A/N: I've thought about discontinuing this story a couple of times because the interest seems low. But a few of you, I know, are still reading it and I can't bring myself to stop writing it. I'm loving Tatum and Randy in all of their angsty, disfunctional glory. So I'm seein' this one through to the end. I hope you're enjoying it!


The Rest Will Follow

August 13, 2007


Eighteen month. Eighteen fuckin' months gone. Wasted. Guess it's my own damn fault for fallin' for it, ya know? I mean, they say love is blind, but damn. Apparently, it makes ya fuckin' stupid, too. Stupid enough to believe that a bitch is gonna change just 'cause she said she would. Stupid enough to believe all sortsa illogical bull shit. 'I don't know what's happening to me. I can't control it.' Sob, sob. Can't, my ass. She just don't want to.

And that's fine. She doesn't have to, I guess. I'm done carin' one way or the other. She wants to ruin her life, fine. Ain't my problem. Not anymore. I'm doin' what I shoulda done a long fuckin' time ago. Washin' my hands of all things Tatum. Fuck her. Who the fuck needs a relationship anyway? I work with some of the finest women in the world. And there are a thousand more fine bitches out there waitin' for a wink from the Legend Killer. Fuck Tatum Sharp. I don't fuckin' need her and her fuckin' habit.

For the last couple of years, I've hated company parties. Spent all my time thinkin' about whether Tatum had too much drink, if she bothered to show up. And if she didn't, I spent all my time thinkin' about what she was doin' to herself at home. But I ain't gotta worry 'bout that anymore, so I'm kinda lookin' forward to this little post-house show bash. They may not know it, but they're about to see the second coming of Randy Orton.

I step from my rental car and check my reflection in the mirror. Casual but still fine as fuck. That bitch doesn't know what she gave up. Her loss. But wait, I ain't thinkin' about her tonight. I'm dancin', chillin', and fuck, I'm gonna drink without thinkin' about her pathetic, hungover self. Cause I don't have to think about her. I'm done.

Pushing the door open with my shoulder, the pounding bass of the techno music reverberates in my chest. Sweat-slickened bodies glide against one another on the dance floor, girls shriek in approval to lines of the song, or in protest to the feeling of hands they don't recognize. Sometimes one of the guys will rent a place so we can party alone, sometimes they like to mingle with the people. Tonight, it's a mingling night cause I don't know half these people. 'Course, I haven't exactly been keepin' up on the 'team unity' thing lately, so I might work with some of these fools. Beats me. Doesn't matter.

By the time I order a drink, I feel a hand on my arm. Turning, I smile and offer John a half man-hug. Not that I'll ever tell him this, but John's a pretty smart guy, ya know? Maybe if I'da listened to him, I woulda felt this good a long time ago. 'Course, that's never gonna reach his ears. Motherfucker's head's big enough already. "'Sup, man?" I greet over the increasing volume of the music.

Fuck it if John doesn't give me another one of his stupid looks. This time, he reminds me of that puppy Tatum used to have. He used to sit on the floor beside the bed, lookin' at me all confused with his head tilted to the side while I was fuckin' my girl. The dog, not John. But that's the look John has now. Confused puppy face. "Thought you were in Chi-town," he says when we separate.

Maria is at his side, watching me with narrowed eyes. She's not so much confused as concerned. "Fuck, Randy, is she," she starts.

But I shake my head and hand the bartender a bill when he delivers my drink in a heavy glass tumbler. "Not my problem anymore, Sweetheart," I wink at her as I pound back the drink and order another before the man behind the bar has time to make change. "She made her fuckin' bed. She can lay in it alone," I add, rolling my eyes as I lean my forearm on the bar and scan the room for recognizable faces.

With her bottom lip between her teeth, Maria exchanges a look with John. Neither one of them believe me, I can tell. Maria doesn't believe that Tatum fell off the wagon, and John doesn't believe that I'm okay with it. But ya know what? I don't fuckin' care what they believe. I didn't come here for another shrink session. I've had enough of them in the last few months.

"Dude," John starts, his hand on my shoulder as I take my second drink from the top of the bar. "I'm sorry," he starts.

"No," I interrupt. I know what he's going to say, and I don't want to hear it. This is not a 'Let's Pity Randy' party. People are havin' a good time. I wanna have a good time. I don't wanna be psychoanalyzed or advised. I wanna get shit-faced. That's all. If I can look at some half-naked women while doing it? So much the better. "I'm sorry," I tell John. "Sorry I wasted my fuckin' time on a damn junkie." And with that, I roll away from the bar to find someone less irritating to hang out with.

I don't know when John got so fuckin' serious all the time. I remember the OVW days, and even the beginning of our time in the WWE. He used to be cool. He was the one that taught me how to make a beer bong. No, ya know what? I do know when he changed. It was when I started dating Tatum. I think it was the night she almost drowned herself in his pool. After that, it was all "How you doin'?" and "How's Tate holdin' up?" and "Maybe you should try to get her some help, man." All the fuckin' time. He changed. We changed. Guess that's one more thing I can thank my fuckin' ex for, huh?

But I'm not thinkin' about her tonight. I'm thinkin' about anything but her. Dropping to a leather couch near the wall, I watch a group of women dancing together, their jeans and skirts fighting in vain to cling to their rapidly swaying hips. Fuck, it's nice to see tanned, wet, nearly-naked skin. Been awhile. Well, not really that long, since I work around women dressed like this all the time. I've seen it. Just been awhile since I've noticed it. Or appreciated it. Or felt it.

That's my fuckin' problem right there. It's been almost two years since I fucked anything. After Tatum, I couldn't. Well, I probably could have. There were plenty of nights alone on the road, watchin' some trashy porn in my hotel, when I can promise you the equipment was workin' just fine. But I would think about Tatum and I just couldn't go through with it. I didn't want anybody else. Even for a fling. Yeah, love makes ya stupid, remember? Look at all that time I wasted holdin' out for that bitch. Fuckin' stupid, I tell ya.

"This seat taken?"

When I look up, her chest is heaving from the rigorous dancing that I've been watching, and I can't help but wish those enormous breasts of hers would just fall out of her tiny shirt. It's not much more than a napkin and a few pieces of string from what I can tell. It wouldn't be so hard to just . . . "Please," I motion to the couch at my side. "Sit."

Candace lowers herself into the place at my side, her barely covered chest brushing up against my arm. Fuck, she's hot. Literally. Even through my hooded sweatshirt, I can feel the warmth from her body against mine. "You here alone, Orton?" she asks, taking my drink from my hand and lifting it to her lips.

I watch as she swallows the cool liquid, her eyes closing and her head tilting as it courses down her throat. Couple of the guys told me awhile back that Candace had her eye on me, that she wanted to make a move, but that Maria had told her to back off. Told her that I wasn't in any place to start something new. Fuckin' Maria. "I am," I answer her, a smirk playing on my lips as she meets my eye and flips her silken hair over her shoulder.

Shit, she's hot. I already said that, didn't I? Hell, I don't know what I'm thinkin' anymore. And I don't know what she's saying, though her lips are moving. I don't know because she's running her index finger up and down my arm, her eyes darting from mine to my mouth and back again. I don't know because she keeps pressing herself closer to me, because somehow my hand has found it's way to the inside of her denim-encased thigh. I don't know because I can't stop picturing how those full lips, and those huge breasts would look wrapped around my . . . "I been watchin' you for awhile now, Orton," I finally hear when I snap myself out of the filthy thoughts invading my mind. If I don't stop, I'm gonna lay her on this couch and give the whole club a show.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, reaching my free hand across our bodies to push a sweat-dampened strand of hair behind her ear. "Like what you see?" I ask.

She nods slowly and leans in, her lips so close to my ear that I can feel her breath all down the side of my neck. "So far," she whispers suggestively. She pulls back just enough to see the heat flush my neck and then presses her full lips to the skin just below my earlobe before adding, "Why don't we go back to my room and you can show me the rest."

Now? My conscience picks now as the right time to creep up? That irritating voice in the back of my head has to make itself heard at this very moment? While I've got a horny, half-naked woman begging me for what I want to give her? Now would be the time for it to make it's grand entrance? Fuckin' A. Candace is kissing a trail down my neck and I'm still rubbing circles against her thigh with my thumb to keep her in place. Obviously I don't feel so bad. So why can't I stand up?

Because I know that I'm not ready to start something new. Because, no matter how badly I want to cut her out, I can't stop thinking about Tatum. Even if it's just to hate her, I can't stop seeing her face, hearing her voice. I can't put her out of my head, and until I can, I'm not sure it's fair to involve someone else in my shit. Fuckin' Tatum.

No, ya know what? That shit's not so much her fault as it's Felicia's. Fuckin' therapist tellin' me all that shit about how admirable it is to think about other people's feelings. Now I believe that shit, and I don't know how not to. I don't know how to take Candace home, fuck her upside down and inside out, and then walk away. Not anymore. Fuck, why can't I do that anymore?

"I'm not really," I start, pulling away from her and hating myself for it. I can be that guy. I used to be that guy. I should still be that guy. That guy wouldn't have put up with so much shit over the last two years. That guy wouldn't fuckin' care what Candace expected. That guy would think with his dick. Maybe I'm just outta practice, ya know? Maybe I just need to try it. Just look her in the eye, smile, and ask her if she's ready to leave. That's what I should do. But, of course, that's not what comes out of my mouth. "Look, Candace, you're great and everything . . . "

Rolling her eyes, she stands from the couch and rests her hands on her hips. "I'm not a moron, Orton," she huffs. "I know you're still hung up on your girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, whatever she is. I don't really fuckin' care, though. I'm horny as fuck and you are, by far, the hottest guy in the room. I got a itch, and you're the one I want to scratch it." With a sly, sexy smile, she tosses her hair again. "'Course, if you aren't feelin' it, I can find someone else, but dammit, I'm gettin' laid tonight."

I know she doesn't understand what she just said. I know she doesn't realize that she said the words that make me harder than anything else she could have possibly said. Standing, I nod toward the door. "Let's get outta here," I rest a hand on her bare back and lead her toward the door.

She couldn't possibly know that 'you are, by far, the hottest guy in the room,' would be the thing that got me off my ass and out of the club. There's no way that she could have predicted that 'you're the one I want' would be the key to landing me in her bed. But you spend two years giving everything you have to someone, every damn thing that you have to give, and end up in second place, behind a bunch of bottles and pills? You'll take the ego stroke where you can get it, too.

We say good night to our teammates as we pass and step into the balmy, Atlanta night. Humidity hangs in the air and Candace wipes her hair from her face as she slips her hand into mine and nods to her left. I follow her gaze, only to find John rubbing Maria's back as she holds her phone to her ear and struggles to wipe tears from her eyes, her gaze fully focused on the sidewalk. Fuck. I was so fucking close to getting out of here. Shit.

John catches my eye and waves me over. I don't wanna go. I wanna get outta here before they can share the news I know they're waiting to share. It's fuckin' Tatum. I know it is. Don't ask me how. I just do. "Give me two seconds," I whisper to Candace, leaving her in her place at the curb before making my way to my friends. "What?"

Nodding, Maria ends her call and holds her phone in both hands against her chest, her doe eyes glistening with unshed tears when she looks into my face. "That was Tatum's sister."

My heart drops into my toes. Tatum's not close to her family. Her dad disappeared when she was young. I never met him. I met her mom and her two sisters at the intervention that they staged for her back before we broke up. They wanted her to get help, and she refused. And they cut her off cold. Told her they couldn't stand by her if she wasn't going to try. She was so pissed on the way home that night. Told me they could all go to hell for all she cared. Said even if she had a problem, she wouldn't want them there. Said even if she decided to get treatment for a problem she didn't have, that was back when she thought she didn't have a problem, that she didn't want them to see her get better. Not if they could turn their backs on her like that.

Even through the last couple of years, through all of her rehab and her roller coaster into sobriety, she hasn't invited them in. We even talked about it on the phone one night a couple weeks back. Said her sponsor wanted her to get in touch with her family, but she wasn't going to. Said she still hated them for abandoning her, and she wasn't ready to believe that it was for her own good. Said they didn't deserve to see her healthy because they didn't want to see her sick. I laughed that night and told her that it was nice to see rehab hadn't beaten all of the stubbornness out of her. And she laughed, too. Said the only way she would see her family again was if she was on her death bed and the doctors called them. Figured, at that point, she couldn't really stop them.

I can't say anything. I don't know what to say. I know what it means if her sister is calling, but my brain doesn't want to accept it. I can't deal with this shit. Not anymore. This is why I walked away. I don't wanna see this. Don't wanna watch her kill herself. Twice now. I've walked away twice. Why can't they see that I'm trying to avoid this shit? Why can't they let me?

"She was in a car accident," Maria tells me when I don't answer. "It was raining and the roads were slippery and the other driver lost control." She sniffles and looks over my shoulder to see Candace still waiting for me. "She was bleeding internally, but they can't be sure about her other injuries until she wakes up. If she wakes up."

If she wakes up. She could die. And the last thing I said to her was that I couldn't be there for her. The last thing I thought about her was even less admirable. I've spent the entire night thinking about how fucked up she is and how much I don't care about her. I know it's a lie. You may think I'm foolin' myself, but I know the truth.

"Randy," Candace's voice calls to me and I hold up a finger, shooting her my most convincing smile.

When I return my eyes to Maria's moist face, I feel a stab in my gut. I don't want Tatum to suffer. In fact, it's been my greatest fear for as long as I can remember now, watching her fall apart, watching her die. But more than I don't want it to happen, I don't want to see it. "I gotta get outta here," I mumble, moving away before they can stop me, before they can give me anymore sad eyes and pitiful faces. I grab Candace's hand and drag her to my car. I need to lose myself in her. Now more than ever.

Maybe Tatum was fucked up and lost control of her car. Maybe the road was just slippery and it was the other driver's fault. I don't know what to believe when it comes to her anymore. I don't know. I just know that I can't keep caring. No matter how bad I want to.