Breaking Point By Lady Boss
	Title: “Breaking Point” (1/1) Author: Lady Boss Rating: PG (implied m/m) E-Mail: pikachu_524@yahoo.com Distribution: If you like to take a chance on this little story, then let me know where and ask nicely Disclaimer: Not mine never will be but when I win that Powerball lotto, watch out Vince! Summary: A relationship reaches its breaking point. Notes: I was watching the tape I have of WrestleMania 18 and when I saw the skit that Rock and Coach had done, I had to write this. What can I say, they wouldn’t leave me alone. There were two men in the elevator. One, about average 6’1’’, one-hundred-eighty-pounds glowered while the other, 6’5’’ two-hundred-seventy-five pounds looked at the smaller man, wondering if anything he could say could make up for what he had done earlier that evening. When the elevator chimed the arrival to their floor, the smaller man bolted off first, so angry that he couldn’t bring himself to speak to the larger man following him. One swipe of the key card allowed them both entry to the room they were sharing. But not for much longer. The larger man sat in the chair as he watched his lover grab his suitcases and begin pulling things out of the drawers and stuffed them into the cases. He knew his smaller lover was furious because while he was normally so meticulous in his packing, he was just throwing the clothes and other necessities for their chosen careers; the larger man a wrestler, the smaller one a commentator, into the suitcase in a haphazard style. The smaller man was furious, so furious in fact he felt his hands shaking as he threw everything of his into the cases. He didn’t care if his neatly pressed and folded clothes got wrinkled nor did he care if he had a mess in his suitcase. All he wanted to do was get away from the larger man and the humiliation he’d put him through tonight of all nights. The biggest night in their profession. The larger man, wanting to say something, anything to keep his lover from leaving, remained silent as he watched one suitcase get zipped up before the other one began filling up. He watched as the smaller man grabbed some shirts out of the drawer. Recognizing one as his own, he finally spoke up. “That one’s mine.” The smaller one looked, or more like glared, at his larger lover. “What?” “The…silver and red shirt,” he pointed to the one at the bottom of the pile. “That one’s mine.” The smaller man lifted the pile and saw the shirt his lover had pointed at and pulled it from the pile throwing it as best he could at the larger man, only for it to land on the edge of the bed in a limp fashion. “Oh I’m sure you’ll make fun of my throwing abilities next.” The smaller man snapped before heaving the pile of clothes he had into the suitcase. “Coach…” the larger man spoke. “No. Don’t even think about it.” The smaller man snapped as he headed for the bathroom to retrieve his toiletries. “Nothing you can say is going to make up for that humiliation you put me through tonight.” “You know I didn’t mean it.” “Yeah, like you didn’t mean making me sing ‘Copacabana’ and force me to dance the Charleston in front of your million and millions of worshippers.” The smaller man shouted from the bathroom as he opened the shaving kit and began throwing his stuff into it. “You know it’s just a work babe,” the larger man said. “Is it? Sometimes I wonder.” He zipped the bag and walked back into the room before tossing the case into the suitcase. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I think you get off on the humiliation. Get off on humiliating me especially.” “You know that’s not true.” “Please. What the hell was that out there tonight? Making me ‘say my prayers’ before kicking me to the floor and calling me a ‘sick freak’? Hmmm? What happened Dwayne? You get picked on by nerds when you were little and decided to take it out on me?” “Coach, it’s nothing like that.” “And then you expect me to say ‘don’t worry honey, all’s forgiven’ and then think a quickie in your dressing room is going to make things better? No, not any more.” Coach looked around to make sure he had everything before continuing. “And you know what the worst part is? Having my friends and my family and my co-workers think I’m nothing more than your bitch.” “You know that’s not true.” Dwayne stood and walked over to where Coach was standing. “Listen you know I love you.” “Right. The only thing you love is getting of on all your sheep like fans chanting ‘Roc-ky, Roc-ky’. Tell me babe, how did it feel getting booed the way you did tonight in your match against Hogan huh? Did you like that?” “Can’t you calm down so we can talk about this?” “There’s nothing to talk about and don’t think coming over here and calling me ‘baby’ and all that other bullshit you call me when I get angry is going to work. Uh-unh not this time Rock.” Coach spat the name out like it was poison, which to him it was right now. Dwayne stood in the middle of the room not knowing what to do. “Can’t we talk about this? I mean you don’t have to get all drama queen on me. You know what the spot was going to be when the writers showed you the script.” “The writers. I bet you love them. I’m wondering, do you go to them before I get to the arena and ask them to think of new and more creative ways to humiliate me in front of millions of people? And another thing why is it when you get upset, you’re brooding, but when I get upset, I’m a drama queen?” Coach grabbed a couple of CDs off the dresser where a portable CD boom box sat. “I mean, why are your feelings more important than mine? You tell me you love me but do you mean it?” “You know I do.” “Then prove it. Tell me right here, right now the next time I interview you won’t try and humiliate me.” “Listen I follow script…” “Thank you so much. You’re the fucking ‘Rock’, Dwayne. ‘Rock’ can get script changes, ‘Rock’ can get away with just about anything including humiliating every interviewer who gets stuck talking with him.” Coach slid the CD’s into their case in the carry on bag he was now turning his attention to. “All I have to say is I’ve had it. It’s getting to the point where you’re becoming more and more like Rock every chance you get and I’m sick of it.” “When have I even been anything like my character?” “Try on our anniversary. Remember that. We got into a spat over where to go for dinner and you totally cut a promo on me. Right in front of everyone.” Dwayne said nothing but did remember that night. He and Coach were bickering all day about where to go for their anniversary and it got to the point that Dwayne, finally having had enough of Coach’s waffling, finally said, “When in the blue hell are you going to make up your ever loving mind about dinner tonight?” Dwayne sighed. “I made up for that. Remember we went to that steakhouse you wanted to try.” “No you like to think you made up for it. I tried to save face and make things all nice between us so you wouldn’t go off like that again.” “So what are you saying?” “To be honest? I’m through with this Dwayne. I’m through of wondering where ‘Rock’ ends and ‘Dwayne’ begins. I’m through of being your ‘straight man’ for your interviews. I’m through being your emotional punching bag. And I’m through with us. So from now on, go find yourself another interviewer to abuse because I’ve had it. And if anyone should call here looking for me, tell them I’m rooming with Cole and Tazz.” On that note, Coach grabbed his bags, threw the spare key card on the dresser and walked out of the room and walked out of Dwayne’s life. Alone in the room, the silence more deafening than the thousands of fans in the Skydome that night, Dwayne sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what Coach had said and that’s when it hit him; had he been using his character to act out some sort of subliminal fantasy of his of abusing and humiliating Coach the way he had? Or maybe he was too afraid of what he felt toward the interviewer that all those stunts he pulled on him were some perverse way to keep Coach at a distance so he wouldn’t have to confront those feelings than have to deal with them? Sitting there with his head in his hand, Dwayne didn’t care what his reasons were for doing what he’d done; the important thing was getting Coach back. Now the question was how?