not really read it through so if it's got mistakes dont kill me :( and yeah i feel like its really badly written, but it's more of a filler chapter again, regardless i hope you enjoy the tension :3 fav/share/review/follow

Summerslam had officially arrived, and Phoebe was stalling. The run in with Amy had frightened her, she was truly terrifying however she now knew that it was absolutely vital that she told Punk what she saw. Telling him today sooned turned into telling him the next day, then turned into this week that then soon turned into telling him after Summerslam; where he would be free of stress. The pay-per-view had gotten under his skin and Phoebe could see it on his face, in his eyes and in his moods. She would get constant remarks on whatever was going on with her and Dolph. "You don't think he actually likes you right? He's slept with half the locker room and he's just bored." The words stung but the thought of what she was going to tell him about Amy, she knew for sure would sting even more.

The entireSummerslam week had consisted on hectic car journey's from place to place, Punk's constant need to bicker with her, excessive training, and the endless amount of meetings covered by wither John Laurintis or Vince McMahon himself. Phoebe would always have her notebook at the ready and wrote every single important detail, Punk was reluctant to ever pay attention during the meetings and spent the entire thing staring through the window.

But now Summerslam was finally here, it was Sunday and it was by far the busiest day she had ever worked on. Phoebe scuttled behind Punk while he circled around the arena in sheer confidence, headphones in, blocking the world around him. Phoebe watched as various people tried to get his attention but Phoebe knew all to well that this was when Punk was trying to get into the zone. Both of them reached the gorilla area and Randy's match was still on as the two of them saw on the monitor – Punk sighed, however she noticed he was not shaken. He ran his tattooed hand through his hair and turned towards his assistant.

"Water."

She hastily handed him the bottle, as he took a long gulp from it, he threw the empty bottle at her which she then disposed. The entire day had been so eventful and tiring that she completely forgot about the Amy situation, that was until she saw the familiar brunette wrap her arms around him. Phoebe decided it was best to stay out of ears reach but still got a faint idea about what they were talking about.

"You know you're not supposed to be around here, and you know not to come here while I'm waiting for a match." Punk's tone was serious but he couldn't hide the signature smirk that plucked at his lips.

"I know but I know how certain company can be really off putting before a match, and I thought I'd be able to soothe any pre match nerves," Phoebe felt a pair of eyes on her and knew that they were laughing at her. Rewind a couple of years back she would've felt like crying in front of him, how she could only succumb to an eye roll. If only you knew Punk, you selfish bastard. Phoebe heard the two kissed and then footsteps heading towards her, shoving Phoebe aggressively into a nearby camera.

"Phoebe stop fucking around my match is … goddamn it! It's starting now!" Punk hurled the his headphones and IPhone at her while she tried to gain her poise. He began jumping down on the stop and waited for the static guitar riff. In a couple of seconds, the arena would explode, there true champion would walk out there and do the fans proud, do them justice like every other night.

Look in my eyes, what do you see? The cult of personality.

Punk was out of the arena, and Phoebe's eyes were glued to the monitor screen, nearby she heard directors, various PA's and creative writers talking amonst themselves.

"Long time no speak!" John Cena, Mr Hustle Loyalty and Respect was bouncing on the balls of his feet as Phoebe watched Punk look down at the ring with a smirk; the entire arena were on there feet chanting his name, over and over again. Nobody knew what was really going to happen, he though as he shook his hands, he didn't even tell Amy or Colt – they'd know just like the rest of these fans in the arena. Punk's style in the ring was unique, extreme, crazy and creative among other things, but never in a million years would he suggest that Del Rio would come at the end of the match and cash in his briefcase.

"Wish me luck Phoebe!" John grinned, as he also waited for his entrance music to start playing.

"Does being Punk's assistant give me the right to say 'Luck is for losers?"

"Absolutley."

Your time is up, my time is now. You can't see me my time is now!

Punk was ready, John was ready. The Championship was at stake and it was time for the game face, Phoebe knew, hell everyone knew how hard it was for Punk to get to grips with the predictable storyline. Sure Punk stood in the ring, grinning at how this wasn't going to take long and in no time Punk was going to be champion but he knew as soon as Del Rio came runnding down that ramp, everything was soon going to be a waste. He had akready handed his Championship belt over and when John ran from one side of the ring to the other he reciprocated. Justin Roberts spoke, clear with immediate passion in his voice – announcing this incredible match. Somwhow, everything had become silent, everyone was on the edge of there seat, anticipating the match of a lifetime.

Punk loved the thrill, and what he said back in June when he pipe bombed, fame rose for him but he was still the same guy, the same person who loved jumping from top rope and causing pain, he was a sadistic motherfucker and he thrived off pain, but now he was older, and knew better, this match wasn't just about causing pain, it was the danger and the excitement. He got off on it, he thrived on it, it kept him going. He had gotten over career threatening injuries that caused him months of rehabilitation, wrestling was his addiction, and pain was what he needed, possibly deadlier than some drugs.

Blow after blow and kick after kick, Triple H was the official of the match, he raced around the ring noticing if anything odd was occurring, if he needed to check if the two were okay. The entire crowd were immersed in the match as well was the people backstage. Phoebe or any of the PA's weren't aloud to watch the m practice or see it play through therefore watching it on the monitor was just like watching it back home. The pace of the match was fantastic and it was quickening from after every closeline and drop kick. John gave Punk an Attitude Ajdusment, everyone groaned but Punk kicked out. John was getting restless. He even asked Triple H if he was sure that it was a two count. Moments later, Punk gave Cena a GTS – and yet again, Cena kicked out. Just a two count. Punk's knee began playing up and Phoebe felt her heart pace quicken. He's seriously hurt, and he's climbing the top rope now!? Yet again, a kick out after a two count. The two began punching each other in the face, scratching like an all out bar fight brawl. A kick to the rib cage, a kick to the mid section, kick to the head. An eventually – a second GTS.

"His foot was on the rope! What is Triple H playing at?! How could he not have seen that! That wasn't supposed to happen!" the production team were screaming, yelling through there ear pieces, John was just as confused, he was hurt and confused. Punk himself was conflicted. Had they changed the rules again? John still had fight left in him, but left with his faux pas belt – it meant nothing now and all he could do was admire Punk's stroll around the ring. They had to let him have his fun, let him have his moment of fun for the time being. Any minute now Del Rio would stroll out.

Punk was hurting, and he won. He beat the babyface of the company, the one everyone loved. He circled the ring holding the title with pride and he ever entered back into the ring. Phoebe knew the real drama was still to come, even when Punk entered the ring, Triple H started talking, offered him a handshake in which Punk seriously didin't want to touch. He refused his hand and instead Triple H raised his arm in triumph. He then left the ring and decided to leave Punk in peace. What no one was expecting was, Kevin Nash eagerly waiting, hungrily ready to strike at Punk.

The man was ready and waiting, standing tall in the middle of the ring – this was a major shocker for Phoebe as both hands flung to her mouth. Punk lay withering on the floor, and Kevin had a look of pride sketched all over his face. There was a look of danger in his eyes and before Punk had gained any consciousness, Nash powerbombed him into the mat. The camera flashed back to to Triple H – who gazed confused at the scene that displayed before him. He paced over to Punk's aid however before he reached the ring, Kevin had disappeared.

Del Rio came running out, briefcase in one hand and referee on the other side, they were running. It was the perfect moment the crowd, the fans never would've suspected it but Phoebe wasn't in the mood to watch it anymore. She knew the result. She saw how hurt Punk was, how vulnerable he looked, this is all scheduled you dummy, he's supposed to look like that, it's entertainment.

She turned away from the monitor and decided to wait outside. Even outside you could hear the crowd. Screaming, booing – so Alberto was champion. The air was breezy, the feeling of excitement had washed over her, it was overwhelming and could not wait for the next PPV event. She just hoped at the next event, she wouldn't have the feeling of anxiousness pumping through her, Summerslam had ended, the main event was finished – you owe Punk the truth.

Punk wasn't feeing the pain, rather excitement, he should be knocked out, he should be upset but his body was resistant, his numb body couldn't hold on much longer, and it all went black. The crowd was in shock over the cashin in from Alberto Del Rio, the booing and the howling caused Punk to smile. Soon he'll be champion again, soon the fans will be cheering for him, wanting to see the gold around his torse. After Del Rio paraded around the ring with the championship belt, the referee's frantically signalled for EMT's, who came rushing out. This match hadn't completely ruined Punk's body, it would recover, but now it was time for him to plan his next move, his next creative notion, he would need to recover emotionally after this hideous outcome from the PPV.

Eventually Punk was backstage, and he noticed how incredibly hot he was feeling, almost as if he was getting a fever, or the flu, he was rushed into a medical room, checking for any signs of torn tissue, legiments – anything that needed checking up on. He told them to check out his knee since it was playing up a lot during the match, the soothing quiet seemed to do some good. There was no ridiculous clacking noise of high heels against the floor, no annoying heaby breathing as Phoebe tried to catch up with Punk. Thank fuckig God, Phoebe was Del Rio's problem now.

That girl was the most overbearing, irritating woman he had ever met in his life, were all assistants like that? It didn't matter. He had just finished a good match, an excellent match with John. He knew the Money In The Bank was a match that they'd be talking about forever but this definitely lived up to the standards. He noticed that the room was deserted, no one was around except the medicial proffesionals, thus giving him a chance to think things over.

He honestly thought the Money In The Bank match was everything for him, he thought he would return, everyone would appreciate the changes he had made. He had waited for a year, hell, he had waited 3 years, trained for a decade, showed up to every event on the independent scene, on OVW, on Raw, on Smackdown for months without stop and without any days off to show to the world that he was the real deal. The tattoos shouldn't fool annoying because he was hear to wrestle. He had absorbed every shot at him, comments, critiques, negative feedbacks and still, he kept on trying to stand on his own two feet, convincing himself that even if the people had turned their backs on him, he could still go on; he could still move on and the only way to prove himself was to just do what he was doing right now.

Although in his heart, he was convinced that what he was doing now was the right thing to do, to let creative do whatever they wanted but there was a little part of him that said it was all for the win, the change, to have his own control.

The company was corrupted. They could not face someone like Punk being champion and it hurt him deeply. He wanted to change the company for the better but the company were trying to change him, he was not John Cena, or Rnady Orton, the goddamn assistant was just the icing on the cake. He didn't need her, the company would soon need to face the fact that a wannabee amateur writer was not going to suck him into the corporate worm hole. It was all to the company, Vince McMahon, him. He had ruined many lives, many of his friends lives, Punk wanted retribution.

"Punk."

Lowering his head down, Punk closed his eyes. Damn, he had never felt so much anger before until now. Phoebe had stepped into the room, the corporate bitch hired from the Vinnie faggot McMahon.

"You're not my problem now. Go fuck off to Del Rio."

"I just wanted to see how you were Punk."

"Do I look fucking alright? I'm in pain you dumb bitch." Phoebe bit back a retort, she knew he was hurting but anything she said back would damage her chance of becoming a creative writer.

"Just thought you'd want some water, you mmust be thirsty." Phoebe handed him a cool bottle of Evian, she handed it to him her hand outstretched, instead Punk smacked the water out of her hand, she watched it shock as it rolled on the tiled floor.

"You thought wrong. Just leave me alone, I'm not in the fucking mood for your shit. The sooner you're out of this company the better."

"Punk –"

"You just don't get it do you?" Phoebe whipped round to see Amy stood behind her, feeling a harsh grip around her blazer she pulled her out of the room and flung her against the wall. Phoebe felt the impact of her slam shake throughout her body and groaned in agony. "You stalk me in bathrooms and now you're stalking my boyfriend."

"She stalked you into a bathroom?! You fucking creep, get out before I get your ass fired. Go on! Fuck off!"

"Leave us alone, Phoebe. No one wants you around." Amy grinned wickedly at Phoebe, she was strong and none of the words would usually hve mattered, but the words had come out of Punk's mouth, and they really stuck with her. Echoed in the walls of her mind. She was just a simple girl, in a foreign place looking for work and her companionship, as corny as it sounded, she couldn't handle the constant hassle from Punk. Hassle was being nice, grief, torture, verbal extreme abuse.

Phoebe left without another word, not only was she emotionally hurt, she fucking hated herself. She had let her guard down and she had thrown everything away to join a company in which she was hated. She was a fucking assistant, her job was to take orders, people that told her to never take the job, she had proved them all right. She let silent tears fall down her face, she felt wounded. Maybe this gig just wasn't for her.

No matter how much she tried, she suppressing a sigh, Pjoebe finally let out a shuddering sob one after the other, her stomach did another somersault as she felt a arbitrary hole imerging inside of her. Along with the whistle of the wind breezing through her, her ears echoing the harsh words from Punk and Amy, the constant discouragement that sometimes – well, most of the time, lately – pissed her off. She might not show it to the universe, denying the fact that she really just took the shit because she wanted to move further up, she hated him, and she goddamn admired him at the same time.

She just wanted to help, be a good person, she just wanted to show case her talents and relieve Punk from the cheating whore, but god help her, she really wanted to. She thought she could let everything in from what he said, in ear and out to the other, but she was human, too, and she could still feel. She may act numb but she still felt like crap. What did the Punk want her to do, anyway?

She had worked her fucking ass off every week, doing shit that no one should ever have to do ever, did WWE just hire her to laugh at her? She gave this a chance to see Punk's classic gimmick, wit, charm, personality and caring nature from what she heared after so many years, and still, the disrespect she received every time she appeared in his presence was overwhelming that he couldn't stop asking. What the fuck do you want from me Punk?