So just so everyone knows, reading your reviews are like crack to me. So I can't stress enough how much I NEED you to review my story. Like I said. CRACK.

Have fun.

Much love,

Skee.

I'd never left the ring so upset.

Everything I touched I got pissed at.

I took the two steps down the steal steps, then kicked them.

Walked past the screen wall on the stage, and stupidly punched it.

Even though my fist was screaming in pain, I refused to stop.

I walked past an empty chair, then threw it.

When I got into the locker room, things got worse.

Out of the corner of my reddened vision, I could see a few other Divas sitting, watching, in utter horror as I threw everything, everywhere.

Despite loosing or winning, I left it all in the ring.

But not tonight.

Tonight was literally the worst night of my life.

After a few more moments, the other Divas left, and I'd finally calmed down.

I was standing in the middle of the room with my hands over my face.

All I could really focus on was breathing, and I could barely do that.

And after what happened tonight, I really didn't want to.

I'd much rather die, than have to relinquish anything, a win or Punk, to Kaitlyn.

And tonight she got both.

Someone dared to enter my hell.

I pitied who ever it was.

"Why are you standing on a chair?"

My head shot up from behind my hands.

"Why aren't you out there in your match?"

It was Punk.

And he was supposed to be going up against Randy right now.

"I convinced Teddy to postpone it for a few minutes."

But he didn't smirk, he just extended his hand towards me with a sad look in his eyes.

"I'll ask again, why are you standing on a chair?"

I took in a deep breath, and took his hand, stepping down off of the chair.

"It's easier to breathe when you're not at everyone else's level." I muttered, sitting in the same chair I'd just stepped down from.

I just stared off into space.

My emotions were all out of whack; I was pissed because I lost, I was sad because I wasn't going to be tag partners with Punk any more, I was excited to see Punk, and, oddly, I was anxious.

"I can't believe that I'm that stupid. I knew I shouldn't have pushed my luck. I'm a fucking idiot."

Again, my hands came to my face.

My fingers could reach my hairline just enough to tug at the locks.

"Hey, stop that." Punk demanded in a low, loving, voice.

I felt his hands grip mine lightly, and place them back on my lap with his.

"What's wrong? You're never like this." I looked down at him, kneeling in front of me, concern all over his face.

It broke my heart really.

I hated people worry about me.

And Punk was looking so drained from having to worry 24/7 lately.

But I couldn't seem to help.

I couldn't stop doing the stupid, arrogant, things that caused the people I loved to exhaust themselves looking out of me.

My brow furrowed as I continued to beat myself up for my idiocy.

"Eli. What is going on?"

His words came out laced with anguish, ripping my heart out.

I sighed, gearing up to make my confession.

"Remember how I promised that I wouldn't do anything rash, the other night?"

Punk nodded slowly, his own brows furrowed as well.

"Baby what did you do?"

I could feel my eyes start to burn.

I had to admit to Punk that I'd purposefully lied to him.

I, of all people, should know how bad lying is.

I'd spent the majority of my adulthood in a type of relationship that was founded on lies.

Why did I have to make that happen now too?

"When you found me and Kelly earlier, and you asked about what we were talking..." I paused, trailing on.

I didn't want to do it.

"Well, I was telling Kelly that if she told you I made another bet with Kaitlyn, I'd make her pay." I didn't dare make eye contact.

"What kind of bet?" I could hear the worry in his voice.

My vision started to blur with the increase of moisture in my eyes.

I stammered with some sounds, but none of it was actually audible.

"Was it like the last one?"

I took in a shaky breath, and nodded.

Punk let out a sigh.

I dared a peek at his face.

His eyes were closed, and his brow was furrowed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I let out an whimper and pulled my hands from his.

My balled fists rubbed the wetness from my eyes.

"I don't know. I didn't want you to worry about anything other than your match."

"It's a little late for that now." he mumbled.

I doubt he meant for me to actually hear it.

"I know, I'm stupid. I'm really sorry."

The words caught in my throat as I said them.

My hands found their way back into my blond hair, and tugged.

Hard.

"I said stop that." Punk said pulling my hands down with more force than before.

It was silent for a few more moments.

"It's fine. We'll be fine." I furrowed my brows and looked up at him.

Obviously we wouldn't be.

It would be a miracle if I could see him for a few hours, let alone a few minutes, on a normal day.

Now that we had no legitimate reason to travel together, like being tag-team partners, management had no reason to keep me on Raw.

"How will it be fine if we can never see each other."

Then I realized even worse news.

"How will it be fine if you're with Kaitlyn all the time, and I'm with Randy? How the hell is that going to be fine?"

But instead of answering, Punk brought my hands, now clasped in his, to his lips.

Revealing to me the small, familiar, black outline below his left thumb, from under his sweatshirt cuff.

I traced the inked in design with my own thumb, first the antennas, then the wings, and lastly the hind legs.

It was so familiar, because I had the same thing on my neck.

It'd already been a full two weeks and still, nobody noticed it.

I guess, when you have as many tattoos as Punk, people tend to not notice when you get a new little one.

It was actually kind of funny, because it was one of the places my eyes instantly went to on his body.

If I wasn't looking at his eyes, ass or stomach, I was tracing the black butterfly with my eyes.

"Baby, we'll figure it out. I swear." he assured me, pressing his forehead against our hands.

"Punk."

I heard the familiar voice of Johnny Curtis mutter, poking his head through a crack in the locker room door.

"Teddy wanted me to tell you that he needs you out there. He can't post-pone the match any longer."

Punk sighed, released my hands, and straightened out his legs from his position in front of me.

"I'll be back in a little bit." Punk said, tilting my head back, his hands cupping both sides of my face.

My eyes again meeting his.

This time, instead of worry, I saw a new kind of ferocity.

Something in my gut told me that he was in the mood for some serious ass whooping.

He pressed our foreheads together, and whispered.

"Wait for me."

His words reminding me of the last time I thought I might lose Punk to Kaitlyn.

I'd left the arena without him, and gone radio silent for almost two days.

I blinked, then nodded.

And as I blinked, a streak of wet misery painted along my bottom lid and teased the notion of it staining itself down my cheek.

But before I, or it could tip the balance, Punk's thumb that rested just below, caught it, wiping it away.

"Punk." Johnny's voice sounded in the silence.

Through the crack in the door, I could hear Teddy tweaking out about the wasted airtime.

Punk pressed his lips to my forehead, and seemingly reluctantly, stepped away.

I knew how he felt.

It took everything I had to curb the sensation to hold on to him and never, ever, let go.