A/N: So, I officially hate Cryme Tyme. First of all, when you're paired with Kelly Kelly, I automatically hate you. Secondly, when you fuck up a qualifying match for Morrison, I lose my temper and start throwing things. Sorry, JTG and Shad. You used to be cool, but... well, do I really need to say Kelly Kelly again? It burns my fingers every time I type it.

Instead of the room being extremely warm, it slowly spiraled down into a worse situation - freezing. She must've pumped the air like a mad woman, because I found myself shivering from the cold. Because I had been sweating from earlier, my skin started to glaze over, almost like frost. I could see my hair slowly ice over, strands caked with crystals.

When you fuck with my hair, that's when I get angry.

But when it's so cold that you can barely breathe, you can't really scream. So I just laid there, feeling my hair, my skin, the cuts on my wrists burn from the extreme change in temperature. My breath was coming out in condensed, white puffs, drifting up and up, barely dissipating before they hit the ceiling.

I shifted my feet against the concrete - the way I was laying really put them in an awkward position - and the sound it made was like an ice rink. I coughed, shuddering out air as my lungs constricted painfully.

I wanted to die. John Morrison didn't really matter anymore. If I had to live another ten minutes in there, I would've tried to kill myself. I thought about going to sleep again - if I froze to death, I wouldn't know. I would've slept through it all, and everything would be okay again.

These emo thoughts rarely crossed my mind - this was something CM Punk would do, not me. I wasn't like this. The only thoughts I had were sexy ones. But there was nothing sexy about this - and my thought process seemed to be shutting down, anyway.

I closed my eyes. That was the way to do it. I knew that it was going to be over soon, and frankly, I didn't care. Like I said before, anything would've been better than that. I figured... if it was time, it was time. There was no way I was going to get out of there, so it was better to just face the facts than sit around and pray for a miracle.

I think I actually fell asleep for a couple of minutes. My mind drifted off - I was too cold to dream anything, but believe me, my dreams are hot - and I found myself in a comfortable space of unconsciousness. I was aware of what was happening, but I had no motor skills, and my body was shutting down.

"Oh, John," I heard someone say quietly.

Now, I thought my brain had started working, and I was having one of my incredibly wicked dreams about a beautiful woman, but the kick in my stomach kind of sent me back to reality.

I opened my eyes, barely slits, and stared up at my captor with hazy eyes.

She was glaring at me. "I said, John, it's freezing in here."

My lips were chapped, but I was afraid that if I licked them, they'd ice over. So I lifted my head slightly and rasped out, "No shit."

"That's no way to talk to me, Johnny."

I closed my eyes again. "I'm not... too used to talking to psychos."

She kicked me again, the tip of her shoe digging into my belly button. I barely had the energy to open my eyes, so I just sat there and bared my teeth when her foot connected with my side again. I hardly felt it, anyway - my body wasn't responding to touch.

"If you're nice to me, Johnny, I'll take you upstairs for something to eat." She had a coat on, and she pulled it around her body as she squatted next to me, right near my face. Her eyes were inviting, even with that stupid mask on. "Wouldn't you want that, honey?"

"What's the catch?" I whispered, resting my cheek against the frozen ground.

"No catch. Just me and you."

I grimaced, opening my eyes. "Will you check out my hands?"

"Why?"

"I think... " I swallowed the dryness at the back of my throat. "I think they're broken."

"Oh! Oh, Johnny, how terrible." She grinned and stood up. "Well, let's get you upstairs, and I'll see that you get the proper treatment."

She pulled the chair up, righting it, and I got a small case of dizziness just from that. The room looked like an icebox - water vapor drifted like low clouds, the visibility slim to none. I felt her walk around me, her hand sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, to my hands tied at the small of my back.

"You're really warm," I said quietly.

A swift click, the sounds of rope being sawed roughly. I could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "You will be soon."

She came back around me, throwing her leg over my lap, sliding into place. My hands dropped at my sides - I couldn't even flex my fingers. I looked up at her, relieved. "Thank you."

"Now, Johnny, you don't want to come back down here, right?" She trailed the cold blade against my cheek, right against the hairline.

I shook my head.

She leaned forward, her mouth touching mine. "Then be a good boy," she said huskily, the cherry color of her lipstick rubbing against my skin, "and don't do anything stupid."

She closed the knife against my neck, and I leaned away from it, swallowing hard. Once she was up and off of me, she held out her hand, waiting for me to take it.

I frowned. "My... I can't really - "

She sighed, grabbing a hunk of my hair. She ripped me out of my seat, my legs stumbling from the lack of circulation. I fell to my knees, but she jerked me up, dragging me toward the door. "You're already getting on my nerves, Johnny," she said in a sing-song voice, looking at me over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

She closed the door behind us and let go of my hair, grabbing my bicep roughly. She took me up a flight of stairs, into the kitchen of a nice looking house. It was small though, and very secluded - the windows I could actually see out of were covered by bushes and trees.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around.

"It doesn't matter, John." She took me up another flight of stairs, to a door at the very end of the long hallway. It wasn't even really a hallway, but more of a loft. I looked at the floor below us, over the railing, as she walked me to the room.

"You can stay in here from now on, sugar." She kicked open the door and flipped a switch. The room was small, but it had a bed, a big bed, with a dresser in the corner. There weren't any windows.

"It's nice," I said flatly.

"Yes. We'll be sharing it." She grinned and pushed me toward the bed, laughing when I tumbled onto it because I couldn't use my hands to stop myself. "Oh, that's right. I have to look at your hands."

"Uh... Yeah."

She came over and sat next to me, crossing her legs indian-style on the comforter. She took one of my hands and ran her fingers over my wrist, noticing when I winced. "Does that hurt, Johnny?" she asked sadly.

I nodded. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "I don't think it's broken. Flex your fingers." She lifted her eyes, aggravated. "Johnny. I said flex your fingers."

"I'm trying!"

She furrowed her brow, taking my wrist in both hands, and twisted it. I yelled in surprise, hearing a distinct crack, and feeling a small pop. The pain was gone, just a little a soreness. "Dislocated," she said, bored. She took the other one and did the same thing. "Should be fine now."

I bent my fingers, nodding. "Thanks."

"You have wonderful hands, Johnny," she whispered, stroking my fingers. She pulled my arm, pressing my palm against her chest. "Such wonderful hands, Johnny."

And boy, did she have such a wonderful chest. I swallowed the spit in the back of my throat as she closed her eyes and ran my hand up to her neck, resting it there. I could feel her pulse.

"Your heart's racing," I said, licking my lips.

"It's because of you, John." She slid my hand down her chest again, underneath, past her stomach. She stopped between her legs. "It's all because of you, Johnny."

"Wow. Jesus." I couldn't breathe. This stupid bitch really had me fucked up. I hated her, but John Morrison could never turn down a beautiful woman, and despite her flaws, that's what she was. And I planned on taking full advantage of that.

My fingers brushed against her jeans and she let out a breath, quick and high. Her hand went up into her hair and I couldn't help but bite my lip in pure arrogance as her eyes slid shut.

"Do you like that?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, biting her fingers.

I leaned forward and captured her mouth with mine, sliding my tongue between her parted lips. My other hand went down and pulled at the button of her pants, but her hand came out of nowhere and socked me right in the eye. I did a backwards somersault off the bed, landing on my side with my palm pressed to my bruised socket.

"Johnny, are you okay?" she asked breathlessly.

I looked up, her head leaning over the end of the bed, and said, "No! You fucking punched my eye out. I can't even see!"

"Oh, Johnny, lighten up. It's just a little swollen." She got off the bed and fixed her shirt, heading toward the door. "And you're lucky. You stepped over the line. And next time, you won't get punched." She patted her back pocket. "You'll get cut."

My eyes shot to her pants, then up at her face, then down again. I tried to blink, but it was no use. It was swollen shut.

"Believe me, John, I can't wait to fuck you." She leaned against the door, her eyes sultry. "But just not yet. We have to get to know each other a little better, before anything serious happens. Is that all right with you?"

I nodded, pulling myself up onto the bed weakly. "That's... fine with me."

She smiled. "Great. Now, I'm going to make you something to eat, so... Just make yourself comfortable."

I watched her close the door, and the second she did, I looked around for any way to get out of there. There were no windows, but maybe their was a vent I could slip out of. Or a crawlspace. Something.

I was about to move the dresser, my hands braced against the edges, when the door opened again.

"Oh, and if you try anything funny, I'll cut your fucking dick off." She smiled and shut it again. I heard the lock flip.

I sat down on the bed. I figured the smartest thing to do would be to sit back and wait for her to feed me. I mean, if she did chop off the very essence of enlightenment to every woman I've ever slept with, it would be a universal crime. The gods would not be happy.

I felt like a pussy for listening to her, but I wasn't going to take a chance.

John Morrison was not going to go through life dickless.

A/N: Hmph. I love John Morrison. Stupid Cryme Tyme. Review if you please.