Disclaimer: I don't own or claim ownership to any WWE Talent.
Rated: M
Warnings: slash, language, etc.
March 20, 2013
Phil watched Chris' face light up in joy when his doctor started to remove his cast. Nearly three months later and he was finally put back together again. Phil smiled along with Chris.
"Please stay on your crutches for a couple more days, Chris," his doctor told him. "Your leg is still healing."
"Don't worry, Doc. I'm not going to have another cast anytime soon."
With a smile, the doctor dismissed him. He picked up his crutches and started to make his way out of the office. Phil followed.
"Do you want to go somewhere to celebrate?" Phil asked gently. Chris had been even more withdrawn lately. At the slightest provocation, he'd shrink into himself.
"Not really," Chris mumbled. "I want to go home."
"Okay," Phil said, suppressing a sigh. He was really starting to worry about the older man. He definitely seemed depressed. "Do you want me to pick up something for dinner?"
"You can get whatever you want, Phil. I'm not that hungry."
Phil drew his lips into a tight line and got into his car. They drove home in silence.
Chris limped over to the windows in his bedroom and shut the shades and pulled the curtains closed. Next, he turned on the overhead fan and switched all the lights off. Then he crawled into bed and covered himself completely with his duvet.
"I'm not falling apart," he muttered quietly. "I'm not going insane. I'm completely fine. There's nothing wrong with me. And I'm most definitely not gay. No way. "
Still, he sighed quietly and let his arm fall off the side of his bed. His hand fumbled with an old shoebox under his bed before he brought it up under the blanket with him. He used his phone as a flashlight and looked at the choices in front of him. He could choose between Cymbalta, Xanax, Valium, morphine, Ativan, Ambien, Halcion, oxycodone, OxyContin, Opana ER, or fentanyl patches.
Chris picked up the Ambien and Valium bottles and grabbed one fentanyl patch. He stuck the patch to his bicep and then took two of each pill before putting everything away and sliding it back under the bed.
Chris didn't worry about an overdose. He had been doing this for nearly three weeks now. He couldn't deal with everything going on. His memory was shit, he couldn't walk properly, and bullshit thoughts were running rampant through his mind. The sleeping pills shut his thoughts up, the pain pills took the tension and stress away, and the fentanyl patch let him do all of this while feeling like he was soaring on a cloud. He knew once he fell asleep, he wouldn't be up for at least 16 hours. It was less time to let his thoughts control him, so that outweighed any of the negative in the situation.
Just four days ago, Chris had the most vivid memory recall yet – he even knew the date it occurred. November 20, 2007 was the date, and, according to the flashback, that was the date he asked Phil on a date with him. Yes, Phil, a.k.a. his best friend.
I'm not gay. I don't love my best friend. I don't love Phil. I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I swear to god I'm not gay. He's just my friend. I don't love him. I'm straight. I like boobs. I don't like dick. But what if those lips just wrapped themselves around me once, and the cold metal of his lip ring sent shivers down my back … no, stop it! You are not gay, Christopher Keith Irvine. You do not want to have sex with Phil. You do not want to know what it would feel like to run your hands up his sculpted back while your tongue loses itself in his mouth, and you thrust ever so gently inside of him – no, stop that! Shut up shut up shut up!
Chris punched himself in the face and instantly felt the pain. Thankfully, the pills were starting to kick in, and it quickly faded away. His body felt like it was being covered with a soft layer of down, and he sighed pleasantly before drifting off to sleep.
March 21, 2013
Chris woke up mid-afternoon the next day with a subdued headache, kind of like a soft nagging in his brain. He stretched his body and yawned. Not two minutes after he woke up did he hear the soft straining of a voice far away. He stilled and listened closely.
"…You know … truth … Chris …"
Chris' eyes widened considerably before he punched himself in the head. The source of the voice was lodged in his brain, and he needed to make it stop. However, it only got louder.
"Chris, you know the truth. You know you know it, Phil knows, everyone knows, everyone accepts it except you. You are gay, Chris, gay!"
"Stop it!" Chris shrieked. He smacked himself on the temple hard a few times before punching his skull again.
"Gay, gay, gay… You are gay, Chris…"
"I said stop it!" Chris wailed. Tears he didn't know had started were falling down his face uncontrollably. "I am not! Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
The voice was now screaming inside his head.
"ACCEPT WHO YOU ARE, CHRIS. YOU ARE GAY, YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN, AND YOU ALWAYS WILL BE!"
"Shut up!" Chris screamed at the top of his lungs. Among the screaming in his head and the sobs leaving his chest, he heard Phil come into the room and rush to his side.
"Are you okay, Chris?" he asked worriedly.
"Make it stop, Phil, please!" Chris begged. He grabbed on to Phil's shirt tightly and felt the sobs rip through his lungs. "It won't stop screaming! Please help me, please Philly…"
PHIL
Chris was sitting up in his bed sobbing his eyes out and begging for Phil to make "it" stop. Phil looked on, helpless, as Chris continued crying uncontrollably. Not knowing what else to do, he took out his phone and dialed 911.
"911, how may I help you?" the dispatcher asked.
"I need an ambulance. I think my friend is in real trouble. He can't stop screaming and crying, and he's begging me to 'make it stop'. Please hurry, he's only getting worse."
"Your address, please, sir, and an ambulance will leave immediately."
Phil gave the dispatcher their house address before he hung up and started rubbing Chris' back soothingly. "I'm gonna make it stop, Chris, you just need to calm down, okay?"
"It won't stop yelling," Chris hissed. He shut his eyes and screwed them shut. "I can't… I can't handle this."
A/N: Please Review!
