Hey all! Ruby here again! well... my other wwe fanfic went so well that i decided to start writing another one. new love interests, and i put more of my falvor into it. suspense. i'm a junkie for it, and i think i do pretty with it. so here it is. hope you enjoy!

and please review! (i'm also a junkie for reviews!)

Ruby.

And Now You're Dead...

Chapter One

Can you imagine what it's like to feel your very last moments of life? To breath your last breath? Hear those last words or sounds? What would you say? What would you do? What could you do?

Peyton Alden picked up her speed tremendously walking down the streets of south Philadelphia. She was hardly new to the area, growing up just a few streets away from where she was walking now, but Peyton was trying her absolute best to avoid any family or friends she might encounter while out. It had been seven years since she had last seen her mother and father, seven years of unbridled freedom, and she would rather keep it that way.

Seven years in the WWE, and her family was ashamed.

The night her father had disowned her for even thinking about chasing such a dream - instead of attending the college that he picked out so she could become a well renowned lawyer - Peyton had changed her name, and her life. She tossed aside her polos for band t-shirts, threw out her skirts for ripped jeans, gave away her Mary-Janes for a pair of electric pink Converse, and chopped off her wavy gold locks for the feathery strands of black that was now on her head.

All just when she was seventeen. She had then proceeded to chase the dream of becoming a WWE diva, which was made possible one night after meeting a certain someone. A McMahon. She had met Stephanie McMahon in New York, where the billion dollar princess was doing some shopping before hitting the road once again. The rest was fate. Or so Peyton thinks.

But that was only the unseen reason why she was running. If the situation was examined more closely, it would be obvious to just about anyone that Peyton was running from a very specific someone.

She knew he was following her. He always had. AS her heart rate rose with every intense, straining move, Peyton looked behind her. Mechanically - every five steps - Peyton would wrench her neck around and scan her surroundings to check that that someone wasn't advancing on her. That is, until he cut her off and she unknowingly ran straight into his chest.

Her fists pushed against his stomach, sending him backwards into the crowd of innocent bystanders. "STOP FOLLOWING ME!"

Randy Orton just stared at her for a moment, a little hurt that she had yelled so loud and kind of embarrassed because he knew she was about to make a scene. "If you'd just stop I wouldn't have to. Would you just please talk to me? Please? Give me a chance."

She furiously shook her head, "I'm not really in a talking sort of mood. You know, after I walked in on you in our hotel room... cheating on me and whatnot." She was trying her damnedest not to cry. Not over him.

Randy dropped his head in the sort of shame that you can only bestow upon yourself. His hands reached for the back of his neck, kneading the knots from his muscles. "Peyton... what can I do to get you back?"

Peyton let out a sarcastic, and extremely annoyed, sigh, shrugging her shoulders at him and continuing her fast pace walking. "Wrong time, wrong question."

He continued his chase, this time with ease at the close range. His hands groped her dainty shoulders, forcing her to stop and face him. "What?"

"You should have asked yourself 'What should I not do, so I can keep Peyton.' BEFORE you fucked Mickie!" She worked at wiggling from his grasp, knocking his hands away from her. She no longer knew where those hands had been, and she certainly did not want them touching her. While slapping him away, the silver band around her ring finger pushed sharply into her skin, reminding Peyton of it's presence. "Oh...," she started with yanking it off, "and this is over. Completely. The wedding is off," and she finished with throwing it at him.

Then she disappeared into the crowd.

- - - - - - -

Mickie took that embarrassing walk down the hallway of the hotel. Her shirt was buttoned wrong, her skirt was bunched and wrinkled, and her hair was out of place. Mickie's eyes were swollen and sunken with dark circles that only accentuated her particularly nasty hangover. Just how drunk had she gotten? She remembered being out dancing the night before with the girls. Her best friends. Trish, Torrie, Candice, and Peyton. But nothing after that.

Everything was fuzzy, but Mickie could faintly make out the outline of Torrie Wilson standing in the doorway to her room, her arms crossed and her foot tapping. "What did you do, MJ?" she barked, not noticing just how crappy Mickie was looking. Or feeling. Upon further examination, Mickie could tell that Candice and Trish were also in the room.

Mickie moaned, flopping herself on the bed and covering her face with a pillow. A headache was coming on and she did not need a lecture right now. "Guys..."

"Peyton slept in my room last night," Trish commentated, following Torrie's stance, "she didn't want to wake Randy up since got back so late. I woke up this morning, open the door, and find her running down the hallway. Randy chasing after her. And now you come wobbling down the hallway looking like shit." Her tone was just as disgusted as she meant it to sound. "Just what happened in room 614, Mick?"

- - - - -

Torrie, Trish, and Candice left Mickie to sleep off whatever she had drank the night before. None of them could remember what the others had been drinking, but Mickie's must have been really strong for her not to remember just what had happened. They assumed the worst, though, and went down to the lobby to get some breakfast and wait for Peyton to come back. All her stuff was here. She had to come back sometime. Or get new stuff.