#wickedlilglampire

STUPID.

It was so, so STUPID.

The second the pictures were taken and media was done, he parted from Becky as if b u r n t. It had become the norm to f e e l uncomfortable pretending to love someone he didn’t, to be committed to someone he wasn’t; felt UNEASY about pretending it was something real and more than a story line. Hugging Becky, looking at her as if she was his sun and stars and all the galaxies felt more than w r o n g, made him feel SICK and awkward; so much so it had drowned out the pain in his back, the throb that echoed every beat of his heart.

It shouldn’t have been Becky.

He never should have let them force him into this fake relationship.

Changed in sweats and some old band tee shirt, feeling wrong and unbalanced, Colby let his feet guide him through the hallways, didn’t really know where he was heading until he stopped and asked one of the make-up girls if she had seen Saraya. Saraya would make it right, would settle what had shaken lose and part of him hated that.

Hated that he was going to Saraya for comfort, to feel level in his own skin. The past week together had brought back things he had thought died long ago. Foolish of him really to even think that; she had always always been his even when he tried to deny it, run from it, rip it out root and stem and leave behind a gaping wound to rot and fester and never heal over. Saraya was always the one he wanted, was the only woman he had ripped whatever was left of his heart out for and gave it to her, even if she didn’t realize she held it.

It still held true even now, years later.

Colby might not be the smartest of men when it came to the ways of the heart yet, he knew. He knew as well as he knew his way around the ring, if he hadn’t been as flighty as he was, it would always be Saraya for him.

                                          GO.

                            Don’t s t o p.

               One foot forward; left foot right.

Colby didn’t know how to STOP, to unwind and take a second to breathe. Even if he did, even if he know how to stop and relax and take a moment to just be, he doubted he EVER would. If he stopped, it would all hit him and he would crash HARD and he simply didn’t have time to crash.

From Raw in San Jose to LA, Colby didn’t sleep much. By the time he checked into the hotel, it was time to get up again and film for Deadboys and by the time he had got back, showered and checked out of the hotel, stopped for coffee and food, it was time to fly out to where, even he wasn’t sure. He HOPPED it was home, that he could CRASH in his own bed for a few hours before life drew him way.

L u c k wasn’t on Colby’s side: his flight was DELAYED.

Annoying as it was, it was part of the job and so he settled in, kicked back in a too stiff chair and waited. And waited. And WAITED. A full hour went by before it was announced his flight was canceled and the next available flight out wouldn’t be until sometime tomorrow or the next day.

He was stuck in LA with nowhere to go.

Tired and DESPERATE, he didn’t think as he flicked through his contacts and found Saraya’s, giving her a call. He could have called anyone and yet, it was SARAYA he called, was Saraya he trusted enough to see him at his lowest. “Hey can I crash at your place for the night?” He asked once the line clicked on. “My flight got canceled.”

                                             There was g l o r y in pain.

                              There was LIFE in pain. 

Laying in the hotel bed, his back a rapid t h u d d i n g heartbeat all of its own, he found it hard to find ANY g l o r y in his pain. There was only PAIN; so, so much pain he could only lay there, sprawled on his belly under a mountain of blankets that felt like razor upon his back. It didn’t matter how soft they were, didn’t matter how shallow his breaths, it h u r t.

                                                    PAIN.

                       There was so, so m u c h  pain.     

It hadn’t been worth it, nothing leading up to the brutal beat down at the hands of Brock had been worth it. Colby knew why it happened, knew it was a PUNISHMENT for sins he d i d n ‘ t commit; knew it was because of a LOSS, of a FREEDOM granted to a bird that should have always flown free, that had been caged and shackled and weighed down for far, too, too long. 

                                        PAIN.

                        There was n o  glory in this pain.

There was only AGONY. Even as the bed dipped an a small hand smoothed over his shoulder, into his hair, Colby found it hard to take comfort from HER touch. “Please,” it was whispered soft, cracked and so, so thick with a pain he could’t ease, Colby almost didn’t recognize h i s o w n voice. “Don’t touch me.”

Touch.

Colby yearned for it, ACHED for it. 

In the end, it was too much for him, for the rapid heartbeat of pain in his back, for a pain he REFUSED to take anything for. He would s u f f e r in pain long before he caved and took something for it.