Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

Tourniquet	By : girlnextdoor Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 1590 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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2.
This was not how it was supposed to go. He should be kicking back in a classy pent-house suite, dining on the finest food and drinking the most expensive champagne; all after fighting his way through legions of adoring fans – with an obviously disproportionate number of females, naturally. Yet, here he was. Sprawled on tf anf an uncomfortable bed, in a cramped, generic hotel room with his new best friend, one Mr. Jack Daniels. His only friend for that matter. Gone were the days of hanging out with the others, being the life and soul of the party – it was some time since he had been Mr. Popularity. His success had done him no favours on that score.
Who was he now?
It was hard to tell. No one knew it was just an act – that it was all simply for show. The flashy clothes; the flamboyant confidence that was nothing short of pure arrogance; the desire to always take centre stage – it just wasn’t him, not really. If anyone could see him now, surely they would realise that. Surely the mere fact that he was not out living the high life, but alone in a pair of ripped, faded jeans and an old hockey shirt; not quite drunk, but a long way from sober - surely that would be enough to show them. Not that he would get any sympathy; but then, he wasn’t looking for any.
There was no point in denying the truth, to himself at least – his pride had got the better of him. He had wanted to be the best … well, that wasn’t strictly true. He was the best – what he had wanted was recognition; for everyone else to admit what he already believed. And he had got what he wanted. Only to find it sure was lonely at the top.
People had frequently told him his big mouth would get him more than he bargained for and they were right. He had always been self-assured, but, fuelled by his string of successes, that had transformed gradually into unadulterated arrogance. One by one, he had pushed his friends away, pushed himself deeper and deeper into isolation. And he tried to justify his actions by blaming what he had considered to be the petty jealousies of everyone else.
“Screw them.” he drawled aloud, “Who needs ‘em? Not me.”
But he no longer had the energy to muster either the anger or the malice needed for that statement to ring true. It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as well as everyone else – and it also seemed like he was failing miserably.
“I don' need anyone - fuck 'em!” he declared, pouring himself yet another glassful and eyeing the rich golden-brown liquid before setting it down in favour of a long drag straight from the bottle.
Wincing as the dark liquor burned a trail down his throat, he tried to force all the unwelcome thoughts from his mind, but found that they refused to go. At best, he could push them to the furthest reaches of his mind, but they had an alarming tendency to resurrect themselves and plague him more than ever. To make matters worse, he knew in his heart – yes, that same heart whose very existence he knew was now thrown frequently into question by his colleagues – he knew that he was blatantly lying. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit he had been wrong. He would have given anything for things to go back to the way they had been before, but he “didn’t do apologies”; never had. But then, he’d never really needed to before.
“Guess I wasn' always such a sorry sono'abitch then!” he informed the empty room, with a now truly drunken giggle. “No, siree!”
And anyway, he had no reason to think an apology would even have any effect. As far as his friends were concerned, it probably wouldn’t even begin to cut it; he had almost certainly burned his bridges long ago. Turning on them in order to further his own career was hardly likely to be something they would easily forget. Just as he – hard-hearted, bloody-minded shit that he was, or was supposed to be anyway – would take a very long time to forget the hurt in their eyes at his betrayal.
“Only wanned wha' I d'served.” he said stubbornly; but his heart wasn’t in it.
In a sudden flurry of anger, he picked up the glass with a growl and heaved it at the wall. Watching as it shattered and rained glass and alcohol down on the almost threadbare carpet, he managed a bitter laugh.
“Oh yeah, I’m KING O’ THE WORLD!” he hollered defiantly; but his head soon dropped into his hands as despair washed over him.
“Never wanned this.” he groaned faintly.
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