In A Breath

By Kyizi

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the WWE, the story is mine.

Rating: R, for violence and rape

Summary: Christian turned his back on his brother, on his career and on his company, was it really all because he was jealous of his brother's success? Or was he trying to escape from something…or someone?

Spoilers: Up to and including Vengeance.

Setting: This starts the day before Vengeance, but we will be taking a trip back in time every now and again.

Feedback: Always appreciated

E-mail: wwekyizific@hotmail.com

Yahoo! Group: KyiziFic

Notes: This idea came into my head after reading Karen U's fic, "It Only Hurts" where she gave Jericho a reason for being, well, an ass, I began to wonder if maybe Christian had a reason…

(Matt and Lita aren't dating in this one and they're both at Vengeance backstage for the purposes of this fic!)

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Part Ten

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Christian glared at the title belt that was taunting him from the corner of the room. He had ruined his brother's dream, and why? To save his own skin…again. He gulped his beer, downing it as quickly as he could and picking up another. He hated beer, it had one of the most foul tastes he'd ever experienced, but it did the job; it got him so drunk he could forget about everything for a while.

There was a rushed knock at the door and he instantly dropped the offending bottle and quickly made his way to the entrance, knocking into a table along the way. It was her, just as he'd suspected. He quickly pulled her inside and glanced around the hallway, making sure that no one had seen her there; that no one would suspect she was with him.

"What are you doing here?" he all but slurred at her.

"Christian," she frowned. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?" he asked, making his way back to the chair he had been sitting in, knowing full well what she was talking about.

"You know fine well what I mean," she said angrily, pulling the beer bottle from his hands. "This won't solve anything."

"No, but it might make me forget."

At the soft-spoken words, she frowned and sat on his lap. "I'm so sorry," she said, then laughed grimly. "Who would have thought I'd ever be commiserating about you winning a match, and the titles as well."

"Well, who would have thought I'd turn on my brother. That…" he stopped, unable to continue and she pulled him closer, feeling his tears on her neck as she cried some of her own.

She had no idea how deep his pain went, had no idea of what he had gone through, but if it was anything like the pain he had saved her from, then she couldn't believe he'd been able to keep it all inside. For her it had only happened a few times, for him, he'd been living with it for months, maybe longer. She had no idea and he wasn't talking.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, pulling away slightly. "I'm so sorry."

"Never be sorry," she said firmly. "Never be sorry for what they did to you. It was not your fault, it was them. It was all them."

He turned away from her and tears fell down her cheek. She turned his face around with her index finger and kissed the tip of his nose. A moment later she covered his mouth with her own, driving all her anger, all her sorrow and all her love into the kiss, and for a while, Christian was able to forget everything but her.

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There was a light, it shone so brightly that the room seemed never-ending; it was there and yet it wasn't; in fact, it only seemed to exist in his mind. It was the place he would go to when the world got too tough for him. It existed as a part of him, the large part of him that seemed to be taking over who he was. It engulfed the laughter, the jokes, the smiles, the friendships…even the family. Everything was the light. It wasn't a pleasant light, because if it was nice then that would mean that he deserved to have something he liked, and he didn't. His world had become harsh and cold and  so must the part of him that existed out with that.

He was aware that there were people around him; people that he loved and he was so grateful to have an autopilot to get him through these parts of his day. The parts that allowed him to see there was more to life. More to life for everyone else, that was. Not for him. He didn't deserve to have more. He deserved to rot in the light, burn in it's intensity as it increased.

He was vaguely aware of the joking, the laughing and the people. Some might have been his friends, one might even have been his brother, but that didn't matter. They dulled the light and he had to leave.

He didn't remember standing, he didn't remember moving, but he wasn't in the same place anymore, and the light was getting brighter. There were harsh voices; they surrounded him now; the voices and the fists and the clothes being torn from his body. The hands were there, so many hands, ones that left a dirty mark on his soul. They clawed at him, they toyed with him, they played with him, they hurt him and they forced him.

He thought it would get easier, thought it wouldn't happen again. But they enjoyed it, their sick perversions made him weak and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for allowing it to happen, he hated his friends and his family for living in happiness, he hated them for not seeing what was going on, but most of all, he just hated himself.

He knew he was covered in blood and bruises and the smell of sex hung in the air. It made him sick. The smells and sounds were closing in on him, the forced pain was closing in on him and no matter how he tried to distance himself, it didn't work. He was there, he was a part of this, they were forcing it on him and the light had dulled.

The light grew brightest around the people he loved, it sheltered them from this, this part of him that he knew they could never heal and never understand. But it was here that the light dulled. He tried to maintain the harshness in their presence, tried to use it to force what they were doing to him out of his mind; but it didn't work. It didn't work and that was killing him. They were killing him.

He was weak and he knew that, he was something that didn't deserve to live or breathe outside of this. He was being punished for something. He didn't know what, but it had to be bad, it had to be something that was so bad he deserved a fate worse that death, because that's what it was. A fate worse than death.

Death.

Such a simple word.

Such a simple act.

He had tried it before.

It had never worked.

But, maybe now…

Maybe…

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End Part Ten

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