A few hours later, Vince all but kicks me out of the room, leaving me with no choice but to skulk back to my own room, back to where Colt is waiting, well he's probably sleeping in all honesty, but if he's awake, I know he'll take one look at me and just know something's wrong. I don't want to lie to him, I almost can't lie to him, but I don't want to think about what happened in that hotel room with Vince. Kind, nice Vince has definitely had his day in the sun, the cruelty of the man who first raped me has returned, and that is the truth of him. There's no doubts about that, not any more. Devils can dress as angels all they want, but stolen wings and fake halos can't change their nature. Evil is evil, and cruel is cruel. Vince has been playing me, luring my in and it's been working. He has me questioning everything, has me doubting myself, doubting who I am. I know who I am, I'm CM Punk, I'm Philip Jack Brooks, I'm a jerk, I'm an asshole, I'm trapped between a rock and hard place.
Last night Vince raped me, that's just the way it is. I didn't say no, but I didn't want it, he forced it on me. He might have stopped before he came in my ass, but the blowjob he forced me to give him, that was rape enough, and all of this was caused by rumours, by speculation, by locker room bullshitting between the boys. Surely, Vince isn't so easily swayed by that kind of crap, surely, he's been around wrestlers long enough to know that everything is a work, there's no truth to be had in a locker room. Apart from me, honesty is alls I have. I told him nothing's happened with Colt and it hasn't. One kiss isn't a thing; it's so far from a thing that my beloved best friend doesn't even want to talk to me about it. I think I need to though, I need to know how he feels about me, has his opinion changed, is all that's left really nothing but him loving me like a brother, has he really gotten over me that quickly.
Everything Vince did last night had no point, from stripping me of the title to forcing his way into my body, it was utterly pointless, and only served to confirm his cruelty. How do I explain to Colt that Vince hurt me because of him? I can't, I won't, he'll feel guilty. So maybe the best thing to do is tell him it got a little rough and leave it at that. Last thing I need is for Colt to go at it with Vince, and I think he would, that idiot would risk everything if it meant protecting me, but then again, aren't I the same way when it comes to him, perhaps we're both idiots really.
Inside the hotel room, Colt's lying curled up round a pillow, holding it close to his chest, almost like it was a substitute for me. I try to be as quiet as possible, as I get ready to go to bed, but Colt wakes up anyways, and sits, his back propped against the headboard, the room might be dark, but I know he's staring at me.
"What happened?" He comes over to me, and takes hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Nothing." I sound stupidly hoarse and croaky, and I clear my throat, trying to stay strong under his withering gaze. "Nothing." It sounds even more pitiful this time, and Colt sighs, pulling me close to him.
"Bullshit, Punkers." He snaps, and kisses my hair. I try to pull away from him, this shouldn't be happening, not now, not ever. "C'mon, bed." He mutters, walking backwards, guiding me with him.
"I'm not tired." It's a complete and utter lie, but I don't want to be sleeping in Colt's arms, I don't want to have come from being raped to lying cradled like I was worth something.
"Kay, I'm sure there's something worth watching." He clicks the TV on, and starts flicking through the stations, settling on some random show I've never seen before. "You wanna talk about it, or you gonna keep this bullshit up all night?" He doesn't look at me, doesn't sound annoyed, or even overly interested, just like he was making a casual observation about the show we're watching.
"I'm scared... I'm fucking terrified." I don't look up from staring at the TV, the show playing is utterly meaningless, and I can feel Colt's eyes on me. I'm not sure why I started with that, but it's true, I'm scared of just about everything right now, I'm scared of me, of Colt, of Vince, of the horrid little mess I'm in, everything terrifies me.
"Scared? Of what?" He shifts a little closer to me, seemingly undecided about what he should do with himself, fidgeting where before his arm would wrap around my shoulders with no hesitation. He might not have said it, but his actions speak loudly, I'm damaged goods, he doesn't even want to touch me.
"I'm losing myself... Piece by piece, I'm being chipped away." I sound strange, disconnected, my voice odd to my own ears.
"Punkers..." Colt sounds bitterly hesitant, and I can't blame him, I don't even know what to say to myself, why the hell should he have any better ideas?
"Nope, not any more, I don't think so, at least." I laugh, and at this TV is clicked off. Colt's hand grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. I can't stop the stupid, slightly manic laughter escaping me, and he stares at me.
"Punkers." He sounds so firm, so very confident in that's who he's talking to and it makes me laugh so much more than it should. His Punkers is gone, alls there is, is me, manically laughing, possibly breaking me. "C'mere." He pulls me to his chest, and holds me close. "Fucking mess... Should have never let you go in the first fucking place." He mumbles, stroking my back, his hands comfortable in their familiarity.
"Like you could have stopped me..." I slump against him some more, trying to burrow my way into his arms more. "You know how I am." At that he laughs, and holds me out at arm's length, a grin on his face.
"I know exactly how you are." He laughs again, and I'm beginning to worry that he might have gone mad too. "You, Punkers, are a scruffy, gorgeous, ill tempered, kind, self-centred, considerate, vulnerable, independent, piece of shit. You've not gotten lost, you're not being chipped away." His hands dig into my shoulders, his eyes filled with a fiercely determined light. "You're right here, as whole and as broken as ever." He smiles softly, his hands moving to cup my face, drawing me closer. "And I love you for it." His lips brush my forehead, and I sit there, staring at him, dumbfounded. He loves me, he still loves me, and he thinks I'm gorgeous. The sheer stupidity of that being what I'm taking from his speech fills me, another laugh escapes me, and Colt flicks me on the forehead. "I tell you I love you and you laugh at me? Fucking jerk." He snorts, and I smirk at him.
"Of course you love me, you're my best friend, it's like your job to love me." I pull out of his arms, giving him an out if he wants it. This doesn't have to be a heavy confession, it can be nothing more than philia, it can be nothing more than it was. I turn from him, wondering if he'll take what I've offered him.
"Phil... Punkers" Colt's hand tilts my face to him, his eyes soft and warm. The second time Colt kisses me is no different to the first; the same burning perfection of that first kiss is present. His hands in my hair don't make me think of Vince in the least, with him touching me, with him kissing me there's nothing on my mind but Colt, nothing but how neatly I fit him. "I love you." He stresses the word, and I nod, licking my lips, staring at his, wanting him to kiss me again.
"I know... I..." I glance away, my eyes flickering to the blank TV screen. "You know I love you." He presses a kiss to my temple and holds me tightly. "It's just... I'm not-"
"Bullshit." He snaps, interrupting me. "Whatever it is you're thinking, whatever it is you're gonna say, its crap. You know it, and I sure as hell know it." He squeezes me tightly. "You're you, you'll always be you, you stupid bastard."
"I'm not... I don't feel like me." I sigh and turn to face him. "I feel more and more like his pet."
"Hmm... It's all about dehumanising you, making it easier for him to use you, you know that, right?" Colt lies down on the bed, pulling me with him, letting me settle myself on top of him. "A pet isn't a real person, if you hurt them, if you cause them pain, it's okay cause it's what they want. You might like some of the stuff he does to you, but you're not a pet, not in the way Vince wants you to be." He kisses the tip of my nose and grins at me. "He can wound you, he can injury you, but there's one thing he can't do, Punkers, and that break you." Wound me, injury me, rape me even... But never break me? Somehow, I think Vince might be managing just that.
"He might..." I close my eyes, and settle against Colt's chest, his heartbeat beneath my ear drowned out by the rumble of his laugh.
"He can try, but every time he does, I got more than enough duck tape and superglue to stick you back together." His hand runs through my hair once, then settles on the back of my head.
"This is how you see me? Some kind of arts and craft project?" Something to be pitied, something to be restored, some kind of charity, that explains so much, Colt doesn't love me, he loves the idea of being the one to fix me, patch me up when I'm broken and raped, then leave me when I'm fixed.
"You know, you're lucky you're sexy when you're being a stubborn shit." He laughs, his nails scratching at my scalp. "You're not a fucking charity case, and if you were I got a fucking raw deal." He laughs again, and I lie there, listening to the sound rumbling under my ear, feeling stupidly safe in his arms. The horror of earlier in the night fading, I'll need to talk to Colt about it, need to tell him, but not right now, not when I'm safe. "You're my partner in arms, like... Uh... Fuck, you know I can't think of a good... What the hell is the word I want? Is it metaphor, or simile? Is it a simile?"
"Analogy..." I can feel a grin spreading over my lips.
"Yeah one of those... Wait what was I talking about again?" His hand ruffles my hair some more, and I laugh at him, utterly unable to help it.
"Thanks Colt." I press my lips to his chest, and nuzzle against him. I don't think I need a good analogy from him, just this, just him to be himself; he can keep his analogies for now. I think I get it, I think I understand. He's not so much waiting for the agreement with Vince to be over, as just being there for me, giving as much as he can because that's what Colt does. He waits patiently for me to come to him, and when I do, he gives me what I need. I think I can understand why he's waited for me for so long, I think he always knew that eventually I'd come to him in the end, it might have taken me half the women on the planet, but eventually, I'd need Colt, and he'd be there. If our situations were reversed, I'm sure I'd have gutted Vince by now, but that's because you don't fuck with what's mine. Colt, however, he isn't like me, he trusts me to handle my shit, trusts me that when things get too much, I'll go to him, and then he'll help me get myself together. He knows me well enough to know I won't appreciate help unless I've looked for it. He's my best friend, he's my partner and he knows me far better than I know myself right now.
In the morning, I woken up by a complaining Colt, bustling around the hotel room, throwing his shit in a bag, and bitching about how when he finally gets fired he's gonna buy the biggest pizza he can afford and eat it in one go.
"You gonna at least save me a slice?" I sit up in bed, smirking as he jumps and looks at me guiltily.
"Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up, Punkers." He smiles sheepishly at me, and wanders over to the bed, perching on the edge of it by me. "You doing okay?" His hand hovers nervously outstretched, as though intending to touch me but not sure if I'd welcome it. I grab his wrist, and press my cheek to his palm, nuzzling at it slightly.
"I'm good." My eyes close as his fingers curve around my face.
"You're a shitty liar." He says quietly, and I look at him, at the worry, the concern etched on his face. "But I ain't got time to call you on your shit. Later." He stands, grabbing his bag, and pulling his shoes on. "Later there will be calling, and you'll be spilling shit all over the place... Yuech... I'll leave you with mental image." He leaves with a laugh, and in his wake, there's nothing but silence. In that silence, that solitude, I think I break just a little more, I think Vince gains a little more ground, because there's no way that Colt's Punkers would be sobbing over his rape into a cheap hotel pillow.
Winning the tag-titles with Kofi was a surprise, a nice surprise but a one all the same. I think it was an indication that Vince's temper has passed, I'm once more in his good graces. Kofi's a friend, a good friend, jokingly referred to as my road wife; all of these things make me almost worried that Vince's jealousy, his cruelty, will flare up once more. Whilst it's certainly easy to hate him while he's raping me, it's not fun, and there's a part of me that enjoys the kinder side to him, but nothing happens. Vince is the same as ever. Why, I can't really say, there's a few reasons I could put forward, some of them more polite than others, but alls I'll say is there's a good reason there aren't too many black champions in the WWE. It's easy being tag champs with Kofi, he doesn't ask me stupid questions, doesn't question me when I stay late, or leave early, just wants me to show up, do my job, and talk about comics. Three things I can do admirably well. I can't see us being champs for long, but if Vince's idea of making things up to me involves getting to spend time with my friends, then I suppose he can continue trying to make amends for being a rapist cunt.
The next step on Vince's road to making me fall back into the comfortable lull of trusting in him is to take me away for the weekend. Not to the beach house, he assures me, and I'm almost sad about that. For all I dislike many of the things I've learned about myself there, I kind of like that place, I like the white room, I like the pool, I like the library, to an extent I even like his playroom. This is just a quick trip, just away somewhere nice, somewhere foreign, somewhere that requires my passport, which surprises me, but if he wants to take me out of the country, who am I to argue? In honesty, though, who am I to argue with him anyway? When he says jump, I don't even bother asking how high, I just start bouncing hoping its high enough.
The flight leaves early Thursday evening, when we land the sun is shining, and the weather softly warm. I don't recognise the scenery; don't recognise anything around me at all.
"Where are we?" I'd been sleeping off and on during the flight and Vince smiles at me, that dangerously soft, kind look in his eyes.
"I own a small villa on a vineyard." He stands, taking my hand. Vineyard? I can't help but wonder if he's joking with me; it seems like a curious decision to take someone who's straight edge to a wine making facility. "C'mon, let's go." He leads me off the plane and through a tiny little airport, to a waiting car.
"Ciao, signore." The driver says cheerfully, and that's the limit of my Italian, I'm almost not surprised that Vince would own a villa in Italy; I think I'd be slightly less surprised by the South of France though.
"We're on the south coast." He tells me, still holding my hand, and I nod vaguely, not really listening, instead watching out the window, slightly disappointed that we're not further north. I've always kind of wanted to go to Florence. I'm not a big fan of Renaissance art, but everyone has to have a soft spot for Da Vinci, and there's more than a little part of me that wants to wander the same streets as Machiavelli, to try and soak in the sights the shaped a mind as keen as his.
When we arrive and I see the villa for the first time, it's breathtaking. Whilst the house is beautiful, it's the view that has me staring. The sun setting over the coast is one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen. Vince shows me round, it's far smaller than I'd expected, the lounge and kitchen are open plan, a bathroom, and one bedroom.
"This is my escape." He tells me, his arms around my waist as I watch the sun going down. "There's no one else here for miles around, only silence, peace... Quiet." He kisses the side of my head and holds me tightly. Not so long ago, I'd have been fooled by this I think, I'd have taken this kindness as Vince showing me his true self, the man behind the cruelty and hard front, but now, he neatly reminded me of who he is in that hotel room. This is nice, this is better than nice, it's gorgeous and I'll take full advantage, but this isn't the truth. This is the smile up front, whilst the dagger waits behind his back. That night, we eat antipasti and watch the stars, he keeps trying to draw me into conversation, but I don't have anything to say, I've no words for him. I've a beautiful view, some good food, and an unexpected free trip to Italy. I sleep in his arms, and not once does he try to make a move, not once does he do anything more than hold me close, his hands stroking my skin.
The man who greets me on the veranda isn't what I was expecting. I didn't think Vince owned anything other power suits in ill-advised colours, jeans and a v-neck was not what I was expecting. We spend the day wandering a quaint little town where I understood nothing anyone was saying and drinking possibly the best coffee I've ever had, enjoying the small town tranquillity. There's not much around, just a lot of confused looking locals, amazing coffee and gelato, lots of stupidly good gelato, by the time I get back to the States, I'm gonna be even fatter, but Vince doesn't seem to care, he keeps close to me, picking new and exciting flavours for me to try. No one in the place cares who I am, who Vince is, it's tranquil and lovely but all kinds of strange. We talk most of the day, our common interests again surprising me, I think almost as much as my intelligence surprises him. By the time, we return to his house the sun has set and I feel good, relaxed in a way I've not felt in a long time.
The first thing I do is go swimming, my clothes dumped by the side of the pool, not caring that Vince is sitting on a chair watching me swim naked, not caring that he's stripping his clothes, and moving to join me in the water. In that moment, I'm happy, content with my lot in life. I've had a nice day, one that I'm going to be trying to work off for a while, but right then, that's not important, what is, is that I had fun. Once he's in the water, I swim over to him, and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Why I'm doing this isn't something I think about, I don't want to think, I just want... I don't really know what I want, a head start maybe? Vince hasn't touched me sexually since he raped me, has barely touched me at all, and I know that he's going to want me out here, so getting the jump on him is a good thing.
The water laps gently at my skin as I lean against the wall of the pool, his cock rubbing over my prostate with each slow, deep thrust, my legs wrapped around his waist, squeeze every time he moves into me, relaxing as he withdraws. His lips and teeth work on my neck and collarbone, nipping and kissing my skin, but I'm not really paying attention, my eyes are focussed on the stars, on Cygnus, the lovers... One night, one kiss... I've had two now, and I want more, so much more.
"Tell me how much you love my cock, Pet, how much you love it fucking your tight little ass." Vince mumbles in my ear, and I have to resist the urge to baulk, I'm not exactly a verbal fuck, the constant stream of moaning gasps are usually more than enough for him, but extolling the virtues of the cock fucking me isn't something I've any experience with.
"Uh... It feels good, Sir?" I'm at a loss for what he wants from me, but from the way he fucks into me harder, I'd say that wasn't it. "Ah, fuck, Sir!" I squeeze his waist with my legs, and summon up as much of the porn I've ever watched as I can, trying to remember what the plastic women say whilst being fucked. "Harder... Fuck me harder. Want the fat cock to wreck this little asshole, want it so bad." That seems to do the trick and Vince fucks into me harder, his thrusts speeding up.
"More." He pants, his fingers digging into my hips, I'm almost certain there'll be bruises after this.
"Uh... That cock feels so good... So big... Oh, please Sir... Harder, want that fat cock of yours so bad." Vince bites the mark on my neck firmly and starts pounding into me, the pace almost punishing.
"You're so responsive, pet... So beautiful." He murmurs, his lips by my ear. "Hopelessly innocent... I love that about you." I almost freeze at his words. Love. Vince wanted rid of Hardy because he developed feelings for him, what happens when the shoe's on the other foot. Has Vince grown overly attached to me? Is this why he keeps doing these strange confusing things? Is that why he can go from raping me, to cradling me in my sleep on a dime? "Perfect little thing, you are... Truly perfection, Punk." He gasps in my ear as he comes, and pulls out of me. "Sit on the side." I haul myself up to sit on the edge of the pool, and Vince goes down on me, sucking my cock down with practiced ease, swallowing round my length, making me come with embarrassing ease. He doesn't swallow my cum, instead he pulls me back down into the water and kisses me, forcing my own cum into my mouth, kissing me long and deep. Once he breaks the kiss, he bites at the mark on my neck once more, then pulls away, trailing his fingers over it, something cloudy and dark in his eyes.
He lets me shower in peace, and I run his words through my head. I can't equate any of his actions to love; even the kinder, gentler acts he's performed towards me have been tinged with his dominance and cruelty. That isn't anything like love, it's possession, it's domination, it's coercion. I know love. Love is patient, love is warm, love is hilarious, love is dear and precious, love is Colt.
The next day we spend much as the last, ending up in bed rather than the pool. Thankfully, this time Vince is silent, there's no ramblings in my ears as he fucks me in a variety positions, testing my flexibility, but never my limits. In some strange, twisted way, it's almost like Vince is trying to make love to me, but each thrust feels more and more like a violation. Every time he comes inside me, I think of Colt, I think of my beloved Colt and his warm smile, every time I come, it's biting my lip, biting back a name that'll ruin not just me, but everyone I love too.
When I finally make it back to my apartment, I'm almost unsurprised by the shoes kicked off at the door, and the coat thrown at the hook. It seems that Colt has been making good use of the key I gave him so long ago.
"Get that shit out of my house, Cabana." I mutter, gesturing to the bottle of Coke on the coffee table, by an open pizza box, half of it still inside uneaten.
"Hello, Punkers." He sets a bottle of Pepsi down on the table; all without looking at me, the TV playing old reruns of eighties kids cartoons. I grab a slice, sitting on the other end of the couch, eating and sipping at my pop. "So, you ready to talk to me, or you still hiding?" He clicks the TV off, and grabs a slice of pizza. I tense at his words, chewing slowly, hoping that he'd drop this, switch the TV back on, and watch cartoons with me.
"I... What do you wanna talk about?" I fidget, take another drink, and pick up another slice of pizza.
"What did he do to you that night, Punk?" His tone is emotionless, and I swallow heavily. I don't want to think about the night he's talking about, I don't want to think about Vince forcing his way into my body, I don't want to think about the horrible confusion that night stirred up in me, I don't want to think about how unworthy of even this with Colt I am.
"He..." I start, and close my eyes, finishing the slice of pizza, and wiping my fingers on one of numerous napkins that came with it.
"He?" Colt still isn't looking at me, his eyes focussed on the reflection of us on the TV screen. In the reflection, the space between us is small, in the reflection we look rather normal, we look like friends sharing a pizza. The truth of the matter is so different.
"He raped me." It's said so quietly, I'm not actually sure I spoke the words. I can see Colt tense up; can hear the bottle in his hands crackle under the pressure of him squeezing it. "But, it's okay, he... He made me and Kofi Tag-Champs, took me to Italy..." Suddenly Colt grabs my shoulders, and turns me to face him.
"Listen to yourself." He growls, his fingers digging into my flesh. "Fucking listen to yourself, Philip." I blink at him, confused by the use of my real name. "You sound like a fucking battered wife, Punkers." He sighs, and lets me go. I do... Justifying, rationalising something terrible, something I've endured, only I'm stuck in this marriage until the end of the agreement.
"I... I know... But there's noth-"
"Bullshit!" He glares at me. Anger isn't something Colt wears often, but at this moment, it's all encompassing, blazing in his eyes. "Bullshit, you could leave, you could break this off."
"This isn't just about me, Colt." I stare at him, silently trying to plead with him, trying to get him to understand.
"Not to you, Punk. It's not about you, but only for you. You don't see how he looks at you, how you're all he sees." Colt draws me closer to him, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. "This was only ever about you for Vince." His lips brush over my forehead, and I nod miserably. I know that, I know it painfully well.
"I know... I know." I whisper softly, and snuggle against him. "He thinks we're sleeping together." Colt laughs and kisses my hair, his are the only hands I want on me, the only lips I want on me are Colt's.
"We are." He laughs. "We sleep together as often as possible." He laughs again, and I shake my head in exasperation with him. He knows full well what I mean; he knows what Vince really thinks. "I'm sorry." He says suddenly. "I'm so fucking sorry." He squeezes me tightly. "You know, I always wanted to make love to you first, always wanted to show you how good being with a man is." He laughs, and I nod.
"I know." Another statement said so softly it's almost not spoken at all.
"I hate him, I fucking loathe him for a whole bunch of super reasonable reasons, but that one, that's the one thing I'll always hate the most." He snarls, and lets me go, stands, pacing my small living room.
"You don't have to hate him for that." I meet my reflection in the TV screen's eyes. "He's fucked me, he's raped me, he's played with me, but he's never once made love to me, never once shown me just how good it can be." I close my eyes, and open them to see the reflection of Colt standing behind me, his chin resting on top of my head. "He's shown me glimpses, given me tastes of what I could enjoy, what I do enjoy, but it's not as good as it could be." Colt's hands very nervously rest on my shoulders, my own cover his, squeezing them lightly. "Not as good as it will be." A slow smile spreads over his lips, the sort of smile that you only read about in Harlequin novels, the sort of smile that turns you to mush on the inside. I smile nervously back at our reflection, at what looks like a happy couple, quietly hoping that one day the truth matches the image.
Thank you for reading! Please remember to review we love to hear from all of you! This may not be updated as much over the next month because one of us is going on vacation and gets to see Colt! The other one is very jealous!
BrokenSpell77, Rebellecherry,littleone1839, AshJovillette, thank you for your amazing reviews, Sorry to lump you all in together but I wanted to get this out and at the moment I am tired and being rather lazy. You are all amazing people though and we are incredibly grateful for all the reviews and feedback you give us!