I don't know why I'm even doing this, but I've wanted to write a soap opera-like story, so I'm giving it a go! I have no idea where I'm going with it, but hey, does anyone know where any soap opera is going?

Please review and let me know what you all think! Reviews are very much appreciated.


~ Chapter 1 – Conflicted ~


Family was important. That was just common knowledge, something that goes without saying. When someone in your family is in need of help, no one really thinks – they just immediately jump into action, doing whatever they can to help out and make things better. But what if … what if your family is completely screwed up with no possible chance of fixing? What if your family is just so dysfunctional, it's hard to think of anything that'll help, especially when someone isn't doing the right thing? What do you do then?

-x- -x- -x- -x- -x-

Dr. Randy Orton was not a happy person as he made his way down the hallway, his shoes hitting the tiled floor the only sound that echoed against the walls. He had an arm wrapped around his chest, holding something close to him, but hidden, concealed under the long, white, doctor's coat he wore. His hand gripped the old metal door and pushed it open, the force knocking it back, a loud clanking noise ringing out into the otherwise quiet hospital. After going down several flights of stairs, the doctor found himself in the boiler room, the place several degrees hotter than up in the actual hospital.

Of course, Ted DiBiase Jr. wouldn't see his brother up there.

The boiler room was once the old part of the hospital before renovations were made deciding instead to just build more space instead of fixing what was already broken. The space was now used for storage or, in Ted's case, something else altogether. . Randy took a left at the corridor and walked straight forward, knowing his younger brother would be waiting in the doors ahead. And he was right. Sitting on an old table was Ted DiBiase Jr., hunched over, his left arm wrapped around his right. He was dirty – dirt and grime stained his face while his clothes looked like they were about ready to fall from his body. Without saying a word to his brother – not that Ted was about to start the conversation after catching the look on the doctor's face – Randy pulled out what was concealed under his doctor's coat and slammed it down on the tray.

Sighing, Ted sat up a little straighter, wincing at the toll that simple movement caused his body. He had a rough night and the only thing he wanted to do – besides getting cleaned up – was to get in bed and sleep the pain away. "Look, Randy … I'm sorry for getting you involved, man. I know you don't want anything to do with any of this."

"You're not sorry," Randy said plainly, his voice full of pent up anger, though the tone was at a decent level. "If you were sorry then you wouldn't have come, but you did, because you don't think I have the guts to turn you into the police."

Opening the first-aid kit he brought, Orton pulled out a pair of tweezers and some peroxide. Walking over to his brother, Randy shoved the bottle of peroxide into Ted's chest and jerked his sleeve up, revealing the bullet wound that damaged his tanned skin. After muttering a quick be still, the doctor pushed the tweezers into the small hole, feeling Ted tense and stiffen under the pain. A part of him was glad. After all, he had been causing a lot of problems for not only him, but for a lot of people. It was time for Ted DiBiase Jr. to get a taste of his own medicine, to see how it felt like to get played, to get screwed. Still … Ted was Randy's brother and no matter how annoying and stupid the kid got, Orton knew that saying no, turning his back on his family … it was easier said than done. After locating the bullet, Randy eased it out, walking over to the trashcan and dumping it before grabbing the peroxide Ted was still holding, unscrewing the bottle. After pouring a generous amount on some cotton balls, Randy pressed it against and around the wound, cleaning it from infection.

"What did you get yourself into this time?" Randy finally asked his eyes locked on the wound before him, not at his brother who turned to stare at him. "Did you rob, kill, rape, someone?"

"I didn't rape anyone," Ted replied, shaking his head before looking back down at his feet. He had run through mud, which was why they were dirty looking. He landed in mud, too, when he dropped from a second story window in an attempt to get away from an enemy. "As for the rest … they got what was coming to them."

Randy slammed down the bottle of peroxide, some of the contents spilling out, but the doctor didn't give a damn. The last thing on his mind at that moment was the peroxide. Clenching his jaw, Orton walked over to the towel he brought, as well as a roll of bandages. Grabbing the two, he walked back over to where he was standing, shoving the towel at Ted.

"Hold it against the wound."

After staring warily at Orton, Ted lifted his left arm, placing the towel against his wound. He had lost a lot of blood on the way over to the Saints Hospital, which was one of the contributing factors to his tired, dizzy state, but he ignored it, pushing it to the side. He could only deal with one problem at a time. "Look, Randy-"

"So you shot someone," It wasn't a question, but a statement. As much as Orton hoped that Ted hadn't, deep down, he knew that there was a lot about his younger brother that he had no idea about. "Did you kill them?"

Ted was silent for a moment, his eyes taking a faraway appearance as he pressed the towel against his arm, trying to stop the blooding long enough for Randy to patch him up. He knew that Randy didn't approve of what he was doing. Hell, everyone who knew him outside of what he did, didn't approve. Business was business, though … as was the money. "Yeah … he's dead."

Slamming his fist down on the tray, sending the last of the peroxide toppling over, Randy shook his head, his fists clenching into tight fists as he closed his eyes, the hate for his brother just welling up to the point where he honestly felt like killing him.

"What the fuck happened to you?" He finally demanded, his icy stare turning on his brother. Not only was he angry, but he was confused. He had absolutely no idea how such a sweet kid like Ted could turn into someone so cold, so heartless. "What could have possibly happened to make you into such a monster? I mean, how could you?"

"What do you expect, Randy, huh? I'm in the fucking mob! Killing people, is what I do!"

"No! How in the fuck are you able to live with yourself after doing something like that! How can you look in the mirror and be okay with this! You're taking a life! It doesn't matter what they did! It's wrong!"

"I don't need this," Ted said, shaking his head. "I came here to get patched up, not get the same lecture I get every time I see you. Just finish it up and I'll get the fuck out of here."

"And that's another thing! You have the audacity of calling me and telling me that you need my help every single time something like this happens to you and you don't even thank me for it! I give you pain medication, I make sure you don't get a fucking infection! I could lose my license for helping you like this and not reporting it!"

"Yeah, well, I don't want to go to jail and I'm sure you don't want to be unemployed, so just drop it!" Ted snapped, his cerulean eyes locking on icy pale ones. He didn't want to get into it at the moment. The same damn thing happened every single time they had to communicate to one another and DiBiase was just sick of it.

Randy glared at him, unable to believe that this person was actually his brother. It didn't seem real and he didn't like it one bit. Shaking his head, Orton grabbed the bandages and stormed back over to Ted, grabbing his bad arm and positioning it so he could work, secretly enjoying the hiss of pain that elicited from his assault. He started rolling the bandage around his arm after cleaning it once again.

"This is the last time, Ted," He said, his eyes locked on the wound. His voice wasn't as harsh and angry as it was before. Instead, it was neutral, tired almost. "Don't call me, don't text me when you get yourself shot up again. Don't call, begging for me to pick you up when you're lying in the gutter somewhere. I'm done with this."

"For fucks sake, Randy, we both know you don't mean that shit," Ted rolled his eyes, his patience slowly fading. "Just cool the fuck down and-"

"No, just …" Randy tightened the bandage and walked over to this first-aid kit, putting everything back inside before closing it up and motioning to a change of clothes he brought down for Ted, as well. "Just take a shower, get changed, get out of here, and forget my number."

Picking up the first-aid kit, Randy turned around without giving Ted a second glance and walked out of the room they were in, leaving Ted behind, who simply watched his brother go.


Slouching back in his seat, a cold bear in his hand, John Cena had no idea what to do. He never thought he could feel something so painful, never thought something could make him want to go numb, to lose all sense of feeling. He wanted to just curl up and die, to be forgotten, to forget.

That, of course, was only half of what he was feeling. Besides the dreadfully miserable hole in his chest, John just couldn't believe something like that had happened to him. He was a good person – donating money to as many charities as he could, holding doors open, smiling and speaking kindly to people – so he didn't understand why that had to happen to him. He was a police officer, too! He put his life on the line every single day. But only after all of these thoughts did it finally register.

Bad things happen to good people. Life was cold and unfair and it didn't give a damn who it decided to screw, so long as someone paid.

Bringing the beer bottle to his lips, John took a generous gulp, the sound of boxes being moved around, random things being slammed down ringing in his ears. He didn't do anything to stop it, though. He just didn't care anymore. Only when the sound of heels pounding into the hardwood floor did John turn and look up, seeing his ex-fiancée storm into the living room, a good sized box in her arms.

"Okay, I think that's most of my things," Rosa Mendes said, her honey brown eyes sweeping over the room, trying to see if she missed anything. When nothing stood out, Rosa turned her attention back to John, her head shaking from side to side at the state of him. "I'll come by tomorrow to get the rest of my things. I won't be able to put all of it in my car," The Latina's eyes followed John as he stood from the couch, heading for the kitchen, probably to get yet another bottle of beer. Shaking her head once more, Rosa continued. "I'll bring Alberto with me, so-"

The Latina was immediately cut off when the empty beer bottle in John's hand was hurled at the opposite wall, shattering into many pieces while John whirled around, his sapphire eyes blazing as he finally turned and acknowledged Rosa. He raised a muscled arm, his thick finger pointed towards the door, though his eyes never left hers.

"That son of a fucking bitch is not setting one foot in this goddamn house!"

"What?" Rosa snorted, her eyes rolling as she shrugged off what John said. "He's coming. How else will I get my big furniture out of here?"

"I don't care!" John carried on, his voice rising even more. Just the thought of that fucker being in his house, his thick, heavy cologne tainting his air was enough to make John want to hurt someone. "I don't care how you get your shit out of here! Move it yourself, drag it out, call some fucking movers, it doesn't matter! Just keep that fucking prick out of my house, Rosa, or I swear to God, I will kill him!"

John didn't know if he was serious or not – after all, the thought of killing the man who ruined his life and destroyed his future was awfully tempting – but Rosa didn't seem to think so. She merely laughed and put her hands on her hips – an act John once loved, but now hated – her brown eyes staring at Cena with an incredulous look on her face, as if she were wondering how in the hell she ever got involved with someone like John Cena.

"You won't even be home when I come over here, so why is Alberto coming over here so hard for you to deal with? You won't even see him!" Rosa exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "Besides, I don't need your permission. If I want him to come then he will. This is our house."

"But you are moving out," John countered, his voice angry. After a moment, though, he took a deep breath, trying to simmer down. After all, he was trying to sway her. He lifted a meaty hand, rubbing his eyes tiredly, warily. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, much gentler than it was before. "You don't want to be with me anymore and that's fine. You don't want to marry me and that's fine. You wanted a clean break, that's fine. You can take whatever you want in this house. Saints Ville is a small town. I'll have to see him constantly while I'm working, on a daily basis. All I ask is that you keep my home, my safe haven, free of him."

Rosa shook her head for the umpteenth time that day as she leaned against the back of the couch, her arms coming to rest of the back. She stared at John, seeing the tired, dreary look in his eyes – eyes she once was head over heels in love with. She could remember being so happy whenever he was around her, as though she were flying and he was the safest place to land. Those times changed, though, and even though a part of her was sad that she was leaving John behind in such a state, the bigger, more dominant part of her was happy, because she had finally found someone who would actually take the time to take care of her, to love her in a way John couldn't.

"You brought this on yourself, you know," She finally said, her own voice softer than it was before. "When you said you wanted to be a cop, I was supportive. I pushed you and I did all that I could to show you how proud I was. When you finally were promoted and joined the force, I was ecstatic for you, because I knew that that was what you wanted. But then you became obsessed with it. Those eight hour shifts soon turned into twelve, sometimes fourteen hour shifts," She stood up and walked over to the fireplace, where pictures of her and John adorned the mantel. Those two people were happy, they were in love. It was hard to believe that they could have drifted so far apart, but there they were, separating for good. "I tried to wait up for you, but you hardly ever came home anymore. I learned to not expect you anymore. I learned to live without you. Alberto actually takes the time to be with me. That's something you never did. I fell out of love for you and you're the reason. You're to blame."

Pulling her gaze from John, Rosa walked over to the box she put down and picked it back up, heading towards the door, but not before throwing one more quip at him, that snootiness back in her voice. "And you can forget about your little safe haven, because Alberto's been here at least five times."

The door closed, leaving John alone in the huge, empty house. His face completely devoid of emotion, he turned around and made his way back into the kitchen where he opened the fridge and pulled out another bottle of beer. He walked over to the couch and sank back down, his eyes faraway as he opened the bottle and took a drink.


Opening his suitcase, Evan sighed warily as he pushed out various articles of clothing, his thoughts heavy on what had just happened. The type of weather of the day reflected his mood – dark and depressing. The Sinners Motel – where Evan Bourne now resided – was a pretty ironic name, though he was a victim of the repercussions, not the acting participant who was now nameless to the smaller man. After everything he had dealt with in the past concerning that nameless man, properly identifying him would shatter the wall he desperately had built.

The chances to change his ways were endless. What he had seen was not the first time, though it truly felt like it every single time. Even after witnessing such a scene, Evan found himself forgiving him, his kind heart willing to forget the brutal blow simply because he was afraid to be alone. Not that time, though. No, Evan wasn't going to give in, to allow his heart to be the deciding factour instead of his head. He was tired of the pain and he was tired of the disrespect. Any man was better than the nameless one that enjoyed playing with his thoughts and feelings, with his heart. Many friends have told him in the past how soft and thoughtful he was and, even though it was an excellent quality to possess, it would get him in trouble. He never thought they would be right, but they were certainly this time.

Taking a deep breath, Evan sank onto the bed, the shirt and jeans in his hands completely forgotten now that his mind dwelled on the infidelity that was his lover's favourite sin. The man – the nameless one – was so kind to him, seemingly interested in just about everything he said or did. Evan thought he was perfect in that respect, thought that his nameless man knew just what to do to make his boy happy … obviously not, not after what he found himself walking into countless amounts of times. He hated thinking about it, hated letting his mind wander to that place, hated letting his mind create little pictures that had been permanently sealed into subconscious. Shaking his head, Bourne walked into the bathroom with the jeans and shirt in his hand and tossed them on the counter, while he turned and climbed into the shower. Turning the hot water on, Evan closed his eyes and bowed his head, hoping the steamy hot shower would relinquish some of the hold his nameless lover had on him, even though he was many miles away now.

Thankfully, it did work for a little bit. The hot water rolling down his body felt so good, Evan put everything he had in concentrating on that simple thing – how the droplets of water rolled down his skin, how the heat made him shiver in delight, how the steam that rose felt so warm and inviting that he didn't want to leave at all. Only he had to. Finding the crappiest and farthest motel that he could, Evan knew that having shitty water was going to be a given. With great reluctance, the small man turned off the water and grabbed a towel, dabbing himself dry before stepping out of the shower, the cold air hitting his skin, goosebumps immediately flaring across his beautifully tanned skin. After drying off, Evan grabbed his jeans and shirt and quickly put them on before opening the door and stopping dead in his tracks, shocked at what he found – or rather who – sitting on his bed.

Phillip Brooks.

No one really expecting someone like Evan to ever get involved with someone like Phillip Brooks, but almost immediately, they could tell that the pair had something special, something that many searched for, but rarely ever found. The two latched onto each other almost instantly, both finding the immediate comfort that came whenever they were together warm and pleasant, something they hated being apart from. Something changed inside of Phillip, though, something dark and domineering that left Evan feeling both confused and alarming.

"Phil … what … what are you doing here?" Evan squeaked, completely shocked that the once nameless man was actually there, sitting on his bed looking as casual as ever, as though they had gone to the motel together. "How did you find me?"

"I know you, Evan," Phil purred, his green eyes locking on Evan's, a smile creeping across his face. "It's not that hard to figure out."

Shifting from foot to foot, Evan fumbled with his hands as he stared at Phil, wondering just what to do and how to progress from where they were at. He had left because of what happened, because of what he walked into their bedroom to see. There was no reason why he should feel nervous and uncomfortable. If anything, Phil should be begging to come back, for Evan to give him yet another chance to make their love work. Phil didn't do that, though. He simply stared at him, those dark green eyes penetrating straight through him. It was as though he was being examined by scientists and it wasn't at all comfortable.

"You never answered my first question," Evan finally said, his voice shaky some, but he did his best to keep it as confident as possible. Phillip was like a shark – if he smelt blood in the water than he was going straight for the source. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to bring you home, Evan. You don't belong in this shitty motel room. You belong with me, in our apartment," Phil said, slowly standing up from the bed he was sitting on, his green eyes staring intently at the smaller man. "I want you to come home."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to come home, especially since our safe place isn't sacred anymore. I'm tired of this, Phil. I'm just done. You don't respect me, you don't care about me, and that shows with all the people you keep bringing home."

"They mean nothing to me, Evan. You do. I … I'm human, I make mistakes," Phil said, his eyes glistening with so much regret, it was a wonder Evan had been able to resist him for so long. "But out of all the mistakes I've made, you were the only right thing in my life. I need you, baby, more than you could possibly know. Please … please find it in your beautiful heart to forgive me this one more time … please; I'll never hurt you again."

Sighing, Evan closed his eyes and rubbed his tired eyes, his mind going a million miles a minute, getting pulled into so many directions. He was just so tired of having to deal with the infidelity, of having to pick up the pieces of his heart, only to go back to the man for the entire process to repeat. That's all they were – just one repetitive cycle that only left him bruised and broken when it was all said and done. He just didn't want to do it anymore … but then there was Phil … there was their past and the memories that they shared and cherished together. Evan could remember the love they shared when they first got together, how their eyes lit up no matter how many times they saw each other.

"Okay," He finally said his voice low as he frowned, staring at Phil with those beautiful chocolate brown eyes of his. He didn't move away when Phil walked over to him, pulling Evan into his arms in a warm embrace – one he found himself melting into. Sighing, Bourne wrapped his arms around his lover, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, hating himself for not being strong, for not being able to say no when he already knew what would happen. "Please don't break my heart again, Phil. Please, don't …"

Phil smiled softly, running his hand up and down Evan's back soothingly. "I won't, Ev. I promise."


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