Randy Orton stood victorious in the ring. He was a true Superstar in every sense of the word. The fans adored him and like him or not, the other talent in the back knew he was a formidable opponent to be reckoned with. He had everything anyone could want…fame, accolades, plenty of money, and every material possession one could ask for. He even had the respect of the nameless, faceless opponent who was lying motionless beneath him on the floor of the ring. Randy had it all. Grabbing his championship belt, he sauntered out of the ring and up the ramp past the hundreds clamoring to get a feel or glimpse of him. Thousands called out his name in unison but in the end, he could only hear one familiar voice in particular.

"Randy…"

The voice was so soft, barely audible but at the same time so alive in his mind. He looked up and the entrance to the Titantron that led to the Gorilla was illuminated in a bright white almost blinding light. He could make out the small figure as she walked, almost floated closer to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "How did you get here?"

"I'm always here…and there," she pointed to his head and his heart.

He was frozen.

"You're not real," he shook his head. "You're in my head."

"I am real. I am the voices in your head. I am what is left of your conscience…"

"Stop it!"

"Randy…"

"Go away!"

"You promised me, Randy. You said you would always be there. Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come back for me?"

His jaw tightened.

"I was going to come back…"

"Liar! This is all your fault! You did this to me! You did this! How could you let this happen?"

Her voice became louder, a shrill agony filled screech so loud that it brought Randy to his knees. He put his hands to his ears, dark red blood oozing from the crevices onto his fingers. The light was getting brighter and more intense. His head pounded and the sounds from the crowd turned from cheers to chants of "Why, Randy?" She was saying it too and the walls of the arena were closing in on him.

"Noooooo!"

"Noooooo!"

Randy Orton bolted straight up out of his sleep with so much force that the velocity propelled him right out of bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, a cold sweat pouring off his body. His heart raced and he felt like he might be sick.

"Randy! Randy! Are you okay?"

His blue eyes darted around, adjusting to the darkness that was only broken by the traces of moonlight that seeped in through the windows. It was nighttime and he wasn't in some random city and arena facing Opponent X. He was in his home, a two story five bedroom, three bathroom house on a private lake in the community of High Ridge, Missouri, near where he had grown up in St. Louis. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the dark ripples of the water outside. It was dark but the view was still magnificent as the entire house had been uniquely designed with an open concept that used sliding glass doors and beach house glass walls.

Standing on his feet, he looked up at his bed and the small figure in it that was wearing only a bra and panties. Her name was Holly Fletcher and she was someone he had known ever since junior high school. She was a dark haired beauty, the exotic looking kind with beautiful eyes and olive skin, just the way he liked. They had met back when they were both teenagers and she was a pretty and popular cheeleader. They had dated off and on throughout the high school years, nothing too serious but had managed to remain in casual contact. She was someone who didn't actually get on his nerves. Not that he wanted a relationship but Holly was good enough to warm his empty bed sometimes on those off nights when he was home. She was one of the few women he ever allowed to spend the night but even Holly knew her boundaries. Randy was sullen and moody and his changes were often frequent, intense and unprovoked. It was a friends with benefits type of thing if you could even call them friends at all. Holly wasn't his girlfriend, she was far from it. Randy Orton didn't do the whole girlfriend thing arrangement was a mutual understanding and it just worked out for the two of them.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly, walking over to the huge bay window and staring out of it.

He rubbed his eyes.

"You're drenched," she observed.

"It's okay."

"The bed is wet," she noted where his sweat had soaked the sheets.

"Holly, I said it's fine! Goddammitt, shut up!"

She took that as her cue to keep quiet. She sat silently in bed just watching him as Randy pulled up a nearby chair. He didn't get back in bed right away because if he did, he knew eventually he would have to go back to sleep. Sleep was the last thing he wanted or needed on nights like those. Those damned bad dreams haunted him and once they started, they seemed to last all night. He couldn't take them but he couldn't escape them either. They were a part of him.

The voices in his head weren't just a gimmick, they were a reality. Every night, every day he heard that voice, her voice. It taunted him and it was a conscious effort to ignore it. It fueled his malice so much so that he incorporated it into his wrestling act. His entrance theme talked about the voices in his head that counseled him, that understood him. If people only knew but then again, they never would. He wouldn't let them into that private, sacred part of his world. He had let one other person in before and it had turned out to be a mistake. Now she was gone too.

Walking downstairs in the dark, Randy, barefoot and clad only in his boxer briefs, had stumbled into the kitchen. He retrieved a glass and filled it with cold tap water. He took a few sips before splashing some on his face. Looking around, he saw the cordless phone to the land line lying on the counter. Randy picked it up and held it between his fingers for a long time. He needed someone to talk to and only one person had ever been allowed to see him that vulnerable. Grabbing a cigarette from one of his many packs, he put it between his lips and lit it before dialing the number. It rang three times before she picked up.

"Hello?" came the sleepy murmur.

"Sam…"

He called out her name with a sense of urgency that surprised them both.

"Randy…"

"I needed to talk to you."

"It's three in the morning."

"I needed to talk to you," he repeated.

She sighed.

"What's wrong?"

He took a puff of the cigarette.

"I don't know," he replied honestly after a few seconds of thinking. "Everything, I guess."

"Is it the nightmares again?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

He and Samantha Speno had dated seriously for over two years and she spent many nights with him in his home and on the road the times she traveled with him. They had met at a local bar in St. Louis during a time he had been out of work with an injury. She was the sweet, demure pretty girl next door and instantly he had been smitten. Their chemistry together had been undeniable and soon the pair had become inseparable. She was the first woman he had met in a while that didn't fawn all over him and throw herself at his feet. She was also the first person he had loved since, well, since…her. But time and circumstance had changed everything. Eventually his foot had healed and he had gone back on the road with the WWE. When he had, it hadn't taken him long to fall back into his bad behavior and old ways. Sam had not been happy in the least hearing the rumors of him smoking marijuana, drinking heavily, being disrespectful to fans and co-workers and above all having sex with strange, random women. His legendary temper had blown up one too many times in front of her as well and as much as she had loved him, she had called it quits, pulling the plug on an unhealthy and heartbreaking relationship.

"I don't know," he sighed.

"What do you need?" she asked softly. "What can I do to help you?"

He stared aimlessly out the window.

"I don't know."

"It never changes with you, Ran. You shut yourself off, you don't communicate your feelings, you become that monster of a man that we both know isn't really you on the inside."

"I miss you, Sam," he quietly admitted.

"No, you don't, sweetie."

Randy swallowed hard.

"Is he there?" he asked. "Is he lying beside you right now?"

She had taken some time to herself following the breakup but had moved on and had eventually fallen in love with a handsome young attorney by the name of Dean MacDonald.

"Yes, Randy, don't do this, please…"

He smirked to himself. Fucking lawyers. God, he hated lawyers. Of all people, she had to move on with some law school geek.

"Then I guess I'll leave you alone then. I'll let you go."

"Randy, I really care about you. You have to know that. A part of me always will. I want to help you, I tried to help you for two years but you need something more than I can give you. You have to fight to face those demons and come to terms with your past. Maybe then you can be the man I know you can be."

He rolled his eyes. Why had he even bothered?

"I have to go, Sam. I'll talk to you later."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Like you care. Does it matter?"

"It does matter to me."

"No, it doesn't. Look, I shouldn't have called. It was a mistake. You ruined my life, Sam, and I hate you for it," he said in a cold, delierbate tone.

Words like that from him had hurt her so many times before but now she was used to it. She had built up a wall and incidents like that had been one of the many factors that had led to their undoing. Sam had promised herself that his hurtful words and actions would no longer affect her, that was the whole point of walking away but she had been with Randy a long time and had given him a little piece of her heart. They say whenever you truly loved someone, when you made love to someone, a piece of your soul would always be with them. If that was the case, like it or not, she and Randy would always be connected.

He pressed the button to end the call. It was quick and easy and he wished he had such buttons like that for real life visits. He had been left in a moment of temporary confusuon and weakess from the nightmare and like an idiot had reached out to what was familiar. Immediately he regretted it. Holding the empty water glass between his fingers, Randy squeezed until it broke, letting shards of glass land everywhere.

"I think I'm gonna go."

He looked up and saw Holly who had gotten dressed. He nodded and walked away, she could let herself out. With his right hand bleeding, he walked to the downstairs bathroom and turned on the shower. Before getting in, he poured a shot of Jack Daniels in another glass and stripped, stepping in underneath the hot stream of water. He slid to the floor, sipping his drink, head against the wall. He was a mess. Everything was a mess. And he had no idea how to fix it. He could start by silencing those damned voices in his head but they just wouldn't go away. She wouldn't go away. It killed him. The water washed away the blood on his hands only in the literal sense. The voices were still there, they wouldn't stop. He had told Sam that he hated her but nothing could be further from the truth. Randy Orton didn't hate Sam or anyone else in his life. Randy hated himself.