Title: Make It Better

Rated: M (Mature)

Genre(s): Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Pair(s): Jericho/Phil, John/Phil, Jeff/Adam

Summary: Sequel to Please, Don't Leave Me. Chris has finally pushed Phil too far. After his actions on Raw, it seems as if there is no way for him to redeem himself in Phil's eyes. Is there any way to make it better?

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, besides my OCs.

Warning: Slash

Part: 9/?

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(One Week Later)

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Chris tried to wrap his arms around the smaller man, but Phil fought out of his hold. Tears collected in the ravenette's eyes as he frantically scrubbed at his skin with a towel, which had been thrown at him by an unseen man when he reached the backstage area. He reaked of alcohol. Just like he had always feared, he smelled just like his father. As for Chris' actions… he had come around to Chris' innocence the first time, but the second time burned. And it was almost as if he had encouraged Henry's actions toward him.

Chris flinched when Phil turned around, showing that his back had basically become one… gigantic… bruise. It must have hurt like all else. Gently, Chris reached out, touching the tender skin. Phil howled, moving away from him as quickly as possible. When Chris advanced on him again, he started to back up toward the wall. Phil's eyes widened. Suddenly, it wasn't Chris standing across from him, but John Laurinatis. He could still see John's fist flying at his face. And, without really realizing what he was doing, he shoved Chris away.

"I fucking hate you!" The words tumbled from his mouth before he had a chance to filter them. His eyes widened at his own hostility, but no-one was more shocked than Chris.

"Y-You don't mean that…" Chris said, startled. "I love you. You know that I would never do this to you on purpose, baby-boy. So please, please, don't hate me…"

"I smell like a dirty, sleezy bar!" Phil hissed. "How could you do this to me? You promised that this was over!"

"Creative said -,"

"To hell with what Creative said!" Phil screamed, shoving off of the wall and trying to walk toward his locker room. Chris followed closely behind. "You could have said no. You could have said no."

"I didn't have a choice -,"

"YOU ALWAYS HAD A CHOICE!" Phil slammed his fist into the wall, wincing when white-hot pain shot up his arm.

Phil's entire body trembled as he tried desperately to hold back the tears. This conversation was attracting a lot of unwanted attention. Taking a breath, he pushed off of the wall and made his way back to the locker room. He knew that Chris was following close behind, but he didn't care. Walking into the room, he tried to slam the door behind him. However, Chris' hand reached out and caught it before it could close. He invited himself in; looking at the man whom he loved… the man that he thought loved him.

"I can't believe I let you…" Phil trembled, just thinking about how he had acted last week. "I can't believe I trusted you with my heart like that! I can't believe I let you sleep with me!"

"You regret having sex with me?" Chris asked, hurt and affronted at the same time.

"I… regret… marrying… you." Phil said, his eyes filling with tears.

Suddenly, the silence became overwhelming. Chris tried to control the hurt and anger that were aroused at that declaration, but it was extremely difficult. All he wanted to do was take his baby into his arms and kiss away every ache and pain in his beautiful body. But Phil wouldn't let him. In fact… it almost looked like Phil was afraid of him. Other than this, what had Chris ever done to make Phil doubt him like this? The idea that he had hurt Phil, that he had betrayed him in some way, hurt more than he could ever say.

Not knowing what else to say, Chris shook his head and left Phil to his own devices. The Straight-Edge Savior fell down against the lockers, burying his head in his hands. He was so caught up in his emotions that he didn't notice the other man enter the room. The GM offered him a sickly smile, noting with twisted satisfaction the way his hand swelled underneath the tape. Entering the locker room, he waisted no time in landing a kick to Phil's stomach. The younger man wheezed as he collapsed.

John continued to let loose on the prone body, kicking and punching until Phil bit down hard on his lip ring and coated his lips and chin in blood. Phil curled up, bringing his knees to his chest. And just when he thought that he couldn't take another hit, John spit in his face. The broken Second City Saint lay on the floor, coated in blood, beer, and saliva. And John just smiled. Having finished what he had come for, he straightened his suit jacket and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

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A/N: Please Review!