Hey! So I was looking through my external HD and found this story, and two chapters which I hadn't posted. It made me interested in writing and finishing this story. So, I guess I'm back!

"I don't know how it happened. I didn't know there were cameras in the club."

"Of all the people you could get into a fight with, you decided to pick the son of a congressman?"

"Well, if he hadn't been such a bitch," Randy groaned, "he pushed me."

"Randy..."

"Paul, I appreciate the concern but I can take care of myself. Besides, it's a tabloid. You pay three dollars to read a bunch of lies."

"Don't mistake this phone call for concern. In case you've forgotten, you're still representing the company."

Randy sank into the chair and lifted the beer bottle to his lips, "Unless I'm actually wrestling, I don't think I'm much of a wrestler."

"Keep saying that, Orton, and it'll really happen," said Paul, "Look, everyone's talking about it and I keep hearing, "Randy Orton deserves to get fired," and as happy as I'd be to get rid of someone with an attitude problem, I don't want that person to be you. I don't want to see you piss away this opportunity."

Randy was quiet. Paul was genuinely looking out for him, and for the last year, he had gone so far as to tell him off. In spite of his attitude, Triple H still had his back. "It's not going to happen again. I'm not seeing her anymore."

"Who?" Paul asked, "who aren't you seeing?"

"Stacy," Randy closed his eyes, "she was with the guy and Stacy and I got into a bit of an argument and he stepped in and provoked me."

"Was it about Sofia?"

Didn't anybody understand what kind of effect the utterance of her name had on Randy? No one did.

"What else would it be about?"

"I don't know. I think you two need to talk about it. I've said it a year ago and I'm saying it again. There's no reason for the two of you to hate each other. It just doesn't make any sense."

"She's still pissed because I didn't go to the funeral."

"Did you tell Stacy it was because you couldn't handle it?"

Paul's voice was firm. He never laced his words with any sort of filler. He was always to the point and direct. Whenever Randy was caught in trouble, Paul always knew how to manoeuvre in Randy's head and figure out the causes for his actions. Knowing Randy more than his peers gave Paul the sense of understanding absent in many of the dissenters backstage. He knew the younger wrestler was still hurting over his girlfriend's suicide. Worse, he felt responsible.

"No."

"Then tell her and maybe she'll forgive you. You could put it all behind you. You two don't have to be friends. You just need to move past this destructive relationship."

"I can't."

"What's stopping you, Orton?"

"I can't. She reminds me too much of Sofia."

Keys always had a way of getting lost when you needed them most. It was Monday night and across the country, Dave Batista was hoisting his championship belt in the air. She tried to watch the WWE to catch a glimpse of her friends, but she didn't follow into the storylines anymore. Raw was ending and she was still outside her apartment.

"Looking for your keys?"

Stacy turned around to see Lucas. He was dressed in a pair of basketball shorts, flip-flops and an Abercrombie shirt. She smiled, "Yeah, I don't know why I keep losing them."

"I'd blame it on that potato sack," said Lucas, pointing toward the large Longchamp purse.

Stacy stuck out her tongue and continued to dig through her things.

"If you can't find it, we can always hang out at my place... like last night."

"Luc," said Stacy, "I appreciate it, but it's late and –"

"Please," he clasped his hands together and gave her the most earnest puppy dog eyes she had ever seen from a grown man.

As soon as they arrived in his apartment, Lucas was quick to offer alcohol. Stacy had a rough day. She met with her agent, who told her that she hadn't gotten a part for a sitcom. She received a call from Trish Stratus, who told her that she had broken up with her boyfriend. She then had to console her friend, and then realized the earth-shattering phone bill that would ensue from a one-hour long distance call to Canada. She deserved a break and a few Martinis.

They had been drinking for an hour now and Stacy could feel the effects of the alcohol in her brain. She giggled at Lucas' stories and jokes even if they weren't funny. He liked to talk about his friends who were all sons of celebrities and politicians. Stacy found it really dull, but she was tipsy and it made his words seem a little more interesting than usual.

"Stacy," called Lucas as he crawled closer to her on the couch. He was on all fours and Stacy was crouched beneath him. He released his weight and fell on top of her.

"Luc," groaned Stacy, "Luc, no... no... get off me."

"Babe, what are you talking about?" he slurred, "I know you want me. I know you want me to fuck you."

Stacy's jaw dropped and she tried to manoeuvre herself out of his hold, but he was much too strong. He wrapped his arms around her and began attacking her neck with wet, sloppy kisses.

"Luc! Let me go!" she cried, but he quickly muffled her voice with his hand. Stacy tried to kick and scream, but there was no way around it.

He forced his lips on hers and shoved his tongue in her mouth. She felt like vomit was rising up her throat. He continued his assault on her neck before kneeling up. He was straddling her waist when he removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt.

She had heard about so many rape rumours in her days in the WWE, but she never imagined it would happen to her. She kept squirming, but he kept a tight hold on her. He pushed her shirt over her head to reveal a lacy, pink bra. He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down to her knees. Stacy could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She continued to resist his touch, but she was quickly losing the energy to fight back. He had her. She wouldn't let him. But he had her.

I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.

"Drink up."

Randy looked up and stared at her for a moment. Who was she? She was a girl he met at the club. He brought her home after she pulverized his groin with her tight ass. They had exchanged a few kisses at the bar. She talked about RPMs when he drove to the hotel in the Ferrari. She had a small tattoo at the nape of her neck; they looked like snake bites. She had dark hair and darker eyes. She was smart. She was sexy. She would probably be a good lay. But she wasn't Sofia.

Randy averted his attention to the pain medication on his bedside. He took three pills and downed it with the vodka in her hand. He just needed to stop feeling. He just wanted to be numb.

Just fuck her. Just fuck her. Just fuck her.

He pulled her against his chest, causing the glass of vodka to spill on the hotel carpet. Randy crushed his lips against hers. His lips travelled down her neck and the back of her ear. Musk.

He pulled away and buried his face in his hands. She looked confused and pissed off. Randy was the hottest guy in the club, and it helped that he drove a Ferrari. But he was also too mysterious, too troubled, too fucked up.

"Pomegranate," Randy smiled.

"What?"

"Her lips tasted like pomegranate."

"What the fuck?" She began to retrieve her things from the floor. She wasn't going to put up with any more of this weird behaviour.

"She smelled like daisies or lilies – I don't know," paused Randy, "I don't know the difference."

"This is too weird and you are fucked up." She left and closed the door, but Randy didn't even bother to look at her.

Randy wanted the memories to come back and wash over him.

He wanted to be consumed by the wave of her memory.

He wanted to be swept away in her sea.

He wanted to die.

He just wanted to be with her.

Stacy whimpered as Lucas removed his jeans. She could feel his erection through the thin material of his boxers. He kept darting his tongue in her mouth, while his hands tightly gripped her ass. It was clear that Lucas was drunk; but drunk or not, people still had an understanding of the meaning of the word 'no'.

"No, Luc..." Stacy cried as his fingers travelled up her inner thighs. His breathing became light as he suddenly stopped kissing her. Stacy felt his weight crash on top of her.

He had collapsed.

Passed out, Lucas head was resting on the crook of Stacy's neck and his hands were still placed on her inner thighs. She pushed him off and a grunt escaped his lips. Stacy's eyes were dry from tears and the fear from a few seconds earlier began to dissipate. She grabbed her shirt from the floor and took a few steps away from him. Her lips quivered as he, with lidded eyes, tried to reach out for her. His arms fell loosely on the edge of the couch and he fell into a quick, deep sleep. Stacy ran outside and crossed the pavilion to her apartment. She locked the door, ran to her bed and buried herself in the covers. She couldn't sleep that night. All she could do was cry.

As always, please read & review!