Chapter 31

All Randy could do was stare at her, his blue eyes wide. He was pretty sure she had just shoved another Twinkie in her mouth when he blinked because she was now licking creme off her fingers. "You're getting a shower." She reeked to high heaven and Randy dragged her off the bed. "And I'll get that on a t-shirt for you. Whiskey and Twinkies." He was guessing those words were not hers, but something someone had said to her.

"No! I don't want a damn shower!" Emery growled, trying to fight him off, but her head was spinning from all the whiskey she'd ingested. She had stains in her armpits of the t-shirt along with the neckline. She groaned, feeling him peel the t-shirt off her and shoved her into the already running shower. "Stop it, Randy!" She shouted, trying to get out and gasped when the water hit her, washing all over her.

She began crying all over again, curling up in a ball at the bottom of the shower, squeezing her eyes shut. The glasses were still on and she didn't care, just wanting to be left alone. Broken…Emery was broken and there was no fixing her, no matter how many showers Randy forced her to take. He forced her to take that one and, when she behaved like a little rag doll, he scrubbed her hair for her, removing bits of food and wondered if he'd be able to pick out the tangles. This was a lot of hair and about a week's worth of crap in it… she would have dreads soon enough. Then, Randy scrubbed her body, stopping at panties and bra and took a deep breath.

"So help me god, Emery, you will snap out of it long enough to wash your swamp crotch and stank ass or I'll do it for you." Being the best friend was hard.

Scowling darkly, she snatched the loofah sponge from him and tore her bra and panties off, throwing them right in his face before washing herself, yanking the curtain closed. He was her best friend, one of them, so her nakedness wouldn't mean a damn to him anyway. It wasn't a huge shock when she stepped out of a few minutes later and snatched the towel from him, shaking her head.

"You're an asshole." She muttered, storming past him into her room and sat on the bed full of crap, only for Randy to pick her up and shove her down the hallway toward the living room. "Why can't you leave me the hell alone, Orton?! I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP!"

"Yeah I know." Randy muttered, pushing her down onto the couch and began collecting all the pint bottles of Jack Daniels. "You want me to leave you alone so you can wallow in your body odor, Twinkies and whiskey. Fuck Em… what the hell?" He disappeared into the kitchen long enough to get a trash bag, shoving garbage into it. "When was the last time you slept?" He asked softly, crouching down before her, reaching out to push hair back from her face. "Properly?"

"Today, 12 hours." It was now 11 PM at night and he'd arrived about a half an hour ago. "Just go, Randy. Please."

Granted, it was an alcohol-induced sleep, but sleep nonetheless. Emery buried her face in her hands, unable to meet her friend's worried mystic blues. She didn't want people worrying about her. Paul had probably called Randy to tell him what happened since she hadn't. Her phone was currently smashed into tiny pieces, which is why nobody had been able to contact her. She just didn't care anymore and pulled away when Randy took her hand, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Now she was sobbing, clutching her chest tightly through the towel and began rocking back and forth repeatedly.

"It hurts…it hurts so badly…I just need it to stop…" Jack Daniels was the only thing that numbed the pain in her heart. "Please make it stop…"

"I wish I could, Emery." Randy murmured softly, his eyes filled with sorrow as he moved up onto the couch beside her. "I would take all of this away, if I could, but I can't." It wouldn't stop, not anytime soon, the only thing she could do was wait it out because that was how broken hearts worked. "I'm here for you though."

It was probably a small condolence. He reached out, pulling her onto his lap so she was sitting sideways, wrapping his arms around her. This time, she didn't push him away, instead only cried harder. Randy tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, blinking back his own tears.

For the next 3 days, Randy stayed with Emery and she didn't say much, just played video games and started getting back into her funk again. He had cleaned her house from top to bottom, especially her bedroom, airing it out since it smelled. No matter what he did, Emery couldn't bring herself to show gratitude, just kept her nose stuck in the television with a controller in her hand. WoW didn't appeal to her at the moment. Blowing shit up in a game did, though.

By the third day, Randy had gotten tired of her silence and just left, telling her to call him when she was ready to join the land of the living again. Emery didn't care, not even saying goodbye to him and had a bottle of Jack Daniels beside her. She'd stopped by a liquor store and bought their entire stock out before holing herself up in the house. Being plastered was the only way Emery got any sleep and her dreams were nothing more than nightmares about the man who shattered her to pieces.

Slowly prying her eyes open, Emery groaned as she brought her hand up to her forehead and covered her eyes, the light streaming through the window not doing anything for her MASSIVE hangover. Her head was pounding in her ears as she slowly rolled over and coughed, her mouth incredibly dry. Cotton mouth from having a bender. When her eyes managed to open fully without her head thundering, Emery reached for her glasses on the nightstand nearby and slid them on, the room coming into focus. A room that WASN'T hers.

"What the fuck?" She whispered, not trusting to use her actual voice at the moment and looked down, frowning at the clothes she had on. Black pants and a long-sleeved red blouse. Her hair was even braided… "What's going on?" Stumbling to her feet, Emery held onto the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, her head hurt badly.

"You're in an alcohol-induced coma." David deadpanned, walking out of the adjacent bathroom, buttoning the sleeves of his dress shirt.

He had brought in women to do the changing of attire and washed her skanky backside up. David was many things, but not a rapist. He had also paid hairdressers a great deal of money to deal with that fucking mop she had going on. David had been tempted to cut it, but… its length did have some purpose. As a reign, for example. Snorting, he walked over and guided her not so nicely back to the couch. Water and aspirin were on her menu and god help her, if she got froggy, because one good tap to her head would probably screw her up good.

"Lay still."

"B-Batista?" Emery could barely move, holding her head as she lay back on the couch in a half lay – half-sitting position, tears stinging her eyes. "W-What's going on?" The last time she was awake, she'd been in her house in Sedona and now…now she was with Batista. "I-I quit the company…oh fuck my head…" When he handed over the aspirin and water, she immediately took it the pills, hoping they helped with her pounding head. Frowning, she managed to look up at him through hazy vision and realized this was a locker room after several minutes, frowning. "W-Why am I here?"

Did he kidnap her from Sedona?!

Emery knew she was in trouble, but her head hurt too badly as she dropped the empty glass to the floor and collapsed back on the couch again.

"Batista, 5 minutes!"

Feeling her upper arm snatched from the couch, Emery had no choice except to follow him out the door and tried to get focused, but couldn't.

With as much as she had drunk, on top of borrowing one of Mark's old tricks of utilizing ether, he expected that pounding, crippling headache to continue on for a while, even with the aspirin. She wouldn't be able to help herself; hell, she might even vomit once that deafening audience and the bright lights hit her. David made a mental note to rub her face in any puke she may spew.

"Hope you don't suffer from stage fright, sweetheart, because it's showtime."

"W-What?!"

Before Emery knew what was happening, Batista's blaring music flowed through the speakers. She was shoved through the curtain, landing on her knees on the top of the stage. Fear…pure fear filled her icy blues as she looked around the arena, so many eyes staring back at her and felt her stomach twist violently.

"O-Oh god…"

The lights killed her, making her head pound and David wrapped her braid around his hand, pulling her like a dog down to the ring. She cried out weakly, feeling her body roll into the ring after he tossed her inside and Emery immediately scooted away from him, backtracking on her hands and feet. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she looked up at him, shaking her head repeatedly and felt her adrenaline kick up a notch. When he grabbed her braid again, Emery screamed and was sat on her knees beside him, his feet pressing against her back calves preventing her from rising to her feet.

"Well look what I found…" David chuckled wickedly into the microphone, keeping her grounded right where he wanted her and slid his tongue across his bottom lip. "She is QUITE the vision, isn't she? Wanna say hi, Emery?" He stared down at Emery, clicking his tongue wickedly. She looked ready to throw up. "Emery is shy," He explained to the audience. "Emery is the kind of girl who likes to sit behind a computer and write out soap operas."

At the words 'soap operas' a montage of the videos he had released played, followed by a special clip of her pushing the Sara line.

David figured that one would really take the cake, having no idea she had already confessed everything about it to Mark.

What the hell was Batista doing? Mark, in the process of dressing for the evening, halted and stared at his monitor. He had spent his week at home, away from all of this, and thinking about what had gone down between him and Emery. Anger never made for good conversations.

Sweat poured from her forehead mixing with tears as David forced her to watch the montage, all the destruction and damage she'd caused Mark flashing before her eyes. The screen made her eyes feel like they were on fire and she had to squeeze them shut, only for Batista to scream at her through the microphone to open them. Somehow, she managed to force the chunks not to rise in her throat and spew them all over the mat and him. The adrenaline was working overtime throughout her body, her heart pumping faster and harder than it ever had before, even during her two blowouts with Mark.

Once the montage ended, Batista looked down at her and yanked on her braid again to where his cheek touched hers. "So, anything to say to that, Emery?"

"Go to hell." She said loud enough into the microphone where the crowd actually cheered and felt her face plant into the mat harshly seconds later.

Paul was beside himself backstage watching this, his eyes wide and was on the phone with a screaming Randy.

"I have a feeling it will be you first, sweetheart." David said with a mock sad shake of his head. "You see… I think the Deadman is going to send you there himself, but first…"

For the first time in a week, Mark felt something besides anger and sadness, both usually directed at Emery. He felt regret. Because David Batista had pulled a black Sharpie out of his breast pocket and he was already on his way out the door. Mark had done that to her, humiliated her that way. While he hadn't done it on national television in front of thousands, everyone had known.

"To… what'd he call you? Dork chick?" David asked conversationally as he held Emery still via her braid. "To DC, XOXO Animal." With a flourish of the sharpie, the lights suddenly went out. "Finally!"

Feeling completely helpless, all Emery could do was lay there while David humiliated her in front of all these people, tears streaming like two rivers down her cheeks. Her heart nearly stopped when the lights went out and felt David's hand around her braid tighten to the point where it made her temples throb painfully. Weakly, she fought and it didn't do a damn bit of good because of the alcohol still working its way out of her system.

When the lights came back on, Emery felt her braid release from David's grip as she was thrown into the corner, hitting her head on the turnbuckle. Through hazy vision, she watched as Mark stood in the ring looking like a pissed off bull, no leather duster or hat. He was primed and ready for a fight…and all Emery could do was curl up in a ball, unable to move more than that.

David shook his head, his mouth curling into a sneer as he exploded out of the corner, spearing Mark. "Come to save your whore?" He sneered, throwing punches. "Your little puppet master?"

Emerald eyes had turned venomous and the next punch he caught, Mark clasped David's wrist with both hands and twisted as hard and viciously as he could. When he heard something crack, he let go, shoving the shorter but wider man off him. He snorted, spitting blood out of his mouth as he rolled and pushed himself up. Emery was laying there crying, that crap scrawled on her forehead and, when he spotted a camera man trying to get a closeup of her, he planted his boot right in the lens.

"Stay away from her." He ordered, sparing a glance back at David.

Paul was waiting by gorilla position, hopping from foot to foot, watching the monitor anxiously. Is this what Vince wanted to do to Emery? Is this what Taker had in mind? Randy had broken his phone in a rage, so Paul was waiting to hear back from him again. He'd also yelled at Randy for leaving Emery when she needed him the most since Paul couldn't be there due to his schedule. Batista cried out in pain while holding his wrist and Paul smiled viciously, hoping Taker broke it. It was the same hand that had written that crap all over Emery's forehead. He just hoped she was alright because it looked as though she could barely move.

What the hell did Batista do to her?!

Alcohol-induced coma…there was no way Emery could've possibly consumed that much. Sure, she'd downed a pint or two a day since resigning from WWE and leaving Mark behind, but…that wasn't nearly enough to cause her this kind of lethargy. Even through her hazy mind and pounding head, Emery knew something wasn't right, clutching her stomach as a zip of pain went through it. Hunger. She hadn't eaten in over 12 hours and her body was rebelling against her due to the alcohol and whatever David did to her. If he sexually assaulted her, she was glad she wouldn't remember it and had been unconscious.

She was holding her stomach, her face contorted with pain and he wanted to go check on her, but first… Mark grabbed David by his ears, yanking him up viciously. David had no choice except to get up and move with him or else he would lose said ears. Given he could feel something ripping, David was starting to think this may not have been the best idea. He lashed out with a boot, nailing Mark in the gut and that only got his ears pulled with what felt like the force of a hurricane.

"FUCK!"

He used said ears to toss David out of the ring before crouching down by Emery, hesitating at her smell. She smelled off… Mark bent down, sniffing her face. He could smell sharpie… and whiskey… and he knew that last scent, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. The lights went out as Emery was lifted from the mat, unable to fight off whoever had her since her eyes had closed against the bright lights and roar of the crowd.