From the diary of Hailey Beckford -

Maybe I misjudged some things - some people.

Some are far more dangerous than I knew, others -

There aren't words, and that scares me.

I'd never planned on becoming attached, but the past few days/nights have been more than their share of difficult.

Without thought, though, without question, Randy's been there.

Part of me wonders if that's enough.

-*-

The gun has been put away for now, taken out of my room, despite my own objections. Supposedly, I was safer this way, and there was no possibility of me hurting myself.

To me, though, it only made me more vulnerable.

Paranoid.

Scared.

I kept playing the part I'd given myself, though - the black-clad blonde bombshell who slinked alongside Randy Orton, throwing myself into gratuitious displays of heated passion whenever possible.

To the world, I was merely a plaything.

The two of us knew better, and only the two of us.

Aside from parading myself around like some cheap whore, I was quiet.

Reclusive.

Falling more and more into my own abyss.

It was a phone call that threatened to shatter, though. Somber conversation, silences broken by the muffled sound of forced-back tears.

Complications had defeated all hope.

At five fourty-three this morning, my father passed away.

The phone reciever meets the carpet, and I'm stumbling over to the door separating our rooms. Mine was open, and it only took two faint knocks on the opposing door to oepn, a young man's eyes already welling with concern.

"I don't wanna be alone tonight." Voice barely above a whisper, I didn't protest when I was gingerly picked up and brought to bed.

I'll explain when the tears run dry.