25:

I was walking into a very bright light. I couldn't see anything around me, but I could feel the ramp underneath my feet, so I knew that I was walking out to the wrestling ring. The light seemed to get brighter the closer I got to it. It was strangely silent around me, but when I turned my head to look for the crowd, I saw nothing but more white, like everything around me had been erased away.

The ramp ended below my feet, and I felt the padding before the ring, but the light was still too bright for me to see anything. I hesitated for a moment, and the light moved away and centered in the middle of the ring. I realized the light was coming from a huge spotlight above the ring, and it was shining down on CM Punk, who was standing in the ring wearing white robes with his arms outstretched and his eyes looking almost sadistic.

"Hello, John. I am God," CM Punk told me, his voice echoing through the empty arena.

I shot up in bed and a bright light hit my eyes like the one in my dream. I held my hand up to shield my eyes and yelled, "Holy fuck!"

"You havin' wet dreams about me again, baby?" Randy joked next to me, and I realized that the bright light was coming from the shopping channel that he had been watching on TV.

I put my hand down and sighed heavily, realizing that what I had just witnessed was thankfully a bad dream. I turned to Randy and smiled, asking, "What makes you think you're the only one who turns me on in my dreams?"

He narrowed his eyes at me like the question was too outrageous for a response. I sat back in bed and waved at the television screen, asking, "What do you watch this crap all the time for?"

"I can't sleep," Randy muttered.

I looked down and saw that Randy was in just a pair of boxers, with a large ice pack over his crotch area. It made me angry to think that Punk had tried to squeeze Randy's balls off to get what he wanted.

Sick, filthy, stupid-ass rat bastard son of a fucking beast cock sucking asshole!

"Are you cursing in your head again?" Randy asked with a wry smile, noticing that I was staring way too intently at his crotch.

I groaned with frustration and said, "I'm just mad that Punk had to go and ruin everything! I really wanted to fool around with you!"

I kicked the blankets off of me to emphasize my teenage-channeled angst.

"What else can I do to make you happy?" Randy asked, and I looked over at him, seeing the pain in his expression at not being able to do what he wanted to do to me.

"Tell me about that day we spent together, when I was drugged and I don't remember what happened," I said.

Randy's face turned red and he looked away. I asked him eagerly, "Why do you turn red like that when we talk about that day?"

He chuckled and I moved in closer to him so I could listen more completely. He put his arm around me and I rested my chin on his shoulder as he explained, smiling wickedly the entire time, "You told me that you had this fantasy about me dressing up as a football player. I found some sporting goods store near the arena and bought a jersey and a helmet. We came back to the hotel, and I did a striptease for you, which you thoroughly enjoyed...and then I put on the jersey and the helmet; nothing on from the waist down."

"What did I do?" I asked, feeling aroused from imagining everything in my head.

Randy's smile faded a little and he answered shortly, "Well, you came up to me and punched me in the stomach."

"What?!" I shouted, making Randy laugh.

He put his hand up to calm me and went on, saying, "I was just as surprised, and pissed off, too, but then you dropped to your knees and came down on me, and oh my fuck, it was unbelievable."

Randy closed his eyes and hummed softly, then he opened them again and added, "The things that you were doing with your tongue...you've got real oral talent, John. I don't mind saying that at all."

I laughed and Randy blew out a long sigh, then he cringed slightly in pain and said, "All this sex talk is gonna make my poor busted balls explode."

I clutched Randy's skin with my hands and said, "I know, I'm sorry, but I really want to know. Please, tell me more."

Randy sighed with frustration, but I knew he wanted to give me more details. He thought for a moment, then he replied, "Well, you let me give you a hummer at the arena. I'm really surprised we didn't get caught."

"A hummer?" I asked, confused.

"I'll explain later," Randy answered, continuing with, "We made out. A lot. Like so much that my lips got kind of chapped and all I could taste was you for two days."

Smiling, I asked, "When did I start singing the dirty version of your entrance theme?"

Randy lifted a brow and said, "I don't know if I want to tell you that one. You were being kind of kinky."

"Tell me!" I demanded, more intrigued than ever.

Randy focused on the ceiling and explained, "You put a condom on your finger and you put your finger in my ass. At first, I thought you'd lost your mind, but then you started rubbing this spot inside, and it made my balls tingle."

"What? You're making that up!" I argued.

Randy looked at me with a serious expression and replied, "No way, I could never dream up something like that. It felt damn good, too. I swear, it felt like I came twice."

I wondered to myself if that was the same spot that Randy rubbed against when he was inside of me. He went on, explaining, "You started singing my entrance theme midway through it, and I wasn't sure if I should laugh because you can't carry a tune when you're not rapping, or if I should start sobbing because it was all unbearably fucking hot."

I laughed and Randy said thickly, "It's nice to tell you all of this. It makes it seem more real, like I didn't just imagine the whole day in my head."

He looked at me with a saddened expression, like a part of him was hoping I would suddenly remember everything.

But I didn't. I've prayed to all that is holy that I did, but I didn't.

"What else did we do? You said we experimented," I mentioned.

Randy became thoughtful again, then he answered, "We tried a new position. It was kind of hard for me to keep it up, and I was sure you'd hate it because of the angle, but you were totally into it. In fact, it was your idea."

I became inspired, saying, "Show me."

"John, I can't," Randy started to argue.

"No, I don't mean we have to do it right now! Just show me the position and we'll try it again later," I said, sitting up to look at him better.

Randy looked unsure, but said, "Alright. Get on the floor on your knees facing away from me."

"Okay," I shot him a surprised look before I did as he instructed.

He came up behind me and got down on his knees as well, putting his hands over my hips, then he slowly moved inward until he was holding my inner thighs.

He pressed his lips to my ear and whispered, "Relax."

I tried, but it wasn't easy when I didn't know what was coming. Randy suddenly pulled up on my thighs and lifted me a few inches off the ground. I put my hands out to keep myself from falling face first onto the floor, then Randy brought his knees underneath me so that it was almost like the wheelbarrow position, but Randy was seated instead of standing.

Only problem was, I was leaning forward enough that it felt to me like I was falling, and I hated that feeling more than anything in the world. A wave of panic started to consume me, and I became distraught.

"Put me down, Randy. Please," I managed to say.

He tried to explain to me, "I know that you feel like you're going to fall forward, but I've got you. You can trust me to hold onto you, John. You did last time."

"Randy, put me down! PUT ME DOWN!" I yelled.

He lowered me back to the floor and let me slip out of his grip. I crawled away from him and fell against the dresser by the far wall. I was struggling to catch my breath, and my eyes were swimming from the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Randy stared at me with surprise and said, "Jesus, John, I didn't know it would upset you so much this time."

A part of me was angry that he said that. Maybe I was just angry that I didn't remember, or maybe I was angry that I had such a bad reaction to something as simple as the feeling of falling, but I took it out on Randy, saying spitefully, "You should have known I would've hated something like that! How could you not notice that something was wrong with me that day?"

Randy said nothing, but looked away. I realized that I had hurt him, so I added, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I just..."

I didn't know how to finish my sentence. Randy pushed away his pain and mentioned something random, "I talked to R-Truth that day, before I met up with you. The roster was getting ready to leave, but we still had a few minutes. I wanted to get away from the chaos and clear my head, so R-Truth said I should go up on the balcony because it was restricted to celebrity guests only. I started heading that way, but I got sidetracked by some fans and I never made it to the balcony."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"When I met up with you later, you asked where I was, and when I said I tried to go up to the balcony, you said you should've gone up to look for me. I said that was weird because you hated heights and the balcony was on the roof of the hotel. You said you had no problem facing your fears if it meant you could get to me."

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like a complete ass. Randy finished with, "I told you to stop dumping all your cheese-fest quotes on me and you just laughed. When we tried the new position later, I just assumed that you were facing your fears for me like you said before. You weren't wrong that day, John. Not one damn bit."

I didn't know what to say. Randy started to get up, adding as an afterthought, "The only wrong thing you did was when you called Morrison a bitch for eating nachos."

When Randy said "bitch," I was suddenly pulled back into a strange, surreal memory.

-FLASHBACK-

I left early that morning to find Wade, but he wasn't in his hotel room. I checked the desk, and the clerk said he had already left. I tried to call him on my cell, but Wade wouldn't answer. I was sure that, after Randy had humiliated him the night before, Wade had probably gone on a rampage. I tried to call Slater, but he only answered long enough to scream at me, "Bitch!" before hanging up.

Randy was also already checked out by the time I got back to his room. I went downstairs to find the wrestlers and Divas waiting to leave, but Randy wasn't with them. I saw R-Truth and waved him over, asking, "Have you seen Orton?"

"Yeah, he left for the balcony a few minutes ago. He wanted to get away for a while before it was time to go," R-Truth said.

"Thanks," I replied, leaving to find Randy.

"The balcony is on the roof, John!" R-Truth informed me as I was leaving.

"Shit," I said out loud, getting wide-eyed stares from the two ladies at the front counter.

I smiled sheepishly at them and walked as quickly as I could down the hallway to the elevators. It was only when I was on the top floor, looking at the big blue sign with an arrow pointing down the hallway that said: BALCONY that I realized this was a huge mistake.

I hated heights. That was no secret to my friends and family. Still, I really wanted to see Randy. I had to make sure that Wade hadn't gotten to him.

Wandering down the hallway, I noticed that the door to the balcony was slightly open. When I got closer, I could hear the faint sound of rhythmic moaning, and I slowed my pace.

It sounded like someone was either highly aroused or badly injured. Stepping even closer, I could make out that the moaning was coming from a male. A random thought popped into my mind that it could be Randy, and without warning, I burst through the door and rushed out onto the balcony to see what was going on.

Punk.

Wade.

Punk was the one moaning.

Wade was on his knees sucking Punk off.

Oh, shit.

Punk saw me first. His expression went blank and he looked down at Wade. I followed Punk's motion, and Wade turned back to face me. He stood up and stormed toward me, screaming furiously, "You've done it now, you little wanker!"

I moved away just as Wade got closer and tried to run back to the door. Punk didn't stop me, but stared at me like I wasn't real. I opened the door and tried to run back down the hallway, but I was grabbed from behind and I hit the floor hard.

"Fuck!" I shouted, trying to get up.

Something jabbed me in the back of my neck. It felt like a needle.

"Don't worry, he won't remember a thing," Punk's voice echoed in my mind.

-END FLASHBACK-

"What's wrong?" Randy asked me, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I looked up at him and realized he was standing over me with a concerned expression. It took me a few seconds to form the words to explain, "I just remembered something about that day."

Randy smiled hopefully and asked, "Was it about us?"

I almost shook my head, but something made me stop. I knew I couldn't tell Randy what I remembered, not until I knew for sure that it was true.

"Yeah, it was about us," I said, my stomach churning at the idea of lying to him so blatantly.

His smile faded and he stared down at me curiously, like he knew that I was hiding something from him. I reached out to him and said, "Help me up."

Randy pulled me to my feet and I started to lead him to bed, but there was a soft knock at the door and I let Randy go so he could see who it was.

He checked the peep hole and called back to me, "It's Gabriel."

I breathed a sigh of relief and Randy opened the door to let Gabriel in. With a solemn look to both Randy and I, Gabriel asked, "Could I stay here? I do not want to be alone after I have gotten the others into trouble."

Randy had paid for a room with a double bed to fool McMahon, and the second bed was not being used, so Randy motioned to it and said, "Yeah, that's fine."

Gabriel smiled and thanked us both before wandering over to the bed. I lay back down in our bed, but Randy didn't join me. Instead, he sat at the edge of the bed and watched the shopping channel like he wasn't the least bit tired.

"You're gonna sleep at some point, right?" I asked Randy after Gabriel had already gotten into his own bed and fallen asleep.

"Yeah, I will," Randy said to me over his shoulder, but I knew that he probably wouldn't.