Here comes the pain.

I feel the pain.

Please...

Make it stop!

I woke up in my hotel bed and glanced over at the clock, it had been only six in the morning and I feel asleep at four. I looked back up at the ceiling and stared at it for the longest amount of time... I didn't feel like getting out of bed.

Me, CM Punk, Phil Brooks, did not want to get out of bed.

I was terrified. No... not even that could have described what I felt. I was in a mood that mixed terrified with pissed off... never had I been such a way before. I gripped the covers and closed my eyes painfully, arcing my back from the night before.

June seventh, two-thousand and thirteen. It marked my return and it marked the day after Payback. I had supposedly won against Alberto Del Rio, only for a countout victory. Sure, would have liked to pin him or something like that... but.. it's not what I was so tense about. It's about what happened after my match. The return of another Paul Heyman guy... Brock Lesnar.

I have never crossed paths with Lesnar before in my life. Never bothered to, never wanted to... but he came after me and hurt me, it made me nervous just thinking about it.

[June 7th, 2013. -:- PM]

I grunted as I limped my way back to my locker room, I refused to have medical help and I just wanted to watch Chicago have yet another win in hockey. I ignored everyone so they couldn't see the obvious pain I was in, and I stumbled into my locker room, a sly grin spreading across my face. I stumbled over to my bag and rummaged through it, and I jumped almost ten feet in the air once I heard a door slam and lock... I knew the door was the one to my locker room. There was complete silence throughout the room, and when I felt breathing down my neck, I could feel all the hairs on the back of it stand up. I could collapse right there, my heart was racing and I was sure I could not take the pressure. I decided to act strong, and when I move just once muscle, I felt nothing else but the wall next. There was a tight grip on my newly grown hair and after that, I was sure my face connected with the wall a few times after that. I let out a painful yelp and after I was let go, I fell in front of the wall in utter defeat. What the hell was wrong with me? I heard a soft laughter, replaced by words.

"Yer weak..." is what the voice said. I winced at the pain shooting throughout my body and that's when I felt another tight grip on my hair, pulling me up and turning me around to face my attacker.

Brock Lesnar.

I frowned even more at the sight of his chipmunk face. I could tell he was reading my eyes, so what was the next thing that happened? A fist connecting to my gut. I coughed a bit and glared at the beast... what did he want with me? He leaned in close and grinned.

"Weak lil' shit, that's what ya are. Wanna know why I am after yer sorry lil' ass?"

I didn't respond. No, I didn't want to know why he was after my 'sorry little ass'. I wanted him out of my face and out of my locker room. I swear, he could tell the cockiness rising in me, because the next thing that scrambled my guts around was his knee. I cringed in pain, letting my face show only a percentage of what pain I was actually in.

"Not a good enough answer, bitch." he slammed me against the wall, but kept the firm grip on my thick hair, though shifting his hand where I could now see it if I glanced up. With my head connecting with the wall, I let out another noise of pain. I was trying to hide it, I really was. You try having your hair gripped by Brock Lesnar and being assaulted at the same time.

I let out a soft groan as I shifted a bit, "... n-not really... your... voice annoys me.." I tried to insult him. I never had anything against the guy before, but he had things against me. I could hear his laughter, and I could feel his hand constantly gliding along my throat... this was not a good situation at all.

"Nice answer... ya are mer stubborn than I thought. 'Xactly why I like you." did I just hear him right? He... liked me?

"Freak." I spat out at him. I knew the insult was worthless, but he began to scratch my neck, threatening to claw it if I said another word that was out of line.

"Lemme talk, bitch." my new nickname. A female dog. Fabulous, "'m gonna make this easy fer ya... if ya want answers, yer not gon' have to go to Heyman fer 'em. Look out fer 'em, though... don't expect to drop from his group 'n' get off the hook, alright? Even though me attacking ya right now is at my will, who's to say me attackin' ya wasn't Paul's idea? Eh? Think 'bout that. The hint I'm givin' ya now through this is to not think ya are stronger and bigger than me. I'm the dominate one, got that? Why I will continue to call you bitch. Watch yer back... watch her arms... watch yer legs... watch yer ass... I'm after ya and gotcha set on my prey list. Ya don' wanna be on my prey list."

I raised an eyebrow, "So... intimidating, you are. A seven-year-old voice and you're a dog that can't bark..." Lesnar leaned in to my face.

"I can bite, though... wanna say somethin' else?"

"Your breath stinks." that was it.

He threw me to the floor and came down with me, he pinned my arms to the ground with his knees and he started to punch me in the face. He was aiming specifically for spots that couldn't be broken, but oh did it hurt. He even threw in an elbow to my head. Was I in pain? Hell yes. Did I show it? Hell no. I smiled weakly up at him and he got up. I let out a small breath, thinking it was all over and that's when his foot connected with my back. Over and over, I cringed in pain and the kicks only got harder. I knew he wasn't going to stop, I knew he wanted something. Revenge, yes. At the moment? I had no idea. I screamed the word 'stop' and he automatically did. I looked up at him with my olive eyes and he looked back down at me. We stared at each other until he stormed off, unlocking the door and opening it. Next thing I heard, it was a slam.