A/N: So Roman knows that he's falling. Come on, Chelsea, break that weird bond you think you have with Jeff Hardy and fall, too!


Jeff was pissed. There was no way around it—he had just spent the past hour arguing with that average-looking thing he called his girlfriend. Chelsea could at least pride herself in knowing that in a looks contest, she would always win. Yet, as always, that's not what Jeff was looking for.

"Someone's mentioned you again," he growled angrily, making both Chelsea and their driver nervous. They'd opted to take a taxi this time, fully knowing how expensive the trip to the next city would be. But if they paid the driver properly, he would have no opinion on the skunky smell emerging from the back seat as Jeff lit his red, blown-glass pipe.

"I don't know why she's so worried," Chelsea said back, taking a hit. "She has you. I don't. The end."

But Jeff was still irate, his mixture of marijuana and painkillers obviously clouding his head.

"Mister Ray, can we stop at the next rest stop?" he asked, as gentlemanlike as he was capable of. He always carried himself well, and it somewhat surprised Chelsea to see what he was truly capable of. The taxi driver tipped his uniformed cap in response, and Chelsea's palms began to sweat.

What could Jeff have in mind for her this time?

The next stop came all too soon, and Jeff got out, pacing back and forth, pulling at his hair like a lunatic. Chelsea, still in a daze, followed him in hopes to be consoling. For the most part, they didn't do anything wrong. Not really. Not today.

Not with each other.

Jeff had been holding out on her lately. She would nibble at his neck, just as he liked. She wore that slinky black shirt today, showing off her chest, the peek of black lace from her bra showing slightly. She wore her hair down, curled perfectly, the teal fresh as ever…just as he liked.

She even had on those jeans.

But nothing worked. Jeff was a dead soul, his integrity of trying to stay faithful overcoming her attempts. She had found herself in tears at the arena the night before, frustrated with Jeff continuously turning her away. He'd been worse than normal, always fighting some sort of an inner battle. All she could do was stand by and watch.

"I love my girlfriend, Chelsea. Being away for so long, I fucking hate it. That's where your sweet little pussy comes in," he was still pacing, his voice creepily calm. It reminded her that they were still there, at the rest stop. "But when you fuck with my future, I fuck with you." He turned to go behind the rest stop. Chelsea stupidly followed.

There were no cameras back there.

"Jeff…" she started, putting a hand on his arm. He stared at her fingers with his mouth curled, like maybe she had shit smeared on her hand or something.

"Who'd you mention our shit to?" he yelled. He didn't make sense often when he'd talked, but Chelsea knew that when he said 'our shit,' he meant, 'this fucked up relationship we have.' This wasn't the first time they'd argued about his stupid girlfriend, and probably not the last.

"Nobody," she said calmly. Though it was basic knowledge now that they had something going on. That's just what happened when you did everything with people you worked with. She wished she'd had some kind of downer, so she could just go to sleep until tomorrow. Until Jeff's mood brushed over, and then hopefully it could finally go back to normal.

"I love you, Jeff. I know you want to keep things as they are, and as much as I hate it, I understand. But that's why I wouldn't say anything to hurt your relationship."

Jeff scoffed. "What do you know about love, Chelsea?"

Chelsea bit her lip. She did know that Jeff's so-called love for his dim-witted girlfriend wasn't real. If it were, he wouldn't use drugs to pretend he was okay, and he wouldn't use her to pretend he wasn't alone.

She also knew that what she felt for Jeff was what she suspected was love. If only he'd returned her feelings.

"That's what I thought." He'd turned away again, angrily. He balled up a fist, throwing it against the concrete wall.

"I'm so sick of hiding things," he said through clenched teeth. Chelsea grew more nervous as Jeff became more obviously livid. Whatever he'd taken earlier was taking its toll on him, and he was angrier and more volatile than ever.

Chelsea yelped when she saw Jeff's hand, cracked with blood. But he neared her, his eyes still blazing.

"You are not her," he said again. He'd said this hundreds of times. His mind was jumping all over the place, and Chelsea wondered how his brain was stringing together all this nonsense.

"I don't want you. And I can't let you continue to run your mouth and give Beth ideas that I'm shacking up with someone else!"

His fist connected with her stomach, making her double over, kneeling to the ground. Kicking her, she was now on the concrete, holding herself and putting her hands over her head.

"Jeff, come on…please, just stop," she sobbed, each blow a little harder than the last. She didn't understand why he was doing this to her. It was a vicious cycle, she knew, and in a few days, they'd be laughing together as he undressed her in a hurry.

He didn't stop. He stomped on her, pulled her hair, and even spit on her.

"Get walking," he said, as he turned away, back towards the taxi.

As he turned, Chelsea almost thought she saw wings sprouting from his back. Call it a hallucination, but Jeff was still some kind of angel to her.

Even if what he did sometimes looked like the act of a devil.


"Wake up, Chelsea," Tamina was shaking her bunk mate awake, her voice almost motherly. "You keep on tossing and wimpering," she half-whispered, her voice still groggy.

Chelsea felt humiliated. She glanced at the clock—it was almost four a.m. She was supposed to meet Dean at 6 a.m., sharp. Her day would be packed full.

"I am so sorry," she said, sitting up. "That was one of the worst nightmares I've ever had. It felt really real," she added, and she wasn't lying. The scar by her ribcage was burning. Lennon had joked in the past that it was her "Harry Potter" scar, but it wasn't really funny at all.

"Any chance that your nightmare had vibrant colored hair and expertly moonsaults off from ladders?" Tamina asked, her eyes trying to read the smaller woman.

"No," she responded, and she knew the daughter of the legend didn't believe her as soon as she said it. "I dreamt I got mugged," she offered, but the woman shook her head.

Tamina returned to the pull-out, her fluffy cheetah-print blanket spread over it. She had a lot to do in a few hours, too, and Chelsea felt horrible for waking her up with another stupid dream.

She hadn't had this one in awhile. Jeff still haunted her, and she hated that no matter what, it was like she had tucked him in her back pocket like a loose dollar bill. Her head was throbbing, something that her grandma had always joked was just memories fighting each other. And after a dream like that, she agreed.

She decided to just wake up now, grab some coffee, and head down to the gym. She'd seen boxing gloves and a solid dummy yesterday. Though she knew nothing about boxing, she wanted to pretend it was Jeff.


"Chelsea, what happened at the rest stop?" The athletic trainer had the woman up on the examination table, looking at her cracked, raw, dirt-crusted feet. Jeff had left her to walk from the rest stop to the nearest gas station, which was seven miles away, in just her rubber flip-flops. She'd called Natalie, but she was already at the next town, and she'd called Matt Hardy, but his phone went straight to voicemail. In a last-ditch effort, she called Derek, one of the athletic trainers that didn't shoot her dirty looks. Luckily, the trainer hadn't been much further ahead, and turned around to get the woman from the gas station.

"The taxicab left me there. I don't think he meant to, I think it was just a miscommunication. But then a gray van rode up, and I got nervous…there was a large man, and another smaller man that came out of it. He threatened that if I didn't give him money, he'd hurt me. Well, my bags were still in the taxi…" she trailed, clenching her ribcage.

It was so far from the truth, of course. But Derek seemed to buy it. She said she couldn't get a good look at the license plate, and that they'd pulled around back where she'd noticed there weren't any cameras. He still wanted her to file a full report, and she promised she would.

But of course she wouldn't. The whole thing never even happened. But it was believable, and it protected Jeff.

"Well, Chelsea, I hate to tell you, but one of your ribs looks like it's cracked. If we don't get it where it belongs, it could puncture your lung."

"But I have the diva battle royal coming up next week," she started getting up from the table.

"Chelsea, you'll be lucky to walk next week."

Chelsea was sweating, and with each piece of the memory, she hit the punching bag. She didn't have a whole lot of work with these before, but it was an excellent stress reliever, and she could now understand the appeal.

She never was able to compete in that match. She'd been sidelined after Jeff's attack for a month, only getting to be a special guest referee once. The surgery to fix her broken rib was a quick one, but it left her with that nasty scar that was a definite eyesore.

She punched the bag again, sending it lobbing backwards.

Then, she'd been called into Stephanie's office right after.

Another punch.

And she was fired.

With all of her might, she threw a right hook, picturing Jeff Hardy's smiling face, alongside his bride. She'd begged Lennon to pull up the photo on her phone since she'd had her privileges reinstated a week before Chelsea did. It was grotesquely against the rules, but she had to know if the man she loved more than the air she breathed had truly gone through with it.

And when she saw that he had, she could've sworn a piece of her had died.

"Easy there, tiger," a rough voice surprised her, and she stopped, steadying the punching bag. She turned to see Roman, getting ready to work out himself. She instantly grew nervous, knowing that she still had only the makeup on she'd slept in.

Telling herself she didn't care what Roman thought, she smiled weakly. Alright, she cared. Just a little bit.

"You're up early," she said to him, and he started out towards the free weights.

"Not really. It's already quarter to six."

Chelsea began to panic. "Ah, shit. I've been pounding Jeff-er, this punching bag for that long? I need to get going to train with Dean…" she blushed, having mistaken that dumb bag for Jeff Hardy. Even though she figured it was equivalent to his personality.

"Good news," Roman smiled, showing his teeth. She'd noticed he had one that was just slightly chipped. "I'm training you today."

What the hell? Really?

"Why?" she asked slowly, afraid of his answer. She worried that maybe Dean had given up on her.

"Because you need a little bit of strength training. Not just physical," he added, looking back at her, selecting a ten-pound weight and handing it over. He began a rotation with his own, and she followed suit.

"You're letting them get into your head," Roman said after a few reps. "You know that this company is probably 40 percent talent, 50 percent attitude, and 10 percent management."

Chelsea laughed. "You forgot 80 percent looks," she said back. "They hate me."

Roman rolled his eyes. "Maybe you need a new mirror," he lead her towards the huge mirror, where muscleheads generally checked themselves out while they pumped their iron.

"Does that girl look like someone who's just average?"

Though she looked tired in her eyes, the rest of her was awake. She was proud of the muscle she'd put on. She did look pretty fierce. Less like a beanpole and more like a fit, proportioned young woman.

Though she wished she'd bothered to darken her eyes a little bit.

"Didn't think so," Roman said back when she didn't respond, but she smiled at her reflection. "And you know it's not all about looks. People don't know how to react to what they don't understand."

Chelsea thought about that, and she knew he was right. Mr. Superman himself, Roman Reigns, giving her a pep talk? Had she really that obviously been hurt after Natalie's spat yesterday?

They'd moved on to more weights, the bench press, and the medicine ball. Roman was extremely cautious with her, and she took great appreciation to that. Sure, she knew how to work out, but to the level of his own fitness schedule? Nope.


Roman couldn't believe Dean had agreed to let him train Chelsea this morning. He had another rough night of texting, and Roman figured he just wanted to keep his girlfriend happy and continue to argue with his fingertips. He would never understand why he kept that bitch around.

Either way, they both got what they wanted. Roman wanted the woman to know that while he held interest in her, he still truly cared about her and wanted to protect her. He also wanted to make sure she grew a thicker skin, because there would be thousands of people talking shit about her once the fans began to form opinions. Natalie was nothing compared to how brutal people who didn't know a lick about you talked. She wouldn't last long if she let everyone walk all over her.

People always implied that he'd gotten his own push and been called up to the main roster just in lieu of his family. Fuck the fact that he worked hard as hell to be where he was, struggling everyday and straining his shoulder so that he could put on a hell of a show. But people believed what they wanted, and Roman knew the truth.

He wanted to know Chelsea, and the truth she kept hiding, too.

He'd watched her in the gym for about ten minutes before he'd walked in, and she was muttering to herself with every punch. He wasn't surprised when she'd said she'd been kicking Jeff's ass—sometimes, imagining someone you hated really worked when it came to flying fists.

He watched her now, trying to mimic each move he made. He wanted to make a comment about her makeup being less frightening than usual, but managed to keep his mouth shut. He'd figured it out right away: that black eyeliner was some kind of a mask. Her eyes were a tell-tale to her thoughts, and she probably already knew that.

"So, are you heading back on the road right away? Or are you going home?" he asked her as she began adding weights to the leg press.

"Well, I'd rather dig a hole and lie in it for a few days before visiting my mom at home," she said. "I guess I'll see what Tamina's up to. Hopefully AJ comes back soon."

"AJ will probably meet up in the next city. If you want, you can come with me for a few days before hittin' the road."

"Where?"

"Miami."

Chelsea considered this. "You're asking me to come home with you?" she chose her words carefully, and when she said them, Roman felt like he was being a creep.

"If you want. If you don't have anything better to do, I have a nice guest room in my apartment."

"What about Seth? And Dean?"

"Dean's just being Dean…and Seth is planning on leaving to go to Georgia sometime tonight. I just kind of want time to escape the madness for a few days."

He watched her think about this again, hoping she'd say yes. Because then, he'd have a reason to get to know her, and it might prove that she had some kind of feeling towards him, too.

He knew she felt something, because you just couldn't fake the kind of electricity that buzzed between them last night. Or right now.

"Well, Superman. I hope you have thumb exercises ready, 'cause I'm going to kick your ass all over again on 2k14."