How to Be:
Pathetic
"Move, now!" Hunter demanded. He shoved a guy out of his path but for the most
part when people saw him barreling through the crowd they parted rather
quickly.
Hunter threw the door open, and looked around. To his left was an alley, so
they had to have gone right. He took off in a sprint.
He heard faint laughter, but he knew, he could feel
it, it was her. Galvanized, he sped up.
He didn't know why it was so important, but he just had to stop her from
leaving the club with that guy.
He supposed it was yet another previously never felt, unheard of side-effect of
obsession:
Jealousy.
He had to say, it really, really sucked.
He wasn't used to it. He never had been jealous…of anyone before. Yeah, sure
Angle had ticked him off for a bit there, but he'd never been seriously
worried.
Stephanie was his.
She knew it, he knew it, everybody and their damn *cat* knew it.
He hoped he didn't have to suddenly have a reason to *get* used to it.
Because, yeah, it really, really, sucked.
It made him do crazy things, such as the things he'd been doing over the past
three weeks.
Like, well…
Stalking her for one. He'd tracked her itinerary, which was so pathetically
easy. If he'd been out to actually do something to her, to hurt her in some
way, it appalled him to think how simple it would really be. So: Mental Note to
Self: First chance he got, he was going to overhaul Stephanie's security
standards.
There were a lot of whacked out people out there, and he sure as hell didn't
want them anywhere near his woman.
He'd somehow found himself wandering around her hotels, scoping out her room.
He'd actually been reduced to ducking around potted plants, like some huge 260
pound super spy or something. He didn't really blend in with the walls as much
as he had hoped he would. It seemed he had something of a presence that other
people tended to notice.
He didn't really know why he was acting like this, why any of this was
happening.
Ah, hell, who was he kidding? Of course he knew why. He wanted to know if there
was something he should be aware of before he went ahead with any of this full
force.
Something like…a boyfriend.
Or something.
It wasn't like he'd been keeping track of her before his epiphany seeing her in
the black tank top. He'd been more than happy to pretend she'd never really
existed, she was just some kind of hideous nightmare he wanted no recollection
of. He hadn't kept track of her, just…basically ignored her existence.
Part of him still couldn't believe he'd managed to block her out so completely
these past months. What had he been, on crack, or something? How could he have
forgotten how her hair had smelt spread out on the pillow? How could he have
forgotten how she always put strawberry lip gloss on after she put on her
lipstick, just because she *knew* he liked the taste? How could he have
forgotten how good that little spot on her neck right below her jugular and
right above that tiny little hollow in her neck tasted?
Like he'd said, Ric must have been drugging his water or something, 'cause now
these things, all these thousands of little things that screamed "Stephanie!"
were all he could think about, were all he could see.
****
He didn't like the fact she'd seemed to have…sparkage…with his ass of a former
boss. He wasn't an idiot. She was an attractive woman after all. She had a lot
to offer a man.
But damned if she'd be offering anything to any other man other than him, not
if he had anything to say about it.
And that's what this whole thing was about, after all, being able to get the
right back to have
something to say about it.
So what if what he'd been doing over the past few weeks was considered to be
highly illegal in most—okay, well, all
states?
This was for Stephanie's sake as much as his.
His dedication had proved to be well worth the time. He'd come to the
conclusion she simply lived to work. She didn't go out, she didn't do anything
but go to work and go back to the hotel. Then she'd repeat the pattern in a
whole different city. It had been rough, tracking her while making sure he still
showed up for work himself, but he'd coordinated it admirably, he thought.
He'd been about to make his move, declare his intentions, to well, seduce her,
for lack of a better word, when she'd messed up his detailed, carefully planned
scenario.
She'd changed her pattern. Instead of going back to her hotel room, all alone,
as had been the curiously reassuring case these past nights, she'd actually
gone out.
Not to just some casual little restaurant, either, noooo, not Stephanie.
When she went out, she went to places like this. Places he'd been the one to
introduce her to.
Places where a girl could meet a guy for one night and never see one another
again.
Places that only reaffirmed the fact that he'd actually once taken her to these
kinds of clubs only proved what kind of a moron he truly was.
There was…another key part to his plan. In addition to the aforementioned
stalking, he'd also taken on a very hands-on role in his contract negotiations
with Raw.
He'd never mentioned it to Stephanie, or Ric, of course, but his contract held
a special proviso where he would be able to leave Raw after six months
and…pursue other options if he saw fit.
He'd exercised that proviso last night, much to Eric's dissatisfaction. Eric
had screamed. Whined. Moaned. Then Cried.
It had been kinda funny, in a pitiful sort of way. The end result was of course
that….
Hunter Hearst-Helmsley was now once again a free agent…
In more ways than one.
So he'd done something he'd never, ever thought he would do.
He had voluntarily called his ever-beloved ex-father in law. He'd carefully
explained the fact that he was more than willing to take on Hogan and rid the
WWE of the jackass once and for all. He'd have to go to Smackdown in order to
provide that service, of course.
Strangely enough, Vince wasn't persuaded to allow him to sign with Smackdown
and be in his precious daughter's sphere of influence once again.
Hunter decided it was time for hard ball and casually mentioned the fact he'd
come across certain...interesting pictures of a young candy striper named
"Lulu", and Vince McMahon himself, complete with stethoscope and doctor's
coat…and nothing else on. They were playing an adorable version of 'Doctor.'
Vince had signed him to Smackdown late last evening. And on Hunter's special
additional request, he hadn't told his daughter.
Hunter had wanted the pleasure of that all to himself.
And then she'd gone and ruined the great speech he'd had planned by disrupting
her routine!
Damn, exasperating, infuriating woman.
And…there she was now, climbing into Purple Shirt's car.
"Hey, wait up!" He yelled, no longer caring about irrelevant things such as
pride or dignity.
"Stephanie!" He called again when it became apparent she hadn't heard him.
Purple guy revved the engine of his puny little sports car.
Neither of them seemed to notice the 260 pound man running wildly after the
car.
Well, neither of them seemed to notice…
But then again, Stephanie had always had something of a sixth sense of sorts
about her ex-husband's presence.
