Trish stood in front of the sink in her locker room, the soft trickling stream of icecold water pouring into her cupped palms. She stared down into the water as each drip caused tiny ripples to play across the tap water toward the outside of the small pool.

Her lips were held barely open, her mouth slightly agape, her breaths obvious as they left her. Every emotion tangling within her, tugging at her being, forced her out of control of her thoughts. She spoke desperately, helplessly to herself, aloud, although no one was around to hear her distressed musings.

She raised her palms up to her face, leaning over the dripping faucet. She took a light breath and splashed the water almost aggressively over her flushed features, the sudden change in temperature sending chills through her flesh.

Pushing the excess water from her cheeks and eyelids, she blinked furiously, trying to catch her breath. "I can't... believe it. He still loves me. He still loves me, he left... for me.... he--"

"Trish?" A sudden voice behind the door caused Trish to jump, bringing her to her senses. The loud rasping of rhythmic knocks echoed through her ears as she frantically reached for a towel nearby, dabbing her face and gathering herself before walking toward the door.

"Trish are you in there? I'm sorry for whatever I said, just come out. Talk to me. They're starting the draft.... Please?"

The blonde diva reached for the handle, opening the door just slightly. She quickly edged herself through the walls, into the hallway. She shut the door behind her, and, panicking, brushed the front of her blouse and pants off, inhaling deeply.

"Okay," she breathed, "okay, I'm ready..." She slipped inside one of Christian's arms, and he walked her down the hall into a large room where everyone present on both the Raw and SmackDown rosters wait. Impatiently fumbling in their seats, they exchanged fears and hopes with those who sat next to them. Trish could barely come to grips with the fact that all of this drama could be over for her after this draft lottery.

She and Christian walked toward the back of the room, ignoring some smirks, glances, and stares from the others. Trish slowly settled into herself, shaking off any mixed emotion she experienced, and stood proud and arrogant, turning to grin at Christian.

They sat in the back of the room, hushed for most of the night. Despite her conscience telling her everything against what her mind lingered on, she couldn't help but think. Chris wasn't in that room with them. He wasn't there because of her.

She peeked to the right of the room, eyeing Matt and Lita hugged tightly together against a wall. Before Matt jumped to Raw, he had to make sure Vince knew that their relationship was going to be strictly behind-the- scenes, so they faked a breakup on air several months back. He had surprised Lita, however. She had no idea of his plan to travel with her, on the same brand, see more of her every week, every day. It was tough having to whisper the drill to Lita in front of the crowd and millions of viewers at home. Vince trusted Matt not to spoil his program. His work was cut out for him, as he had to force Lita to hold back her glee and play along before they could rejoice backstage.

He couldn't just show up on Raw without clearing the dust between he and Lita for the fans. It all worked out well for them at that point, but the draft was just as Vince said. No one was safe, and there were no exceptions. Not even begging would do the trick for the happy couple this time.

Trish grew disgusted of Lita and Matt's snuggling, whimpering, holding each other so tight they could barely feel the actual temperature in the room around them. It made her want to vomit, how they remained to attached and devoted to one another after so long a time.

It was just the type of person Trish was. She couldn't hold one man for too long. Christian knew that. They were both in this for the same reason. Not love. Love didn't exist after what Chris did to her. Love was a word without a meaning, a long-gone hope that Trish had once had. She shook off the chills that found her, settling into Christian's strong arms.

He rested his head on hers, and his fingers gently played on her arm, his strength pulling her into him. His warmth calling her from the chilly atmosphere, and her frosty thoughts.

Nothing, nothing would ever be the same for her after this thing with Chris. She had truly loved him. She WANTED him to know that. She WANTED him to know now what he had and how it would be gone from him forever because of what he did. He was stupid. A stupid heartless bastard that never deserved her love when she willingly gave it up for him, and certainly didn't deserve it now.

She sometimes wondered what she was doing with Christian, of all people. He had been involved in the bet, too. But he didn't break her heart like Chris had, no. He didn't lead her on for so long, claiming to love her and claiming to feel things for her he never had for anyone before in his life. He didn't lead Lita on, either. When Matt came back into her life, he fell out of the picture. Unlike Chris, he hadn't hopelessly clung to something so far out of reach, claiming his feelings were real when they were nothing more than fraud.

The only thing Trish believed in now, the only thing she believed any man could give her, was sex. The intriguing thing about Christian was that he knew just how Trish felt, and he would never force her to fall in "love" with him. He would just be a man, and she would be a woman, and their physical needs would be met, without the lies and distractions of this "love".

Chris had hurt Trish like no one before him ever had. Sure, she'd been lied to, she'd been cheated, she'd been played, used, deceived. She'd had her heart ripped out once or twice. But never had she been stepped on, beaten, battered, and blown clear out of the water until Chris came along.

Nothing felt as bad as hearing that every emotion she'd owned up to as being real, every part of her inner-self she'd given in to, every bit of the girlhood fantasy she had waited so long to feel, was a bet. A god damned bet. That was all Trish was to anyone. A dumb bitch who could be bought. Some slut, some whore that men can just do as they wish with, for their own satisfaction.

She closed her eyes tightly, blocking out every voice she heard around her, just ducking her head into Christian's side. Feeling comfort in him. Physical comfort, which was all she could ever get. Inside, she was bare. She was torn. There was nothing left in her. It was about time she started realizing that there was no more than sex to hope for in men. No more than a nice fuck every now and then. Nothing else.

At least she knew that all Christian wanted from her was sex. At least he didn't try to get her to open up to him, forcing her to believe that all the sweet words he said were because he actually felt for her. Christian was the first man that directly spoke his motive to her, no strings attached, and for that, she graciously obliged to him. He deserved her body for being honest.

She knew, as much as she hated to believe it, that when Chris said he "still loved" her... it was the cruel bastard she fell in "love" with, lying to her all over again.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Chris gathered his bags and all of his belongings in his hotel room. He hadn't even planned this out before making the decision to leave. He had no place to go, no one to really turn to who wasn't in the WWE. None of them were of any help to him right now.

He fiercely fisted at his clothing, lying on piles on the floor, scattered around him, and stuffed them into his bags. He was rushing so fast to pack that he had no time to think of anything, no time to agonize, no time to sink into regret, self-loathing, pity. All emotions he had felt before, but never really grown accustomed to.

As he knelt down quickly, reaching for some crumpled piece of stationary that was peeking out just inches from under the bed, he stopped. He grabbed a corner of the crushed paper, slowly bringing it to his face and flattening out the sides of it. Just stopping for a few moments, memories suddenly haunting him and attacking him as they rushed into thought, he read through the words on the paper.

Chris,

Nothing worth reading more than once, nothing worth thinking over too much, just a short thank-you. For a few short months of my life you've made me feel unlike I've ever felt before. Something inside of me just burns when you're around, and I've never had that feeling for another man before. There have been times before that I've had to question myself being with a guy for the wrong reasons, but being with you... it's all right. I just want to say thank-you, Chris, because I don't have to ask, and I don't have to question you or myself. I... think I'm falling for you.

Trish

He folded the paper from corner to corner, bringing it to his lips, and just holding it steady there for a while. The first line... she got him with that first line. "Nothing worth reading more than once." Chris had read that note over and over, much less more than once. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her still so lightly kempt in that small paper. The scent of her that he loved, the intoxicating, feminine, beauteous smell that he was so sensitive to.

He crumpled the paper back up and stuffed it deep in the bottom of his bag, underneath all of his dirty clothes. How in the bloody hell did that note get out on to his hotel room floor? He hadn't read it in ages. God, he didn't want that lovely smell of her with him still. He zipped the bag shut, hauling it up onto his bed.

Chris leaned over the bag, resting his forehead in his palms, sighing deeply and heavily. He tried so hard to block images of her from his mind when his eyes were shut, but it was impossible. He had to force his eyes open, to the point where he could feel the blood pulsing within his skull, his eyes watering, aching to shut. He wouldn't have it, no. He blinked once, as quickly as he could manage, and wiped the moisture away that clung to his eyelashes.

That wasn't a tear for her. He swore to God Almighty it wasn't. He wasn't crying over Trish Stratus again. She put him through more hell than he knew was ever physically or emotionally possible. That woman had the deepest effect on him with the slightest move she made.

In one swift movement he unzipped his gym bag once more, digging his hand through his clothing, his fingers pawing at the bottom of the bag, searching over the fabric. When he felt the crinkle of the notepaper, he pulled it out as hard as he could, and using both his hands, tore the paper furiously into as many thin shreds as he could. Tears seeped out of the corners of his eyes in doing so, and he couldn't help anything but to just break down.

He hurled the bag over his shoulder, leaving it unzipped, the sleeves of some of his shirts hanging out over the opening. He grabbed the rest of his bags and a suitcase off of the floor, turning the knob of the door, and leaving the room. The scattered pieces of Trish's note were left like soft, thick snowflakes, gently falling from the end of the bed to the floor.

--- --- --- --- ---

Okay, so... finally have another chapter up! I'm proud of myself. Way to get back on task, Chigz! Depending on the response I get for this chapter, or the latest chapter of Souls Drawn Asunder, I'll write and post the next chapter to either one. It's really hard for me writing two fanfics at once though. I'm never doing this again. X_X Anyway, I'm extremely tired. It's 9:45am, and I haven't slept ALL night. I've been too busy writing, and reading Crimson Coin's fanfics, which, I must point out, pretty much inspired me to start writing Chris/Trish fics in the first place. So thank you, CC, if I can call you that. O_o I am all too inferior. And such a suckup, as well. *Rolls her eyes at herself*... Blah.