A/N: Repost

No one would ever expect her to be in this place. A rundown hole in the wall bar that reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor. Her and the bar's occupants had polar opposite lives. They work everyday trying to support their families and their drinking habits, while she hasn't worked a day since her brother signed a contract with WWE, yet she had a seemingly endless amount of cash. Their problems could be solved by a 12 step program, but not even an entire afternoon line up of talk shows could help the young woman. They did share one thing in common, though. Each of them shared the same idea that drinking would get their problems solved.

Christine Hennigan tapped the side of the mug she drank her beer from. This was definitely a change from the usual expensive, fruity and girly alcoholic drinks she came accustomed to while partying her nights away with her brother and her boyfriend, Brian's money. She began tearing at a napkin with her crappy manicured nails. A few acrylics were missing, but right now, that was the least of her worries.

She was drinking her fifth beer peacefully, until an extremely drunken man fell into her mid-sip, causing the amber colored liquid to spill all over her shirt. She ignored the altercation going on behind her until she heard an all too familiar voice say an all to familiar sentence,

"Call me gay again and see what happens," That was John's voice. Her brother had found her.

No.

It was just the alcohol getting to her, or maybe it was paranoia from the high she was on from the two bowls she smoked before coming to this place. She sure wouldn't have come here sober.

The only person she told where she'd be was her good friend Matt. He wouldn't snitch unless he wanted her to castrate him like she promised, would he?

Christine became suspicious and cautiously glanced behind her, only to be met with the big brown eyes that were Matt Cardona's.

"Shit," She whispered to herself. Now was the time she wished she were invisible. She began to giggle to herself at the thought of her invisible powers she now felt she possessed.

"Hey, sis," John called out to her, slapping the shoulder of his intoxicated sister.

"Hi, Johnny," She replied, trying her best to sober up as best she could. The only obstacle was the five beer bottles and shot glasses that were scattered in front of her, and not to mention the dime bag that sat in her purse.

"Enjoying yourself, kid?" Matt asked from the other side of her, before he ordered a drink for himself.

"Yeah, it was going great, until I saw the faces I've been running from," She glared at Matt, " I wonder how they found me."

"We'll talk about it later, Chris." Matt told her, tipping back the bottle of beer and then looking at her sincerely.

"Chrissy, I think it's time you go home," John stated, trying to pick up his younger sister who was now slightly swaying on the bar stool she sat upon.

"I don't want to go. I want to stay here with my friends," She hiccupped and slurred while giving her brother a drunken smile.

"These aren't your friends, Christine. These are pathetic low lives that are drinking their lives away. You don't belong here," John said as if he were disgusted by the bar's patrons.

"Then I guess I do belong here. Now please leave. Go to your French whore and let me drink in peace," Christine ordered him. It's not that she didn't like Maryse, she actually thought she was a wonderful person, but if her brother was too busy for his own blood in her time in need, why bother now when she didn't even want to see him?

"Brian's been asking about you," Matt said after a few silent moments.

Christine then put her head down on the surface before her and mumbled, "I don't care. I don't want to speak to any employee of Vince McMahon right now."

"She's not normal, John," Matt said to his fellow wrestler. They've been up for hours already talking about Christine's changed character over the last few months.

"I know, man, I know. But I swear to you, Brian may be your best friend, but if he ever even thought about touching her, he's a fucking dead man," John said with rage in his voice.

Christine awoke feeling more miserable than she did before she started her drinking the previous night. The muffled sounds of her brother and best friend's conversation kept her from moving from her sprawled out position in the bed she possessed. Nausea swept over her and she made a mad dash towards the bathroom. When she stepped out minutes later, feeling much better, she was taken by the hands and followed her brothers lead to the small couch that was in the hotel room they all shared for the night.

"Chris, what's going on with you?" John asked.

"Johnny, stop yelling. And turn down the lights, they're burning my retinas," She said. John sighed and shook his head. He then handed her the expensive sunglasses he had placed on his shirt collar. She put them on and even with the dark lenses covering her eyes, she looked away from her brother. She didn't want to be like this. She didn't want her brother seeing her like this.

"We found that shit, Christine. What were you thinking? You keep this up and you'll be living in a box sharing needles and getting AIDS!" The anger he felt was causing him to sound absolutely ridiculous and Christine just stared at him in shock.

"First of all, I don't go through your shit, so don't go through mine. Second, I'm pretty sure your juicing is more dangerous than pot. So, maybe right now you should calm down, call up Jose Canseco and ask him what to do with your wild mood swings," She then stomped off, not getting very far, after all they were only in a hotel suite.

The conveniently big suite allowed all the inhabitants enough room to be away from each other. Christine made her way back into the bed she slept in, John sat in front of the television area and blasted a TV show just to aggravate his sister's hung over state. Matt was in the dining area trying to keep away from the siblings quarrel. He sat on the counter and continued the conversation with his tag team partner.

"I don't know if it's a good idea for you to talk to her. Dude, last night she said something about not wanting to talk to any of us," There was no use in arguing with Brian. The New Yorker made his way to Christine's bed. He sat on the edge and raised the blanket from her head.

"Brian wants to talk to you," Matt whispered, handing her the phone.

Christine groaned, then put the device to her ear. She greeted him groggily and wiped the fresh tears from her eyes. They spoke for a few minutes, most of it complete silence on both ends and usually a 'yeah' or 'sure' coming from Christine. She snapped the phone shut after Brian had ended the conversation.

She handed the mobile back to Matt and looked up at him, "Matt, I fucked up real bad with him," He put an arm around her and she began to weep again. He let her cry for a few minutes before he even asked questions.

"What do you mean, Chris?" He asked, lifting her chin up.

"I don't love him, Matt. I have no attraction to him whatsoever."