Sorry this took a little longer than I thought it would… Little writer's block!

Thanks to Glamagirl and rkofan2012 for the reviews. Keep 'em coming :)

Disclaimer: I don't own the WWE or people in it…

Chapter 6

The club was generic: hot, dark, crowded and loud. And that was just the way Maryse liked it.

This way, she was free to drink herself into oblivion. She could disappear into a corner, slide into that drunken stupor, and be completely forgotten.

Or forget…

Mike was having a blast, which was good news for the French-Canadian woman. Anytime he thought a club wasn't as fun, he always seemed to take it out on her when they got back to the hotel. He saw her as his personal plaything that he could use whenever—and however—he wanted to.

Miz's words quickly began slurring and Maryse's eyes began to blur. Finally, she felt like she was back in a world she understood: No pain, no work and certainly no feelings.

"You got the stuff?" She asked Miz, barely managing to slur out the words. He drunkenly nodded as they made their way back to a secluded VIP section. Taking out a small plastic baggie, the two quickly succumbed to the familiar foreign chemical in their bodies as Mike shot it into their veins.

Maryse was beginning to notice tracks in her forearm—scars from the needles that were constantly scraped into that skin. It worried her during the daytime, but right now she couldn't care any less.

They had been at the club for hours now, and she knew closing time was upon them. The drug always made them lose track of time. Mike stumbled away to greet some old friends, leaving Maryse alone. As always.

She wasn't sure whether it was the drugs, the booze, or her real heart talking, but she got the sudden urge to get out of that club. She wanted to get back to the hotel. She wanted to make a late-night visit…

—Phil—

The knocking on the door had become too obnoxious to ignore. It had been going on for about five minutes now and had awoken Phil from a very vivid and wonderful dream about a certain blonde woman of the French variety.

Struggling to his feet, the raven-haired man tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes as he shuffled toward the door of his hotel room. The tiredness immediately evaporated as soon as he opened the door. His eyes shot open as he drank in the sight of the woman in the doorway.

Her body glistened from the sweat, yet her face looked pale and clammy. The normally perfect blonde locks were messy and tangled around her porcelain-like features. Phil froze at the sight in front of him, not able to connect physical movement to the thoughts in his head. He suddenly felt protective over the vulnerable girl in front of him again. He wanted to comfort her, to console her from whatever was causing her the grief written on her face.

Without a single word, she pushed through the doorway and stumbled toward Phil's bed. The tousled blonde grabbed Phil by the wrist and forced him to follow. As they reached the mattress, Maryse fell backwards, pulling the bearded star directly on top of her and holding his eyes in her hazy gaze. She wasted no time, rolling herself over him, seductively straddling his hips.

Although her body was sultry, her face was still glazed over. It looked to be full of stress and vulnerability that she was trying to cover up.

"Punk," she whispered. Her words almost sounded like they were painful to speak. She could barely manage to string her thoughts together. "I need you. I need you to…"

Phil had no idea what to do, obviously his body wanted to take advantage of the situation, but his mind was more concerned about her feelings. He stroked her face gently, barely touching his fingertips to her clammy skin.

The blonde pushed into his touch, almost trying to absorb the warmth from his palm. The straight-edge start took the opportunity to tenderly run his hand down Maryse's soft frame.

The excitement he felt suddenly diminished. His eyes widened in horror when his fingers arrived to the scars on her forearms. Those tracks from her veins.

Rapidly, the memories of every one of his meetings with Maryse came flooding back at once. The hazy looks, the shaking, the plastic baggie, Miz and the paper bag… She wasn't sick at all—this woman was a drug abuser.

That feeling of horror turned to anger. Phil was frustrated with himself for caring for her. Frustrated for thinking she deserved his sympathy. There was a reason he was straight-edge, and he was not going to let drugs ruin his life again.

The rage in his heart began clouding his mind. Without another word, he lifted the small frame off of his body and pulled her off of his bed.

"You liar," he muttered. "You aren't sick. You've done this to yourself!" He couldn't hold back his anger. Why? He thought. Why didn't I see this before? I won't be an idiot this time.

Her almond eyes flung open, looking directly back into his. They were scared and pleading. It was the first time that night that Phil didn't see any haze or cloudiness in them. But that didn't matter to him right now. His anger for his own ignorance had blinded him from all other feelings.

"You have caused this pain yourself," he repeated. "Go deal with it, or go tell some other druggie who cares."

With that he forcefully threw her through the doorframe and out into the cold, bright hotel hallway.

—Maryse—

The door slammed right in her face—a bit closer and it might have broken her nose. Maryse took a few steps back before really absorbing the events that just took place. The tears began falling freely as she slowly walked down the hallway, using the wall for support.

Well, that's it, she thought. I have pushed away the only happiness left in my life.

With this thought, the disheveled blonde sunk slowly to the floor, wrapping her trembling hands around her cold, bare shoulders. The shaking had returned, but she was too upset to even care. She laid in the middle of the cold corridor for what felt like an eternity until exhaustion began to slowly take over her body…

—Phil—

He hadn't been able to sleep a wink. Sure, it had only been an hour or two since she had left, but Phil could not get her off of his mind. Tossing and turning, he was still trying to contain his anger. How could I have missed all the signs?

Although the anger was the most dominant feeling, a lesser feeling was beginning to creep into the back of his mind. A feeling of regret.

Phil sat up in his bed, pulling his arms behind his head as he contemplated his actions earlier. That's when the regret really hit him hard.

You dickhead! He thought. She didn't need you to scold her; she needed you to help her!

Before he could change his mind again, Phil flew out of his covers and ripped open the door. He had no idea where to begin looking for her, but he knew he would have to find the struggling woman he had grown so fond of.

At first, the straight edge star just stood in the hallway, looking left, then right, then left again. That's when he heard a quiet noise coming from a windowsill by the elevators. It sounded weak, upset and uncomfortable. He rushed to the source of the sound to find one of the most heartbreaking scenes unfolding before him.

Maryse was curled up—almost crumpled on the floor—quietly sobbing in what seemed like a troubled slumber. Phil ran to her side, picking her up gently without waiting for permission. As he wrapped his strong arms underneath her cold frame, he realized that the trembling had returned. This time, though, he knew it was the beginning of withdrawal.

Bringing her safely into his room, the raven-haired man gently laid her on his bed. She opened her eyes just slightly, connecting her sorrowful eyes with his. Between shivers, she managed to whisper, "Punk… Save me."

As quickly as they opened, her eyes were shut again. She kept fidgeting, moaning his name under her breath and searching for his touch. Punk could not hide his feelings for the troubled woman any longer. He knew now that he was the only one that could help Maryse. He would have to get her clean, sober. Keep her safe… Near him…

All this would have to wait, because he needed to get her comfortable right now. He ripped off her stilettos and searched for some more appropriate articles of clothing in his bag. After spewing the contents of his suitcase throughout the entire room, he found a smaller sweatshirt and a pair of clean socks.

Pulling the socks on gently, Phil gingerly tucked her long, bare legs under the bed linens. Once the sweatshirt was securely wrapped around her, he placed her trembling figure on his broad, warm chest.

He held her as tightly as he thought would be comfortable for her as he tried to suppress the tremors she was experiencing in her sleep. Knowing he was in for a long, sleepless night, Punk placed a soft kiss on the crown of her head before whispering, "Sleep tight, Princess. I'm here."

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