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As Ashley heard Punk - or the man she'd thought was Punk - returning to the room, she acted swiftly and shut down the computer. Her blood ran strangely cold as she thought of the possibilities... How could that e-mail be a reality? She knew it was possible for the time to be set up wrong in one's account - but at the same time, she knew she had it set correctly in her e-mail.
"Hey," he said as he entered through the doorway.
"Hey," she replied, her focus barely even there. She couldn't help it as a million different thoughts went zipping through her head at once. She suddenly couldn't help but wonder with whom he'd met up that other night. However, if her seemingly irrational fears proved correct, that really didn't matter.
"What are you up to?"
Ashley bolted her head up this time to meet those dark eyes... The eyes that she'd believed all this time to be those of the man she loved... Well, oddly and impossibly, they still were those beloved eyes - only now, she suddenly noticed they were different. There was no sparkle in them as the man looked upon her. Instead, they bore a certain... hardness. She shuddered slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice.
"Hello? You there?" he asked, stepping closer to her and waving a hand before her face.
"Yeah," the Punk Princess replied. She blinked, attempting to best appear normal and natural. She even smiled for added emphasis. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry." She added, "I guess I'm still a little tired."
The man eyed her strangely. He wished he were somewhere else, not here in Chicago - a city he hated - and not with Ashley Massaro. The girl was totally annoying. And, by the looks of it, even though she seemed calm and quiet at the moment, she appeared to be a basketcase. Edge didn't like it... No, he didn't like it one bit. His only two bits of saving grace were seeing Lita and the fact that his cat allergy had seemingly been obliterated thanks to CM Punk's body.
"We have a houseshow to go to," he reminded the blonde. Thank goodness he would be getting out of this stinking hellhole Punk called home. He couldn't wait to get out on the road and into the arena. He would try and make it a point to bump into Maryse. If she would listen, he would try his damndest to explain everything to her. The chances were great that she wouldn't believe him, but he had to at least try.
Ashley nodded and perked up a bit.
"Oh, right." The truth was, thanks to all the odd things that had occurred the past couple of days, she had all but forgotten about the houseshow for that night. This was good news, and she would like to be around other people now... It would be good, especially since she had the most insane suspicions about the man in the room with her. Who was he? Who was he... Really? She swallowed hard at that thought, because, again, it was insane.
"Well, I guess we'd better get a move on, then."
The little blonde nodded almost absently. Her thoughts were suddenly wrapped up on how she was going to re-check her e-mail on her cell phone when they were out. She wanted to read it again and respond. The only problem was... Would he reply to her when he possibly had a cell phone he didn't know? Punk was okay with technological gadgets, though certainly not an expert.
*
As he and Maryse were just leaving the airport, Punk felt his - or, rather, Edge's - cell phone vibrate at his hip. It was startling only because he'd barely gotten any calls sine this insanity started. He reached down instinctively for it.
He shifted his gaze over to Maryse. The statuesque blonde didn't seem to notice, as she was currently distracted by her two large wheeled suitcases. She was having a bit of trouble maneuvering them, and Punk took that as a blessing. However, he couldn't exactly answer the call or text message just now. Still, he pulled the cell phone up to take a quick glimpse at the display before slipping it back in its holder on his hip.
A somewhat unsure expression crossed his face, and his heart rate instantly increased. It was a text message, and according to the display, Ashley was the sender.
Punk's thoughts were intruded upon suddenly as Maryse began to mutter incessantly in French. One of her suitcases had dropped, and he could only guess that she had to be cursing. In addition, she was flailing her arms around in a gesture of annoyance. As he watched, she turned her focus on him.
"Well? Help me!" she demanded. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously.
Not wanting to be on the receiving end of the diva's wrath again, the Straightedge superstar jumped into action. Once the suitcase was back upright, however, the blonde merely eyed him expectantly, only her other suitcase in her grasp.
Punk sighed, hoping it was inaudible to her. The message was loud and clear. Maryse fully expected him to wheel her second suitcase. And what the hell was up with this dame? They were only going to be on the road three days until they were to return home again! Then again, this was Maryse Ouellet, no doubt the most high maintenance diva in the entire WWE by far.
By the time the two entered the arena for the night's houseshow, Punk felt as though a weight were lifted off his shoulders. He would be rid of the French-Canadian, at least for awhile. He wondered what was on the agenda for him that night and suddenly remembered that that wouldn't matter... After all, he was in Edge's skin.
"Hey, Edge!" he heard a voice shout as he was searching for the locker room.
Inwardly, Punk groaned. It was Chavo Guerrero. The man came right over, a smirk on his face. "Vickie wants to see you in her office pronto."
"Fine... Let me just get settled in my locker room."
"No," Chavo cut in, "now."
Punk somehow refrained from rolling his eyes. Well, this was just great! Edge had inadvertently pulled him into all of his own problems. He could only imagine what Vickie Guerrero had in store for him after he'd dumped her at the altar at their wedding.
"Where's her office?" he asked.
Chavo pointed the way.
"Fourth door to the right down this hallway."
Punk gave him a look before departing for the SmackDown GM's office. He felt as though he were walking the last mile.