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.