Chapter 1

The fuckable one, that's me. The one who gets pointed at and whispered about. The one who gets taken to parties and liquored up so someone can get an easy lay. That's all I've been for the last two years, and I'm getting damn tired of it.

I should be used to this by now, I know. Shouldn't really bother me since I keep letting it happen. But we all know the saying about not judging a book by it's cover, right? That's me. To get to me you have to go deeper.

See, a lot of the guys think I am totally clueless about what's going on around me. They think I don't know that all I am is a fuck-toy to be passed around the locker room, that I don't know how they are using me to get to the top. They think I actually believe all the bullshit they feed me. They really think I'm that stupid, I guess.
First of all, I've seen all the tricks, done most of them, and probably invented a few. Second of all, it's not that I can't tell a fuck from love, you know. I've been in love before and fucking didn't have a whole hell of a lot to do with it. I've fucked before and love had absolutely nothing to do with it.

I let them all think that I have no idea because then I don't have to worry about getting hurt again. My heart won't break and I won't cry myself to sleep at night because so-and-so didn't talk to me as much as I would have liked. Besides, they like to swap stories about me. It's the biggest thing in the locker room these days: they all keep trying to fuck me over grander than the last fuck over just so they can compare notes on it and declare this week's winner. Whatever makes them feel good about themselves, I guess.

I guess it's my fault really. After I left Mark, I sort of started the whole ball rolling because I really believed that's all I was good for. That's all he used me for at the time, well besides a punching bag. I know it wasn't really his fault, that it was the booze and drugs that made him like that. At least I know that now,
anyway. Then I thought it was all my fault, that I brought that out in him. So when I left him I wanted to prove him right about me.

At first it was cool, you know? I got to have fun and didn't have to worry about getting my ass kicked every time I turned around. No one told me what to be and how to be, and for the first time in my life *I* controlled me, at least that's what I thought, anyway.

I know I drink too much. I know I fuck around to much. I know there is more to me than what I let everyone else see. Mark knows this too, and I just haven't let him in to show it. I want to make him realize that this is all his fault, the way I am. If he had just loved me then I wouldn't be like this now. That's all I ever wanted to prove with this, but I don't know how to stop being this way now that I have.

Problem is, I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to be the fuck-toy, the pick-me-up in the locker room. I want to be loved, truly loved. I want to be in love. I am in love. I have been for as long as I can remember, and no matter how hard I try to make it go away I can't. No matter how many different men I fuck, they just
can't replace him in my heart, and when it all boils down to it, my heart is what rules me when I look deeper. I want something more, and Mark is the only one I want it from.

Yeah, I know there's the possibility that I will do to him exactly what he did to me. I know that he just may not want me anymore, at least not the man I've become over the last couple years. But you know what? I really don't *care* about all that anymore. I just want him, and damnit, I always get what I want! What I want is to not be this ugly thing I've become.

I really shouldn't have come to his room tonight, but when Duane called, I just couldn't *not* come. I'm strung out so bad right now I can't even move off the bed, but I know I want him, and I know he wants me, so I say the one thing I know will get his petrified body over here to take me. I say the one thing that might start what happened two years ago all over again, but I don't care what kind of relationship it is just so I can have one with him. I say exactly what I want him to do:

"Fuck me beautiful."

Chapter 2

"God damn it, Shane! Why the hell do ya keep doin' this shit?"

"Well, Mark, if you'd spend more than two hours a fucking day with me, maybe I wouldn't need this shit!"

"Oh, so blame yer fuckin' drug addiction on me, that's real fuckin' nice."

"That's because it's your fault, asshole!"

"Fuck this, I'm gone!"

"Yeah, go fuck Vince, you son of a bitch!"

He stops and rolls his damn eyes at me like that's not where he's going, though I know better. He must think I'm as stupid as everyone else thinks I am, and I wonder at what point my old man was more
appealing than me. He doesn't leave like he said he was, so I just grab my bag and slam the bathroom door behind me.

I guess I should catch you up to everything before this point.

So it's been two months since we 'reconciled', most of which we've either spent fucking or fighting, though I couldn't tell you what the hell the difference is between the two. Basically he goes to the shows, I stay here and get spun and drunk out of my mind, he comes back to the hotel and bitches at me for snorting and drinking, I beat his ass and fuck him until he passes out.

It's not as bad as it seems, though. I mean, hell, he has a right to bitch at me for being so fucked up all the time, but the thing is I don't know how to *not* be fucked up. When he's here it's real easy to forget that I'm an addict and a drunk, but when I'm alone... Besides, it's not like he didn't do this to me for like three years
before I left him. Turnabout's fair play, right?

After that first night things were pretty normal between us, too normal in fact, at least for my taste, but that's exactly the way he wanted it to be. I guess at first I was afraid he'd slip back into the way he used to be, so I just did whatever he wanted and acted however he wanted me to. I even quit the heroin for almost two weeks, stopped drinking, and tried to be just a normal fucking person just because he asked me to. I was too afraid to lose him, I guess.

Well, anyway, things were going pretty good until he started staying late at the arenas. I had too much fucking time on my hands, so I went out clubbin' with Adam, Jeff, and CJ. Well, if you know anything about those three it should be that they are almost never *not* fucked up, so it was real hard to stay clean. If you know anything else about them let it be that they are the Fed's grapevine, and sometimes they are just so damned convincing when they start talking about what's going on backstage.

I stayed clean and took what they said with a grain a salt for about the first month, I guess. But little by little everything they were telling me seemed to fit into place-Mark staying later and later to go over scripts, his temper growing a little short, always fidgeting or acting nervous, like he was hiding something. Now, I'm normally an easy going guy, and I really hadn't planned on paying Mark back for the hell he put me through the first time we were together, but there's just one damn thing that gets under my skin and makes me
crazy, and that's fucking me and my dad at the same damn time.

"For the last god damned time, I'm not fuckin' yer dad, Shane. It''s just a gimmick." I hear him yell through the bathroom door just as I'm done cutting out a line, and I breath it in before I answer him.

"Bullshit, Mark, I'm not fucking blind you know. I see the fucking way you look at him." In a few minutes it won't matter anymore anyway, I tell myself.

"Come out, Babe, let's talk about this." Jesus, he sounds like a god damned kid trying to talk his parents out of punishing him for breaking a lamp, and I can't help but laugh at him as I open the door.

"What's to talk about, Mark? You're fucking Vince and I'm getting fucked up. In about fifteen minutes you're gonna ruin my high, I'm gonna go ballistic and I'm gonna hit you again. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm getting kinda fucking tired of it, so why don't we just skip the heart to heart tonight." God damn, I didn't mean to come off as such a prick, but he just pisses me off when he ruins my high!

He doesn't say anything for a while and I just lay on the bed watching the light spin and feeling my heart pound out of my chest. This is not how I envisioned our new relationship at fucking all. It was supposed to be white picket fences and roses, god damn it! Romance and happiness. Not drugs and fucking my dad!

After gods know how long, he whispers something that I can't hear over the rush of bloodflow to my head..

"What the fuck did you say?" Damn, when I'm a prick, I'm really a prick I guess, 'cause I swear I just sliced right through him with those six simple words. He looks up at me and he's crying, something I don't think I've ever seen him do. All I can do is just stare at him.

"I said, I'm sorry I turned ya into this. I didn't mean for this to happen, I just..." His voice catches and I'm torn between wrapping my arms around him to comfort him and wrapping my hands around his neck and telling him apology unaccepted. So again, I just stare at him, because I know this is just the heroin fucking with my head. Mark doesn't cry and he never apologizes for anything.

He stares back at me for about a hundred of my rapid heartbeats, and then he gets up off the floor and walks to the door, stopping briefly to look at me.

"It don't fuckin' matter when you're like this anyhow" he says and walks out the door without even closing it.

Well, fuck. I'm sure I should go after him, but I seriously doubt I could peel myself off the bed right now anyway. Besides, he'll be back in the morning and I'll be sober then, so we can talk about it when he comes back...

That is, if I didn't just fuck it all up...

Chapter 3

The brightest streak of light I have ever seen stabs through my heavy eyelids, and no matter how hard I try I can't open them to find out what the source is. My tongue feels like a brick and my throat has closed shut, so inquiring is out of the question as well, but I don't have to wait too long to find out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, McMahon?" A very pissed off Duane demands as he jerks me up off the bed. The only thing that's keeping me from falling to the floor is the fact that he's got me by the throat.

Well, at least I know why my throat is closed, but I still have no clue what that fucking blinding light was.

"Whung.." That's about all I get out before he marches me into the fucking bathroom and throws me fully clothed into the tub. My eyes open as wide as saucers when the ice cold water hits me, and I'm
beginning to rethink this friendship thing I have with him.

"What ... the fuck ... are you d-doing, fuckhead?!" Jesus, I think he's trying to make my heart stop the water is so god damned cold.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" he screams. "For god knows how fucking long I have listened to you tell me how much you missed Mark, and now..." he pauses long enough to turn off the water and yank me
back out of the tub. "Now you're just gonna piss it away because your fucked up *friends* tell you that Mark's fucking Vince?"

"For your information, I didn't listen to my "fucked up" friends, one of which happens to be *your* boyfriend, by the way! I came to this conclusion all on my own just by watching the way Mark's been acting! Besides, I know my dad, thank you very much, and he always has to have whatever I have so fuck off and mind your own business!" The nerve of this pretentious, holier-than-thou bastard! How dare he?!

"You and me, we're going to have a nice long talk about your priorities, Shane."

"There's nothing to talk about that concerns you, Duane." I really don't feel like going into this with him tonight, but I seriously doubt he's going to give me a choice. He sits down on the leather couch like he owns the damn place, looking at me like I just killed his dog. Fuck when did he get so god damned emotional about what state mine and Mark's relationship? "What the fuck do you care anyway?"

I'm fucking shaking and I don't know if it's because I'm pissed or because I'm freezing, but Duane throws me a towel and grabs some clothes out of my bag and throws them at me too. I take the towel from him and dry my hair off, but I'll be damned if he's gonna play this father bullshit with me, so I leave my clothes on just to spite him.

Fuck, I need a drink, and I'm surprised he doesn't stop me. I offer him one and he grabs it out of my hand and swallows the whole thing before he begins to speak again.

"The hell it doesn't concern me, you self absorbed prick. You think you're the only person effected by your actions?" There's something kin to desperation in his voice, so much so that I actually stop what I'm doing just to stare at him. My head's still buzzing from the line I did earlier, and I know I'm about to crash hard if I don't do something about it.

"Look, I'm sorry if Mark keeps bothering you with our problems, but I don't see how the fuck that justifies you barging in here and--"

"I didn't barge in here, your door was open, all right? I ran into Mark earlier and he told me you were fucked up again, and since Chris was out with..." He doesn't even bother finishing *that* thought because
I already know what he's gonna say. "Since Chris was out I told him
he could crash in our room."

"Ok, that I can deal with, but it still doesn't explain to me what the fuck you are doing here, man." I get the fucking feeling I don't want to hear this, so I go into the bathroom and start cutting out another line. If I have to listen to Duane's pity party, I'll be damned if I have to do it sober. I know he knows what I'm doing, and I guess he is waiting for me to come out before answering because I don't hear anything from the other room.

After two lines, I decide my wet clothes have got to go, and for the briefest of moments I wonder just how vulnerable Duane is right now... Nah, he's never go for it anyway, his head's too far up CJ's ass. So I just strip off my clothes and walk back out and grab the clothes he threw at me earlier and pull them on.

"So you gonna answer me or not? What are you doing here?" Until this point I hadn't really even looked at him, but when I do, fuck me if he wasn't crying. Great, that's just what I need to kill yet another buzz I've tried to get going tonight...

"Hey what the hell is wrong? Don't worry about CJ, man, he'll be back as soon as --"

The words die on my fucking lips when he looks up at me, and it all just fucking *clicks* in my brain what he's doing here.

"He's back already, isn't he?" He just nods.

"He's back and when you got back you found him and Mark fuckin', right?" Another nod.

"This isn't the first time, is it?" A shake of the head from Duane, and he starts fucking crying again while I pour us another drink.

Well, god damn. All this time I've thought he was fucking my old man, come to find out he's fucking his best friend's boyfriend, who also happens to be my best friend. The same best friend that told me Mark was fucking Vince...

Well, hell... I don't know any other way to deal with this shit but to go back to the bathroom and get my shit, so that's exactly what I do before I sit down on the couch next to Duane. If there's ever a time I think I could justify getting blasted, this one would be it, and judging by the look on Duane's face I'd say he couldn't agree more.

Chapter 4

There's a complete silence between the two of us for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes before I realize that we haven't said anything, we've just sat here drinking and doing lines. I didn't even know Duane did heroin until tonight, but it doesn't really surprise me all that much. If I loved CJ, I'd be fucked up all the time too, and I have to say that now I see him like this, it's looks pretty damn natural on him. Imagine that, 'The Rock' is a fucking heroin addict. Guess that explains all his energy in the ring, now doesn't it.

"So," I say breaking the silence "Why the fuck did you pick tonight to tell me about them fuckin'? It's really kind of a mute question, but I just have to know why he kept it secret for ... for however long he's kept it fucking secret from me. He doesn't answer, though, so I just lay my head on the back of the couch and let the room start spinning.

Of course, my mind starts spinning, too, in all different directions without any continuity whatsoever. First a flash of Steph and I when we were kids playing on the swing in the backyard. Next a vision of Mark back in '99 when he was a drunk bastard. Then when I was 14 and told Dad I was gay. Then of last week when Jeff and I did a few lines in his dressing room after one of his matches and fucked each other through the floor.

Why the fuck is it I like this high again? I mean, I know it's fucking cool to be numb to the world, but I feel like my heart is about to explode and my brain is on a tilt-o-whirl. I think maybe that last line we did was just too fucking much, and when I glance at Duane I see the same look on his face.

I can see the headlines now:

"Shane McMahon, son of WWFE billionaires Vince and Linda McMahon, found dead of a heroin overdose in his hotel room with Duane Johnson, also know as The Rock, who is also dead of a heroin overdose. Apparently they spent the night wallowing in self pity because their boyfriends were fucking each other behind their backs, so they decided to get blasted and get revenge by fucking each other. Both died before that could happen, though, and they were found with over five thousand dollars worth of heroin in front of them and Duane's mouth was in a very precarious position in between heir's legs..."

What? That *can't* be right...

But when I look down, I see that it is, except that we are both as far from dead as can be. I don't know how the fuck he got down there, got my shorts off, and began giving me the most mind-blowing head job without me even noticing, but sure as I'm Shane McMahon, he managed to do just that!

God damn, I've been blown by almost everyone in the Fed over the last two years, and I really thought Waltman had the most talented tongue, but Duane's ... just seems to completely wrap around my cock from top to bottom and if I could get my voice to work, I'd tell him how fucking good this is.

In a matter of minutes he's completely swallowed me and, even through the haze that is my mind, I can feel my hands pushing his head down hard, just fucking his mouth like crazy. He just grips my thighs and lets me, and before I even know it's happened I'm shooting down his throat. He swallows it all before moving back up on the couch and I'm so fucking drained, literally and figuratively, that when he spreads my legs to enter me all I can do is just let him.

When I buck hard against him and grind my hips into his, he loses all control and just pounds into me. The pain and the pleasure sort of meld into one, and I just let him ride me like the whore I know deep down that I am. Somewhere in my head there is a lonely rational thought that says that none of this is right, but right now I just want fucked. Fucked hard and furiously. I want him to fuck me so damn beautiful that all the ugliness that is me just goes away forever.

It's fucking cold outside, but I don't know if I actually feel it or if that's just the inside of myself that's causing me to shake. I really shouldn't be sitting out on this balcony in the freezing temps, but I just want to feel *something*.

After what happened the other night with Mark and CJ and me and Duane, I decided it was probably best if I just came home. Fucking home. I ran to Mommy in hopes that she can fix all of this for me, but I know deep down that she can't. I have to do this on my own.

I haven't snorted in almost 48 hours and I really think I'm losing my fucking mind because of it. See when I'm fucked up I really don't have to think about how sad my fucking life is. Hell, I don't have to think at all. I just spin around and go numb.

Now I have so god damn many thoughts whirling around my head that I'm dizzy. My stomach is cramping worse than it ever has, and I've smoked so many fucking cigerettes in the last two days that I will probably die of cancer by the end of the week. I'm lucky that I'm alive at all after all the shit I did the other night.

I wonder if NA would do me any good. That's what Mom suggested I do.

Oh, I bet that'll go over well with Dad. Just one more fucking thing for him to hold over my head and remind me that I'm not the son he wants. I hate that bastard.

I didn't tell anyone I was coming home, I just left. I know, really fucking cowardly of me, but what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I couldn't face Duane after what happened and I sure as hell didn't want to face Mark or CJ.

I don't even want to face myself.

I love Mark. I don't why I just fell back into being an addicted bastard after I got him back, it just happened. Maybe it's just been so damned long since I actually felt good about myself that I just couldn't handle it. Or what if I only deluded myself into thinking I wanted to be with Mark again just so I didn't have to be fucking lonely anymore.

Or maybe I'm just a weak fuck who likes being a whore and a junkie. That seems like the most plausable answer.

When I'm tweaking and fucking, I'm god. Everyone loves me and I'm beautiful. They all tell me I am, even Mark. But when I'm just me, just quiet and shy plain old Shane McMahon... I'm just nobody. I'm ugly. Unwanted and unloved because I'm nothing special. Story of my god damned life.

My cell phone's been ringing for almost an hour now, and I really should turn it off because the noise is just giving me a headache. I think I still have it on because if it's ringing then it means someone at least notices I'm gone. It's probably Dad wanting to know where the fuck I am and why aren't I at work. Or maybe it's Jeff or Adam wanting to know where I stashed their drugs. It can't be ringing because someone cares about me, misses me, because I know that no one does.

Mark's got CJ now, he doesn't need me anymore, and Duane... Hell, he's probably the filling in a CJ/Mark sandwich by now. CJ never could say stay away from him for very long.

So it just keeps ringing and ringing and my head keeps aching and aching...

I can't take it anymore, I have to answer it just to make it shut the fuck up! I probaly should look to see who it is before I answer it, but I really just don't give a damn.

"What the fuck do you want?!"

"Shane, I..."

The raspy voice on the other end hesitates and my heart just dropped to my knees. It can't be him.

"Where the blue fuck have you been, Squirly? Steph's been calling me for two god damned days asking if I've heard from you and if you're ok, and if nothing else I just want her to shut the fuck up, so you're gonna answer my questions or I will hunt you down and beat the answers out of you!"

I forgot to breath while he was talking because I can't believe he's actually talking to me. I didn't even get onto him for calling me that fucking pet name he has for me just because I can't believe I'm hearing it again. I want to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone because it hurts to hear his voice and know he cares.

"I'm.. I'm at home, Hunt. How long will it take you to get here?"

"He's gone"

"What do you mean he's gone? Who's gone?"

"Shane's gone ya moron! Who the fuck did ya think I meant?"

"Well, there are a lot of 'he's here you know!"

"Don't ya even care that no one can find 'im?"

"Right, like you give a shit."

"I do give a shit, I jus' know he ain't gonna listen to me."

"Then don't worry about it. Come over here and let me show you why I'm so much better than him."

For two days that's pretty much all I've heard between Mark and Chris. Neither one of them seems overly concerned about Shane being gone without a trace. Hell, even Vince hasn't said much about it, only asked me if I've heard from him. I swear sometimes I'm the only mature, caring person in this whole fucking Fed.

Mature, maybe. Caring, no. If I was all that damn caring I wouldn't have let Shane get blasted out of his mind, would I? I wouldn't have gotten blasted with him, but I just couldn't take it anymore. I wouldn't have fucked him sensleess and left him there.

Jesus, I'm supposed to be the strong one, the sensable one. That's what all the newspapers, articles, and Hell, even my own fucking book says. I'm not, though. Truth is I'm just as fucked up as everyone else around here, sometimes more so.

Truth is, I'm the one that made Shane go off the deep end in the first place.

I didn't want to tell him about Chris and Mark, which is why I waited so long. I knew he should know, but I kept my mouth shut. It's what Chris wanted, and I was too fucking weak to say no. One just doesn't say no to Chris without paying the consequences, and I've paid enough consequences over the last three years.

I don't love Chris, never really have. But once Chris claims you, you're stuck with him until he's tired of you. That's just the way it is and everybody knows it. That's why we all do so damn many drugs; it helps us escape the reality that we're owned.

Well, that's the way it is for everyboby besides Shane. He left Chris high and dry, and it burns Chris up to no end so Shane's gotta pay for it. I guess being the asshole's best friend isn't good enough, I don't know. All I know is that I let this happen, and I've gotta do the right thing.

I call the only person I know can fix this. The only person who's ever had the ball besides Shane to stand up for himself and retain his freedom from Chris, and probably the only person who gives a damn besides me anyway.

"Hey, Hunter. It's Duane- I need to ask you a favor."

My flight was delayed. I don't know why I didn't just take the two o'clock flight in the first damn place, but here it is 2:45 and I'm sitting in a plane that was supposed to take off an hour and a half ago. If I hadn't fallen asleep, I could already be in Greenwich, I'm sure.

I really have no fucking idea why the hell I'm going to save Shane's ass in the first place. I shouldn't give one flying fuck about him after the way he just dropped me for that ungrateful asshole in the first place. I should hate him and let him lay in the fucked up bed he made.

But the sad fact of the matter is I can't do that. I love him too god damned much to watch the downward spiral he's on.

Oh will wonders never fucking cease? The plane is actually carting down the runway. Maybe I can make it to Shane's in an hour.

With that said, I have a whole shitload of butterflies in my stomach. I have no idea what I'm gonna say to him. Somehow I don't think "Well, Squirly, I know you dicked me over for that scumbag, but I guess I can help you get him back and watch you rip my heart out while you do it" just isn't what he needs to hear right now.

Neither is "Too fucking bad you had to let your drug habit get out of hand. I would have made you happy"

Or "You know, I really don't give a shit if you and Mark kill each other because you both made my life a living hell"

I really just need to find out what his problem is and help him fix it. My problem is I know how I "fix" things- I either beat the problem, literally, or I become the problem. Either way, I'm not real sure this is a good idea...

But it's too late to turn back now. The plane has landed and I'm getting in my rental to go see him. I hope like hell I don't make things worse, but I promised Duane I would do this. Again, I don't know why, but those two always seem to get the best of me.

Well, here goes nothing...

It's been 6 hours, McMahon- he's not coming. That's what I've been telling myself, but I'm not doing a really good job of caring about the obvious. I don't even want to see him, but I know I need to. He's always been what I need, and I wish I could feel love for him like I do for Mark.

Hunter's really the least fucked up out of all of us, if you can believe that, and that's the reason I could never love him. He reminds me of all that I wanted to be, all that I tried to be, and all that I could never be. He reminds me that I'm not perfect.

All McMahons are perfect, didn't you know that?

My house is so fucking spotless you'd think I've been on meth. I scrubbed all the floors god knows how many times, washed all the dishes, taken out the trash, and even cleaned out the fucking fridge. All this this because Hunter, king of all slobs, is on his way to see me. I figure if my house is clean he won't want to mess it up by getting all the life he's going to strangle out of me all over the shiney floors.

This is my brain when it's not on drugs, folks, and the logic just doesn't seem too logical, does it?

This is the longest I've gone without anything in who knows how long, and I really just have no fucking idea what to do with myself. My head feels like it's caught in a vice, and I can't stop this fucking shaking to save my life. I really didn't think detoxing was going to be this god damned traumatic, but I prepared for it, just in case it was. I flushed all the drugs and alcohol down the toilet, cut all the phone lines, gave Mom my car keys, and even smashed my cell phone this morning when I woke up so I didn't call my dealer.

No, as a matter of fact, I *don't* trust myself. Why do you ask?

What I hadn't prepared for, though, was the nausea. Whether I eat or not, my head is bowing to the god of porcelain more often than not today, and I really just wish I could do one fucking line to make it stop. Just as I'm cleaning my alter again, I here the front door open and close. Before I ran in here for the unpteenth time, I saw a minivan pull into the drive, and I sure as hell know it's not Hunter- he wouldn't be caught dead in a minivan, right?

"Mom, I'm fine. You don't have to come over here every hour to check on me. Go home, please.I swear I'm still clean."

"Well, *Son* I really don't think you're fine, and I'll be damned if I spent two hours in a dead plane just to get here and go home." He made no effort to walk further into the house, and I can see he has no idea what the hell he's doing here. Come to think of it, I have no idea what the hell he's doing here or how whoever wanted him here got him here in the first place.

"Why are you here, Hunts?" God damn my voice is shakey. You'd think I would give a shit about the beautiful abyss of his eyes, the tan muscles lining his neck and chest, the way his golden hair spills over his shoulders, the heat that's eminating off of him toward me, or the desire I can feel welling up inside to trace the curve of his hips with my lips.

Ah, fuck. Who the hell am I kidding? I want to touch him, taste him, run my fingers through his hair as he softly cries out my name. His smell is driving me insane, and if I wasn't shakiing before I sure as hell am now. Leaving him was a lot easier than seeing him now. God damn it, I really just don't *need* this shit at the moment, but I just want it so god damned bad...

NO! Get a grip, McMahon! You are NOT going to do this to yourself again!

Shane's question echos through my mind, and I'm just trapped in the beauty of all that is him. The softness of his skin, the crimson of his lips, the smell that is so uniquely Shane, that I can't breath much less fucking answer the question. All I can do is just stand here like a moron, gawking at him, because I the sound of my name passing over his lips has me cemented to the floor.

What do I want, he asks. Jesus, if I had any fucking clue the answers to those questions, I would've been able to just walk in, tell him he needs to get his shit straight, and then go home, now wouldn't I? I mean,when I was on that plane and driving over here the answer was simple- I wanted to tell him to stop jacking around, get his shit together, go back to Mark and throw Chris off a bridge. I had it all planned out then, but fuck, all I really want to do is wrap him in my arms and make him mine. That's all I've ever wanted, and even though he totally fucked me over, that's all I want still.

I've never had this much of a god damned problem just getting the fuck over somebody. It almost reminds me of that Garth Brooks song, "Shameless." Billy Joel wrote the lyrics I think, but in any case, part of it it sums up exactly how Shane makes me...

I have never let anything have this much control over me
I work too hard to call my life my own
And I've made myself a world and it's worked so perfectly
But it's your world now, I can't refuse
I've never had so much to lose
Oh, I'm shameless

Yup, that pretty much sums the whole damn thing for me, and quite frankly I have no idea what I came for in the first place. What to I want? Ok, Shane, I'll tell you what I want...

"You, Squirly. I want you. I need to feel your lips on mine. I need to smell you, to taste you. I need the warmth of your breath on my neck and the softness of your skin on mine. I need to feel myself buried so deep inside you that we become one. That's all I've ever wanted, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you walk your way out of this.

"I'll walk outside this door and shout to the world how much I love you. I'll tell your parents, the whole Fed, the bastard you think you love and even GOD if it means I can be with you. Is that what I have to do, Shane? Do you really think I came all this way because I give one flying shit about anybody that's in this whole fucked up situation?

"I love you, Squirly. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you to be happy, and by fucking god, I know I made you happy. You didn't drink and you didn't do herione when we were togther. If you had, I'm pretty sure I would have known about it since we were together constantly.

"You want to know what I think? I think you left me and pursued Mark again because you don't know how to deal with happiness. You don't fucking know to *be* happy, to love yourself, and you fucked up everything I saw as beautiful between us. I should hate you, you know? I should fucking pound your ass into the floor and just fucking leave you here to rot. But you know what? I can't fucking do that because, whether you want me to od not, I fucking love you."

Ok, I guess I need to sit down and breath now. I have no idea what the hell he's going to say. All that shit just sort of came out on it's own, but I'm glad it did. Now I pray that he gives me the answers I want to hear because I know if he tells me to get the fuck out, then that's what I'm going to fucking do even though I don't want to.

My head feels thick as concrete and my eyes are searing streaks of white. Last thing I remember was Hunter's "confession" and the world turning black. And it's fucking cold in here.

"Where the fuck am I?" I asked without opening my eyes. If it's this bright with them closed, I don't even want to chance being blinded.

"The ER" I had expected to hear Hunts' voice, but to my surprise, it was Mom. I felt her wrap my hand in hers and brush my hair out of my face, and all I could think was how fucking much of a momma's boy I really am.

What are you doing here, Mom? And what happened? "When I finally ventured to open my eyes and look at her, I was reminded of the time I fell off the balcony when I was 17 and pumped on PCP- she had the same disappointed look on her face, but I'm sure she knew I was clean. What the hell did I do this time?

"You obviously haven't been eating or sleeping, Shane. That is not what I call taking care of yourself." She didn't really sound pissed, but that underlying tone was there. God damn I hate that tone, it makes me feel 12 again.

"Apparently you passed out, and cracked your head on the desk. Hunter brought you straight here and called me as soon as they got you back here and he knew you were okay." Great, even Hunter is running to Mommy for me. Do I really seem that fucking pathetic to everyone?

"Where is he?" She excused herself to go get him I guess. Secretly I hope that he's not, because I really don't want to have to deal with the issues he threw at me, but I know there's not going to be any avoiding it, especially if he told Mom why I passed out. He wouldn't do that, would he? I mean, I know they're pretty tight, but you don't tell someone's mom that shit! It's just not fucking cool on any level.

While I was waiting for Mom and Hunter to get here, a nurse brought me a phone and said it was urgent. I fully expected it to be Dad or Steph.

"Hello?"

"Hey there, sweetcheeks. Hear you had quite a fall and Hunts is just beside himself." Oh dear fucking god.

"How did you..? What do you want, CJ?" I swear to god if I had something within arms length of me, I'd kill myself and get it over with. How the fuck he manages to keep such an insistent eye on me, I will never know.

"You know what I want, sweetcheeks. Just make sure I get it or your pretty biker bitch will pay for it." And with that the phone went dead.

Jesus, how the hell do I manage to get all this fucked up shit laid on my head? Part of me wants to tell that bastard to fuck off, but... I know what he could do to Mark, and no matter what, I still love Mark, so I know I won't do that.

Hunter walks in, concern etched acrossed his face, and all I can think of is everything he told me earlier. I wish he hadn't told me all that, it would make what I'm about to do to him so damn much easier.

****************************

What I wouldn't give to be wrapped up in the comfort of Shane's arms, of his voice, right now. To see his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. To feel his lips pressed softly against mine.

Someone clue me in on when the fuck I became Jericho's bitch, 'cause I sure as fuck didn't get the memo on it.

Ok, I reckon I should go back a little bit, huh?

Well, the last time I saw Shane, he was so blasted out of his fucking mind that I knew it'd do no good talkin' to him. All I wanted to do was tell him how much I love him and that he didn't need all those damn drugs to make me love him. I loved him no matter what, wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. That white picket fence, remember?

Anyhow, I just wanted it all to stop, the way it was goin'. I wanted him to trust me and love me and... what the fuck did I do? I fuckin' cheated on him. I let Jericho fuck me because I just wanted the pain to go away...

Ah, fuck. I don't know how it happened, really. I was cryin' and lost, really, and there he was- sittin' at the bar alone. Fuck he looked so beautiful. Like a shining light in the darkness just beaconin' me to shore.

And why the fuck any of that even crossed my mind I'll never know, 'cause I knew what a damned bastard he was. I knew what he did to Shane, and I just followed that beautiful beacon to the shore and crashed on the rocks of all his promises.

That's when it happened, I guess. When he knew he had me; when I let him claim me as his bitch. Me, of all fucking people, let that blonde fuckhead make me his bitch.

I love Shane. I should be in Greenwich with him right now, but that fuckhead Helmsley is. Yeah, I know all about that- Jericho makes sure to bring it up at least once every fuckin' five minutes.

I like to tell myself that I'm not with him because I know I'm not good enough for him, but I know that's a lie. Sad fact is, I just can't bring myself to leave the man that's curled up against me.

And I know he don't give a flyin' fuck about me and I'm not doing a damn thing to get myself out of this fucked up situation. I know he's usin' me, and I'm just lettin' him.

I never used to understand the hold he's got over everybody until this moment. I could just fuckin' leave right now and I'm not.

It really is funny when I think about it. The fact that he's layin' next to me, passed out cold, and I'm not trying to kill him, or show him who the bitch is. Fuck, the least I could do is get my shit and leave, and I'm just layin' here starin' at him and notin' how fucking beautiful he is, just like a good little bitch should.

Yup, that's me- Mark fucking Calloway- the bitch.

I've been out of the hospital since this morning, and Hunter's been hovering over me so much I think I'm going to stab him with something. Not that I minded the attention from him necessarily, it's just that it breaks my heart knowing that everything I say to him is a complete and total crock of shit.

"I'm glad you're here too, Hunts. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been" Probably bled to death, is my first thought, and really I think that's better than the alternative at this point, but not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it now, is there?

"So when do you want to catch up with everyone?" There's something in his voice that I can't quite identify. Hesitation maybe?

"As soon as I'm not seeing fuzzy rainbows in front of my eyes sounds good to me." I hope that's never because I just really don't know how to lay in the fucked up bed I'm making.

He chuckles lightly and fluffs the pillows under my head for the millionth time. Is it me, or is he just being *too* nice? Or was he just always like this when I'm clean? Fucked if I can remember, but it just gets damned annoying after a while.

"I'm not going to break, you know, if my pillows aren't situated. Stop doing that." But I might break if I do what I know I'm going to do to you.

"It's okay, I don't mind. Besides, I really just don't have anything better to do than be your hand maiden."

A vision of him dressed in a French maid's uniform flashes through my head and I can't stifle the giggle that escapes my lips and wonder if they even *make* those uniforms in his size.

"What's so funny about my boredom?" Despite his question a smile cracks his otherwise wounded exterior. It's at this moment I get a glimpse of the Hunter that fell in love with me, and my heart breaks even more.

No, McMahon, don't do this to yourself. It's just not worth it.

His smile creeps down to a frown, and for a second another glimpse of the Hunter flashes and I can't hide the visible shiver I get from the memory.

"CJ called. While you were asleep."

His voice is flat, monotone, the way it often is when he talks about CJ, and the all too familiar darkness that always floats back into his eyes when confronted with anything that has to do with him. I know I should be concerned slightly because of the fact that CJ knew it would be Hunter that answered the phone, but I dismiss it. I learned long ago not to attempt to decipher anything these two do, especially when it comes to the subject of each other over me.

"Did he have anything interesting to say?" I don't think I could have hid the caution in my tone if I had wanted to, and the look on Hunter's face tell me that CJ did indeed have something he considered interesting to say.

There was a time that CJ wasn't a cold sadistic bastard, and that was at about the time that Hunter was. So much has happened between the three of us that there really wasn't any telling what game CJ was playing this time. I really should have known that CJ wasn't going to be able to resist pushing Hunter over that invisible edge that exists between them because of me, and really there's only one question left for me to ponder when all the memories come rushing back to me in a torrentious flood:

Are they going to take me over the edge with them this time?

*****2 years later*****

Well, it's year who-the-fuck-knows-how-many since I had my last hit, and I'm just not in a good god damned mood. Not that I've been in one since since they put me in this fucking place, but that's really not the fucking point. The point is that I need a fucking line so bad I'm ready to kill for it.

And no, that *isn't* an exaggeration, no matter what the fuck they tell me!

"Mr. McMahon, please sit down." The whitecoat exclaims again, and for about the twentieth time I fucking roll my eyes at her.

"Why, we the fuck do I need to sit down for this? And why the hell can't I have a god damned cigarette?" Fucking bastards. It's not like I'm going to burn my eye out with it like I heard Matt did the last time they gave him one.

She just looks at me stoically, like she would a child and states the fucking obvious.

"I need you to sit down because your pacing is making me lose concentration. You can't have a cigarette because you have on a patch. Now please, I would like you to tell me what brought you to this point. And this time" she states as an afterthought "would you like to tell me the truth about why you and Matt killed them all, and not give me that 'everything dies' answer again?"

As if I would know the fucking truth if it came up and bit me in the ass, right.

"You wanna know the down and dirty fucking truth about things? Fine, bitch, but remember, you fucking asked for it! But I'm only gonna tell you what happened before Matt got involved in the whole fucked up adventure in Pretty Wonderland Hell."

She nodded and took out a tape recorder and pushed play as I began to tell her the simplified version of something much darker and fucked up than it was going to sound.

"Once upon a fucking time there were two lovebirds who just couldn't bare to be apart. They did everything together. They were happy and in love and life *should* have been absolutely blissful for them.

"Enter asshole in sweetheart's clothing. He just couldn't stand the fact that these two pathetic lovebirds were happy. He couldn't stand the fact that their love for each other was true. Especially when he remembered being loved that god damned much before.

"But what really fucking stuck in his craw was the fact that he couldn't get either of them in his bed. Yes, folks, this asshole was indeed *that fucking shallow*. He hadn't always been that way, but you know the saying about honey turning sour? Well, that's what happened to him.

She pushed stop on the recorder. "Who are you talking about, Mr.McMahon? Who are all of these he's?"

Good god, could anyone be more daft than the bitch in front of me?

"Do you want me to tell this or not?" She nods. "Then let me tell it my fucking way." Another nod, so I continued.

"Anyway, he plotted to turn these two beautiful souls into what he had become- bitter, angry, shallow, and lonely. He made it his god giving fucking right to tarnish the love they shared just as his had been tarnished long ago.

"He presented himself as a friend, someone they could always turn to in their time of need. And they fell for it- hook, line, and fucking sinker they fell for it. Eventually they also fell for the doubt and twisted seed of suspicion that he spread through their veins, and they parted bitterly.

"He should have been pleased with himself, but during the course of all of this the unthinkable happened. He fucking fell in love with one of them. Or maybe both of them, who knows.

"But that's not all that happened. No, not by a long shot. One of the beautiful creatures- we'll call him CJ-managed to turn into a vile and evil man who sought only the destruction of the man who twisted him into what he became. So consumed by this was he, that he destroyed everyone in his path, and used them as a means to an end.

"Well, the horrid man who started all of this was in love with the beautiful creature who remain beautiful. Yes, the other lovebird was still beautiful- call him Shane- but he didn't feel that way. No, he felt very jaded. But even still, he moved on, fell in love again- with the absolute wrong man- we'll call him Mark.

"Eventually Shane was able to find the strength to walk away from that abusive relationship, and he walked right into the arms of the man that had destroyed his love in the first place- we'll call him Hunter."

Again she stops the fucking recorder. "Why do you refer to everyone in the third person, Mr. McMahon?"

What a fucking idiot. "Because it's a fucking STORY, you reject!"

"No need for hostility. It was just a simple question." She starts the recorder again. Moron.

"They were happy. Hunter had changed from a bitter, sad man into an absolutely beautiful creature. Shane and Hunter were so damn happy it was almost disgusting. They spent every moment together and were blissfully happy and in love. At least Hunter was- Shane was trying to avoid the fact that he was still in love with Mark, if truth be told.

"All the while CJ was doing his damnedest to control anything and everything around him. When he caught wind of Shane and Hunter starting a beautiful relationship, he was simply livid. He still loved Shane, so he thought, but really wheat had happened is during the course of his hatred and obsession, he fell in love with Hunter."

Again she stops the damn thing. She's really beginning to piss me off.

"Before you fucking ask how I know this, he told me on his deathbed." Recorder starts again. I reiterate- FUCKING MORON.

"So he waited, he bid his time and waited to strike. When he saw the opportunity, he took it, and he knew just the man to carry out his evil plan- Mark. How CJ was supposed to get Hunter by using Mark wasn't really obvious at this time, but it almost worked... almost.

"Anyway... Mark had changed too, and he just couldn't help but believe CJ when he told him that Shane still loved him. He was really the innocent in all of this, and Shane *should* have known how this was going to turn out, but what can I say? Shane's an absolute fucktard." Recorder stops yet a-fucking-gain.

"Why do you call yourself names like that Mr.McMahon?" Because I hate myself you stupid moronic bitch.

"I didn't call myself that, I called Shane that."

"But you are Shane, are you not?" I really hate this question.

"No, I'm not 'Shane' anymore"

"Then who are you?" I don't answer her, and after about five minutes of silence I guess she figures I'm not going to, so she starts it again and I continue.

"Anyway, all Mark wanted was to get a house and a white picket fence. He approached Shane, Shane wanted him, and so he dropped Hunter like a god damned rock. Poor Hunter." Sarcasm much, Squirly?

"Well, once Mark and Shane were together, CJ used his cunning charm to plant his own seed of doubt and suspicion into Shane's head- they were old lovers after all, and really Shane had no idea how totally twisted CJ had become. Shane was also a nieve fucktard, you see, who sought solace in the form of heroin."

I pause to make sure she wasn't going to start the psychobabble bullshit again. She doesn't so I continue.

"Well, needless to say, Shane was the abusive one this go round with him and Mark, and finally Mark couldn't take it anymore, but instead of breaking free, he ran right into the beautifully evil arms of CJ.

"Shane fled, and Hunter followed. Hunter was still fucking in love with Shane and told him so. Now by this time Shane was clean and free from CJ- so he thought. Shane wouldn't allow himself to believe that he really was as in love with Hunter as Hunter was with him, so when CJ said that if he ever wanted to see Mark alive again, then he'd just have to bring him Hunter."

"How did 'CJ' know where 'Shane' was?"

"Because he's Ms. fucking Cleo's long lost twin! How the fuck do I know?!" Stupid whore's really starting to push the buttons now. "You know, this wasn't an easy decision on Shane's part, for he finally realized, too damn late I might add, that he was in fact in love with Hunter and not Mark. But anyway, I digress again...

"Well, Shane took Hunter to CJ, much to Hunter's surprise, and Mark left with Shane. Hunter didn't stay with CJ though, oh no no no no no. He told CJ to shove himself up his ass and left him there, very pissed and very rejected.

"But he always went back to CJ. God fucking knows why everyone always went back to him, but he sure as hell did. Shane just figured that it was because Hunter was trying to get back at him. I highly doubt CJ cared why, so long as he was in control of the whole damn thing."

"Did you resent CJ for that?"

"For what?"

"The fact that everyone, that *Hunter* went back to him."

Why thank you Cpt. Obvious for telling me my pants are on fire. Stupid fucking whitecoats! I ignore her and continue right where I left off.

"But then, the damnedest thing happened. One day, Hunter just didn't go back. He just didn't play CJ's bullshit game- one that Hunter taught him, by the way- and CJ was just beside himself."

"To make this already long prologue short, Hunter had his sites on Matt, so CJ retaliated by roping Skitz-Jeff- into thinking he was God. Duane and Mark dropped out of site and shit just got all fucked up from there." You know, because it wasn't already fucked up, right?

She stops the tape recorder and goes through some papers. I know what she's going through, so I just hit record and answer the questions I know are coming.

"Yes, it's was fucked up before them, no I'm not telling you anything else, and no I really don't think you want to hear it, nor do I think you'll be sane by the time you do. So if you want to know what happened after that, you are going to have to ask Skitz or Matt."

She just looks at me like the moron she is and I answer the next round of questions I know are coming.

"I'm called Squirly because I'm always- or at least I was then- strung out on something and bouncy. Jeff was called Skitz really only by me because he's a fucking schizophrenic psycho, at least he used to be. As for why Hunter had 'Blessed Father' carved into his chest, CJ had 'Stigmata Martyr' carved into his doll like body parts, and why Matt refers to himself as the 'Judas Ghost' you are just going to have to get that out of him. As for all of the Alice in Wonderland references, you're just going to have to go ask Alice, I think she'll know."

In truth, that has always been one of my favorite books, and hey, I'm a fucking drug addict as well as a completely psychotic whore, how could I forget about the Hooka smokin' caterpillar?

I smile coyly and take a drink from my glass, and wave toward the two-way mirror I know Alice-the other whitecoat moronic bitch who's working on this- is standing in front of before continuing.

"I will tell you this, though, Mary Ann, Hunter did fuck us Beautiful. Too bad he was right about the pretty things, though. "

With that thought I get up to leave for my cell, and I can't help but remember what today is.

Merry fucking Christmas, CJ. Hope the game was worth it

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