"Urgh!"

CM Punk sat down angrily, putting his head in his hands. Why was this happening? Why him? His head was banging, not just from the injuries sustained from that idiot Brock Lesnar, but mostly from trying to comprehend the situation. Rubbing his temples gently, he tried to think straight. Heyman, the man he considered a friend not too long ago, the guy he'd trusted for years and years had...had... Punk stood up, furious. "Stay calm, Phil." He muttered under his breath, his body shaking from anger. He heard his phone vibrate on the table behind him but ignored it. The last thing he wanted was sympathetic texts, texts from people pretending to care after seeing his 'match' against Lesnar, people who were probably laughing behind his back right now. Best in the world? Yeah, right.

It wasn't long ago since him and Heyman had been close. It was nearly a month ago since Payback. Punk thought back to Heyman at ringside during his match against Chris Jericho. He'd been cheering, supporting him. Honestly too, it seemed. Just thinking about Heyman made Punk feel dizzy. Despite this, he really wanted to see him, and had no idea why. Wasn't this the man who'd betrayed him at Money In The Bank, gaining his trust, cheering him on, just to backstab him and cost him his chance of winning the contract at MITB?! Not just that, but causing him to have to have 13 staples in his head! Fucking ladder. If only he'd seen through Heyman to start off with.

The phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. Punk walked slowly over to the table to see who it was. He had no intention of answering it. Picking up his phone off the table, he looked at the screen. Private number? "I don't fucking think so." snarled Punk,pressing END and slamming his phone back onto the table. Just as he turned around he heard the phone ring again. Private again? Curiosity got the better of Punk this time, and he answered with an angry greeting.

"Punk, here."

"Let me in."

Punk gasped quietly. Just hearing that voice made his heart start beating faster. Urgh, why did HE have this effect on him? Punk refused to let his feelings show.

"What the fuck do you want?" He growled.

"What do you think I want, Phil? I want to talk to you. I'm outside. Let me in. I don't want to do this over the phone." The voice replied, huskily. Paul Heyman sounded upset.

"I'm surprised you even have the guts to come here, Heyman. And I'm even more surprised that you fucking care. Anyway, I'm busy." Punk glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's late. Don't you have stuff to do?"

"I'm not leaving until you let me in. Punk, I can't... I just need to see you. You understand, don't you?" Punk could hear Heyman's distress over the phone. For some reason, he felt obliged to let Heyman in. But he wouldn't give in that easily.

"No, Heyman, I don't fucking understand. You got Lesnar on me tonight. Don't even deny it this time, don't even bother! Why are you here?! Just fucking go home. Nothing you can say can change any of this. You made your choice! Now fuck off back to Lesnar... you...you..." Punk's fist clenched, and he gripped his phone tightly, resisting the urge to hang up and throw his phone. Why did Heyman have this effect on him? His stomach churned.

"Now, be reasonable, Phil. If I wanted to go back to Brock, I'd be there now, not stood outside your place like I am right now. I NEED to talk to you, Phil. Now, please, let me in. I just need to say something I can't say over the phone. Please?"

Punk hung up, and placed his phone on the table. What did Heyman want?