The fourth one. Squee!
I can't believe it.
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Dark
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Randy Orton's always been dark inside.
He's insane, he's hated, he's stupid and he's always been hurt by words you're just too weak but you want to hide it. He feels like he's in this masquerade charade, playing around with John Cena but the pain's plastered in his bleeding heart and it's so real and it's so painful that it's not fake. It's anything but fake and Randy knows it and as he walks down the park.
It's cold and it's late and he knows that it's stupid but he walks down anyways and he hears a sound and he feels a grip on his shoulder and he turns around to see his enemy John Cena misery should love company, right, Randy? Randy's eyes turn deadly as he steps back, a tight line on his face, his warm eyes turning hard and darkness hits them with a bang as John tries to step towards him but he steps back until he's being pinned to a tree.
Everything looks dead. Everything feels cold. Everything's just so real that it's hard to fake the emotions that are bubbling right through him but he fakes it.
"Look, Cena, I don't have any time for you. I'm busy." As soon as the words slip off his tongue, Randy regrets saying them because he's not busy but he has no time for him and he's sure as hell doesn't want to see his face and he knows that he hates John Cena because he's—
You're just like him.
At the realization, Randy realizes how much he's truly hated himself and John's so alike him that he's hated him too and he knows that John's exactly the same and the realization races to his head all too fast that his head pounds with pain and he slips a little deeper into the hole of darkness he'd been falling into. He licks his lower lip and looks back at John who refuses to leave his place and Randy know it. "Look, what the hell do you want from me? Ready to play with your favorite toy?"
"I swear Orton, they way you say it all, I'm starting to think that I'm the bad guy." John says and silence passes through them and Randy lets out a loud, high-piercing laugh and John steps back in sudden awareness and Randy just feels a little more crazy and just a little more hurt and just a little more childish.
"Cena, you're joking." His sentence's filled with anger and impulse and darkness and John can hear every bit of that in the little sentence.
John shakes his head violently and seriousness burn into his eyes and Randy knows that the words are coming out of his mouth are not that of a joke. "I'm not, okay? I'm not the bad guy, Orton. You are. That night wasn't supposed to be an advertisement for the whole world to see! Hell, the guy that mops the bathrooms know about the entire thing!"
Randy steps away and starts to walk away and even though he can hear John, he doesn't care because he's tired of being someone else's toy and he knows it as much as John does as he steps away.
"Hey! Orton!"
Randy doesn't stop walking and his steps echo and he doesn't look at anyone and no one looks at him and John runs towards him and grabs onto his shoulder and spins him around, his hands now squeezing onto his shoulders as hard as possible and looking at him straight in the eye and he sees the emptiness fill him up so much but John doesn't say anything about it and neither does Randy.
"Hey! I'm talking to you."
"Talk, who says I'm listening to you?" Randy says in rage and his eyes speak for him as he tries to budge out of John's grip but couldn't. He tries to push John away but he only squeezes Randy harder and that sends sparks of fiery and rage and anger threatening to ignite through Randy's body. "Let go of me!"
"Who says I'm listening to you?" John repeats Randy's sentence and he hates how he'd turn the tables around on Randy and Randy just stares at John's eyes with pain suddenly filling his own but they don't care. "Tell me, Randy! Who says that I'm listening to you?!"
"You know that you're listening to me," Randy spits out and he takes a series of short and sharp breathes, John refusing to let him go as Randy grips onto his black t-shirt, clutching onto the material tightly he's holding only onto something that's already falling into a hole of his own. "Just let go of me, Cena!"
"I'm not listening," he says firmly and he squeezes onto his body tighter, making Randy attempt onto hitting him harshly into the chest but how painful the hit may be, John takes it all in and he doesn't let go no matter what he does and he listens to Randy's short sharp breaths and he feels Randy's hot breath on his chest and he doesn't know if he likes it or not. "Hey, hey, I want to show you something, Orton. Let's say it's sort of an apology for you know, that other night."
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Randy doesn't want to see it and Cena can see that in his eyes but he knows that he's going to flip his world upside down when Cena arrives at his destination and points at the wall and on the wall, there in sloppy red spray paint, smeared on the wall, the words 'The Legend Killer Lives' and around the red spray paint, there are drops and clusters of dark blue.
Randy stares at John Cena and he doesn't know what to say but a few words slip off his tongue anyways and he knows that he means every bit of them. "You did this?" he's angry and he knows it but the anger's been soothed and tone down and now, there's bubbling sweetness and tranquility and serenity through Randy Orton's body you're being lured into a trap, Randy and then the snowflakes will fall and you'll feel heartbroken all over again as he smiles softly and that smile's all that John can look at.
It's not forced and it's not happily smeared on his face but it's real and he knows that he'd never seen such a beautiful incredible perfect smile in his life but John awkwardly turns away and can feel himself get hot and blush and so, he doesn't look back at Randy at all. "Why Cena? You that new to having someone hate your guts?"
John shakes his head and he looks at him and he stares back at the wall and even though it's sleazy and stupid and idiotic, he still know that the rage between them is slowly fading and tranquility and serenity and calmness can finally burn between them and as John looks back at Randy, Randy stares. "How do I know you did this?" Randy asks and his voice's thick and certain and he knows that anyone could've done this and just anyone.
And hope glistens into Randy's eyes, pools of blue, a reflection of John Cena's soul and heart and life inside of those baby blue eyes and John just wants to look away as a surge of memories over wash him and he knows that the nine year old boy would've looked away and ran out of place remembering all those times he spent, holding an action figure and knocking onto windows just to get noticed but no one notices and no one says anything at all.
John Cena smirks instead and he pulls out a red paint spray out of his pocket and his smirk widens as he starts spraying on Randy Orton's face and he sees as the dusty red particles cling to Randy's cold flesh and John starts laying as he lets the can fall to the floor.
Randy tackles John, letting him fall to the floor and John doesn't care at all because laughter prevents him from doing anything as Randy reaches into the other pocket and taking out a can of blue paint spray he smiles as he sprays it onto John Cena's all black t-shirt, tracing a heart on his chest and as John's laughter dies into nothing. "So what am I? Canvas?"
"Very hard to work on canvas," Randy says and then grins mischievously. "I'm going to make you into a human painting, just like Jeff Hardy…now, stay still or you'll be soaking with this." John stays still as moments pass with Randy attempting to draw an arrow through the heart before he stands up and inspects his creation, grinning to himself, he nods his head and John stands up.
John examines his t-shirt and shakes his head playfully and sweetly and oh so nicely. "Tsk, tsk, why am I a walking painting made by Jeff Hardy?" Randy stops smiling and he frowns as he realizes that there's a heart drowning in the complete blackness of John's t-shirt your heart's lost in the dark forever, Randy.
"Orton, you okay?"
Randy steps back and stares at his haunting masterpiece again and he suddenly feels as if his heart's just as lost in the dark and he can't get out of it without ruining himself and he starts walking and even with John Cena behind him, walking after him, he doesn't speed up and he knows it.
"Orton! Sorry about the Hardy jokes! It's really good. I like it!"
John suddenly runs and stands in front of Randy and looks at his face but he's looking down and trying to walk away but he holds Randy's arms and stares at him, lifting his chin and looking at him at the somber blue pools of a nine year old child and he suddenly feels horrible about this entire bet and about what happened and what's happening. "Randy?"
"Just leave me alone, okay? I should-I-"You can't risk losing your heart again. Randy looks down, sighs and his hot breath touches John's build and he'd have hugged him but from Randy's eyes, he doesn't want a hug and it's all right. He just wants this all to end and for him to be all alone and that way, he can't be hurt, can he?
"Hey, Orton, you don't have to jet so fast. We were just laughing. What the hell happened back there?" John's voice's filled with unmasked concern and his eyes are as somber as hell but Randy doesn't even notice it as he falls deep inside of himself, inside of the black hole that Randy suddenly realizes he's falling into.
Randy looks back at the wall and he feels as dead as that as he looks back at John, and he doesn't say another word as he pushes past him and runs towards his hotel and when he gets up to his room, he starts panting and falls to the bed and he feels the tears spring to his eyes but he doesn't cry because the Legend Killer can't cry and he knows it too well.
He rests his head on his pillow and leaves the light on but somehow, thoughts of darkness and hate and dead snowflakes enter Randy's dreams and terrify him to pits before he hears the sound of his daughter's scream and it shakes him awake and he can't sleep and he knows it.
Darkness is coming after Randy Orton. He can feel it in his veins and in his brain and in his arteries as he pants with sweat running down his pale face.
- Sam