Chapter Four

Boston: Part Three

Peyton leaned against the wall backstage, her sights set on the curtain leading down to the ring. For tonight she would have to fake a smile, grit her teeth, and bare it. The audience had always seen Peyton at Randy's side, no matter what despicable thing he was told to do. That's the only reason so would go down to the ring; the audience loved her. And hated him. It was an odd pairing, to say the least. The people liked how she "attempted" to hold him back, how she seemed to hate him after everything he did. But she would still be onscreen with him the next week, happy and giggley. Just like a girl in love.

Now, standing by herself, Peyton wrapped her arms around herself to add some comfort to the fact that her smiles with him would no longer be genuine. As much as she didn't want to, Peyton still loved him. Part of her always would. That same part would miss him fiercely after the two parted way on Monday nights. Their careers couldn't be entangled forever, could they?

They balanced each other out. On air, Randy was an arrogant, cocky, ego-driven son-of-a-bitch and she was the one to try to hold him back. She was the one who made him seem even remotely human. In real life, she was the crazy one - always wanting more adventure and excitement - and he would ground her. While Peyton would go to bars and clubs, Randy would go to places like cigar lounges and other things. It made him seem sophisticated, in a sense, which made her seem just as sophisticated. Overall, he made her elegant. He was always there to catch her if she stumbled, which made her seem graceful.

She was beginning to wonder if she could find that with anyone else.

Peyton shivered, even though the heat from the lights in the arena was blazing through the curtain. This was the absolute worst feeling she had ever experienced. Her heart was broken - more like shattered - and she had no idea what was in store for her now.

She could feel Randy's white-hot stare burning a hole through her heart, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Baby?" His voice cooed.

Tears welled in her eyes as Peyton tried to force all emotion out the proverbial window. She held them back. "Don't call me that." The name she had called him was drowned out by the cheering of the fans.

"Peyton. . . can't we at least talk?"

Randy's music began to play and Peyton started to push past him to walk out onto the stage. "I have nothing to say to you."

Randy stepped in front of her, "Then you don't have to talk. Just listen."

"Now isn't the perfect time, Randy." She had intentionally said his name with malice. Randy's music started on it's second cycle as the crowd grew quiet. The lack of appearance was enough to confound the mixture of cheers and boos.

"Dinner, then. After the show? At the hotel restaurant. You can show up or you can't, but at least I'd know that I made an honest attempt to give you closure. It would at least make me feel better."

The tears Peyton was fighting to push back fell back with ease. How dare he! she reprimanded in her head, fuck it if it makes HIM feel better! Randy disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Peyton standing in a huff. A hand reached out to her and his ego-driven persona was accompanied by a womanizing one when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the ramp.

By the end of the match, Peyton had purple bruises around the base of her right hand and her shoulder socket felt loose.

- - - - - -

Randy could feel himself letting go. He wasn't sleeping, he hadn't been eating, and all he could do was exercise. In the morning he would go jogging, in the afternoon he would hit the gym, and in the evening he would do a modest workout at home. It seemed to him that the more he sweat, the more in control he felt. But he wasn't, and he knew it.

It was a little after one in the morning and Peyton had yet to show up. He was beginning to think that she wouldn't come at all, not even to say she had, and that was making him mad. Randy picked his fork up and started stabbing at the steak on his plate, making small holes all around the middle. He continued taking his rage out on the dead - and cooked to perfection - cow in front of him until Peyton slumped in the seat across from him.

"I thought you weren't going to show." He sighed, replacing his fork next to his spoon.

She rolled her eyes at him, while pulling the sleeves of her shirt down around her fingers to hide the black and blue marks. "I almost wasn't going to."

"Do you want something to eat?"

She scowled at him, fear and hatred raging through her veins. Then her eyes reverted back to the way she had entered, scanning the big red doors for something. "No. I have other plans." No she didn't.

"You do?"

"Yes." Another lie.

"I'm dead to you, aren't I?" The question was filled with self pity, and Peyton hated that he was searching for it. She wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

"Not quite yet. You're talking to me, aren't you?"

Randy grabbed his wine glass with a firm grip. She was going to make a scene again, make him look like the bad guy again, and he refused to look like the fool. "Dammit, Peyton. Those snippy little comments aren't helping," he whispered in a hollow voice, "If you'd just shut up and listen then I could explain myself."

Peyton, infuriated, stood from her chair and ran a shaking hand through her hair. He had never talked to her like before. Never. Not even when they fought. Not even that week he had to "pretend" to hate her for the show. She mustered her courage and said, in a really calm voice, "I don't want anything from you, Randy. That's your problem. You can't just seem to leave me the hell alone."

"I'm trying to save our relationship here!" Everyone was staring at him and his yelling, making him look like the fool once again. "Jesus!"

"Are my 'snippy little comments' making you feel guilty? Aw, poor baby." Now she was just antagonizing him to see how far she could push his buttons. As much as she hated to admit it, Peyton was a bitch sometimes. Especially when she has been wronged in some way. "Deal with it! Imagine having to endure the heartbreak that I've had to try to get through! She wasn't your best friend, Randy. She was mine. M-I-N-E. Mine. Now I'm not only down one lying, cheating, scum fiancé, I'm down a best friend. And I hate you for that. But mostly I hate you because part of me can't seem to let you go and you're not helping that!"

"So, what now?!" If everyone wasn't staring before, they sure would be now.

"... and now you're dead." Peyton slammed her chair back into the table and walked towards the door, finally spotting who she had been looking for. John Cena. Looking back over her shoulder, she left him with some lasting words, "What don't you go fuck yourself, Randy. Better yet, get Mickie to do it for you."

Randy slammed his fist on the table, shattering the plate beneath it. He saw John leave with her just before he looked towards the droplets of blood trickling down his knuckles.

- - - - - - - - -

"You couldn't have come at a better time," Peyton sighed, letting John open the passenger side door for her then close it. When he reappeared behind the steering wheel, she continued, "things were getting pretty out of hand."

"I could hear." John wanted to smile, but the pain on Peyton's face made him thing otherwise. She was even shaking a little bit. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Thanks for picking me up. I knew things would get crazy and I didn't want to drive home all hysterical."

"It's no big deal."

"But it is. I would have asked one of my friends, but I didn't want to listen to their advice anymore. I love them to death, but..."

"No, I get it. You don't want to focus on the whole 'break up' thing. It's cool. I don't need any explanations." John took a single second to glance off of the road and look at her. She was smiling, which made him smile.

"Exactly."

"Okay, then... so how about this weather? Huh?" He had managed to make her laugh. To him, it was a sign that she was going to be alright on her own. At least for a while.

- - - - - - -

WARNING: somewhat a sex scene. if that offends, skip this part!

Mickie sank into the hot bath water, her head physically hurting. Trish and Torrie had been pleasant, but were giving her the dirtiest looked. Candice had just completely snubbed her. And Peyton... she didn't even want to think about what Peyton might do.

She had been thinking about her blackout, and remembered something she had read. Some psychiatrists say that people tend to block out things they don't want to remember. Something like this was just the thing that Mickie wouldn't want to remember.

The truth was, Mickie could remember.

Some of it, anyways. She could remember just how she noticed Randy looking at her at Actavica. It was a side long glance, smiling as he tilted a glass towards her. Peyton had been sitting on Mickie's left. Could he have been toasting to her? No, it was definitely towards Mickie, that she was sure of.

She could also remember the way Randy's bare skin felt against hers. Raw, awkward, and so passion filled. She could remember the feel of his muscles contracting as she ran her hands over his chest, the pressure his member was putting on the inner workings of her thigh. She could remember just how wet his kisses had been, even when he ran his tongue over her nipple. Most of all, she could remember the sheer pleasure that erupted when he made the plunge.

There was a rapid knock on the door, followed by someone's entry. Mickie's back pricked as she jumped form the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. Randy was standing in the threshold to the bathroom, his face burning red from frustration and shirtless.

He stepped towards Mickie, his hands reaching out for her hips as he pulled them towards him. At first she was apprehensive, but then she loosened herself and let the towel drop to the floor. She pressed her body against his chest, pushing against his labored breathing.

He backed her up against the wall, his lips finding their way to hers. She bit his lower lips as she reached for his hand, now settled on her thigh. She wanted him to touch her, to feel his hands all over her body. Her fingers grasped his wrist and guided his hands up towards her breasts. Mickie was the one in control now.

Randy felt Mickie's teeth tugging on his ear, but everything else felt numb. He just wanted to feel whole again, but he knew that wasn't anywhere in the near future. Not with out Peyton, the love of his life. He just wanted to get rid of the numbness.

When he finally felt Mickie guiding his hand, he pulled it away from her and rested his fingers somewhere on her shoulder. She tried again, and he declined her again. She tried for a third time, "Mickie..." Her name rolled past his lips with the most uncomfortable feeling.

She moaned, "I looooove the way you say my name."

He stepped back from her completely, shaking his head and squeezing his temples with his hands. What had he been thinking of even going over there anyway? I wanted it to be Peyton, He thought to himself, almost bringing himself to tears, what the hell have I done?