This is my fourth fiction idea that's been in my head for a while now. I haven't fully thought out the complete plot but it'll come to me as I progress. This story is written from several different points of view, starting with the main character, Jeff Hardy. So look at the top left corner of each chapter if you don't want to be confused. BTW: Several wrestlers from different eras will be present so I'm not focused on actual feuds or storylines or anything like that. I just felt the need to go insane with this story. Literally. Feel free to review (but be nice please). Hope you guys enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the wrestlers. I just dream that I do.

Chapter 1: Jeff Hardy

"He's not crazy. He just a little sick." I remember hearing those words leave my brother's mouth and I remember wanting them to be about my father, but they weren't. I dreamed of a day when he would say something positive to his boys about me, but sadly, those exact words were about me. He was lying, however. He's lied a thousand times for my sake, because he wants to protect me from my own reality.

The day he said those words was the day I drove a pencil through the eye of one of my high school class mates. It happened a long time ago, but I remember it vividly. His name was Drew. The average tall, blonde all the girls craved for his athleticism and wit. He'd even admit that he was a bit of a bad boy. The type to hang out with a group of bullies, but he'd never do anything as extreme as the other bullies. The cruelest he'd ever done was probably pants a guy in the middle of the school hallway. Other than that, he was the bad boy who didn't exactly like to get his hands dirty. I'd never really crossed his path or did anything to make him want to mess with me. But the day he did choose to mess with me, he made a godawful mistake. Back then, I didn't know I had issues like Matt told me. I always denied it.

Sadly, afterwards, I couldn't deny it...

We were all seated in Physics class on a rainy Monday. For some reason, rainy weather always brought about gloomy attitudes. So I sat in the front of the room to avoid the girls who were usually PMSing in the back of the room at the time. It was better for me to focus that way. Our teacher, Mr. Hart, was feeling the effects of the rainy weather too. I could tell by the way he dragged out his words and his voice was a bit monotone, lifeless, but it wasn't his usual disposition. While listening to him go on about the law of inertia, I just happened to feel something hit the back of my head. A bit caught off guard, I turned once to see what had hit me and saw a large ball made of aluminum foil lying on the floor right behind my chair. Funny, I thought to myself. Because that was not the usual. No one had ever thrown something at me in class. Except for that one bitch, Michelle. I think she had a crush on me.

Anyway, I tried looking for the culprit but no one cracked a single smile or gave any hints as to who had thrown the aluminum ball. After a while, I simply shrugged it off and went back to focusing on Mr. Hart. Surprisingly, he didn't react, which meant he didn't see a thing of what had happened. I thought I was going crazy until I felt another one tag me on the back of my neck. I turned around much quicker the second time and this time, I caught the evil little raccoon fighting not to burst into laughter. He was sitting right beside his little goon, Cody, who was staring at me like he was plotting to come after my life. I thought my stone cold glare would have been enough to warn them not to throw anything else at me. But apparently, they weren't as bright as I thought they were.

The third time, the second that aluminum ball sailed all the way from the back of the classroom to the front row where I sat and I felt its impact as it painfully scraped across my right ear, something in me snapped. I didn't know what it was nor could I find the words to describe it to the principal much later, but as soon as I felt it, I was out of my desk before I knew what I was doing. The pencil was already in my hand and all I could focus on was my target. That disgusting thick head of blonde hair.

I remember the look of shock that'd suddenly appeared on his face when he saw me practically jump over desks to get to him and the horrific screech he made when I stabbed the pencil into his left eye, screaming, "Throw another one, you ugly, blind bitch!" And I remember everyone gasping and screaming and scattering about the room as blood spurted all over Drew and myself.

It was then that I knew something was really wrong with me. Because as the blood stained my old, white T-shirt, and as I touched it with my finger tips and took a good look at what I had done to my class mate, I felt a sense of invigoration. I felt a sense of excitement and thrill. And all of it had just come rushing inside me like a tidal wave with no way of stopping or controlling it. The violence made something blossom in me that I can admit felt a lot better than getting my first car. I wanted to rip the pencil out of his eye and stab the other one, but by then, Mr. Hart had grabbed me from behind and dragged me out of the room. I fought like he was kidnapping me, but the feeling I had in that moment was like the feeling a child gets when you take his favorite toy and never return it. I wanted it back. I wanted more of Drew's blood on me.

I wanted to bathe in it...

But Mr. Hart wouldn't let me. "You'd better explain yourself, Hardy." He said to me. "I'm pretty sure it won't get you out of jail, but I'd still like to hear one."

The principal stood right next to him, scowling at me with her old, pinched up face. She never scared me no matter how loud she screamed and no matter how hard she frowned at me whenever I got into trouble. She was simply loud mouth Icky Vicky.

I refused to say anything, but my brother had been there, luckily. He was a witness to the whole thing. "My brother's really sorry, Mr. Hart. He's not like this at all. He doesn't know what came over him."

"Excuse me?" Icky Vicky cut in like a screeching whistle in complete silence. "Let the boy speak for himself or I'll make you suffer his punishment with him."

But I still wouldn't talk. I pretty much figured I was above talking at that point. Let alone the shock and astonishment I felt toward myself that silence me for the rest of that day. My eyes were glazed over and people had to tell me before I actually saw it for myself that my eyes looked dark and troubled and my expression was like I hadn't slept in days.

"Please don't send him to jail, Mrs. Guerrero." Matt begged the principal and she simply turned her nose up at him with a snort. We both hated that squeaky-voice bitch, but I hated her more. Her voice did things to me. Drove me insane like a bat in a cave listening to the constant screaming of frightened little girls. I wanted to do really bad things to her when I heard her loud, inhumanly high pitched, annoying voice.

"Well obviously that's where he's gonna have to go." She responded coldly. So coldly I felt the chill in my own bones. "Because that's where we send crazy people like him. Jail!"

"Mrs. Guerrero, he's not crazy! He's just a little sick."

Yeah...sick in the head.

I was in prison for about a year and boy if I didn't learn one damn thing from that place, I most definitely learned that it was no place for pretty boys like me. Everyday I had to deal with inmates coming to me with boners I never imagined a teenager could have, wanting to do things to me I didn't think was possible. I was terrified, but at the same time, I wanted some of them back. As much as I missed screwing girls at almost every party I attended, I wanted a little rough meat, too. It scared me a little that my appetite for sex had come from males, but it was nothing I could deny of myself.

"You're not getting' outta here without a little booty raidin'!" One guy said to me one day while we were all showering. "If ya drop it, we stick a cock in it."

The look I had given him wasn't the nicest and he didn't look the nicest either, but I didn't say anything. In fact, I was amazed that he'd said anything like that to me at all. He wasn't the type to just let me ignore him either. Eventually, he approached me. Had about a good two and a half feet on me and then I realized I had no choice but to give in to him because if I didn't, I would suffer worse consequences. He took me in front of dozens of other men who watched and cheered on like it was a damn cage fight. We were wet and steamy from the shower and no matter how much he got from me, he still wanted more. More. More! Until I thought I was going to fall apart.

I suppose that shower encounter gave him the mentality that he owned me and it was in his jurisdiction to keep all hands off of me other than his own. When others tried to take me like he did, he always showed up like Batman to the scene of a crime and beat the living hell out of those who even attempted to lay a hand on me. I guess I felt a bit of protection after that, but at the same time, I didn't want him touching me either. In fact, every time he found me in that damn community shower and made me his little whore, I felt the same growing anger that I felt the day I stabbed Drew through the eye with a pencil. The same urge to do something really bad to him. Like rip out his intestines and hang him from the top of the prison with it. But I didn't do anything like that. No. It was worse.

There was one boy who actually had sympathy for me after watching that humungous brute dominate me day after day. His name was Randy. For some reason, no one messed with Randy. He always seemed to be off to himself, watching the others with a killer's stare like he was plotting to murder someone. Come to find out...he really was. I didn't have to ask why no one ever tried to fuck him up the ass like they did to me. He pointed it out quite simply. "I ripped a man's dick off with my bare hands when he tried. He died from the blood loss...no one gave a shit."

I was shocked, but at the same time, I was a bit relieved to find someone I could learn from. He told me that the only way to solve my issue with my personal pimp daddy was to take him out permanently.

"I'm sure he'll get a lot more booty in hell while Satan's fucking his brains out. He'll have no other choice but to enjoy that shit too." Randy would tell me. "So don't fucking doubt me or I'll rip your little penis off too, bitch."

He didn't have to say anything more to convince me that it was the right thing to do. It was close to the day of my release and a part of me wanted to go out with a bang. Leave something behind that the inmates would remember of me besides me getting violated all the time. I had already know it was that new found "sick" part of me and I wanted nothing more than to satisfy that lust for vengeance it gave me. On top of that, I wanted Randy to be proud of me. I didn't know why, but I felt that I needed to look up to him in order to survive in that place.

I remember that day I finally learned the name of my personal rapist. He called himself "The Animal" because he craved sex 24/7 and had apparently gone on rape rampages several days out of every week with dozens of different men. But others like me just called him Dave. Actually, I never spoke his name at all for fear that it would turn him on and make him more fierce in the shower. He enjoyed when people who stood under him called his name; said it gave him "the power." And apparently, he had a lot of power that day before my release when he approached me in the shower.

"You already know what daddy wants from his pretty, little bitch." He had said with so much confidence it instantly struck a nerve in me.

"How do you know that's what the pretty, little bitch wants?" That was the first time I ever said anything besides a dirty, sexual response to him.

"I don't give a fuck what the pretty little bitch wants!" He yelled at me which drew attention from the others in the shower. "Why don't you get on your knees and swallow these nuts, slut!"

It was then that I felt it. That snapping sensation that went off in the back of my head that immediately sent my senses running, my blood boiling, my heart thrumming like hooves in a stampede. I immediately felt that overbearing urge and in turn, my body responded before my mind could and I spun on him quicker than any eye could register. My leg was the first to move and it felt so good to feel my knee collide with Dave's crotch with a crunch so loud it made the other guys cringe. As soon as Dave crumpled over on himself, I reached for my bar of soap and slammed it into his mouth, sending it straight down into his throat. The bar was wide and square-shaped so it was no surprise to me when I heard his windpipe crackle as it expanded outward a lot farther than it was suppose to. In fact, it probably shattered.

Dave immediately clawed and grabbed at his throat while he stumbled ackwardly, hardly able to move with the unbearable pain between his legs. The pain I had given him. But I wasn't done. Something in me that I could only describe as feral wanted more. More pain! I enjoyed it so much I couldn't get enough. I started throwing my fists at his face like a mad man, landing blows so hard I could see blood spewing everywhere. I broke skin and bone with those punches and didn't know how. I was strong but I didn't think I was strong enough to utterly destroy his face like I did. Besides, he was at least twice my size. But that didn't bother me at that moment. At that moment, all I wanted was to destroy every ounce of dignity and pride he carried. And then...I wanted to destroy him physically.

But to my surprise, I blacked out before I could even finish him off. Or at least...before I could see myself finish him off. Sounds crazy, but there were several different guys coming to me telling me all the things I did to Dave that were absolutely horrifying, but I couldn't remember any of it. They had told me that I'd become a totally different person that day. And when I asked who they couldn't tell me. As if some new person had sprouted out of Jeff Hardy. Some naked killer. Then again, there was no telling.

Randy was proud of me that day. And above all, I was proud that I had pleased him. Without knowing why that had made me the happiest about the whole thing. The fact that Randy was proud of me – the man no one ever touched because he was just that deadly. "You did good, kid. These ass holes can't stop talking about what happened."

"Did you see me? Can you tell me what I did to him, Randy?"

"No, Jeff. I was off somewhere else beating the shit outta some other bitch. But I couldn't rip off his dick. He had a vagina."

"He was a tranny or something?"

"Who the fuck knows. I just know you owe me someday for giving you the idea of killing Dave. Now that he's gone, I see less guys walking around here with wrinkled faces and widespread legs. It's kinda relieving, ya know?"

"I guess." But it wasn't relief that I felt. It was something different. "I wish you could get out with me tomorrow, though."

"I got a whole 'nother year, kid. You just make sure you don't end up in a damn looney bin when you get outta here, or I'll hunt you down and rip your dick off, alright?"

That was the first and last time I laughed with Randy, although he was as serious as a heart attack. And the following day was difficult because I had to say good-bye to him. The only guy I trusted in that god-forsaken place. But once I was out...he was never again a thought. In fact, Matt was. I had heard from different sources that he had started to do drugs and was hooked ever since I'd gotten myself locked up. Had to do rehabilitation for a few months, but I was doing just fine. Still I could never forget the reason I had officially "lost my mind" in the first place.

"He's not crazy. He's just a little sick."