A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Sorry about the wait; I swear, summer break hits, and I become all lackadaisical with all of my stories. I have been so bad about updating, esp. this one, so I pulled a marathon session and banged this chapter out. Right now, it is now almost 5 in the morning and I am very tired, so I apologize for any errors. Hopefully, you will enjoy this one. Peace!

Thank you to Writinglove101, Jemima Flute, Esha Napoleon, xXx A Beautiful Nightmare xXx, RatedRCouture, Oomph Kiddo, wweroh, D Torres, Baby Jayne, NikkiCandiOE, alethea293, miles89, Nikki7993, and cherrycokerocks for your reviews! Did I get everyone? I think I got everyone. WOW. All I can say is...you guys are AWESOME! Thank you SO much for your comments and feedback!

Chapter 7: Sleepless Nights

The Dominant Diva walked slowly down the corridor, her feet practically dragging with every step. Purple paint oozed down her limp arms, dripping off her fingers to puddle on the cement floor, leaving a vibrantly-hued trail in her wake. Melina's beautiful face was expressionless; her full lips pressed together tightly, her brown eyes staring dully ahead.

It wasn't that she didn't care; the paparazzi princess did care, quite a bit. Her evening had been shitty enough; the last thing she wanted to do at this point was make the walk of shame back to the women's locker room looking like a psychedelic version of Carrie. Rather, it was the fact that too many other conflicting emotions were competing for space in her head, pushing her to the brink of sensory overload. It was easier just to feign indifference, to pretend that she didn't feel anything at all.

Because being numb was better than acknowledging what had just happened between her and Jeff Hardy.

Melina reached the locker room and ground to a halt. She stared at the door for several seconds, studying the printed sign reading DIVAS LOCKER ROOM as though trying to ascertain its validity. She grasped the handle, leaving smears of paint on its polished surface, and turned it, pushing the door open and stepping into the room.

The space was almost empty, save for a few other Divas. Over in the far corner, Mickie James chatted with Torrie Wilson as she changed out of her ring attire into street clothes. On the other side, Candice Michelle stood in front of one of the vanity mirrors, applying a fresh coat of gloss to her lips. All three looked over as Melina walked into the room. The tube of lip gloss slipped from Candice's fingers, while Torrie and Mickie's conversation abruptly died away into silence. For a heartbeat or two, no one made a sound. Then, gradually, Mickie's stunned countenance gave way to one of scornful delight, and she let out a very un-Diva-like snort of laughter. Torrie and Candice quickly followed suit, their giggles digging into Melina's ears like ice picks.

The Dominant Diva's eyes narrowed, her gaze falling on the former Women's Champion. She didn't like any of the trio, but she had always harbored a particular dislike for Mickie. That bitch was certifiable; she belonged in a mental hospital, not a wrestling ring. But yet, of the two of them, Mickie had been the one chosen to face Trish Stratus in her final Raw match, while Melina had been relegated to escorting her boyfriend to the ring covered in house paint.

For a moment, the paparazzi princess was tempted to cross the room and wipe that smirk off of Mickie's face; to see how much Miss James liked having purple paint in that pretty golden-brown hair of hers. But Melina quickly regained control of herself. One of these days, she would show Mickie who the better Diva was, and it wouldn't be back here in front of two pieces of useless eye candy, but out in the ring, in front of everyone. Instead, the Dominant Diva pinched her lips together even harder, striding with as much dignity as she could muster toward the shower area.

She had just reached the doorway when a new voice joined in, one that grated on her ears even more than the other Divas' laughter. "Hey, guys! What's so fu—" Maria stepped out of the shower area, a towel wrapped around her slender frame. She stopped dead when she saw a painted-covered Melina standing almost right in front of her, her effervescent tone fading into a surprised squeak. The two Divas regarded each other silently before Maria broke the quiet, raising her hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter. "Holy crap!" the backstage reporter exclaimed. "What happened to you?"

Melina stared at the former Diva Search contestant, her mind no longer in the present, but in the past. Traveling back to a week ago, to the friendly exchange she had glimpsed in the hallway, to Maria's hand on Jeff Hardy's cheek…

Without warning, the paparazzi princess reared back, bringing her hand up and slapping Maria across the face with all of her strength. The shocked backstage reporter stumbled to one side, hitting the adjacent wall and sliding down to the floor. Melina didn't offer her so much as a second glance, but stormed into the shower area, entering the stall furthest from the door and throwing the curtain closed with a clatter of metal rings.

The other three Divas immediately crowded around Maria, their pretty faces bearing identical expressions of concern. "Oh my God, 'Ria!" Torrie cried, carefully brushing the backstage reporter's hair back from her face. "Are you okay?"

Maria slowly shook her head, clearly still dazed from the blow. The left side of her face was marred by the perfect purple outline of a hand. "I'm fine," she replied cautiously. The green-eyed Diva gazed around at her friends, her features reading confusion. "What did I do?"

Mickie gently rubbed Maria's shoulder. "Don't worry about her, hon," she answered soothingly. The former Women's Champion shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder, her brown eyes focused on the closed white shower curtain several feet away. "That bitch doesn't care about anyone except herself," she muttered.

Melina twisted the shower knob all the way to the left, running the water as hot as she could stand it. As steam filled the small enclosed space, she stripped down, peeling away clothing, boots, and lingerie with numb fingers, discarding them in a corner of the stall. If the paint hadn't ruined them, the water certainly would, but the Dominant Diva didn't care. Right now, she didn't care about anything—except what had just happened in the parking garage.

The paparazzi princess sank down into a sitting position on the tile floor, directly under the shower's spray. The water beat down on her paint-coated hair and skin, almost scalding her. Despite its heat, however, it couldn't stop Melina from shaking; couldn't burn away the feeling of Jeff's hands on her skin.

The Dominant Diva lifted up her hands, studying her wrists as though expecting to see the Rainbow-Haired Warrior's fingerprints seared into her flesh like a brand. No marks were visible, but she could still feel the memory of his touch smoldering inside her like a fire. A fire that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't extinguish…and somehow, she wasn't sure that she wanted to.

Melina reached back behind her, her groping fingers locating the shower knob and twisting it sharply to the right. Immediately, the torrent of hot water turned icy, stabbing into her bare skin like a thousand tiny icicles. The paparazzi princess drew her knees up to her chest, her teeth chattering, but grimly endured the frigid downpour. After all, this was what she was, wasn't it? Just a cold-hearted bitch; a spoiled little princess who didn't care about anyone or anything save herself. This was what she deserved.

But still, the fire blazed inside her relentlessly, a pulsating wave of heat and longing and need so intense that it made her weak. It terrified her, because she had never felt this sensation before.

Not even when Johnny touched her.

As the excess water streamed past her in lavender-hued rivulets, the Dominant Diva buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry.

Melina fell back against the pillow with a sigh, folding her hands together over her chest. This evening had been nothing but one catastrophe after another, and as a result, she was physically and emotionally exhausted. But for some reason, her mind was still alert, churning away and forcing her to relive every second of this series of unfortunate events.

Once she'd emerged from the shower, the paparazzi princess had soon discovered that Maria and the others had decided to exact their brand of petty childish revenge by stealing all of the towels. Melina had been forced to poke her head carefully out the door, flag down a passing road agent, and coax him into swiping one from the men's locker room. By the time she'd gotten back to the changing room she shared with Johnny, put on fresh clothes, and packed up her things, the show was over.

Out in the garage, she'd sat in the rental car, waiting for Johnny, for almost an hour. The Intercontinental Champion never showed. Normally, when a situation like this occurred, Melina would mercilessly bombard her boyfriend's phone with texts until she had determined his exact whereabouts. But after this particular night from hell, the Dominant Diva had neither the patience nor the inclination to play hide-and-seek. If Johnny wanted to be MIA, then he could catch his own damn ride back to the hotel.

Upon arriving at their shared room, the paparazzi princess's first order of business had been to take another shower, a much more thorough one this time, and make sure that every trace of paint had been eradicated from her hair. After changing into a tank top and yoga pants, she'd switched on the TV, only to find that she couldn't concentrate on any one program for more than a few seconds. Ten minutes of ceaseless channel surfing elapsed before the Dominant Diva finally switched it off, tossing the remote aside and collapsing back onto the bed.

Melina rolled over onto her side, pillowing her head on her arm. She couldn't stand the silence; it made everything so much louder, so much harder to ignore. But unfortunately, this was one recollection that couldn't be drowned out. The tricky thing about memory was that the more you tried to remember something, the more it slipped away from you, and the more you wanted to forget something, the clearer it became. Such was obviously the case in this instance, because the more the Dominant Diva tried to eradicate the Jeff Hardy incident from her mind, the sharper it became; every nuance, every detail replaying over and over like a film reel looped back on itself.

It all seemed so surreal. One minute, they had been at each other's throats; the next, they were…what? All she could see was red, and then all of a sudden, Jeff's face had appeared through the crimson fog surrounding her, his voice bellowing at her to calm down. And the strange part was—the second his emerald irises locked onto hers, she had calmed down. Somehow, every ounce of fight and resistance inside her had melted away, leaving her free to go, but powerless to do so.

What had she felt then? Confusion? Fear? Desire? Some amalgamation of the three that lapped at her insides like flames? All she knew for certain was that when the Charismatic Enigma had touched her face, she hadn't been able to breathe. Literally.

And then he had—Melina squeezed her eyes shut, trying to skip past the memory, but it eluded her mental exertions, insisting on playing out to its logical conclusion—he had to tried to kiss her. Jeff Hardy had tried to kiss her. And she didn't know which thought appalled her more—that he had attempted to kiss her…or that, deep down, she had wanted him to.

"No way." The Dominant Diva sat up abruptly, finger-combing back her hair. She shook her head, her still-damp tresses clinging to her face. "No way. I hate Jeff Hardy! I hate him!" But the more denials she vocalized, the hollower they sounded.

"I hate him." Melina whispered one final time to the empty room, before sinking back down onto the bed, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes. She wasn't lying to herself; part of her truly did hate Jeff Hardy. That was the old Melina; the part of her that was Johnny Nitro's girlfriend, that was Raw's uber-bitch. The part of her that had intervened and kneed the Rainbow-Haired Warrior in the groin before his lips could touch hers.

But there was another part of Melina that clamored for attention; the person she had been before Johnny, before MNM, before her career in the WWE. The part of her that had cared for Mick Foley—and the voice that tormented her now that he was gone. The part of her that she had thought was lost for good behind her A-list snob persona. This part of her…wasn't so sure that her feelings for the younger Hardy brother were exclusively hate-related.

Love or hate—either way, she couldn't stop thinking about Jeff. And after what had occurred tonight…maybe it wasn't hatred driving her to obsess over him.

The paparazzi princess rolled over onto her back, heaving a frustrated sigh. Where was Johnny? Right now, she needed a distraction; something to drown out the voice blaring away in her head. She needed him to hold her; to take her and remind her why he was the man in her life and not Jeff Hardy. So where was he?

Melina's SideKick was on the nightstand beside her; she'd tossed it there earlier without really glancing at it. Now, as she picked it up to give her boyfriend a call, she saw, with some surprise, that she had one new text message. The Dominant Diva pressed a button, her eyes quickly scanning over the digitized message.

Hey baby,

Grabbing a drink w/ the guys. Be back late. Don't wait up.

Love u

Johnny

The paparazzi princess threw the mobile device aside with an impatient cry; it bounced once before landing on the far corner of the bed. Melina crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. Johnny had been doused with two cans of paints tonight; he'd been practically homicidal following his match. She couldn't understand how, after all that, he could go out to the bar with his friends—and fail to invite her.

The Dominant Diva quickly shook her head. After everything else she had suffered tonight, the last thing she needed to do at this hour was start questioning her boyfriend's motives—otherwise, she'd never get any sleep. Instead, Melina pulled back the bedspread and slipped between the sheets, reaching over to switch off the light.

But despite her fatigue, sleep continued to elude the paparazzi princess—because every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Jeff's green ones.

Several blocks away, in another hotel room, the Charismatic Enigma was experiencing a similar bout of insomnia. Despite the lights being off and the curtains closed, Jeff still tossed and turned, unable to slip into comforting oblivion.

The Rainbow-Haired Warrior wasn't worried about waking his roommate; he'd been traveling alone since returning to Raw. Most of his old riding buddies were on SmackDown, and there really wasn't anyone on Raw that he was friendly enough with, save Maria—and rooming with her would have been, well, weird.

Jeff sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the unseen ceiling above him. He wished that it was thoughts of Maria that were keeping him from sleep. That, at least, would be a problem that he could solve. This, however, was a situation with no foreseeable resolution; an enigma—no pun intended—that he had no chance at solving. Just like in the ring, he had dove head-first—but instead of nailing the spot, he had crashed and burned.

He shouldn't have tried to kiss her; that much he was certain about. Jeff Nero Hardy had done quite a number of dumb things in his life—but trying to kiss Melina definitely ranked right up there as one of the dumbest. In every single one of his encounters with the paparazzi princess, she'd always been nothing more than a harpy and a bitch; why had he assumed that this one would be any different? Why had he tried to kiss her, period?

You know why…

"Shut up." Jeff whispered to the darkened room. He hated this voice; to him, it always sounded a little bit like Matt, lecturing away in that big-brother-knows-all tone of his. He flipped over onto his side, trying to find a comfortable area of the pillow to rest his head on.

Why do you think you can't stop thinking about her?...the voice persisted. Or why you can't seem to take that first step with Maria—or why, whenever you're with her, you keep wishing she was someone else?...

"Okay, not listening!" Jeff announced, his voice sounding hollow in the empty space. He buried his head under the pillow, but the voice followed him. It definitely sounded like his older brother by now.

Face facts, Jeff; you like her…More than that, you WANT her—and she wants you…

"Still not listening!"

Why do you think she didn't push you away when she had the chance; why she waited until the last minute to do anything?...You were looking in her eyes, Jeff—she's in this thing as deep as you are…

"All right, that's it!" The Rainbow-Haired Warrior sat up, tossing the pillow aside and throwing back the covers. Without turning on the light, he fumbled on the nightstand, locating his IPod, cell, and keys, and throwing all three into his pockets. Pushing his lean frame off the bed, he made his way carefully to the door, opening it and stepping out into the hall.

Whenever he had trouble sleeping like this, Jeff's remedy was to go outside, even if it was the dead of winter or the middle of summer. Once he was out in the fresh air, he would listen to his IPod, or sometimes just the sounds of traffic, until he felt that elusive peace slip over him once again. Tonight was clearly going to be one of those nights, and the Charismatic Enigma needed to be someplace that wasn't surrounded by four walls, even if that place was only a parking lot. Once he was there, he was going to jam his ear buds into his ears and crank up the volume until the music blasted every coherent thought out of his head.

Until the memory of Melina's eyes, her lips, the soft scent of her skin, faded from his memory completely.

Jeff reached the elevator, jabbing at the "Down" button with one hand and pulling out his IPod with the other. He was preoccupied with unwinding the headphone cord when he hear the soft ding of the elevator arriving. The doors slid open and the Rainbow-Haired Warrior glanced up briefly—then again in an honest-to-God double take, his green eyes widening in surprise when he saw that the elevator's occupant was none other than Johnny Nitro.

For one ludicrous second, Jeff entertained the notion that Nitro had heard about the paint fight—and its aftermath—and had come here to deliver the aforementioned ass-kicking. But as he realized just how ridiculous that possibility was, the Charismatic Enigma noticed two things: the Intercontinental Champion was incredibly drunk—and he was not alone.

The blonde girl hanging on Nitro's arm seemed to be skirting the age of consent, was wearing a sequined minidress that barely covered anything—and was clearly not Melina. As Jeff watched, still trying to comprehend what he was seeing, the Intercontinental Champion leaned down, planting his mouth on hers in a passionate—albeit sloppy—kiss.

Jeff glanced down at the floor, shuffling his feet, wondering if he should sidle into the elevator car, or merely wait for the next one. Luckily for him, Nitro broke off the kiss, looking up at the open door as though noticing it for the first time. "We'rrre herrre, bay-by," he slurred, his voice almost incomprehensible.

The blonde looked up as well, pouting a little. She was soberer, but not by much. Jeff prayed that neither one of them had driven here. "Johhhhnnneeey," she whined. "Whhhhhyyyyyy can't we go to youuur room?"

The Intercontinental Champion leered down at her, reaching over to drape his arm around her shoulders. "I tol' you, bay-by, my roommate snores. He's a total cock-blocker." Sliding his arm down to her waist, he led the blonde out of the elevator.

Jeff ducked his head, hoping to edge by the pair unnoticed. He was about to enter the car, however, when he felt Nitro's hand grab his arm, yanking him back. "Hol' on a sec." The Rainbow-Haired Warrior slowly turned around, bracing himself for the worst. The self-proclaimed A-lister peered at him suspiciously for a moment, his suspicion gradually giving way to recognition…and to scorn.

"Holy shit," Nitro proclaimed. "Jeff Hardy. Jeff fuckin' Hardy." He reached out to grab Jeff's arm a second time, almost falling onto his face in the process. The Charismatic Enigma moved back quickly, leaving the Intercontinental Champion to lean on the wall for support. Nitro pointed at Jeff—or, at least, what he must have thought was Jeff; his aim was off by at least a foot. "I've…got somethin' to say to you," the Intercontinental Champion drawled.

"What's that, Nitro?" Jeff answered calmly. The Rainbow-Haired Warrior had been around enough drunks to know that you always agreed with them, no matter how ridiculous or flawed their logic was.

Nitro continued to point. "Tonight…didn' count. You're still a loser!"

Jeff shrugged, though secretly, he felt like decking the Intercontinental Champion. "If you say so, man."

"I do say so!" Nitro declared proudly. He swayed a little on his feet, grabbing onto the wall again for support. "You're a loser, Hardy. You'll always be a loser! That's why you'll never be Innercon'nennal Cham'pion—and that's why you'll never have anything as hot as her!" To punctuate his point, Nitro reached out and grabbed his date, pulling the blonde to him. The girl let out a surprised squeal, but didn't resist.

The Intercontinental Champion focused his attention back on the Charismatic Enigma. His eyes were bleary and unfocused. "Now…if you'll excus' me…I'm gonna go nail this hot chick that you'll never get." He waved his hand in a sad rendition of a goodbye. "Night-night, Hardy. Have fun sleepin' alone."

"Yeah, have a good one, dude," Jeff answered easily, stepping back into the elevator and pressing the "Close" button before Nitro could add any further drunken commentary. As soon as the brass doors hissed shut, the younger Hardy brother let out his breath in a low sigh. "That was weird," he admitted. Who would have thought that, in a quest to assuage his insomnia, he would encounter his rival? His very lit rival. Jeff would have found the whole situation hilarious…if he hadn't been so pissed off.

No wonder…the Rainbow-Haired Warrior told himself. Nitro's an asshole when he's SOBER; did you really think he'd be any different drunk?... But as Jeff tried to soothe his wounded pride, he gradually realized that it wasn't Nitro's remarks that had angered him. After all, the self-proclaimed A-lister had been spewing pretty much the same diatribe since Day One; his comments tonight hadn't been any different.

No…what had pissed him off was seeing Nitro with that little blonde girl. Not because he was jealous or wanted the girl for himself, but because of what it implied, what it meant—that Johnny Nitro was cheating on Melina.

At this thought, the Charismatic Enigma did laugh, the sound bursting from him in a surprised bark. Here was a girl, who treated him like dirt, who had cost him the Intercontinental Championship, who had kicked him in the balls only a few hours ago—and he was getting angry over the fact that her boyfriend was cheating on her? All conflicting emotion aside, Melina was a harpy, plain and simple; she deserved a boyfriend who cheated on her.

But—

"No buts," Jeff interjected firmly. "This is the same chick who threw paint on me, remember? Who kicked me in the rocks when I tried to get too close?" He shook his head. "They fucking deserve each other."

The voice fell silent. Several long seconds passed, but just as Jeff thought that it had gone for good, it offered one final remark before holing away again in his subconscious:

FINE...Then tell me, Jeff…are you saying this because you DON'T care…or because you're trying to ignore the fact that you DO?

Jeff quickly shoved his ear buds into his ears and flipped through his IPod to the first song he could find, but even as the hard rock beats pounded through his head, he realized that he truly didn't have an answer to that question.