#{para}

After a much needed shower and a stealthy escape, Charlotte raced out of the arena. In spite of Rumble outcomes and an accidental elimination of her tag partner. She can attone for that tomorrow night but tonight she's leaving. She's going to her hotel room, she's going to make it look nice, she's going to make herself look night, and she and Randy were going to have a relaxing evening. 

The minute Charlotte got into her room, she put her bags in the closet. Not bothering to unpack because what was the point? She straightened out the room and began to get ready. What should she wear? Did it even matter? Randy wasn't going to look at her like that anyway. 

she settled on a matching set and looked for something to drink in the mini bar for them. They need something bubbly to get them out of their funks. In all of her organizing, she almost missed the knocking at the door. She races to it. 

"Hey." She greeted him calmly.

The hospital room is quiet, save for the steady, infuriating beep of the heart monitor—a rhythmic reminder that Henry is still clinging to this ridiculous thing called life. The sterile scent of antiseptic stings his nose, and the whitewashed walls feel more like a cage than a place of rest. What's left of his left arm is now wrapped in enough plaster and gauze to make him look like a half-assed mummy, strapped to his torso in some medical equivalent of a straitjacket. His ribs are bound tight under layers of compression bandages, but every breath still feels like he's inhaling shards of glass. All this, and they wouldn't even allow him half a beer to dull it all…