"So," Trish started, attempting to change the subject. "You give him your number?"
"No." Randy turned back to her, set down the picture of beer. "And I'm not going to."
"Why not?"
"You know why," Randy replied, staring into her eyes, pain dancing in his.
And Trish did know his reasons. She knew everything. She'd been there after.
"I can't get it off!" The cry came from the man huddled on the bathroom floor just before he literally began scratching at his own skin.
She reached out, grabbing his hands, trying to get him to stop. "There's nothing there, honey."
"It's s-still there. B-blood. Under my fingernails, s-soaked into my skin. I can feel it!"
And the skin on his hands was raw, red. He'd been scrubbing at them nonstop since it happened. She had to blink back tears at the look in his eyes and she pulled him close, into her arms.
He was silent after that, and the only thing that told her he was crying was the wetness on her shirt as he buried his head in her shoulder.
Trish shook her head, trying to shake away the direction her thoughts had taken. "It won't turn out like it did with-"
"Trish." There was warning in Randy's voice, anger, as he cut her off before she could say the name. Even Justin never said that name.
"I believed you," Trish pressed on sadly.
"I should have been able to stop it from happening, Trish. I saw it."
"Don't you have orders?" Randy asked, his expression closed off.
"Yeah." Trish chewed her lip. "I guess I do."
Xxxxxxxx
Justin was already at the bar when Randy finally noticed him. He was glaring, gripping the edge when Randy stopped in front of him.
"What do you want?" He asked, tiredly. He'd been hoping that the little scene the other night would at least keep Justin away for a few days.
"You think what happened the other night was funny?" Justin asked in a fierce, but low, voice.
Randy's eyes narrowed and he leaned just a little closer to Justin. It figured the little shit was still pissed about that. He'd never liked losing the upper hand, especially with Randy.
"Maybe," Randy answered lightly with a shrug. "I always knew you didn't like fair fights. Gotta have a few guys twice your size backing you, don't you?"
"I'd take you on myself, Orton," Justin said with a scowl.
"And you'd lose." Randy stated it like it was fact and, well, it was. Justin had already tried that once. All it had gained him was a broken nose.
"I guess you've got John Cena backing you now." Justin tilted his head, his expression unchanging. "Though, I doubt that'd be the case if he knew what you are."
"Go home, Justin," Randy said, with a shake of his head. "You're not going to do anything without your lackeys behind you."
"You think Cena's going to take an interest in you?" Justin paused, lowered his voice even further. "Like Adam did?"
Randy froze at the name and Justin smirked.
"Wonder what Cena would say if he knew just what you did to Adam-"
Without even thinking about it, Randy had reached over the bar, grabbing Justin by the collar and bringing their faces close. His gray eyes were blazing with anger and his voice came out in a low, angry growl.
"Keep talking, Gabriel, and I'll break something more vital than your nose." He shoved Justin back again, only then noticing the attention he had drawn. It was late, almost closing time but there were still a few people there.
"You're going to regret that, Orton," was Justin's parting shot before he turned and left.
Xxxxxxxxx
"Here." Shawn offered the bottle of beer, which Randy took after a moment, before he sat down in Shawn's small office. Shawn sat across from him, a frown of concern on his face.
"What happened?"
Randy shrugged, picked at the label on the bottle. "Gabriel. Should I have to say anything else?"
"Uh huh. You usually don't let him get to you so badly," Shawn pointed out.
Randy sighed, leaned back in his chair. "He was talking about Adam," he admitted quietly.
"I love you…you know?"
"I know…love you too."
Shawn nodded, sympathy in his eyes. "Kid's an idiot. You shouldn't let him get to you. You know the truth. I'm sure Adam does, wherever he is…"
Randy shook his head. "Never told him. I should have. If I had, maybe…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, unable to put a voice to the guilt he'd been carrying around for years.
"Randy, come on. I know you haven't been sleeping. I know something's wrong. Tell me what it is."
"You can't play the what if game, Randy."
Randy only nodded in response but he was really only humoring Shawn. Saying it was one thing but he couldn't help the direction his thoughts always took when he thought about that time. He couldn't help but to hear Adam's phantom voice, haunting him even after so long.
Xxxxxxxxx
John may have been brooding a little bit when Mike came home but at least this time it wasn't about his football career. No, his mind was still firmly in the bar, still with Randy Orton.
"What's up?" Mike asked, going to the fridge and grabbing something to drink before dropping down on the couch next to John.
"I went back to that bar," John blurted out and watched as Mike stiffened.
"And talked to Orton?" He guessed.
John nodded. "He didn't seem so bad."
"Well, he is," Mike said stiffly, anger in his expression.
"Why?" John pressed, sitting up fully and leaning towards his friend. "What'd he do to get you so pissed off at him?"
Mike sighed, dropped his head back. "Can't you just trust me when I say that he's not a good guy?"
"It'd be easier if you told me why you think that," John said with a shrug.
Mike looked over at him and his eyes narrowed. "You like him, don't you?" John shrugged, didn't answer but knew that Mike could see it in his eyes.
"Fine." He paused and opened his mouth to tell the story. "I used to friends with Orton back in high school…"
Xxxxxxxxx
Randy and Trish were the last ones out of Shawn's place that night. Shawn had offered to let him go early but Randy had declined. He doubted he'd be able to sleep anyway and he'd rather have something to do to occupy himself.
"See you tomorrow," Randy said to her.
She nodded. "You sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," he insisted, sounding convincing enough that even he almost believed it. Trish nodded and reluctantly went to her car. Randy waited until she had safely driven away before starting his walk home.
Trish had offered to give him a ride but, after a little convincing, he'd told her he'd be okay walking. He really needed to clear his head anyway.
He was almost out of the parking lot when something hit him over the back of the head and he went down, landing on his hands and knees, a blinding pain shooting through his skull. Then one thick arm was pulling him to his feet and there was only one person Randy knew that was that tall and that big.
Before he could react, he was being dragged into the alley between Shawn's bar and the apartment building next door.
Xxxxxxx
When John found Randy, he'd been walking, turning the story Mike had told over and over in his mind. He'd tried to sleep but couldn't and ended up leaving again. He'd come close to Michaels place again. It was late, late enough that the place had closed. Late enough that everyone was probably at home asleep. He should have been too.
Mike's story was unreal but apparently most of the town believed it. He was walking in front of the bar when Randy stumbled out from the side of it. John stopped short, stared. Randy had fallen to his knees and John watched as he spit blood on the pavement.
Mike's story still ringing in his ears, John moved closer as Randy struggled to his feet once again, swaying where he stood. John reached out to steady him and didn't miss the flinch that Randy gave.
"You alright?" John asked tentatively because even if he might believe Mike's story, he couldn't leave someone injured and alone on the street.
Randy met his gaze and John noted that one of his eyes was swollen almost shut, that he had a bruise forming on his cheekbone, that he had one arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage.
"John?" He asked, squinting with his good eye, his words coming out a little slurred. John winced when the movement of his lips caused even more blood to leak from the split and he winced for the fact that they had, somehow during their hour long conversation, gotten to first name basis.
And despite what Mike had told him, the concern did well up as he took in Randy's condition. He took Randy's weight when his knees gave out on him without hesitation.