He'd been dreaming.
Pale eyes shot open, and Randy sat up so quickly he almost knocked his skull on the wooden headboard of his hotel bed. Panting slightly—fuck, what had he been dreaming about?—his eyes darted back and forth, anxiously scanning the room. Thin rays of light were seeping in despite the blinds that covered the sole window in the room, proof that it was probably already well into the day. Reaching up, Randy rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to calm his racing heart. He literally felt like he had a bass drum in his chest, his heart was thumping so loudly… He couldn't for the life of him remember what he'd been dreaming about. He was running from something, that much was clear…what that something was, he couldn't even begin to guess. Whatever it was, it must've truly frightened him, because now he was panting like he'd run a marathon. Dropping back down onto his cotton pillow, Randy squeezed his eyelids shut, trying to block out the sunlight. His AC must've been all the way on, for there was a chilly blast of air circulating throughout the room; cold enough to make Randy's flesh flare with goosebumps. Reaching down, he gripped the hem of the floral-patterned comforter that was around his waist, yanking it up to cover the rest of his torso.
It hadn't been a good night.
After John left, he had waited in his locker room for almost a full hour before coming to the conclusion that John wasn't coming back. He called him…what, four times? Four times he called John as he headed back to the hotel, and all four times all he got was a machine. He'd desperately hoped that John would be at his room waiting for him…but when Randy finally got to his hotel room, he found absolutely nothing and no one. Three more hours he stayed awake—three hours he sat cross-legged on his bed, fidgeting, checking his phone every two minutes—waiting to hear from John. At around one in the morning, he finally gave up: he'd set his phone on loud, carefully placing it on the wooden nightstand right next to his bed. He'd tossed and turned for another full hour at least before finally drifting off into an uneasy sleep. Now it was morning…and he still hadn't heard from John. What if something happened? What if Wade Barrett did something to him? What if he got cornered by the Nexus? Randy couldn't help but churn these thoughts in his brain, his stomach beginning to feel queasy as he thought of all the possibilities for why John wouldn't at least call him. Unfortunately—as he lay in his bed, sheets sticking to his warm body—he couldn't come up with any good reason that Cena wouldn't have at least called… Something bad had to have happened, that much was clear. So what now? He couldn't just lay around thinking about it all day…not knowing what happened to John was making Randy feel physically ill. He had to do something, he just had to.
Sitting up again, Randy swung his feet over the side of his bed, standing up and stretching his arms high up into the air. Shuffling across the carpet floor, he headed over to the dresser on the far side of the room, quickly yanking open a drawer and pulling on some clothes. Mind still swirling with thoughts of John Cena, Randy tugged on a pair of jeans and a dark gray shirt. Walking over to his nightstand, he scooped up his phone and his wallet, taking a quick moment to check his phone…just in case. No missed calls, no text messages…nothing. John hadn't even attempted to contact him, and that single fact made Randy feel like he'd been punched in the gut. Shoving his phone and his wallet into his jean pockets, Randy reached up and gingerly drew a single finger across his cheekbone. It was pretty swollen, and already a deep purple in color. Just the light touch of his fingertips on the inflamed skin was enough to make Randy wince an instantly drop his hand. Fuck, Wade and Justin had really done a number on him…he didn't know what he was going to do if the bruise wasn't gone by the next RAW… Fucking Nexus punks. Randy couldn't help but scowl in anger as he slid his shoes on, thinking of what Wade and Justin had almost gotten away with last night. If John hadn't shown up…no, Randy shook his head, mentally warning himself not to think like that. Fuck, he couldn't take this much longer…he was going to have to do something about Wade Barrett. Maybe it really was time to contact Hunter…no matter their differences, Randy knew the King of Kings was fiercely protective of only three people in the whole world: Stephanie McMahon, Shawn Michaels, and Randy Orton. Just the thought of what Hunter might do to Barrett put a grin on Randy's face.
Striding over to the door, Randy stepped out of his room, turning and heading down the hotel hallway in silence. John had once mentioned that he was in room 336, and that was where Randy was headed. It seemed like a good place to begin tracking down Cena and finally getting some answers about what exactly happened last night. Stomach still feeling nauseous, Randy stepped into the elevator, relieved to see that it was empty. He didn't think he could deal with people right now, they'd all just stare at the bulging bruise on his face…yeah, he really didn't want to have to deal with that. Especially since he'd have to come up with some sort of plausible excuse for the mark. Feeling his stomach lurch as the elevator began to descend, Orton leaned against the metallic wall of the machines, clenching his teeth to try and keep from vomiting. Thinking of everything that had happened yesterday and thinking of what might've happened to John just made his stomach do flips…and the damn elevator certainly wasn't helping matters. Finally settling on the third floor, the doors slid open, and Randy stepped out. Heading to his right, he quickly brushed past an elderly woman—keeping careful to look away so she wouldn't see the black mark on his face. Passing by door after door, Randy's pale eyes stayed trained on the room numbers: 330, 331, 332… A few more steps and he finally halted in front of room 336. His intestines doing flips inside his body, Randy reached up and banged his fist on the white door.
The door cracked open, and then Randy found himself staring into John's blue eyes.
He didn't look good…god, he didn't look good. Cena's normally bright eyes were stormy, and they were red like he hadn't slept in days. There was a sad frown on his face, like he'd just heard terrible news. He wasn't wearing a shirt or shoes, just jeans that looked like he'd slept in them.
"John?" Randy voice felt small when he spoke, his light eyes staring hard into Cena's own gaze.
John dropped his eyes from Randy's view, choosing instead to stare at the carpet beneath his feet.
"Where the hell have you been?" Randy growled, feeling a rush of anger replace the nausea, "I waited for you forever last night and you didn't even fucking call me—"
"What do you want?" John's voice was dull, almost robotic.
"What?" Randy tilted his head to the side, not quite understanding.
"I said what do you want?" John hissed, his hands clenching into fists as they hung beside him.
"You…you fucking disappeared last night…as you ask me what do I want?" Randy asked incredulously, leaning forward, still trying to glare into John's eyes, "John, I was worried fucking sick about you! What the hell happened last night? Where the fuck did you disappear to?"
"Look, I really don't want to talk right now—" Cena sighed deeply, eyes glued to the floor.
"Are you fucking serious?" Randy spat, rage settling in the pit of his stomach, "You fucking disappeared on me last night! You didn't even fucking call me! After all that shit that happened last night…you didn't even call me…"
"Maybe I didn't fucking call you because I didn't want to fucking talk to you!" Cena snapped, his eyes suddenly jolting up to angrily glare at Randy.
Randy was so shocked he actually took a step back, like he'd been physically struck. They went quiet then, both of them silent for a few moments. John's eyes fell back to the floor…almost like he couldn't bear to meet Randy's gaze…
"Johnny…did I…did I do something wrong?" Randy asked quietly.
"Randy…" John swallowed thickly, his words choking in his throat, "I think…I think you should go…"
"Whatever you want, John." Randy snarled, grinding his teeth together, "Whatever you fucking want."
He turned and left, stomping down the hall before Cena could even get a chance to respond.
"If you stop hurting him…I'll do anything you ask of me."
"Leave him."
"What?"
"You heard me. Leave him."
"I…I can't—"
"If you stop seeing him, I'll stop hurting him."
Six days. It had been six days since Randy came to his room. Six days since he'd turned Randy away…
John Cena sat on a bench in the Nexus locker room, his face buried in his hands. It was Monday, a full week since he'd walked in Randy's locker room to discover Wade Barrett and Justin Gabriel assaulting him. A full week since he came to an agreement with Barrett, an agreement that was slowly killing Cena from the inside out. Ever since Randy came to his door, ever since he turned him away…he felt like he was rotting, like piece by piece he was dying. The past week had been awful, a true living hell. When Randy left that night, it took every ounce of will power he possessed to not go running after him, seize him by the shoulders and kiss him right then and there. Time inched by after that; every hour felt like a day, and every day felt like a year. By Thursday he was fighting a war within himself: give in to his desires and call Randy…or fight through his weakness and keep his word to Barrett. He probably would've given in if it hadn't been for the fact that Barrett was keeping his word. John listened carefully for any indication that Randy was getting hurt again, and every day that passed without word of the Nexus attacking Orton continued to solidify his determination to keep Randy safe…and not see him. No matter how much he wanted to be with Randy…his safety was far more important than John's selfish desires. So long as Barrett kept his word…John was going to keep his too. No matter how much it hurt to do it.
Sighing deeply, John lifted his head up, resting his chin on his hands.
God, he really did feel like shit. The look on Randy's face when he said he didn't want to talk to him…god, that look alone almost made John give up. How could he stay away from Randy? He was miserable without him, that much was clear. How much longer could he endure this? Fuck, he didn't even know how Randy was handling it… Wade had been keeping an eye on him, assigning various members of the Nexus to follow him and really make sure that he wasn't seeing Randy. Almost five times John had discovered that little rat Gabriel following him around the hotel; by Friday though, he had decided just to confine himself to his room. After all that had happened in the week, he had very little desire to go out and see people…and he really, really hadn't wanted to run into Randy. Fuck, of everything he'd done in his life, forcing himself to let go of Orton had to rank pretty high in terms of difficulty. Shit…what if Randy started seeing someone else? Just the thought of seeing another person touch Randy made John want to break something. How the hell was he going to deal with it when Randy got another boyfriend? And he would…he was Randy Orton, he could easily find a suitable replacement for John… No, he couldn't think like that! John shook his head, trying to rid himself of those troubling thoughts. He had to stick to his word, it was for the best. Maybe not for him…but for Randy it was the best.
A knocking, on the door. Soft, almost fearful.
"Uh…yeah, come in." John sat up a little straighter. He couldn't let the rest of the Nexus see him like this.
But it wasn't a member of the Nexus.
The door slowly opened, and Randy Orton walked in.
The Viper looked a mess. He walked in, leaner then ever, his jeans hanging so loose on his hips that it was a wonder they were even staying on. The black tee he was wearing was small, but somehow managed to appear baggy on his torso. Bloodshot, icy-hued eyes were staring at John, his lips tightened into a miserable frown. The horrible bruise that had marred his face last week had faded considerably, but it was still quite noticeable.
"Hey." Randy croaked, his voice hollow.
"What're you doing here?" John asked curtly, biting the inside of his cheek.
"We're scheduled to fight tonight." Randy continued, ignoring John's question. He remained where he stood, close to the door, eyes still focused on John.
"Yeah, I guess we are." Cena nodded, standing up.
"Is that all you have to say?" Orton's eyes narrowed, "A whole week…and that's all you have to say?"
"If I wanted to tell you something, I'd tell you." John muttered, a fluttering in his chest.
"You're lying." Randy shook his head, his voice growing louder, "Why are you lying to me? Why have you been avoiding me? What the hell did I do wrong—"
"Randy…" John's voice took on a pleading tone, "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why the hell won't you talk to me?" Orton snapped, taking a few steps forward. He was standing close to John now, his stare so intense his eyes seemed to burn with blue fire.
"It's better this way…ok?" John willed himself to remain still. God, Randy was so close to him…just another foot and they'd be touching.
"What the hell happened?" Randy inched closer, eye to eye with John, "You disappeared…then you don't want to talk to me…I haven't heard from you in a god damn week…"
John didn't answer. His eyes dropped from Randy's glare, sliding down Randy's neck, over his chest, down to his jutting hips.
"Why are you doing this Johnny?" Randy's voice was almost a whimper as he leaned forward, his lips barely inches from Cena's.
John remained silent, clenching his hands into fists, willing himself to remain still as Randy leaned even closer, soft lips so close to his own.
"Come on Johnny…I know you don't want to do this…" Randy said quietly, tilting his head so that he was looking John in the eye.
Cena reached up, placing his palm on Randy's chest and gently pushing the younger man away. He stepped around Orton, walking past him, heading towards the door. As his fingers wrapped around the silvery door handle, he paused, not turning to face Randy.
"I'm doing this…I'm doing this because I have to." Cena replied softly, eyes staring into the wooden door.
He opened the door, stepping out without another word.
Randy remained where he stood, staring at the tile floor of the Nexus locker room.
He was so fucking angry…just so god damn pissed. He had to have done something wrong…why else would John suddenly just stop talking to him? For the past week all Randy had done was lay in bed, trying desperately to get his mind off John Cena. It hadn't worked, obviously. That was why he tried to talk to John…he needed some answers, some kind of closure! He couldn't stand not knowing what the hell went wrong. Racking his brain, he had tried to come up with something he might've done to anger John. The only thing he could come up with was that maybe John didn't want anything to do with him because of Wade…maybe John thought he'd done something with Wade… But he had to know that Randy found Barrett to be repulsive, right? He had to know that Randy would never, ever willingly even touch the leader of the Nexus… Fuck, what the hell did he do to make Cena so angry with him? To make John not want to talk or even see him? And then, to make everything even worse, he shows up to Raw to discover that he's been put in a match with John. That had to be Barrett's doing. Judging from the look on John's face when Randy mentioned the match, he wasn't all that eager to be in the ring together either… Randy didn't know how he was going to deal with the match; he had some real anger going on…but he didn't want to take that out on John. Even if John was the cause of it all…fuck, what the hell did he do wrong?
Pulling back his hand, Randy let out a roar of pure frustration as he slammed his fist into the nearest locker. He cried out in pain as soon as his knuckles connected with the metal, pulling his hand away from the dented locker and cradling it against his chest.
"Now, that wasn't very smart, was it?"
Randy whipped around at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing once he saw Wade Barrett.
The leader of the Nexus was standing near the door, wearing jeans and his usual black and yellow Nexus t-shirt. He had a smug grin on his face, and he was leaning against the doorframe, staring at Orton with interest.
"Hmmm…what are you doing in the Nexus locker room?" Barrett cocked his head to the side, his grin widening knowingly.
"Don't worry, I was just about to leave." Orton muttered, dropping his hands to his sides.
"You came here looking for someone, didn't you?" Wade continued, ignoring Randy's words, "A certain John Cena, perhaps?"
"You know what?" Randy snapped, baring his teeth, "I don't want to fucking talk to you, so get the fuck out of my way and let me leave."
"You're wasting your time." Barrett shrugged, his shoulders bobbing as he remained blocking the doorway.
"Look," Randy snarled with impatience, slashing his hand through the air, "I don't want to talk to—"
"John's job is done, so don't expect him to be wasting any more time with you." Wade replied scathingly, standing up straight.
Randy fell silent at that, his glowering eyes staring at Barrett with distrust.
"What…you didn't think he was actually interested, did you?" Barrett chuckled darkly, taking a step towards Randy, "Well isn't that cute…you really thought he liked you. How adorable…"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Orton tilted his head to the side with confusion.
"Oh come on Randy…you didn't really think John Cena wanted to be with you of all people, did you?" Wade snorted arrogantly, taking another menacing step towards the Viper, "You're polar opposites, enemies even. Why on earth would he want to be in a relationship with you?"
Randy didn't answer. He'd gone silent, glaring at Barrett with hatred, but unable to counter his words.
"The only reason John even began seeing you was because I ordered him to." Wade shook his head, "Now, letting him fuck you senseless…that wasn't part of the plan, but I guess, since you were so willing, John couldn't help himself…"
"You're lying." Randy hissed, forcing himself to meet Wade's eyes.
"Now that the job's over, he really has no reason to see you anymore…" Barrett went on, "That's why he's breaking things off."
Randy strode forward, reaching out and shoving Barrett out of his way as he barreled out the door.
Wade Barrett smiled as he watched the Legend Killer leave, satisfied that he was finally beginning to break the older man. Walking into the locker room, he sat down on the bench, waiting for John and Randy's match to begin.