My lunchtime media went swimmingly, or as swimmingly as my stereotypical American ignorance would allow.
But now it was all business.
I paced the small space in front of my bag in the locker room, for what could very well have been an hour.
I'd put off thinking about this all day, but now that I was dressed in my ring gear, and was in the same building, I couldn't put it off any more.
But I had no idea what I was doing.
Yeah, Randy and I hadn't actually been a couple to begin with.
The first time or second.
But up until Punk, that was the closest I'd ever gotten.
And it didn't change the fact that I'd loved him.
Or that I knew how bad he must be feeling.
He'd done the same thing to me the first time around; left without a second thought.
It almost killed me.
But after drowning myself in ridiculous amounts of alcohol and sex, Punk was the one who dragged me out.
I knew I couldn't be the one to save Randy from the heartache that would come, and I knew an explanation wouldn't make it go away.
But in the long run, closure would be worth it.
Suddenly, my feet stopped.
It was time.
There was still an hour or so until the show's start, and I sure as hell didn't want to be the first person he talked to after his match tonight.
Especially if he lost.
I forced myself to move out of the locker room, and through the halls.
I wondered aimlessly for a little bit, trying his cell one last time.
No answer.
It was a few minutes later that I reached his dressing room.
With a sigh, I knocked.
"It's open."
I heard from the other side.
At least he sounded calm.
Slowly, I pushed the door open and slipped into the room.
It wasn't until the door finally clicked shut that Randy looked up at me.
By the look on his face, he wasn't too surprised to see me.
Although, I bet he didn't want to at all.
He didn't stop his stretching on the floor when he spoke.
"What do you want?"
I let out a puff of laughter.
"I would hope by the mass of calls and texts I sent you, that'd be kind of obvious."
I tried to keep the mood lighthearted, but the look he shot me forced all that away.
Utter betrayal.
With just enough anger to mask the heartache, from everyone else but me.
I knew him too damn well.
"Look, Randy, Kelly told me about the phone call the other day..." I trailed on.
Thus started the twenty-five minute conversation that I never wanted to have.
Ranging from 'why did you do this to me' to 'why him'.
And I couldn't really think of a good answer for either.
I could think of snappy, sarcastic, non-helpful answers that would just escalate the situation.
But not any actual, useful ones.
On top of this being a conversation I didn't want, it was one I didn't know how to have.
Randy had been my best friend for so long, hurting him wasn't something I could do.
But breaking the news to him gently wasn't working either.
It seemed, the more I beat around the bush, the more frustrated he got.
And finally, it all came to an end.
"Randy, I may not want to lose you, but I don't want you to hate me." I quoted, using his words from weeks prior.
It was the first real conversation we'd had in almost a year.
And my use of it now wasn't just bullshit.
I meant it.
The past few weeks, he'd been a completely different person.
And I didn't want to miss out on knowing him.
But Randy wasn't a person who easily forgave.
It was a few minutes later, I sighed.
His silence, I'd taken, as him ending the conversation.
And without another word, I left.
It'd taken everything I had not to let a tear or two, or sob, escape in there.
But now that I was in the hall, there was nothing stopping me.
I felt horrible.
I flipped the hood to my leather ring jacket over my head, the end coming to just over my eyes.
I let myself walk around for a few minutes, arms crossed, head down, feet scuffing along the floor, and silently cried.
It was the only way I could let out the sheer awfulness I was feeling.
Either that or give into the choking burn rising in my throat, wearing on my tender control.
It was only a few minutes until show time, and the hallways were starting to fill with Superstars.
I was rounding a corner, and my eyes shifted upwards.
I was ok with walking by the other crew members and fellow competitors, but when I saw Punk walking down the hall that all changed.
Quickly, I stuffed myself back behind the corner.
Desperately trying to wipe away the evidence of my weeping.
I pushed the hood back onto my shoulders, straightened out, and came around that corner like the usual, cocky bastard I was.
I don't know how he does it.
Know me that well.
I'd taken three steps from around the corner, and was in his line of vision for five seconds.
Already, he knew I'd been crying.
Although Kofi was completely oblivious to it.
Another moment, and Kofi was off running towards where R-Truth would be, to confer on their tag team match tonight.
"So what's got you all upset?"
I cocked a brow at him.
"Eli. A monkey could see that you were crying."
I laughed.
"There goes your monkey." I muttered, pointing at a retreating Kofi.
"Hey now." Punk started with a smirk.
"Don't insult the other monkeys."
It was another few moments of laughing, then Punk asked again.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
I sighed, leaning my head against chest; his arm over my shoulders.
"I talked to Randy." I confessed.
We'd continued walking while we laughed before.
And as we kept walking, I gave Punk the cliff notes version of the conversation.
