Disclaimer: Nothing that I have written belongs to me. The characters are all property of the WWE.

I don't know about this story anymore; I love writing, I think I'd go crazy if I wasn't able to write, but when I first started this, I had a long story in mind, and now I think the desire to write this particular story has kinda fizzled out. As you can tell by the long time it took to get this chap out. But the last thing I'll do is leave it on some random chap. I don't think anyone deserves to be left on a permanent cliffhanger. It took a while, but I really hope every1 enjoys this chap :)

"Stop looking at me like that."

The small diva shook her head, sighing heavily. She looked around at the empty diner, only to see that the waitress who was supposed to be getting their food was standing outside smoking.

So much for good service, she thought wryly. As much as she tried to keep her eyes off the pretty blond seated across from her, her gaze was seemingly dragged back to her once again.

"Trish! Would you stop looking at me like that?"

Stacy Keibler's lips twisted into a slight scowl as she rested her elbows on the table and traced small circles on the dull gray design. She kept her eyes cast downward, as she pretended to be absorbed in what she was doing. Lately, she hadn't been able to look anyone in the eye and it was annoying the hell out of her. She dared a quick peek up at Trish, who had the same sad expression she had been wearing ever since they had sat down.

"Damn it Trish." She knew what was coming.

"Stace, there's something wrong with you."

Stacy cringed at the simple declaration. Of course there was something wrong with her. She had agreed to become a sex object to the biggest jerk in thewrestling business.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said instead.

Trish rolled her eyes at the blatant lie. She had known Stacy for years. She had been with her through the whole Test and Scott fiasco, where she would stay up for hours listening to Stacy cry. She had been with her through her parent's divorce, where Stacy would lash out at anyone who tried to talk to her. But there was something going on now and she was hurt that Stacy wasn't telling her.

"You're lying."

Stacy craned her neck to look for the waitress.

"Don't bother. She's outside smoking and she's not gonna save you."

"I don't need anyone to save me," grumbled Stacy, slumping down in her seat like a small child. She clasped her hands together as she looked over Trish's shoulder at the polished jukebox. "Do you want some music?" she asked suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up from the booth.

Trish shook her head, frustrated. This was getting out of hand. She didn't want to force Stacy to say something she wasn't ready to, but she couldn't stand looking at her like this.

Sounds of Johnny Cash's "Hurt" began playing only adding to the gloom of the place. The whitewashed diner hardly seemed like an appealing option for Trish, but she wanted to guarantee privacy and this was the only place she could find. Trish sighed as Stacy sank down into the seat once again.

"Does this have something to do with Greg?"

Stacy met Trish's eyes as she bit her lip. Greg was barely even part of the picture anymore. The last few days, he had eluded her, and she couldn't say she was too eager to run into him.

"He told me he liked me as more than a friend."

Trish's eyes widened. "When?"

"A couple of days ago. He told me the day we had that match against the Heart Throbs."

"So this is why you've been acting weird?" Trish asked.

Stacy frowned. "I haven't been acting weird Trish. I've just been feeling like crap because I can't return his feelings."

Trish nodded sympathetically. "I understand. But you have togive him time to get over it. After a while, things will be the same."

Stacy scoffed at her friend's advice. "Don't be stupid Trish; you of all people should know how long it takes to get over someone. At least I didn't sleep with him."

Trish's mouth dropped at Stacy cold words.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

Stacy waved her hand as if swatting away a pesky fly. "I'm not the one who dwells on the past. Get over him Trish, he probably did worse things."

Like me, thought Stacy bitterly. Deep down, she knew the only reason she was acting so coldly was because Trish was free. Randy might have tossed her aside after the first time, but she was the one who had to put up with him. She was the one who had to get up in the middle of the night because Randy called her for a late night sack session. And she was the one who would be called a slut for sleeping with him, not poor little Trish.

"I'm sorry for having feelings, Stacy," said Trish. She looked at the frayed edges of the seat, her vision blurring.

Stacy stared at her best friend. She hadn't meant to hurt her. She knew Trish always took everything to heart. But she was hesitant to apologize. Wasn't she stating the truth? If Trish would just get over her damn self and move on with her life, Stacy would be able to confide in her once again.

If Trish would just get over herself, Stacy realized, she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. She glared at Trish as it dawned on her that the petite blonde across from her was the reason she was being forced to be Randy's sex toy.

"Stop crying Trish," she said sardonically. Any trace of sympathy was erased from the face of the taller diva. She didn't want to deal with her anymore. She didn't want to deal with anything. She reached for her purse, ignoring the puzzled look she was receiving from a tearful Trish.

"I'm gonna walk back to the hotel," she stated flatly. She stood up slowly and looked around the diner, a bored expression on her face. "Next time you decide you wanna talk, try not to make it all about you."

Trish's mouth dropped a second time. When had Stacy ever acted like this? She was one of the warmest, most caring person Trish had ever met. And now…

Trish let her head fall on the table as she gave up. The person who had just left was not Stacy. Her best friend would never say such hurtful words to her. But what had happened? Was Greg really the reason she was acting like this?

Trish wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Maybe Stacy was right, maybe she was too emotional. A fresh wave of sadness came over her at the thought. She couldn't help how deeply she felt. Stacy had always understood that.

She glanced up as a shadow came over the table.

"What did you order again?" asked the waitress, now chewing loudly on a piece of bright green gum.

Trish rolled her eyes as she began to gather her things.

"Never mind, I'm not that hungry anymore."

(X X X)

Christy Hemme tapped her fingers impatiently on the clothed table. Glancing at her watch for the umpteenth time, she let out an angry breath. Where the hell was he? She looked around as she debated on whether or not to leave. She was about to get up to go back to her hotel room, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Sorry I'm late."

A frown marred the face of the redheaded diva as she leaned back in her seat once again. She crossed her arms across her chest as she watched him settle into the seat, oblivious of her displeasure.

"You're late," she said bluntly. She looked away as he sent an apologetic smile in her direction.

"Yea, sorry bout that," he said, brushing his shoe against her bare leg. Christy glared as she gave him a hard kick to the shin.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"My foot slipped."

"Never heard of a foot slippin so hard," she heard him grumble under his breath.

"So why are you late?"

John Cena licked his lips as he debated on whether or not to tell her the truth. "Well, ah, see Torrie was kinda cryin, and I, uh, ya know," he trailed off.

Christy held back a scream threatening to erupt. "Is her mom feeling any better?" she asked instead.

John shrugged as he took a roll and proceeded to spread butter on it. "She hasn't really said nothin about it."

Christy raised her eyebrows in question. That was strange. Shouldn't she be spilling everything to John if she needed him so bad?

"So how you been?" Christy shrugged in return as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Ok, I guess."

John looked up to find her staring absently at her hands. He reached over the table to grasp them and tightened his hold when she attempted to pull away. Softly stroking her small knuckles, he puller her towards him until finally, she met his gaze.

"What's up?"

Christy shook her head fervently. "Nothing," she replied in a small voice.

"C'mon babe, tell me what's wrong," encouraged John softly.

Christy swallowed hard as she finally managed to free her hands from his intoxicating caress. What was she supposed to say? If she told him that watching him be with Torrie was about to make her crazy, then he would just get angry.

"It's just hard," she said finally. She chewed her lip as she saw him rake a hand through his short hair.

"Well, it's not no bed of roses for me either," he sighed.

Christy scoffed at his response. Putting her hands on the table once again, she leaned forward to look him straight in the eye. "What's so hard about it John? You have a girl to sleep with and a girl on the side just waiting. Oh yea, I feel real sorry for you," she said sarcastically.

John bit his tongue as he felt a surge of anger course through his body. He didn't want to start screaming at her in the middle of the hotel restaurant where anyone could walk in.

"You think it's easy for me to keep resisting my own girlfriend because I have someone waiting for me?"

Christy clenched her fists as she stared at him angrily. Her nails dug painfully into her palms, but she ignored it as she spoke again.

"So just fuck her already," she said through gritted teeth.

"Why the hell would I go and do something stupid like that?" shot back John. His eyes shone with unexpressed emotion. He felt like shooting up out of his seat and shaking some sense into her, but he held back. He was doing all this for her, and she didn't even appreciate his efforts.

Christy fell silent. What else could she say? There was no winning in her situation. She was supposed to wait patiently and pretend it didn't hurt her every time she saw Torrie with him. Anything else and she would be selfish. Torrie needed him; Christy only wanted him.

"I'm sorry," she started quietly. "I know you-"

"John! There you are baby!"

Her words sticking in her throat as she placed a face with that voice, Christy glanced up to see Torrie Wilson walking over to their table. She wore a bright smile as she reached down and gave John a kiss. Christy's stomach dropped as she looked away.

"Hey babe, I thought you were gonna stay up in your room?" John said nervously, wiping his lips. He scooted over to make room for her to sit down. She pressed against him as she interlaced her fingers through his and brought both their hands up to the top, making sure to place them right in the middle.

Christy cleared her throat uncomfortably as she felt her face flush with embarrassment.

"I think I'm gonna go."

"Don't go, Christy. If I would have known John was gonna meet you here, I would have come down earlier." Torrie sent Christy a smirk as she reached over and ran her fingers lightly down John's bicep.

Christy shook her head, forcing a smile. "Thanks for the invite, but I planned on dining alone anyways." She took note of the hurt look on John's face, but ignored it. She looked back one last time to say her goodbyes, but finding Torrie stroking John's chin, she quickened her pace instead.

Almost out of the doorway, she felt someone holding her back.

"I didn't know she was gonna come down."

Christy nodded as she pushed John's hand away.

"Go back to her John, she needs you more than I do." Unable to keep the emotion out of her voice, she gave him an angry glare.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" asked John. His voice was steeled with impatience as he glanced back at Torrie who was looking in their direction.

"Nothing! Just go back to her and leave me alone." She ignored his pleading eyes as she made her way once more to the exit.

John stood rooted to the spot as he watched her walk away. He looked over his shoulder to see Torrie waving for him to come join her. Sighing, he turned to walk back to her.

Christy stopped short as she almost collided with someone.

"You okay there?"

Raising her eyes, she found herself looking at the face of the self proclaimed 'wrestling God.'

"I'm fine," she said shortly. She tried to push past him but he gripped her elbow, causing her to turn around.

"Is that Cena boy bothering you?" he asked a sour expression as he mentioned John's name.

"No…" replied Christy softly, her eyes darting to where John was sitting. She saw him looking at her with a 'what the hell?' look on his face.

"You sure? That boy doesn't know how to behave around people, especially ladies like yourself."

Christy gave a small smile. It had been a long time since she had been called a lady.

"He's just really insistent," said Christy smiling. The big man gave a bitter laugh as he shook his head

"He's more than insistent, that boy is downright pigheaded." He glared over at the direction of the happy couple and gave a snort. "He's so into that girlfriend of his, he forgot how to be a man."

Christy smiled at the older mans insult. Looking back once again, her breath stopped short as she saw Torrie reach across the table and plant another kiss on John's lips.

"He is a jackass," muttered Christy quietly.

"I tell ya, those two need to be taught a lesson. I hear that Torrie girl is giving you divas a hard time backstage. Is that true?" he inquired.

Christy shrugged, forcing herself to keep her back turned. She could almost feel John's eyes boring into her.

"I guess she is a bitch," she agreed.

"Well, then it looks like we have something in common," said JBL, a trace of delight in his voice. "And I think I know a way we can put them both in their place."

Christy's ears perked up in interest. She had heard that JBL was an attention-hogging wrestler who would do just about anything to keep the spotlight on him.

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

JBL gave her a toothy grin as he lowered his head to whisper his plan.

"Well, I believe me and you could make a pretty good team. I'm sure Teddy will give his best wrestler and his prettiest diva a match against those two."

"You mean an intergender match?" asked Christy doubtfully.

JBL nodded his head. "Yes, I can ask him for one. I've been trying to get my hands on that punk kid for a while now. And you can have a couple of swings at his little girlfriend." He offered her his arm as he waited for her answer.

Christy bit her lip as she thought about his proposal. Looking over her shoulder once again, she saw John looking like he was on the verge of exploding. Christy knew John despised JBL. She could only imagine what he must be thinking as he saw her talk to him.

Turning back to JBL with a smile on her face, Christy looped her arm through his.

"I'm in."

(X X X)

"Eww, you're sick?"

The young superstar shut his eyes in an attempt to keep his voice low.

"Would you like me to throw up so I can prove it?"

Candice Michelle gave a disappointed sigh as she leaned against the doorframe.

"So does this mean we cant do anything?"

Randy grabbed the blankets around him in fistfuls in annoyance. His throat was already feeling scratchy and he didn't want to make it worse.

"I'm not in the mood, don't you get it? Get out and find some other guy to fuck." He fell back against the cool pillows as she shrugged her shoulders, undaunted by his insult.

"Fine. Call me when you're feeling better." She turned away and a few seconds later, Randy heard the door closed. He gave a loud groan as he grabbed his forehead with both hands. His head was killing him. He tried to settle in comfortably in between the sheets, but the restlessness soon got him out of bed. He dragged his feet as he made his way out of the bedroom, not particularly having a destination.

He ended up in the kitchen and almost collapsed on the chair. He rolled his shoulder as he uttered a loud string of curses. Lord he hated being sick. His whole body ached and his head felt like it was being hit again and again with a hammer.

He rose his head groggily as he heard a soft knock. Not sure if he was just hearing things, he stayed put. Another soft knock got him slowly to his feet as he made his way to the door, muttering about people not leaving him alone.

"What?" he growled, as he swung open the door.

Stacy Keibler frowned right back at him as she raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you?"

Randy moved aside to let her come in. "I'm sick."

Stacy giggled as he continued to glare at her.

"What did I tell you about doing it in freezing temperature, genius?"

"I don't wanna hear any I told you so's," grumbled Randy as he fell back on the couch cushions. He made a pained face as his muscles suddenly tensed.

"What hurts?" asked Stacy, a note of concern in her voice.

"Everything," mumbled Randy. He closed his eyes as he attempted to block out the incessant banging of his head.

Stacy's look grew worried as she studied the man before her. He didn't look like a womanizing jackass at the moment. He looked like a little kid who didn't know anything about taking care of himself.

"Do you want me to get you some food?" She closed her mouth quickly as soon as she heard herself say that. Why should she even care? If he was sick, it only meant good things for her.

"I don't need anyone to help me," said Randy, not opening his eyes.

Stacy rolled her eyes. "You look like you need help."

"Well I don't," snapped Randy. He winced as his head suddenly started to throb harder.

"Oh really? What medicine have you taken so far?" She shook her head as Randy kept quiet. "I know you're stubborn, but you have to admit when you need help." Digging through her purse, she held up a bottle of aspirin and popped two pills out.

"I don't want any girl pills," complained Randy. He was stopped short as a sudden fit of coughs overtook him.

Stacy bit her lip softly as she watched him. Deciding to ignore her better judgment, she resolved to stay with him at least until he fell asleep. He would probably die if she left him to take care of himself.

Striding into the kitchen, she retrieved a glass of water and made her way to where he was sitting.

"Take these," she ordered, as she tried to put the pills in his mouth. He pursed his lips and moved his head away stubbornly.

"I'm not a little kid," he said snatching the pills from her. He attempted to do the same to the glass of water, but it ended up on his shirt.

Stacy held back a laugh as he groaned. He glared at her and drank what remained of the water. "I don't think wearing cold water is going to do you any good."

"Ya think?" he sneered. He gripped the hem of his shirt as he pulled it over his head. He tried to keep a stoic face in the midst of all this, but the movement made his whole body ache.

Stacy caught herself staring at his physique. He had a great body. She, as well as everyone who knew him, could agree on that. Scolding herself that she could even think about him this way after the way he treated her, she looked away quickly unable to stop the small blush.

"I don't like having company when I feel like crap, so would you mind getting out?"

Stacy placed her hands on her hips as she shook her head, reprovingly. "So you expect to get all better by moping around doing nothing?"

"I'm not moping," mumbled Randy. He attempted to block out her presence, but a few seconds later, he felt her tug at his arm.

"You cant lay around in nothing but shorts. You have to go to bed where you'll be warm."

He shook his hand out of her grasp easily and sat up. "What if I don't wanna go to bed? Who told you I needed to be taken care of anyways? Just leave already," he snapped.

A hurt look flitted across the leggy blondes face, but she regained her composure quickly. She took a hold of his hand again and twisted his finger as she pulled for him to get up.

"Ow! I'm already sick and now I have a broken finger!" he exclaimed, shooting up and flinging her hand aside.

Stacy smirked. "It got you off the couch didn't it?"

Randy rubbed his sore finger as a sudden twinkle came into his eyes. "Give me a massage."

Stacy's smile disappeared faster then the words had come out of his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You don't wanna leave because you want some action, I get that. But since I cant really do you right now, a massage is the next best thing."

Stacy fumed at his cocky observation. So she wanted to stay because she wanted sex, was that what he thought?

"Don't flatter yourself, Randy. I'm only here because I feel sorry for your stupid ass. This is what you get for having the bright idea of fucking in the middle of an open road while its snowing."

Randy's eyes clouded in anger, but he reigned in his temper. He wasn't about to yell at her when every word he spoke felt like sandpaper against his throat. "Just get something to rub on me." He walked a few steps to the bedroom, but turned back when she didn't follow him. "Lets go, you're the one who wants to play nurse."

Stacy eyes narrowed as she stared at his receding back. What if she just left right now? What if she just turned around and left him lying on the bed waiting for her?

"Move your ass babe!" Stacy gritted her teeth as she dragged her feet into the bedroom where he was already lying on his stomach. His head was resting atop his folded hands as he stared at her. Stacy looked around the room for a sign of oil as she forced herself to stop feeling like he was undressing her with his eyes. He was just a guy. A sick guy at that. There was no reason for her to feel scared of him.

"I think I put some oil in the bathroom next to the sink," he drawled lazily. Reaching the bathroom, a bright red bottle caught her eye at once.

Me So Horny Massage Oil

"Classy," she muttered distastefully under her breath. She popped open the cap and took a whiff. The distinct scent of sandalwood invaded her lungs as she closed her eyes. She let her lips part as the invigorating smell continued to weave its spell on her. But she was brought back to reality quickly.

"Would you hurry up?"

Snapping out of her reverie, Stacy hastily shut the top back in place and walked tentatively into the room.

"Turn the lights down."

Stacy obliged, moving as slowly as she could.

"What are you waiting for? You wanna make me feel better, don't you?" Randy's deep voice resounded through the dim room as Stacy kneeled on the bed. Once again, she opened the top only to have the alluring smell penetrate her senses.

"What's in this?" she murmured, carefully placing a dollop of honey colored oil into her palm.

"Patchouli, ylang-ylang, and sandalwood. Stuff that invigorates and exhilarates you," answered Randy, his voice muffled by the thick blanket.

Stacy nodded to no one in particular. She continued to rub the oil in between her hands, warming it up. She looked down at the man in front of her. He was big. His body spanned the whole bed, even with his knees bent. His back rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his breathing. Stacy would have thought he was asleep except for the fact that he turned his head around and gave her an annoyed look.

"Are you gonna stare at me all night?"

Stacy took a deep breath as she finally set her hands on his back. Scooting closer to his side, she began to spread the oil across him as evenly as possible. She was stopped as he reached behind and grabbed her hand.

"Nuh-uh babe. No good massage comes from the side. Get on top."

Stacy hesitated at his request. The only time she had ever been that close to Randy was when they were having sex. And that hadn't turned out so great.

Placing her knees at either side of his hips, Stacy attempted to limit the contact between them. After finding out that she would probably end up sore from staying in that position, she gradually let herself settle down against his butt. He groaned in approval as she reached up in order to rub his shoulders. Stacy couldn't help the crimson that arose in her cheeks.

Instead, she focused on the tattoo across his back. Inadvertently, she traced the pattern with her oil-slicked hands. A gloss appeared on the body art and it shined brilliantly. Focusing on the swirls and curves of the ink, she lost herself, unaware of his response to her gentle caress.

Randy held back another moan as he felt her weight shift. What was it that made it seem like every movement was ten times more erotic? The low lighting and the intoxicating smell had something to do with it obviously, but the way her small hands were running across his back made him forget all about the aching in his shoulders. And it started a different aching somewhere else.

Randy bit his lip softly as she pressed harder against him when she reached up to massage his shoulder blades. He buried his head further into the bed as he concentrated on keeping the growls inside. He didn't want her to know he was enjoying it this much.

Stacy sighed as she continued to smooth her hands over his back. He seemed so harmless. Who would have thought the man lying so peacefully underneath her could make her feel so ashamed? She had just been with Trish a few hours ago, and here she was now. It didn't seem right, but if she wanted to prevent Trish from getting hurt further, she would just have to keep quiet and do what he said. Maybe one day he would get bored and leave her alone. As much as she hated to acknowledge that she was referring to herself as an object, she also hated being under his complete control.

Randy's breathing became ragged as she continued. Damn it, this wasn't relaxing him at all. On the contrary, it was stirring him up and making him unbearably stimulated. And he couldn't blame it all on the oil. How the hell was he supposed to know it would feel this good?

Stacy's eyes glazed as she drifted into her own little world. She hardly noticed what she was doing. She had taken massage classes a long time ago because Test had made her. That had been one of the few things she had willingly done for him. Every time before a match, she could be found giving him a massage while he complained about her, the business, his figure, and everything else. Stacy had learned to turn a deaf ear to his chatter, and he was usually so involved in what he was saying he didn't even notice.

The same was happening now. How many times had Stacy sworn she wouldn't let herself be used and abused? But she had fallen, once again, into the wrong arms. As much as she hated to admit it, Randy had the possibility of being another Scott and Test. She finally brought her gaze down to the man under her as she noticed that he seemed to be squirming.

Randy forced himself to keep his head buried in the covers, but his body had other plans. There was no fatigue in him now, and the only thing that throbbed was lying between his thighs.

"Are you feeling restless?"

Randy nearly groaned at her question. She had no idea. He was surprised he wasn't lifting himself off the bed with the major erection she was giving him.

"I'm fine," he managed to growl out. He motioned for her to go on and ground his teeth so hard he thought he would explode.

Stacy shrugged and continued to stroke his back. She gave a small smile when she heard him moan. Looked like she hadn't lost her touch, she thought proudly. Reaching for the bottle of oil next to his head, she was startled by his sudden grip on her hand.

"I think its time we switched positions," he muttered.

Stacy's eyes widened as he settled comfortably on his back. She could feel him. All of him, pressed against her thighs. She looked away at the window, embarrassed.

"Maybe we should stop," she murmured, trying hard not to let him see her blush.

Randy nearly laughed. There was no way in hell he was going to stop this.

"I'm the one who calls the shots around here babe. My back is all good, but I think I need some work in the front."

Stacy shook her head and began to pull back but he grabbed her arm. "I said get to work," he said, his voice edged with impatience. Stacy bit her lip as she looked at his half-lidded gaze. He seemed calm enough. If it hadn't been for the obvious sign of arousal, Stacy would have thought he was getting ready to fall asleep.

Attempting to block out the hardness that was pressing right against her thighs, she opened the top and squeezed more oil into her hands. She cleared her throat nervously as she felt his eyes looking her over. This had been much easier when he had been on his stomach. Finally, she put her fingers tentatively to his chest. His muscles immediately jumped at her light touch, making Stacy blush even more.

Randy clenched his jaw as her hands continued their massage. Whether she knew it or not, Stacy was making him hotter. When her hands finally slid their way to his abs, he was ready to take her, regardless of his state of health.

Stacy gasped when Randy brought his hands to her hips. She withdrew her hands and was about to tell him they should stop when he spoke.

"Shhh, just keep doing what you're doing," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers worked their way to her butt and rested there.

Stacy twisted herself angrily out of his grasp and pushed herself off the bed.

"I don't wanna do this anymore."

Randy's eyes snapped open. "Nobody's asking you, Stacy. I told you exactly what I wanted and you agreed."

Stacy shook her head, exasperated. This was too much. Sick people weren't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to let her take care of him and fall asleep. But that hadn't happened. As always, Randy was in charge and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Just let me go for tonight," she said finally. Her eyes pleaded with him to comply but she refused to beg.

Randy chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

Stacy's eyes clouded in anger. "Why are you such an asshole?" she blurted out furiously. Couldn't he see how much she hated him? How much she wanted to get away?

"I've always acted like this babe. And I've gotten everything I've ever wanted, why should I stop now?" He smirked as he saw her throw her arms up and roll her eyes. Girls always looked better when they were mad. And Stacy was no exception with her heaving chest and pouty lips.

Stacy swallowed hard as she forced down a scream working its way up her throat. Her mother had always taught her there was good in every person. But he had to be the exception. Stacy looked over the young man sprawled lazily on the bed, attempting to keep her voice steady.

"I don't understand you," she whispered quietly.

Randy's smirk disappeared as he caught her eyes shining in the soft light. Good Lord was she crying?

"Don't cry," he said. It came out harsher than he had intended and he forced himself to maintain a nonchalant expression as he saw a solitary tear work its way down her cheek.

"Just let me go Randy. Stop being so selfish and let me go," Stacy said, her voice reverberating with passion. If she was in here a second longer, she would explode. She wiped angrily at her tears and took a deep breath. "I cant believe you get pleasure out of this, I really cant. I mean I thought everyone had a little good in them. But apparently that doesn't apply to you. Nothing applies to you does it?" her voice raised in sarcasm as she continued.

"You think just because your daddy's a hall of famer you have some sort of right to act like you're better than everyone. Do you know what people say about you? The ones that aren't busy sucking your dick that is. They all think you're the worst piece of shit they've ever laid eyes on. After all you did to the girls and you still manage to walk around with your nose in the air. I never really thought I could hate a person. Until I met you."

Her last words hung in the air heavily. Silence filled the room, making Stacy struggle not to run towards the door. She wished he would say something; this was worse than anything he could have yelled at her. She forced herself to look into his eyes. She almost cringed as his eyes bore into hers, with a fury she had never seen before. If looks could kill… Stacy held her breath as he opened his mouth.

"Get out."