WWE Fan Fiction ❯ The Bad Guys Club ❯ Chapter 9

Author's Note: The first few chapters are PG-13ish, but I rated it for Mature Audiences because there's slash and smut. I don't own anyone or anything, just Teresa. My friend Rosy owns herself. I'm a huge fan of The Bad Girls Club, so why write a WWE fanfic based on it? Feedback's appreciated. Don't read and/or post nasty comments if you can't handle it. Don't take this without permission as well.

 

 

“We call this meeting,” Chris said at the house meeting the next night, “to end this war. Look, I don't know what's going to happen later on, but for now, this is the end of the war. John leaving doesn't sit right with me. For that, I feel partially responsible. I mean, he wasn't a saint or anything, but I feel I provoked a lot out of him, and I shouldn't have done it.”

 

“You're right, Chris,” said Shawn. “I really think Cena shouldn't left. I really think he should've stayed. You have issues, we all have issues every single day of our lives. He always said that he came here to learn a bit from us. Well, he should've stayed so we could all learn a bit from him.”

 

“Maybe it took him to leave for us to realize that we have to stop this between all six of us and make it through the next three months.”

 

“I know. I know I have a problem. I'm addicted to caffeine, mostly from drinking cans of Coke.”

 

“That's the thing, Shawn. If you want to—

 

“I do. I really do, and my caffeine habit's causing tension in my marriage, my friends—

 

“I really don't think you'll stop drinking Coke,” Adam said as he rolled his eyes. “I really believe that—

 

“Yeah, man,” agreed Chavo. “Give you a week, and eventually you'll relapse.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I don't think you'll stop flashing your ass.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I think you'll go hyper and trash the house again after drinking coffee or Coke in the morning.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Shawn couldn't help that he was a party guy at heart, despite of his born-again Christianity. It was annoying to become hyper around the guys in the house. If he was hyper after his second can of cola, then it was fine. At least he'll ignore them to heights. “Hey, I have something to say about me,” Randy said as he raised his hand and turned to the Street Urchins. “I'm not a cold, like, vindictive asshole at heart—Sorry, Shawn. I'm not like that at heart, but there's so much going on between Rosy and me and I hate it when you guys judge me for stuff. You have no idea what's going on—I mean, as much as I would like to break up with her tonight or tomorrow or next week because that's the respectful thing to do. I'm not parading around going, `Look at me! Look at what I'm doing.'”

 

“Well, don't you think that you knew you wanted to break up with Rosy before you got here?” the Rated R Superstar asked him.

 

“There was a part of me that was like, `you know, maybe I'll come here to think about what I've done, and then I'll realize how much I love her, and she'll realize how much she wants to pay attention to me, and then our relationship will go stronger than ever.' But when I came here, that's when it slapped me in the face. Living here in this house showed me many things that were wrong in my relationship, and how I'm not meant to be with this woman.” Ever since he hooked up with Teresa here in Chicago, the Legend Killer had been constantly balancing whether or not he wanted to call Rosy back in St. Louis and break up with her. If he had called her tonight, he would want to flip it around to where she would feel badly, not him. “And P.S., I'm not doing anything bad other than me and Teresa kissing.”

 

“The fact of the matter is that,” Hunter added, “what we've done the last month makes us closer, and like it or not, we are all family. This is the way it should be. We all move on from here.”

 

On that note, the Party Animals went out to a nightclub, especially Shawn, who wanted to test if he can control himself after drinking two or three cups of Coke or Pepsi. They danced the night away, with Randy and Hunter drinking three shots of alcohol before getting intoxicated. The Heartbreak Kid promised he wasn't going to go overboard with the cola. Boy, did he prove himself wrong as he realized that without a cup of Coke, there was no way he was going to stop being the party hog, the fun hog that went, “WOOO!!” better than Ric Flair. When they got back home, Shawn, hyper as a honeybee, danced around the house, grabbing the attention of the Street Urchins. Adam and Chavo grabbed Shawn, dragged him to his room upstairs, and pinned him to his bed with their weight. The Texan pushed them out of the way as he ran downstairs to the closet and back upstairs to his room. He flopped on the bed, smiling away. “Shawn, come here,” said Chris, then noticed the him naked. “Shawn, where`s your pants, man?”

 

“Crap!” cried Adam. “Hide the balls, Chavo!”

 

Every time Shawn drinks two or three cans of Coke, he hears a song. A stripper song! All of a sudden, his clothes come off and he dances around the house in the nude. Chris has seen the Texan's balls more than he has seen his own, which was a bit disturbing. “Shawn, I beg of you,” the shorthaired Canuck mockingly cried, “don't do a Darlen.”

 

“I'm not Darlen!” he replied with a glee as he jumped out of bed, ran downstairs to the kitchen where his fellow Party Animals were and ran into the phone room to “hyper” dial his wife, Rebecca.

 

“Shawn, if you make me run,” Chris yelled into the kitchen, “I'm gonna castrate you!”

 

“You know you started a war between the both of us, right?” Shawn said manically to Rebecca in the phone room.

 

“What are you talking about, honey?” she responded, her voice growing upset. “Shawn, you're hyper again. I thought you told me you were going to cut down on the doggone cola!”

 

“I ain't hyper, baby, but me and Hunter wanted to build a sandcastle at Dairy Queen—

 

“It's all right, Shawn. Please, get some rest, and we'll talk.”

 

Shawn gasped. “No, you know what? I don't wanna! You're mean and you're spiteful! Don't call me anymore! Devil woman! Devil woman!”

 

He hung up the phone and started to dance and sing around the house, emitting a few laughs from Randy and Hunter. Shawn was the oldest of all the Bad Guys in the house, and never did they witness him acting crazy after drinking a few cans of Coke, especially Adam. Seeing the Heartbreak Kid in that state had made the Rated R Superstar realized that he should cut down on the drinking sometimes, because he acted like a dumb teenager when he was drunk. At least he wasn't dancing and singing around the house in his birthday suit because if he did, he would have regretted it the next morning. “Oh, I'm a gummy bear!” Shawn sang and danced in the nude in front of everyone. “I'm a gummy bear! Oh, I'm a yummy, tummy, funny, lucky, gummy bear. I'm a jelly bear. `Cause I'm a gummy bear. Oh, I'm a moving, grooving, jamming, singing gummy bear. Oh, yeaoooh!”

 

“Shawn, let's go to bed, man,” said Randy. “Don't get too wild!”

 

It creeped out Chris a bit since Shawn was getting out of control, again. He told him that he wanted to cut down on the caffeine because he didn't like the way he behaved. But, no…he was getting fucked up every single time, on cue. Chris couldn't stop laughing, and he was enjoying watching the Heartbreak Kid shake his moneymaker and humping poor Chavo. “Shawn, I am not gay in any way, shape, or form!” cried the Mexican Warrior as he shoved him and waved his boxer briefs at him. “Shawn, put them on! Put them on, Shawn! Put them on!”

 

“I think your ass is beautiful, Shawn,” Chris spoke through laughs. “You can come show me.”

 

Shawn finally put on his brief boxers dancing and singing provocatively around the kitchen,”Ba, ba, bidubidubi, yum, yum. Ba, ba, bidubidubi, yum, yum. Ba, ba, bidubidubi, yum, yum. Three times you can bite me. Ba, ba, bidubidubi, yum, yum. Ba, ba, bidubidubi, yum, yum. Ba, ba, bidubidubi, yum, yum. Three times you can bite me. Gummy, gummy, gummy, gummy, Gummibär. Gummy, gummy, gummy, gummy, Gummibär!”

 

“Shawn, you're not a Pussycat Doll,” Hunter said as he watched his fellow DX member dancing and spanking his ass. “There's no way you can try out for one, either.”

 

“Shawn, would you please go to bed?” Adam asked the Heartbreak Kid.

 

“No, I wanna use the phone,” he replied as he went into the phone room to call Bret Hart, of all people to call at this time of the night. “Hello, Hitman! You have a guy named Mike Rotch with you? I heard you were having your way with him!”

 

“Who the hell is this?!” he replied angrily. “Is this Shawn Michaels?!”

 

“Yeah, I thought you wouldn't remember me after that stroke you had, you sinner!”

 

“Michaels, it's too late to curse you out for this at this time of night!”

 

“No, because I still want a score to settle with you! I read you blog thingy, and you were talking crap about me—

 

“What the hell are you talking about, Michaels? I don't have a blog, or a MySpace!”

 

“Well, you know what, Bret?”

 

“What, Shawn, what?!”

 

“I'm gonna get me a shotgun and kill all the snowbacks I see!” Shawn started singing again.

 

“Yeah, is that so?” Bret responded sarcastically. “You wish you would shoot me, psycho bastard!”

 

“I'm gonna get me a shotgun and kill all the snowbacks I see!”

 

In the kitchen, Chris's face grew concerned as he tried to eavesdrop into the Texan's hyper conversation in the phone room. “Hey,” he asked Hunter, who was still playing games on the computer. “Who's Shawn talking to?”

 

“He's talking to Bret,” he replied, then spacing out into the game.

 

“Bret, as in Hitman?” Chris suddenly stormed into the phone room. “Hell, no! Has he lost his damn mind?”

 

He didn't care if the Heartbreak Kid and the Hitman had a long rivalry together, even after the Montreal Screwjob. Bret Hart was one of Chris's friends. If someone messes with one of his friends, they messed with Chris. “Shawn!” he yelled, pulling the receiver from the Texan's hand. “Get off the phone! Now!”

 

Just then, the Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla pulled Shawn off the chair and literally threw him out of the phone room. He grabbed the receiver and said to Bret, “You still here?”

 

“Who is this?” he responded in a hostile tone. “Hunter, is this you? Did you put your friend to this?”

 

“This isn't Hunter, man. This is Chris Jericho!”

 

“Chris! Thank god, man! What the hell's going on?”

 

“Blame Vince for putting all of us living together in one house for four months.”

 

“Oh, so you're living with DX and everyone because you went and poisoned JBL? Don't ask how I know. Go ask JR. It was his idea that you guys are stuck living together in the first place.”

 

“Whatever! Look, Bret, I'm sorry for tonight. I didn't even know he had your number, and I didn't even give it to him.”

 

“Don't worry about it. It's not your fault the guy's off his rocker.”

 

“He's not crazy…He overdid it with the caffeine.”

 

“Oh, well that explains everything. I pity him.”

 

Chris hung up the phone and dragged the Showstopper into the living room. “Go to bed, Shawn!” he yelled at him. “I mean it! That's enough for tonight! You know not to try that shit with me, motherfucker!”

 

Later on in the night, after Shawn and Chavo finally went to bed, Adam grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shark tank bar into the kitchen. “After we finish this bottle together,” he declared to Chris, “we're gonna be fucked!”

 

He poured the drink into two large shot glasses, and he and Chris hooked their arms together. “Cheers to a good life and a good health,” Chris said as he and Adam clinked their glasses.

 

Chavo came from his bedroom downstairs and noticed his fellow two Urchins wearing sunglasses sharing the bottle of Jack Daniels and lemon wedges. All he knew before he went in the phone room that he wasn't going to be involved in any fights and Chris wasn't going to pass out in his room. “We need to savor…savor this bottle,” Adam said in a slur. “You spilled my shot all over!”

 

“Sorry,” Chris responded in a slur as well. “Cheers.”

 

“Yeah, cheers to our friendship.” They poured another couple of shots of Jack Daniels.

 

“Stop drinking!” Chavo yelled from the phone room, then complained to a friend of his on the phone. “Man, these guys are crazy! They're drinking the whole bottle of Jack Daniels in the kitchen. Who? Adam Copeland and Chris Jericho, who else? I'm watching them right now, and I'm totally getting a kick outta it!”

 

Randy came in from outside to play on the Internet when he saw the blond Canadian Urchins drinking shot after shot of the liquor. They were giggling away sucking on lemon wedges until Adam cried, “Dude, I can't believe we drunk the…WHOLE BOTTLE!!”

 

“Oh, boy,” Randy muttered to himself. “Someone's gonna hurl.”

 

“Let's cut more wemons.” Adam continued, “Cut…wemons.”

 

“Did you just say, `Cut more women'?” The Legend Killer asked the Rated R Superstar when Chris knocked his and Adam's shot glasses full of Jack Daniels and fell to the floor, laughing hysterically.

 

Adam laughed as well, helping his drinking fuck buddy up from the kitchen floor, until Chris ended up in his arms licking his neck. “I love you, too, Chris,” he replied.

 

“I know!” the Fozzy lead singer said in a slur.

 

“HE'S MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOOLLE ENTIRE HOUSE!!” Adam yelled all over the house, emitting weird looks from Randy and Chavo.

 

“SO LIKE, BLOW US IF YOU DON'T LIKE!!” said Chris, then kissed the Rated R Superstar on the lips. “I love you, baby.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The blond Canucks danced around Chavo as he tried to go to his bedroom. “Come on, you guys,” the Mexican warrior cried.

 

“You come on,” said Chris.

 

“Yeah, you should be grateful that you have the both of us to entertain you around the house,” Adam agreed.

 

“Fuck you two!” Chavo went into his bedroom and locked the door behind him.

 

“BOOO!!” Adam turned to Chris. “Hey, you wanna do something?”

 

“I'll fuck you later, dude,” he responded, almost falling over.

 

“Hey, let's do what the Heartbreak Kid does.”

 

“Lie and dance around naked?”

 

“No.” The Rated R Superstar dragged the Sexy Beast into the phone room and dialed a 24-hour pizza place. “Hello? I'd like to make a delivery. Let me get a black one, an Asian one, and a Puerto Rican one that knows how to cook!”

 

“Who the hell is this?” the guy on the other line responded. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

 

“No, but this sausage is hard as a brick, care to taste it?” Adam hung up and Chris sat by him laughing hysterically.

 

He dialed another number as Randy watched from the computer in the kitchen. Those two are getting wasted and they're making prank phone calls in the middle of the night, he thought. God, these guys are crazy!

 

“Hello?” Adam spoke into the phone.

 

“Hello?” responded a young Latina woman on the other line.

 

“Have you ever sucked a big…hard…cock?”

 

“What?”

 

“Have you ever sucked a big, hard cock?”

 

“Have you ever sucked a juicy, wet pussy, motherfucker?!” The Latina's voice grew angry. “Don't be fucking calling here no more, `cause I got your goddamn ID number!”

 

“What is it, ho?”

 

“Why you calling me a ho for? I'm turning you over to the police, son of bitch!”

 

“What is it? Don't call my mother a bitch, filthy cunt!”

 

“Why you calling me a cunt? You heard what I fucking said, asshole! Don't call here anymore! I'm gonna get somebody to smoke your goddamn ass!”

 

“You wish! Bring your fucking posse, and your pimp, too!” The Rated R Superstar hung up the phone.

 

“Dude, you really suck at this,” Chris said as he sat on his lap, dialed a random number, and spoke in his best feminine version of Stu Hart's voice, like an old woman with a lung cancer voice. “Hello? Is this about the German shepherds?”

 

“Yes,” a woman replied on the other line.

 

“Do you have any bitches left?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Do you have any bitches left? Look, I'm 87 years old, and I have lung cancer, and I'm in desperate need of some pussy right now.”

 

“Hello? Who is this?”

 

“This is Mike, uh, Mike Adamle.”

 

“So are you a guy, then?”

 

“No, I'm a woman. I'm dying of lung cancer from all the cigarettes and the crack pipes I used to do. Listen, dear, do you have any bitches left? Whom can I speak to?”

 

“My mom's in the other room, I can take a message for her. Who is this?”

 

“This is Mike Adamle, and I want to buy a bitch. When I can come by and look at them? I have a question, dear. These aren't the kind of bitches you find on the street, are they? I mean, this is high quality meat you have here, right?”

 

“Hello?” Chris heard another woman on the other line.

 

“Hello? This is Mike Adamle. I'm an 87 year-old woman who is dying of lung cancer and I have a month to live, and the doctor recommended that I shouldn't die alone. So, do you have any bitches left?”

 

“I'm sorry, what?”

 

“Do you have any bitches left?”

 

“Yes, we have female German shepherds left.”

 

“How many do you have?”

 

“Three, but I'm not selling them until this morning. How did you get this number?”

 

“Don't ask me how I got it, honey. Your ad stated—

 

“I'm not going to make you come over here this late at night, if that's what you're insisting.”

 

“You wouldn't make me cum if you wanted to.”

 

The older woman's voice grew disgusted. “Don't call here again or I'm calling the police.”

 

After the woman hung up, Chris and Adam laughed hysterically in drunken nuttiness. Randy couldn't bear to stand the idiocy of those two Canadian Urchins. Just then, Chris dialed another random number. “Hello?” an older male voice answered this time.

 

“Hello, dear,” replied the Sexy Beast in that same voice he used with the last caller.

 

“Who is this?”

 

“This is Julia. Julia Haughton. I live next door. I'm calling to ask you about the smell that was coming from your house.”

 

“What smell do you mean, ma'am? Who is this?”

 

“This is Julia Haughton. I'm the respirator lady next door. I have lung cancer and I use a respirator. I smell something horrendous coming from your house like you have a meth lab. It's not my business if you are a meth addict or a dealer, but I smell it.”

 

“I don't have a meth lab in my house.”

 

“Do you have any pets?”

 

“I have a dog, ma'am.”

 

“Is your dog potty trained? I keep smelling dog piss coming from your house, and you know how it turns into ammonia. Oh, I get sick talking about it.”

 

“My house is clean, thank you!”

 

“That's what drug addicts all say!” Chris covered Adam's mouth from snickering.

 

“Ms. Haughton, didn't you ask me if I had a meth lab?”

 

“Honey, don't mind my Alzheimer's. I understand if you're at the bottom of the pit right now, and you're in desperate need of ending your life. All you need is the lord, and the lord—

 

“Is this Triple H?!” The voice turned out to be Vince McMahon causing Chris to gleefully hung up on him, and he and Adam ran into their bedroom laughing hysterically.

 

Hunter came out from his bedroom and walked over to his kitchen for a glass of water when the phone in the phone room rang. “Hello?” he answered it.

 

“Listen to me, damnit!” Vince yelled. “This is why you and Michaels are staying in that house! You know what time it is?!”

 

“Vince, Vince, calm down! What I'd do to piss you off this time?!”

 

“Don't give me that! You got some nerve calling here asking me if I had a meth lab!”

 

“Meth lab? Vince, I just went to the kitchen for something! Why would I ask you that?”

 

“It wasn't you?”

 

“It wasn't me!”

 

“First you and Michaels bombed my son's car, now you call me here in the middle of the goddamn night drunk and imitating a Canadian woman with a hoarse voice?”

 

“Vince, do I sound drunk? Why would I do that to you? The only person who does a better Stu Hart impersonation is Chris Jericho, wait, hold on.” Hunter turned to Randy by the computer. “Randy, who used the phone before I came in?”

 

“Jericho and Edge,” responded the Legend Killer. “They drank a whole bottle of whiskey and started making crank calls.”

 

“See?” Hunter turned to the boss on the phone. “It wasn't me. Goodbye, Vince.”

 

Hunter checked on the two Urchins in their bedroom, and found them passed out on their bed, Adam in his orange t-shirt and jeans, and Chris in his flame see-through shirt and jeans. The next morning, Shawn dragged his feet into the dressing room to eat his burger while Randy fixed his hair. “How are you feeling, man?” Randy asked him.

 

“I feel yecch!” he replied. “Did I go overboard or what?”

 

“You did, and it was funny, man.”

 

The Showstopper sighed. “I gotta stop drinking Coke, man.”

 

“You know something, Shawn? Don't you realize what the effects of caffeine could do to you? It's not pretty, and normal people can go through with just one can of cola or an energy drink, or a cup of coffee, and be done with. You're almost 43 years old. You can't go through life buzzing all the time like that. It's unhealthy.”

 

“I know, man.” Ever since Shawn came into the house, he has constantly talked about cutting down his caffeine consumption, and getting help on it. But Randy didn't think that he was ready for it, so his future of an intervention would be to get dragged to rehab kicking and screaming.

 

They hung out by the pool, and Shawn took a bite of his sandwich and said, “I wouldn't mind getting help seeking a therapist or something, because I know I'm crazy. Not like Jericho, though. I've wanted one since I was in Kindergarten.”

 

“Well, I'm totally for you going just for the caffeine,” said Randy. “I know you're strict with your religion, so maybe if you can attend churches somewhere in this city while you're staying here before you go back to San Antonio.”

 

“Church, that's what I need, too. And everyone in San Antonio knows—I'm not hiding anything, but to go back and let everyone that know me see and be like, `Oh, wow. Shawn did change.' Because no one believes me at all, and even Chris has pointed that out. Him and everyone that personally know me in San Antonio keep saying, `Yeah, sure Shawn's been saying as soon as he married Rebecca and turned into a born-again Christian that he's gonna change forever, ever, ever, and ever. He's been saying that he was going to stop his wild ways forever, ever, ever, and ever.'”

 

“But that'd be great if you would back to San Antonio and show them, man.”

 

“Especially my family.”

 

“Maybe you can get new friends here. From the church, maybe—you need some positive people in your life.”

 

Later in the afternoon, Randy went into the phone room to call Rosy. “So, how's life?” he asked her in a solemn tone.

 

“It's the same. Being in and out of the house. A man I bathed in the nursing home passed away today. He was one of my favorites, always had this inner youth, wanted to see the Blue Man Group for his 85th birthday—

 

“Uh, Rose? I'm getting a signal that I'm needed, so can I call you back?”

 

“Yeah, but call me on my cell, please?”

 

“Sure thing.” Randy hung up the phone and stormed outside, passing a hung over Chris. “Ugh! There's nothing there! I talked to Rosy, and she has nothing to say to me! I'm so mad!”

 

“What's wrong with you, Orton?” he asked him outside in the gazebo.

 

“It's Rosy, man. She doesn't ask me how I'm doing. Doesn't ask me how I feel. It's like…How did we end up as roommates? I end up sleeping on the couch most of the time.”

 

“Hmm…” Chris paused through tormenting headaches. “You think she's a lesbian?”

 

“What? No, man! She just doesn't try. She cares for those rotten corpses down at the nursing home more than she cares for me. She just doesn't try and fix us. Honestly, if I didn't get punished, I would've had to break it off.”

 

“Yeah…I understand. I mean, if you're not happy, so be it. Just move on.”

 

Women don't last long in Randy's life because Randy gets bored very easily. And the Legend Killer was surprised that Rosy lasted as long as she did with him. They went back into the shark tank bar, where Chris poured a shot of vodka, and Randy was surprised that the Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla wanted to get drunk again. “No, I just need something to get rid of this hangover,” he said as Randy gave him a look of concern.

 

“Chris, you got drunk last night,” he said. “I don't think anyone in this house wants a recap.”

 

“I don't care.” Chris poured another shot after gulping the last one down. “I stopped caring a long time ago.”

 

Hours later, Chris was in his Tipsy Chrissy state, constantly trying to make out with Adam by the computer. “Dude, did you drink again?” Adam asked him.

 

“Fuck you!” he responded, pissed off.

 

“Okay, then. If you want my opinion, I think you and Shawn should take some advice from CM Punk. At least he's the only one who isn't crazy like you!”

 

“Fuck you, Adam! I am not crazy, okay?!” Chris stormed into the phone room.

 

“What is it, now, Chris?” Jesse Spencer responded on the other line as the Sexy Beast drunk dialed him the second time in the two hours of drunken rage.

 

“You have a bitch with you, don't you?” he angrily asked him.

 

“I'm in my bed by myself!”

 

“Really, Jesse? Really? Because you're normally watching the fucking TV. Don't lie to me, man! You have a girl with you!”

 

“Oh, my god! Chris, shut up!”

 

“While I'm spending the next three fucking months living with white trash, you're over there licking someone's fucking pussy!”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“Have fun with her, Jesse!”

 

Adam watched Chris curse out Jesse on the phone from the computer. Chris was drunk, and when he was drunk, the alcohol also fueled his rage, and it causes him to do the craziest shit that you just don't do. “No!” he continued on the phone with the Aussie. “I'm about to fuck your world up, man!”

 

“Shut up,” said Jesse sarcastically.

 

“Your mother's a slut, dude! I hope she dies! I hope your dad dies! I hope you die! I hope your whole fucking family dies, Jesse!”

 

“That's nice, Chris! Real nice!”

 

“Fuck you, Jesse! Fuck everyone!!”

 

“Tipsy Chrissy's back.”

 

Chris slammed the phone and stormed out of the room. Adam followed him outside by the pool where he caught him almost passing out on the deck chairs. Randy stopped by and stared at the drunk Sexy Beast. Suddenly, Chris lunged at Randy and Adam stepped in between the two. He just didn't understand. He just couldn't understand why Chris would become this angry. “Chris, what is wrong with you?” he asked him. “You don't attack Randy like that.”

 

“Fucking…Randy!” Chris responded in a slur, throwing a tantrum on the deck chair. “I'll fucking kill him!!”

 

“He didn't do anything to you!”

 

“I want an apology, Jericho,“ said the Legend Killer.

 

“Will you please apologize to him for what you just did?” pleaded Adam calmly.

 

“I was just talking to you earlier, Chris,” Randy said to the Sexy Beast. “You were fine.”

 

“Wha—What the fuck did you just say?!” shrieked Chris as he grabbed a hold of Randy's arm, but Adam pushed in between the two. “I'll fucking kill you!!”

 

Then…the barricade of Adam Copeland began to buckle as…

 

SPLOOOSSSHHH!!

 

…The Rated R Superstar accidentally pushed the Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla into the pool. Randy quickly pulled Chris up, and the Sexy Beast laid face down coughing. In a way, Randy should've left him there because you just don't attack someone for no reason, especially if you've given some sort of advice earlier. He had enough as he went into the car in the driveway to pick up Teresa from her apartment. “I'm so excited, right now,” she told him.

 

“Why?” he asked.

 

“Well,” she explained, “I have you all to myself, and we have this car, and we could do whatever the hell we want.”

 

Randy has a lot of fun with Teresa, but the reality of it is that women in his dating life in general have a shelf life of one month, maybe two if they were astonishing. “I'm psyched about a coffee right now,” he said.

 

“You know what I'm psyched about?” giggled Teresa. “You all day.”

 

“Geez.”

 

“I'm serious, I've been actually thinking. If the time comes where we're telling people how we met—

 

“My roommate already knows you, Teresa—

 

“That is true. I mean, later on in life, if we can actually get there. This is my answer: `My, well this is a funny story.'” The biracial blonde caressed Randy's large hands that were placed on the steering wheel as they stopped at an intersection. Her slender fingers caressed all the way behind his ear, causing the Legend Killer to yelp

 

“You're very sneaky, aren't you?” he beamed.

 

“You're very jumpy, aren't you?” she responded, twirling her blonde locks.

 

“Well, you know what? It's worth it to come all the way to Chicago just to get to know people I've met.”

 

“A.k.a., me.” Teresa said in a singsong tone.

 

“No, I meant my roommates.”

 

The biracial blonde blew a raspberry. Even though she wasn't Ms. Right, Teresa was pure proof that breaking up with Rosy was the best thing for Randy. He just can't be engaged. In the house, the next afternoon, Adam and Shawn were in the kitchen hanging out, with the longhaired blond Canadian checking his MySpace on the Internet, while the Texan sat at the counter eating a TV dinner. “How do you live with yourself?” he said to the Texan. “It's like putting your body on the line in the ring, you just don't give a day to rest. You constantly drink one can after another, after another.”

 

“I do that back in San Antonio,” he responded.

 

“That's crazy. I'm surprised at only 42, your body keeps up with you.”

 

“I know, but I pray to have another day to live, and I thank him for that. Every day.”

 

“I know you don't drink like the rest of us, but sometimes even a sip of Coke gets you in trouble. CM Punk may be straight edge, but he doesn't overdo it, you know?”

 

“I know what you're trying to say, Adam—

 

“You know something, Shawn? I don't think you want to change. I don't think you care about it. You have so much fun.”

 

“I know I do.”

 

“That's sad, really.”

 

In Adam and Chris's bedroom, Chris and Chavo shared Twinkies and laughed about. Chris pulled out a bottle of wine from under his bed, emitting a stare from the Mexican Warrior. “What?” he asked him.

 

“Man, I just saw you drink like a couple shots at the bar,” he replied.

 

“Relax, it's a dessert wine. Care to have some?”

 

“No, thank you. I'm not gonna be loco all day.”

 

“Whatever you say, man.” Chris stuffed the sponge cake in his mouth and gulped the wine down. “More for me.”

 

Alcoholics Anonymous, here we go again, Chavo thought.

 

In the phone room by the kitchen, Randy had a somewhat chill conversation with Rosy. “Even when I talk to you, Rosy, oh, I don't know,” he said to her clutching the receiver to his ear. “It feels dead between us.”

 

“I feel the same way, too,” she responded. “Like a tragedy happened on the way.”

 

“Yeah, and we're supposed to be engaged and all. We don't even communicate like we used to. We don't have a relationship, anymore like we used to.”

 

“What do we do, then? What are you trying to say to me?”

 

The Legend Killer sighed. “I don't know, Rose. I think that I need to take a break.”

 

“You want to take a break from our relationship?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Rosy scoffed, her tone of voice turning to cold rage. “I knew this was going to happen! You know what, Randy? Fine! That's just fine by me! Our relationship does have some problems! How about that?! Good luck living anything else in your life without having some problems, and then abandoning them the first chance you get! I'm not good enough for you, then?! Is that it?”

 

You're right, Rosy! Randy thought as he slammed the receiver back on the phone. I did use you to look normal! So, I don't know where you get that image of me. I am not normal! I'm psycho! And you're boring! And another thing…I've been cheating on you!

 

Randy got to the shark bar tank to pull out a bottle of his vodka and gulped a glassful down. He heard the phone ring, for he knew if he and Rosy got into an argument, Rosy would call back with fighting words, constantly cursing him out. He asked Hunter not to answer it, but the Game went to the phone room anyway. “Tell her I died,” he said to him, “because if she cared for me that much, she'd drive up here.”

 

“Hello?” Hunter answered the phone. “May I ask who's calling?”

 

“This is Rosy,” she responded coldly.

 

“Rosy! This is Hunter. We met at a few house shows. Listen, I have some bad news. Randy's dead, and if you want to go to the county coroner's office here—

 

“Yeah, fucking right! Put that disgusting pig on the phone, right now!”

 

“Rosy, I know you're in mourning, but listen—

 

“He told you to tell you that, did he?! I knew it! What a fucking coward! Put that asshole on the phone, right now, you son of a bitch!”

 

Hunter hung up. He didn't need to have her yelling at him like that like she normally does to Randy. The phone rang again, and this time Crazy Chris (Y2J drunk as hell again) answered it. “What the fuck do you want?!” he said in a slur.

 

“Who the fuck is this?!” Rosy responded.

 

“Who the fuck is this?!”

 

“This is—

 

“You know what? You don't have to tell me, bitch! I know all about you! I'm telling you right now! Keep your fucking cunt off my man!”

 

“Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that? I don't even fucking know you!”

 

“Don't fucking lie to me, slut!”

 

“Why are you calling me a slut?!”

 

“You are a slut, bitch! Just because you see the both of us hanging out together, doesn't mean you can have your way with him! And you're married, too, aren't you?! You're fucking married, too! You can't have what you want all the time, you greedy ass, trashy, bottomfeeding, tramp fucking cunt!”

 

“Randy, right?”

 

“It's not Randy! You know that! Don't fucking deny it, slut!”

 

“What?! Are you fucking wasted?! I don't know who the fuck you think you are to talk to me like that! When I meet you in person, I swear to god, I will get someone to bust you the fuck up!”

 

“Oh, you wish, bitch! You fucking wish! I will cut them the fuck up! I don't fight fair, bitch! I use weapons, hooker!”

 

“You need fucking anger management!”

 

“Well, you need to learn how to keep your stinking legs closed!”

 

“Fuck you! I'm not in the mood to fuck with you, too! Get a life!” Rosy hung up on him.

 

“Fuck you, bitch!” All of a sudden, Chris ripped the phone off the hook and threw it through the glass door, shattering the glass into pieces on the floor. “Fuck you!”

 

Adam went into the kitchen and noticed the glass shards and the phone lying helplessly on the floor. He turned to Chris, who sat by the kitchen smoking a cigarette with a crazed look on his face. “What is wrong with you, Jericho?!” he asked him. “I've never seen you this angry in my entire life.”

 

Slowly, Chris walked to his and Adam's bedroom and passed out. The next morning, Shawn finally went to church, and the sermon the pastor gave touched his soul. He needed to change, and if the lord could help him conquer, so be it. He wanted to prove to his family, his friends, and his children that he was the person they thought he was. He wanted to prove to them that he was still the good person with a lot of potential. The Heartbreak Kid still had dreams and goals, and he hadn't gotten a chance to achieve any of them. After the service, he called his wife on his cell phone in the car. “I am not getting anywhere in life being the way I am,” he told her, tears flowing through his cheeks. “I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'm a bad husband and a bad father.”

 

“Sweetie, you're neither of those,” she said. “I love you. The kids love you, too.”

 

“Yes, but y'all know what's right and wrong. Rebecca, I have two kids! I wanted to be in commercials instead of wrestling night after night. Just to make them happy.”

 

“Shawn, I know you want to be in commercials.”

 

“Listen, baby. When I get back to San Antonio, you have to get rid of all the cola and the energy drinks.”

 

“What about the people you hang out with that does drink Coke? You're going to leave them behind.”

 

“I don't need them. It's not worth it. For the goodness of the lord, it ain't worth it, baby.”

 

“Shawn…”

 

The Showstopper sobbed. “I don't want to be that man anymore.”

 

On the computer, Chris typed up a heartfelt apologetic email to Jesse. Adam told him to do it, since he had no recollection of his rage the past few days, and this was when he was drunk. “I need to stop drinking, man,” he said.

 

“No, you need to control your anger,” said the Rated R Superstar. “Whether you're drunk or not.”

 

“I can't help it! I'm an angry person. You know where I've gone through?”

 

“You shouldn't be. You're beautiful.”

 

“I've gone through so much grow—

 

“Well, it's time to get rid of all that. You have family that loves you. You have people here that love you.”

 

Just then, Chavo walked by his two fellow Street Urchins with his dirty laundry, and he stopped and heard the Sexy Beast's story of his mother being a quadriplegic due to her boyfriend, being the reason why he used to control everything, his emotions. It got to the point where his rage spiraled out of control now. “Why don't you talk to your therapist about this, man?” asked Chavo. “If you're not taking advantage of the sessions Vince has paid for you, then what was the purpose of staying in this house? Huh?”

 

“I am,” he replied. “But like I said, that's why I know the violence. That's why I know the throw of fucking hitting you. As far of the therapist goes, I mean. All I ever did with him in those sessions was sex.”

 

“Oh, my god,” said Adam. “You fucked the therapist?”

 

“I mean, he wasn't that good, but it was the only way to get off. But at least I'm not a home wrecker like Orton.”

 

“Wow, Chris,” said Chavo, amazed. “And another thing, any man that puts his hands on a woman is an asshole and a big ass coward.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Adam. “Chris, how you're acting right now and the way you live your life—it does affect everyone, and it makes it harder for them to love you and handle you. You have to do something about it, man.”

 

Chris had a lot to lose, and he didn't think he really knew how much people can put up with. And he made it hard for them to love him and take care of him. Moments later, he went into the phone room to call Jesse. “Don't call me,” the Aussie responded on the other line.

 

“Seriously, man,” he said, “I really don't know what the hell I'm doing. It's either I stay angry or I don't.”

 

“That's the problem, Chris. You've got to learn how to manage your anger.”

 

“I know.”

 

“See, that's just it. If you know how, then why are you staying there for three months? Are you serious, Chris? I mean, how old are you? The drinking just makes it worse, too.” To Chris, Jesse was the only person who was there in his life, everyday. He was secretly in love with him, and Jesse wanted to get away from any of his three drunk personalities.

 

Later on, Randy grabbed his bottle of vodka and chugged it down until the bottle was half-full. He didn't know why he thought he could be with some nice girl. The alcohol made the Legend Killer realize that it wasn't happening between him and Rosy. Rosy needed a nice guy that would take care of her, and a therapist, and Randy was neither one of those. He found Shawn by his room and asked him, “I need to get something done, can you take me there?”

 

“Where?” he responded. “Where you going?”

 

“Tattoo place.”

 

Randy went into the dressing upstairs to fix his face, almost tipping over the chair due to his intoxication. “Do you even know what you're getting a tattoo of, Orton?” Shawn said, entering the dressing room.

 

“Yeah, man,” said Randy. “I've wanted to get one for a long time. You heard of Gregory Chaucer, right?”

 

“Maybe, I dunno.”

 

“Well, he wrote The Canterbury Tales, but he wrote another piece. I don't know what the name of it was, but in it, it mentioned the phrase, `Love Conquers All' in Latin. And I loved Rosy; I really did for a long time. But, I realized that love doesn't conquer all. I'm going to get this tattoo, and I'm not gonna regret it for the rest of my life.”

 

“What happened with y'all? Y'all fought?”

 

“No, man!” Randy smiled. “We broke up!”

 

So the Showstopper drove the Legend Killer to the tattoo place on the north side of the city. He didn't mind if he watched Randy get inked, again. After all, Randy needed a touch-up on all of his tattoos. “I don't get it, Randy,” Shawn said to him, sucking on a blow pop. “Why are you getting `Love Conquers All' if you don't believe in love?”

 

“I'm getting `Love Conquers All' with a strike through it,” he replied, almost a bit tipsy.

 

“Oh.”

 

“It'll be in Latin, still. Every little boy grows up dreaming of this white castle and how he always saved the damsel in distress. And there's a day where it'll never happen. I will never be happy with a woman who is so…mediocre.”

 

The tattoo artist inked the saying on Randy's wrist, letting the Legend Killer know that she'll slowly go by bit by bit with the strikethrough. He smiled to Shawn and said, “Goodbye, Rosy.”

 

Suddenly, a song that Randy was familiar with played on the radio, and he shook his head for that was going to be his wedding song. Something that Rosy picked out, and it had such beautiful lyrics. Shawn didn't understand how ridiculous it was for this song to be playing in the air.

 

Come with me, my love

To the sea

The sea of love

I want to tell you

How much I love you, ooh

 

“You sure you don't want to be with this woman?” asked the Heartbreak Kid.

 

Do you remember when we met?

That's the day

I knew you were my pair

I want to tell you

How much I love you

 

“She was the only one who made me feel normal,” replied the Legend Killer. “But, it was just a feeling.”

 

“So you want to be the man that you are now for the rest of your life?”

 

“I don't want to be like this.”

 

“But you can change that.”

 

“That's just the way I am—

 

“Randy, you're not like that. I know you now. You've been like that for your whole life since you were born?”

 

“Believe me, Shawn, I've tried to change. I've spent the last three years trying to be that man for her. I wanted to be that good guy for her.”

 

“And she did. She wanted you for you. You were the guy he wanted.”

 

“I'm not a nice guy. I'm not the nice guy next door. And I feel bad for her that she even came across me.”

 

Come with me, my love

To the sea

The sea of love

I want to tell you

How much I love you, ooh

 

Ooh...ooh

Ooh…ooh

 

As the tattoo artist was done, Randy stared at the beauty of the tattoo on his wrist, and he smiled…

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED…