Dirty Deeds

CH 36: No Such Thing

 In the end, Punk finds me. I don't make it to catering. I end up in a bathroom, halfway there, sick to my stomach. It's as I'm sitting with my head against the cool wall of the stall, wondering if you can die from a broken heart that Punk sticks his head into the bathroom. "McCool? Are you in here?" For a split second, I think about staying quiet. I don't want to talk to him, or anyone else, for that matter.

I sigh. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Thank God," he says, coming into the bathroom and closing the door. "I've been looking everywhere for you." He steps up to the stall door. "Are you okay?"

"Not really."

I hear him shifting around out there. "Are you decent?"

I laugh, but it sounds like a sob. "Was I ever decent?"

Punk sighs and slides down onto the floor outside the stall. I can see that he's sitting out there, his back against the frame, legs outstretched. "I ran into Hardy in catering. He told me what happened."

"Oh."

"And then I went to your locker room and Layla said you'd gone off looking for me, since you wanted to go to the hotel and didn't have a ride."

"Yeah."

It's quiet then. If I couldn't still see him out there, I'd think he was gone. "I'm sorry," he says finally.

"What for?"

"For not stopping you from making this mistake?" Punk shrugs. "Why Hardy, anyway?"

"Because," I say, "he's a nice guy."

Punk laughs. "Seems like a great guy right now, huh?" I muffle a sob. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Michelle. That was insensitive of me. I'm a stupid jerk, just ignore me."

"I hate this! Layla said he'd turn on me when he found out who I really was, and she was right."

"Michelle," Punk sighs, "you made the mistake of dating someone who doesn't understand the real person you are. It's not that he's a nice guy. These so called nice guys don't exist. We're all one stupid moment away from being jerks. The difference is, some guys will stick by you when it happens, and some won't. You never know which one you've got until that moment comes."

"I guess I know now."

"Yeah. So, um, are you going to come out of there?"

"No, I'm good."

Punk says, "Look, I'm sure it's a nice cubicle and all, but the hotel's nicer. You can sit in your hotel bathroom and not worry about catching God knows what from the floor. I'm not even sure they've cleaned in here this month."

"I appreciate the thought, but I said I'm good."

"Okay, if you won't think of yourself, then think of me. I'm sitting on the floor in a ladies room, staring at a machine that dispenses... um... Well, let's not go there. And if anyone walks in, I'm going to look like a pervert and a stalker."

I can't help but smile at the image. "Okay, Punk," I sigh. "I'll come out, and you can take me to the hotel." I frown. "What about Gallows and Serena?"

"They caught a ride with someone."

"Oh?"

Punk says, "When your best friend is in trouble, do you worry about your own problems, or do you tell the straightedge society to take a hike?"

I'm strangely touched by the sentiment. "You told them to take a hike for me?"

"Of course not," he says. "I want to wake up alive tomorrow. They told me they didn't need a ride after my match." I step out of the stall and he looks up at me for a moment before pushing himself to his feet. "Thanks for coming out, sunshine."

"Sure," I say, and then I burst into tears again.

Punk's right there, though, and he pulls me into his arms. "Hey, shh, it's going to be okay, Michelle."

"No it's not! He hates me! He never wants to talk to me again!"

Punk mutters, "Then he's a complete fool."

"I'm the fool," I say.

"I'm not going to argue with you." Punk frowns at me, then pulls a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket. "Here."

I slide them on. "I look like an idiot."

"They're magical like that," he says. "Whoever wears them looks like an idiot. But at least no one can tell your make up's smeared."

"Thanks."

"Sure." He takes my hand. "Now what do you say we get you to the privacy of your own room, where you can have whatever breakdown you're going to have in peace?"

"Okay."

He leads me through the hallways of the backstage. I'm glad he's got my hand because it means I don't have to keep my eyes open. I let them close and I listen to the voices as Punk steers us through low traffic areas. Finally, the cool outside air touches my skin. "We're almost there," he tells me. He's been mostly quiet this whole walk, sometimes muttering to himself or to me, and once or twice telling someone he'd talk to them later. But we never once stopped until we reached the car. He unlocks my door first and I slide in, leaning back against the seat. Punk shuts my door, then goes to his side and gets in. "You all right?"

"Fine," I sigh, not really caring that it's not true.

"Okay," Punk says. When he turns the car on, the radio's on low. I don't know the song. I never know any of the songs that Punk's playing. He doesn't sing along, so I don't know if he knows them, either. Every so often, I can feel his gaze on me, but he never says a word.

When we reach the hotel, I get out of the car. "Thanks for the ride."

"I'll walk you up."

"No," I say, "it's all right. You go ahead to the party. I'm sure they're expecting you."

"I hate those things," he says. "I'm not going to go."

I frown at him. "You were going to go."

He shrugs. "You won't be there. I won't have any fun, watching everyone else drink. I'm sure Hardy's got half the roster angry by now, and I don't want to walk into the middle of that."

"Me either," I admit. "But, um, about that dance... I don't really..."

"Some other time, perhaps," he says. "Come on. We're on the same floor, and I'm heading for my room, anyway."

What else can I do? We go inside and catch the elevator. At my room door, I say, "Thanks, Punk. You're a good friend."

"Yeah." He hugs me. "Get some sleep, sunshine. Things will look better in the morning."

I frown. "How do you know?"

"They always do," he says, turning to walk to his room, "when you know the right people." He pauses before his door and adds, "Keep the sunglasses. They look good on you."

I touch the frames on my face and turn to tell him thanks, but he's already gone into his room. The door closes softly in his wake, and I'm alone in the hall. I smile and open my door, knowing that no matter what happens, I don't have to face it alone. Punk is my friend, and he's never let me down yet.