I feel really sad that this trilogy is coming to an end. I loved writing this and I'm really happy that some of you enjoyed this too. It makes writing so much easier when I know that people actually like it.
I hope you enjoy this as much as you've enjoyed the other two.
Once again Chris was laid out on his couch. The room was lit only by the flickering colours of the television screen. The sounds it gave were that of the latest teen sensation of MTV. The apartment smelled of stale cigarettes, sweat and aftershave.
Since the deaths of the TNA wrestlers and his girlfriend, Emily, and the second disappearance of John Cena, Chris's entire world had changed. He'd got out of the wrestling business, being in it made him and easy target for John. He hand left the home he had shared with Emily and had moved into a small, cheap apartment in Florida. He barely ever left his apartment. The only time he ever left it was to go to the ATM, go shopping for groceries or to buy cigarettes. He had taken up smoking to ease his boredom. Once a month he would go and visit Emily's grave; he'd get a cab and go to the cemetery where she was buried and sit for hours talking to her, or he would just sit and stare at the words upon her headstone.
He was back to being poor, destitute and alone. Except he wasn't poor, he was a millionaire. And this time he had chosen to live this way, the only reason for this, was John.
John. The word echoed through his head like a child's voice in a cave. Repeating over and over again, decreasing steadily until it eventually faded out. The problem was sometimes it didn't, it would grew louder with every waking second. This brought on painful images back to Chris, replaying like a movie in his brain.
John the performer. He was once a brilliant wrestler. Throwing himself and other people around the ring, fuelled by adrenaline prompted by the screaming fans. He had been a natural.
John the friend. He would give Chris advice and cheer him up in times of woe when something happened. John's smile could always cheer Chris up no matter what was going on.
John the killer. John the murderer. John the psychopath. Chris was forever scarred with three images of the other side of John. There was the image of John stood over him the first time round, telling him that it was all his fault; a look of pure hatred embedded deep within his eyes. The image of John stood in Chris's room, second's after he had ended Dustin Rhodes' existence; a cruel, callous smirk upon his beautiful face. The final image of John was the look on his face after he had ripped Chris's heart apart.
John the lover. There were too many images of this John to count. Chris had never loved or been loved like that before. Happiness knew no boundaries, bliss had no walls, ecstasy had no barriers. There was never an unhappy moment with this John. John's voice could make Chris's heart skip a beat as it whispered into his impatient ears. The feel of John's touch upon his flesh could make Chris's entire being burn with pleasure, as if a naked flame had
been placed within his body. Yes, John knew exactly how to touch Chris, he had the power to make Chris go weak at the knees and tingle with desire. He'd never had such good sex or orgasmed as hard as he had with his first and only male partner, not even Emily had been able to make him feel that good. He had felt safe and loved in John's arms and he could still feel them wrapped around him.
Chris allowed his mind to go into overdrive and was hit with every conceivable memory, as if a wave was washing over him. His head let him feel the touch and emotions that he hadn't experienced in almost three years. He could feel hands caressing his arms, the touch powder light. His lips burned red hot with anticipation as he felt John's tongue dance over them. His lips reddened and swelled with excitement as John brought his mouth down to Chris's. They kissed, Chris arching his back to force himself further into John's lips, hungrily wanting more. John sucked gently on Chris's bottom lip teasing him, making Chris arch is back more so that he could feel John against both lips.
Chris's body jolted as a foreign noise entered his fantasies, yanking his unwilling mind back into the cruel reality that was life. The noise came again as Chris struggled to quell his stiffness so he could answer the door. He pulled the door open, concealing his dying erection behind it. A young Hispanic guy stood holding a carrier bag in his hand.
"Hey, Mr Irvine, that'll be 12.90," the guy held out the bag to the man he served every week.
"Keep the change," Chris muttered, handing the guy a twenty dollar bill and taking the carrier from him.
Chris now sat, still staring at MTV, but now with a full stomach. In front of him lay the remains of greasy, overcooked rice and chicken in something that barely qualified as a sauce. He swigged the final mouthful of beer and rose from the couch he had occupied for most of the day. Clicking off the television, he made his way to his room. He stripped himself of his trousers and tee shirt, leaving him in nothing but white boxers. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, he rested his head on his hands and stared at the floor. After a time he looked up and took hold of his beloved guitar.
You turned on so easily
I'm sad to see you go
At least now I know
That I've gotta keep moving
You're living off my sweat
The devil's on my back
And these are days that I've dreamed about
But you're always there to remind me
That you're my
All that we had
Has gone away
There are times
That fade away
But you'll still be mine
The song used is Enemy by Fozzy
Next chapter will be up tomorrow afternoon (GMT)