Author's Note: I know I said that this story is on hold, and it probably shall remain that way after this chapter. I have posted this chapter in an attempt to lift my inspiration. Though I still do plot this story, I find it very difficult to write. I have about three more "parts" written out, before the story becomes thoroughly muddied. I am posting this to see if knowing that something new is posted will revive my inspiration.

Disclaimer: I do not own Christopher Irvine, Jason Reso, Adam Copeland, Vince McMahon, or any other person you may recognize. They are property of themselves and WWE Entertainment. Chase Hailstone is my character and as such should not be used without expressed permission. I am making no profit from this story and my purpose is for entertainment solely.

Warnings: Ages have been messed with in this chapter, as per usual in my fics, so tread if you dare. There is also some strong language, so be advised.

Blame It on the Rain

Chapter One

Broken Lie

When he repeated the question for the third time and I asked him again to repeat it, I saw the flashers going off in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked carefully, not wanting to offend me, but wanting to know the problem, all the same.

"What do you mean, am I alright? Of course I am," I replied, as conservatively as I could. "My ears are a little whacked, sorry. What did you say?"

Slowly, deliberately, he said, "I asked you when your match is."

Couldn't he go and pry in somebody else's business? "I'm in the Battle Royal," I said, annoyed. "Like everybody else in the damn company."

His eyes narrowed. "Hey, lighten up. Some people don't even get matches." He looked pointedly over at Chase Hailstone, more commonly referred to as Montezuma, who had just finished up his dark match and was looking pretty crestfallen about it. I understood-- he had jobbed to nearly everyone on the program more than once and he still wasn't going anywhere. Which wasn't too horrible, considering the fact he nearly always injured himself on the uptake. But still, the look on the poor kid's face was almost heartbroken. "Why's he here anyway?" my friend Adam Copeland asked, brow furrowing.

"I offered him," I said tersely. "Give him a break."

Adam backed up. "I'm not saying anything. Lay it on easy, Jerky. You're being pretty tense."

"Of course I'm tense!" I shouted, sending Adam back and Hailstone's head snapping around to watch. "I have a match when I asked for this week off! I'm hurt, I'm in pain, and they wouldn't give it to me! They have enough goddamned people to make up twenty people, they didn't need me! And what's more, Edge, is that I'm here for a year and I haven't gone anywhere. I chased the title for awhile, okay, and I fought with Shawn, and suddenly I'm back at midcard status! Okay, I took a step back! You're off for a year, may I remind you, and you come back and you're royalty! What the fuck is wrong with these people?"

Adam's head bobbed and his eyes widened. "I don't know, Chris," he said, trying to sound soothing, but sounding somewhere between scared and mad. "Okay, it isn't fair, but then why don't you go and talk to Stephanie? I know you like her." His eyes leapt playfully, but I felt something explode in my heart.

I jumped to my feet, blood rushing to my face, feeling my eyes twist and contort in their red sockets. He backed away another foot, holding out a steadying hand, saying, "Chris, what's the matter--"

"She doesn't like me!" I screamed at him, kicking my foot petulantly, like a child. "She doesn't have anything to do with this! She has nothing to do with this! Leave me alone!"

I escaped from the room, leaving him there, mouth agape, Hailstone looking hungrily anticipating, but Adam just staring, not knowing what had happened.

I ran down the hall, knowing that in a few minutes' time there would be a meeting to discuss the Battle Royal. Twenty people in the ring, there was chaos if there was no preparation. But who cared? Who really gave a damn? Cool air slid across my cheeks, but I didn't stop when I reached the parking lot. My feet kept moving, and I kept following, but I didn't feel my shoes smacking the pavement, or my heart beating rapidly, or the fact that I half sobbing as I ran. All I could feel and decipher was the pain I felt smashing against the inside of my heart, clawing at the layer of my chest.

He doesn't know, a voice said softly besides the screaming in my head. He doesn't know what happened. He hasn't been here. He hasn't been here for a year, he doesn't know what's gone on behind the curtain.

It doesn't matter, it hurts. My God, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. I can't stop it, I can't stop it, nothing stops it, I can't stop IT.

Suddenly I became aware of where I was.

Racing down the pavement, barreling along the bleakly lit parking lot for the public, having the people who hadn't made it into the show staring at me strangely, wondering, wondering, was I drunk, was I crazy, was I crazy, was I crazy?

Was I crazy?

I slowed, feeling pain in my chest, my heart banging against my rib cage, beating a violent impression into my bones. I leaned over, sagging, next to the narrow, grainy, bushy strip separating a parking space from another. Sick, sick, I was sick, and I leaned over and vomited into the bushes, gagging, unable to help it, unable to stop it.

My heart thudded painfully and I stood up, gasping, breathing hard. I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt and leaned against the parked car to my back, pain tearing at my head. Trembling, I tried to calm my breathing. I felt feverish and sick, but it had to be only a side effect of what I felt right now. I wasn't sick, I just felt it. Still shaking, I tried to focus my eyes around. I was far from the back entrance of the arena, having pushed through the double doors into our parking lot to the outside. I was shrouded in darkness, the lights from the arena glittering brightly a distance away.

I leaned my head down, vainly attempting to get control of my mind. Why had I run? So Adam had upset me, so everything upset me nowadays. Everything upset me; everything upset me with that damn woman and the damn thing that kept me from sleeping. I gripped my hair. The thing, that damn nameless, faceless thing that haunted me. It couldn't be real, just couldn't be. It was a figment of my imagination, a nightmare that followed me into the day. It couldn't be real.

Still breathing hard, I started to make my way back to the arena. I couldn't blame anything on Adam. It wasn't Adam's fault he didn't know; it was my fault for being so upset and pathetic. I knew things, I knew what I could have and what I couldn't have. It wasn't Adam's fault, it wasn't his fault, and I'd just have to apologize to him. He was probably already discussing it with somebody else, maybe Montezuma, but he'd probably seek out Jay, like he always did. Jay, who on TV I tried to tear apart, was my best friend. He knew me.

He knew my attacks. He knew there was something wrong with me; hell, everyone knew there was something wrong with me. Everyone knew it and nobody said a thing. Well, when Adam brought it up, I'm sure there would be questions, but who knew? No more. No more. Tonight was it. Tonight was definitely it, especially after this. Yes, tonight was it. It.

I stared into the darkness.

THERE!

Fire flashed feet away from me, flames sizzling angrily, and there, hovering, was the face.

I fell back, slamming against the pavement, staring up at the hovering face.

The hair curled around its frame, tendils of orange and yellow glowing fire, framing the sneering, jeering eyes and mouth, laughing at me, laughing like it always did, in all its terror, in everything--

I shut my eyes.

This is not real, this is not real! You're awake, you know it's not real! You know it can't be real!

I heard myself start to whimper involuntarily.

It's real, said the slithery voice in the back of my head. You know it's real. You know you're crazy, you know you're insane, you know this will haunt you until the day you die. You know what it wants. You know what it wants.

"I don't," I said, aloud, still cowering on the ground, eyes firmly closed. "It's nothing. I'm not crazy, I'm tired. I'm tired. I haven't slept for days."

I opened my eyes.

The face was gone.

Hardly daring to breathe, I jumped to my feet, clutching my shoulders. No, it was gone, truly gone. Almost falling again in relief, I stumbled a few steps forward. Oh Lord, what was happening to me? I never saw the thing during daylight hours. I never saw it during the daytime. Tonight had been the first time I had been truly frightened. I became upset more than once, but I had never run out, had I? First my tantrum, and now the face, now the hideous, haunting, terrifying face of flame.

I'm not crazy. I can't be crazy. I need sleep.

The face I saw in my dreams had come into my reality. I needed sleep. I needed sleep, I needed my pills, I needed my knife and my time off. Tonight, tonight was my last night. I could end it tonight; tomorrow I could sleep. Tomorrow I could apologize to Adam and tomorrow I could wonder if I was really going crazy, I could wonder if the voices I heard in my head in the daylight were real voices, or if I was crazy.

Tomorrow I could begin a life without her, a sad, lonely, depressing life that until now had been medicated with my pills and my sleeplessness. I could ponder this tomorrow. I could forget her tonight-- forget her tonight.

Panting, I walked back to the arena, still, in my mind seeing the flashing fire and the laughing, daring face.

And her face, as well.