you don't mind, I'd like to do a few routine things."

I nod, and we head into the living room. "Uh, Luke, would you go check on dinner for me?" I ask the boy. He nods, and walks into the kitchen, looking over his shoulder at least once.

The doctor and I sit on the sofa. He takes my blood pressure, my temperature, and other normal check-up stuff. "Amazing," he says as he puts his instruments into the medical bag, "truly amazing. I don't think I've ever seen anything like this. You're perfectly healthy, and seem to have no damage whatsoever."

I shrug, and reply, "Just dumb luck, I suppose." I look back over my shoulder, and see Luke standing in the kitchen doorway, a confused and worried expression on his face. I turn back to the doctor. "We've got some plans tonight, and if that's all-"

A minute or so passes before Dr. Marls whispers back, "Don't let that one get away, got me? She's one of the hard-to-find kind. Even if you don't need her for yourself, save her for me."

I smile down at him, and reply, "He's not the first to do that, Luke, and I'm not about to ruin my career by getting into one of those relationships." I roll my eyes as I hand him a glass dish of boiled potatoes. "Take this to the dining room." He carefully walks to the dining room, and sets the hot dish down on the large table. He comes back for the plate of honey-buttered rolls, and I follow behind him with the larger dish of chicken oriental. I set it in the middle of the three settings, and return to the kitchen.

"I was hungry, as was Luke," I tell him, setting the milk down and sitting myself down. Mark sits at the head of the table after he sets the water down, and Luke is sitting opposite me, already pouring milk into his glass. The electric candelabrum above illuminates the entire room. A family atmosphere.

We eat in-between our discussions, and manage to finish by the time we're supposed to leave for Luke's school. Quickly, we clean up, and hop into Mark's Lincoln Continental. He drives down the streets of Houston for about seven minutes before he pulls up into a parking lot along side a red-bricked building. Lights are all around the lot, as well as the building.

"Look, there's Todd and Brian!" Luke shouts, pointing to two boys talking beside their respective parents, whom are talking as well. Luke jumps out of the car as soon as Mark parks, and runs across the lot to his friends.

"Elbow sprain scare," Mark replies. "Glenn and I are in another heated feud that culminates as a championship match at next Sunday's pay-per-view. We've decided that, should you return, you'd interfere on my behalf, changing sides or something. We can discuss it further sometime soon."

"Tomorrow," I say, and Mark looks down at me. "I plan on going with you to the tapings, even if I don't compete or anything." He nods, and we meet up with Luke and his two friends.

Luke takes my left hand and Mark's right hand, and begins to lead us into the building. "Come on," he says, opening the glass door. "You've got to see what we've done already." I smile at his insistency, and look over to see Mark smiling as well.

Luke takes us into a classroom that's full with other kids and their parents. He lets go of our hands as soon as he sees some of his other friends, and goes over to them. Mark and I walk over to a wall of drawings. I spot Luke's drawing of Peter Rabbit. "What exactly did Luke mean earlier when he said that I didn't look like what you called me?" I ask Mark, suddenly remembering.

A woman, about thirty or so, walks up to us, and says, "Hi, I'm Miss Velk. You must be Luke's parents." She holds out her hand. Mark shakes it, and as she shakes mine, she asks, "What happened to your head?"

I touch the white patch on my forehead, and reply, "Just took a bad shot." I look up at Mark, and he looks right back at me, a tight smirk on his lips. I look back at Miss Velk. "Anyway, I'm just a mutual friend of Mark's and Luke's."

"Oh," she says, "I see." She looks at me critically, like she's judging whether I'm lying or not. Finally, she smiles again, and continues. "Let me just say to the both of you, Luke is a pleasure to have in class. His academic abilities are outstanding for a seven-year-old. You must be very proud of him, Mr. Callaway."

Miss Velk eyes him up as well, only more like a woman would check out a guy. I roll my eyes, and notice Luke coming toward us. "Ally, did you see my drawing?" he asks, pointing to it, his pride in his piece showing.

We stop before a wall, pictures of every student on it. Luke is dressed as a Native American for his, with face paint and headdress. It hits me in the heart. "Awesome pic," I tell him. "Looks like a real Native American." I look back over at Mark and Miss Velk. I can tell she's definitely checking him out. "Hey, Luke," I say as I nudge him. "Your teacher's checking your dad out."

"The life of one wrestling superstar," I say, making my voice deeper. "Where does it end, and why can't they go anywhere in peace…on the next 48 Hours." Luke and I laugh, continuing to walk around the room.

I punch his arm, and say, "At least I'm not flirting with the teacher to gets A's on my report card." He glares at me, and I just smirk back at him. Finally, the laugh that he's holding back escapes, and we exit the classroom. Shortly thereafter, we are leaving the school lot.

As Mark drives up the driveway, I look over the front area of the house. The gate surrounds the estate, which is a lot bigger than I first thought, with a few more trees. The porch is large as well, surrounded by white posts, and a porch swing off to the left side. The porch travels down the right side of the house, stops before the garage, and has steps leading down to the entrance of the garage itself.

Mark parks the car in the driveway, not bothering to put it in the garage. "We're gonna take it to the airport, anyway," he explains as he turns off the engine. "Might as well keep it out."

"It's kinda secret, and I don't want Daddy to know," he says. I kneel down, and he whispers into my ear. "Could you please make sure Daddy doesn't, you know, go out with any women, outside the company I mean?"

I stand upright again, and finish washing dishes. Once the dishwasher is going, I go up to my room, change into my cloud tank-and-pants pajamas, and plop down on my bed, falling asleep almost instantly. It has been a long day.

A loud, buzzing sound takes me out of my slumber, and I jolt up. I look at the digital clock on the nightstand, which reads 6:30. I groan, and put a pillow over my head, knowing it must be Luke's alarm going off. Not five minutes later, someone crawls onto my bed, and begins jumping. "Get up, Ally," Luke says as he lands each time after a jump. "It's time to get up."

I prop myself up on my elbow, and tell him, "Oh, yes there is. You haven't seen him yet, but when he wakes up, his hair is all messed up, and his clothes are all wrinkled. If you're not careful, you'll be dragged all the way down the hall, and thrown into his room."

I finally sit up, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "I'm up, I'm up," I tell him, and he goes back down toward his room. I take some clean clothes with me into the bathroom, and take a shower. Once I'm finished, I dry off, brush my hair, replace the white bandage, and go back into the bedroom. Today, I just wear jeans and a white-and-black Harley-Davidson baby-tee, with my hair down. I figure that if I'm not going to participate tonight, I might as well just dress comfortably.

I repack my suitcase, making sure I have enough for a few days before I'll have to buy some more stuff. After I make the bed, I lug my suitcase down the thirteen steps, and place it beside the front door to take out later, right next to Mark's. I go into the kitchen, and find Luke and Mark at the island, eating cereal for breakfast. "Can I join this party?" I ask them.

A slightly old woman, about fifty-five or so, enters the kitchen. In one hand is a suitcase, and in the other is a bag with yarn and knitting needles sticking out. "Good morning, gentlemen," she says, then looks at me, adding, "and lady."

It's when Luke says this that I realize what's happened to me. Here I am, living in the enemy's house. My paranoia has dissolved away, and all that's left is a few new friendships. `What the hell has happened to me?' I ask myself, and look over at Luke's cute face. `The walls that I've built for myself have been broken down because of one little boy, the son of the cause of my paranoia. Am I really growing that soft?' With more unanswerable questions hanging in my face, I look back at Ms. Potter.

Luke snorts in laughter as he places his bowl in the sink. I smile at him. "I've got to catch the bus," Luke says to us. He gives his father a hug, then comes over to me. "Remember our deal, okay?" he whispers as we embrace.

I know that's not what he's thinking, as I can see the lie in his eyes, but I decide to let it pass. I finish off my breakfast, and reply, "I'm ready for almost anything." I set my bowl in the sink, and turn back to him. "We'll just see how well I do when we're out on the road."

I go to the front hall, pick up my suitcase, and take it out to the Lincoln. A few minutes later, Mark comes out of the house, his own luggage in tow. Quickly, he unlocks the trunk, places our suitcases into it, and directs me to get into the car. Once all is situated, Mark pulls out of the driveway, and heads to the highway.

Not even half an hour later, we arrive at the airport. With a fast pace, Mark parks the car, and rushes us into the building, through the baggage departments, and to the gate, where he retrieves my ticket. "Jeeze, Mark!" I say to him. "A bit anxious, aren't we?"

Finally, after another hour or so of waiting because of delay, our plane is called, and we board the airliner. Not surprisingly, we happen to have side-by-side seats. As I sit myself down, I begin to feel anxious myself. `Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,' I think to myself, watching Mark put his carry-on bag into the overhead compartment. `I mean, it's just another meaningless trip to make, and I've made too many in my life already.' I shake my head, and convince myself otherwise. `I'll have to get over the whole `man' problem someday. Might as well be now.'

Hours later, at about three or so, we land in Washington D.C. After retrieving our bags and getting a rental car, we drive off down the highway to the hotel. During this quiet drive, yesterday afternoon pops back into my mind, and remember what had all happened. One question plagues me, and I finally ask, "Who's idea was it to leave me in my undergarments while I was in that coma?"

Mark keeps his eyes on the road, but takes a deep breath; I know he's not sure what to say about the issue. After much time goes by, he answers, "Well, I'm not completely sure anymore. The doctors suggested that we could leave you naked, but with Luke around lately, I wasn't about to let that happen. I think we compromised on it."

Finally, I stop looking out the window, but only to look down at my hands. The scar he speaks of is on my right inner thigh, near the top, and is a long, purplish, healed-over line going down. `God, how did it come to this kinda question?' I ask myself. `Why is it so difficult to get over the fact…' I drop the thought, and quietly answer, "An unfortunate occurrence." The things that surfaced into my mind's eye at that time, the nasty words, the liquor, the pain and wounds, all brought a tear to slide down my face. "I'm not really comfortable at talking about it." My voice feels raw and strained as I say these words.

Mark nods, and returns his gaze to the highway, where he sees the exit, and gets on the off-ramp. We arrive at the hotel, where we check in and receive our rooms. As quick as possible, I go to my room, which has a single twin bed, a color TV with cable, and a spacious bathroom, drop off my suitcase, and meet Mark back down in the lobby. As it was after four now, Mark is in a big hurry to get to the arena, and practically forces me to jog to the car. On the road, he almost gets to about fifteen notches higher than the speed limit. "Mark, if you don't slow down, you'll never get to the arena on time," I warn him, and I get an angry stare in return, so I let him continue his speed.

I follow him into the back entrance, and immediately hear someone call out, "Hey, Mark! `Bout time you got here. Was about to scratch you of the card." The voice belongs to Jim Dotson, the head of security. "What took you so long?"

During their discussion, I have been scanning over the backstage area, hoping to see Joanie, or even one of the other women. Mark takes my arm gently, and moves me in front of him. "This thing," he says.

Jim's smirk turns into a surprised look, and says, "Ally!" He pulls me into an embrace, but I have trouble returning it considering he pins my arms to my sides. "Mark didn't tell us you came outta the coma."

A few minutes later, after Mark and I agree to meet Hunter and Joanie after the show, we set off to find Glenn. "I think we've got it down, but we were waiting for you to go over it," Mark tells me. I nod as we come up to the room marked `KANE', and Mark knocks on the door.

Glenn immediately opens the door, and smiles down at me, saying, "Glad to see you're awake, Ally." He looks up at Mark, a goofy smile on his lips. "You didn't hurt her or anything while I was gone, did ya?"

"You mean to tell me that three weeks wasn't enough?" I tell him. "Gee, I get the feeling you don't want me here!" I laugh a bit with the others. "It's really great to be back, save for the speeding down the highway." I give Mark a sly look.

"Well, we're all here, for once," Glenn says. "Let's get to discussing our next plot turn." The guys begin to throw themselves into this discussion, with myself adding in a few ideas along the way. I smile at the way they seemingly joke as they discuss, and just basically watch as they plan this storyline out for the next few months, barring any injuries occurring. Mostly, I sit and watch them interact with each other, like a family of sorts. Somehow, someway, I've got to let myself accept these guys, and the others as well, as a family. It's a part of me that I can't quite control anymore.

Once we reach the doctor's area, Doc Petite quickly and gently removes the stitches, then begins his examination after he makes Mark leave. After the examination, I look at him with hope and curiosity. "Well, there seems to be nothing wrong with you physically," he tells me, his French accent a welcome reminder I'm back in the arenas. "I believe you can do a few weeks of on-camera appearances, but nothing physical until I can determine whether or not anything else could conflict your return to the ring."

I knock on the door, and hear his voice call out, "Come in!" I open the door, and step inside. Vince is sitting on an overstuffed armchair, going over the papers laid out in front of him on the coffee table. He looks up, and smiles. "Ally! I'm so glad you're back."

Vince nods again, then goes on to say, "Well, I don't want you out there tonight, but at Sunday's pay-per-view, as I've been told, you'll be a deciding factor." I nod. "Right, so I guess that's all for now. Welcome back, of course, and I hope all goes well for the next few weeks."

"You shouldn't worry so much about being accepted, Ally," Vince tells me as we walk to the door. How he knows fears like that, I'll never know. "They've accepted you before that incident, but now, they seem to respect you. I've heard some talk around the locker rooms, and what is said about you is all good." He gives me a pat on the shoulder, and lets me leave.

I walk a bit toward the curtain, and lean against a wall, which is almost totally in shadow. Within the hour that I stand there, many of the other superstars come by, give me hugs, and show their surprise and delight that I've returned somewhat normal. I thank them for their kind words, and they continue on their way.

"Because," he responds, coming closer, stopping directly in front of me, pinning me to the wall, "I've missed you." My nerves are jolting everywhere, giving me a warning. Unfortunately, these same jolts freeze me in place.

He grabs my upper arms quite harshly, and I shut my eyes tightly to the imaginary pain. "Let go of me, you bastard!" I scream at him, struggling as much as possible after finally regaining my body; nothing works.

"Aw, now is that anyway to talk to your admirer?" he asks huskily, squeezing my arms harder. Suddenly, he brings his mouth to mine, forcing his tongue inside. Alarmed and caught unaware, I can do nothing for the first few seconds but scream muffled screams. Finally, I bite down on his tongue. That only forces him to withdraw it, then bite my bottom lip hard; I taste blood as his teeth continue the pressure on my lip.

Just as suddenly as it started, Dean is pushed away from me, and toward the middle of the room. Mark is standing near me. "What the hell, man?" Dean shouts, pretty surprised. "I was just fooling around with the kid."

Mark points down the hall, and shouts back, "Get the hell outta here before I give you something to really complain about!" Dean mutters under his breath as he storms away. Mark turns to me. "You okay?"

Mark touches my cheek, near the corner of my mouth, tenderly, and takes my hand. "Let's get you cleaned up," he tells me, pulling me to two chairs. People are finally started to rush about to get ready for the show. "Hey! Get me some antiseptic cream!" Mark yells to one of them.

Quickly, the man he had yelled at brought back a tube of cream, some damp paper towel, and a few white band-aid strips. Mark takes the items, and cleans up some of the blood on my face. Once that is done, he puts some of the cream on his forefinger. As he places it on the cut, I ask him, "Why are you being so damn nice to me?"

He puts two of the white band-aid strips over the cut, and answers, "Yeah, I do. I figure if we're gonna live under the same roof for a while, I might as well make amends. Done." He leans back on the chair.

"And I forgive all that," Mark interrupts. "I understand that you've had some problems in the past, and I promise not to be like Mr. Dean Malenko, taking advantage of your closeness in the house."

Mark points his index finger at me. "That's why," he says, meaning the habit. "I want to know what makes you do things like that, why you're the way you are. You're so different from anyone I've ever met, and it intrigues me. I would like to know whatever I can, so I can help you whenever you need some."

I can actually feel a part of the wall I built around my emotions begin to crumble at his words. I've always wanted a true friend, like Mark was professing to want to be, but never found one in a man; Joanie was the only other friend I had. I suppose Luke would fall into that category soon. The circumstances of this proposal of his…I don't know if I'd be able to ever accept them, with my being cheated of such promises in the past. I take a deep breath, and say slowly and carefully, "Mark, promise me something, okay? Promise me, no matter what happens between us, we'll always help each other out in any way possible."

My face falls into my propped-up hands, and I sigh deeply. "What have I done?" I ask aloud. "Did I really sign myself away?" I raise my head, and look around me. I see some of the other wrestlers, watching them interact with each other, ribbing and trusting one another. "No, I want that kind of relationship with these guys. They seem so happy and fun to be around." A smile crosses my face. "I've done the right thing." I stand up, and walk back to the locker rooms.

The show runs smoothly. I meet Joanie and Hunter by their locker room. Mark meets us a few minutes later, and we head out of the area, Joanie's and my arm linked. We take a limo to the outskirts of the town, where a large area of countryside awaits us. "What are we doing out here?" I ask, gazing out at the beautiful country scene, complete with clear skies and a full moon.

The limo stops, and the driver opens the door for us. We step out, and enter the building. A stableman, an older gentleman, comes out with two studs, a white-and-brown and a black with a white patch down his head. "Wait, only two?" I say, looking directly at Joanie.

She shrugs, and replies, "Well, it was only supposed to be me and Hunter, but I decided to invite you and Mark. It's not gonna be a problem for you two to share, will it? `Cause if it is-"

I watch as Hunter assists Joanie up into the saddle, and gets himself upon the horse after Joanie scoots forward. They share a kiss as Hunter places his arms around in front of Joanie. "Ready?" Mark asks. I nod, and place a foot in the rest, pull myself up, and swing my leg over. I scoot forward a little bit, and Mark brings himself up. He circles his arms around me, making my nerves jolt and my body tense up, and turns the horse to follow behind the other.

The closeness of his body, the warmth of his arms, and the gentle walk of the horse bring me to a point where I nearly scream after an hour or so of riding. `Why did you let yourself get in this mess?' my mind tells me. `You know what happens after this. It's always the same…all men want the same thing. This one will be no different. He's just using your friendship as an excuse.'

Suddenly, the horse beings to gallop after the white-and-brown Joanie and Hunter are riding, and it jolts me out of the persuasion of my mind. The rhythmic, bouncing movements startle me when I realize that Mark is behind me, and bring back so many more painful memories. "Stop!" I scream. "Stop the horse! I wanna get off!"

"Um, because we should walk the horse back to the stable," I tell him. "It's better for the horse to cool down." I take the reins from his hand, and begin the trek back. Mark walks on the other side of the horse, not going any further into it. I know he knows why, for my cover-up was pretty bad.

Just before we reach the stable, Mark takes the reins back, stopping us. "If you didn't want to double, you know you could've told me, and I would've stayed here," he says to me.

I pat the horse on his nose, and look back at Mark. "I didn't think it'd be a problem until the horse started galloping," I tell him. "It was a compromising position for me to be in. I don't ever remember riding double. Not since my father…" I trail off and I give him a small, half-hearted smile. "Not your fault."

We walk the rest of the way to the stable, where the older gentleman takes the horse. We meet Joanie and Hunter out in the limo. "Certainly took you long enough to come back," Joanie says with a suggestive tone.

Hunter looks at Joanie with a grin, and says, "I don't have to wonder long on what they were doing out there, taking so long to get back and all." They begin to laugh, but when they see Mark and I aren't, they stop. "It's just a joke."

"I didn't find it quite funny," I reply quietly, turning to look out the window. "Could we just go now?" Just as I say that, the limo begins to move. Without another quip, we ride in silence to the hotel.

The rest of the week passes without any more incidents. I do notice, however, the more that Mark and I are around each other, the more the feeling that this friendship will work grows. Half the time we're together, I worry that it'll go wrong, and I'll only be used, abused, and left behind. God knows I've felt all those so many times, and it drives me insane. Yet with Mark, as I've said, that feeling takes a backseat, and I'm left with a feeling of acceptance and, in a meager measurement, love.

September 24th, the night of the Unforgiven pay-per-view, whoops me in the head as soon as I awaken that morning. The surprise of it nearly makes my head spin. The day passes so slowly, like it's mocking me or something. When the time for the event to begin finally arrives, I begin to tense up even more. This is my returning night. It has to go just right.

The night's matches go well and smoothly. By the second to last match, I'm so tense that I'm nearly pulling my hair out with my brush as I brush it. Joanie takes the brush away from me, and says, "If you keep that up, no one will be able to see how beautiful your hair looks down."

I look up at her sharp tone, wondering if she knew I hadn't eaten all day. As I'm about to ask her, a knock comes to the locker room door. "DC, time to go," comes the stage manager's voice. I hadn't noticed that the current match had ended

I nod just before "Fist of Rage" hits. I take a deep breath, and walk out to the stage. I pause at the entrance just as the crowd's cheers turn to boo's. I smile evilly, and continue on my way to the announcers' table. I sit beside Jim Ross, and place a headset over my ears. "Welcome back, DC," JR says to me. "We're in utter shock. We didn't think you'd be here tonight."

I give him a smile. "You bet, King," I respond. The lights go out, and the red-orange of fire creeps up onto the TitanTron. Glenn and Will walk out to the ring, where Glenn brings fire up from the corner posts. Next, "American Bad Ass" hits the sound system, and Mark rides out to the ring on a pure black Titan motorcycle. He circles the ring, gets off the bike, and climbs into the ring, where he salutes his fans. I watch as he removes his bandana and sunglasses, and both men prepare for the battle. The bell rings, and the two fly at each other.

I watch the match with the announcers for almost forty minutes, putting my smart-assed remarks in every so often. A few times, I taunt Mark when he's on the outside. Glenn chokeslams Mark, the signal for me to make my move, and I stand up. "Where are you going?" JR asks when he notices.

"To get a better seat," I reply, take the headset off, and place it on the table. I take the chair I was sitting in, fold it up, and enter the ring. Will is distracting the ref, making it look like I'm in for revenge from the Cell match. I lift the chair near Mark, who's still on the canvas, making it appear as such. At the last moment, I swing the chair upward, hitting Glenn in the mask, hoping I didn't hurt him too badly as I watch him fall to his back. Mark stands back up, and gives me an evil grin. Quickly, I exit the ring with the chair, ignoring the look, just as the ref turns around. Mark gives Glenn the Last Ride, and pins him for the win and the title.

I take the chair with me up the ramp as both Will and Mark look at me; Will's face has a look of angered confusion while Mark's is covered with victory. I reach the backstage just as they're replaying the end of the match. As I watch it, I get a sense of sealing. Sealing of the pact Mark and I had made the week before. Sealing of the agreement between Luke and myself about our truthfulness. Sealing of the promise I made to myself to learn to trust the guys. Sealing that could never be broken.