Title: Memories and Ghosts
Pairing: mentions of CM Punk/Chris Sabin, CM Punk/Colt Cabana friendship
Disclaimer: Everything from Ring of Honor belongs to Gabe Sapolsky and Cary Silkin. The wrestlers belong to themselves.
Distribution: If you want it, take it, but let me know where.
Summary: The events that led Punk to walk away
I wince as Colt cleans out another cut. I don't make any sound because my throat is raw from screaming. I'm somewhat soothed by his gentle murmuring as he cleans out the cuts to make sure they don't get infected. The cold porcelain of the tub is off set by the feel of his legs on the outside of mine as he kneels to get to my back. Thankfully his weight doesn't press me further into the tub with the shape I'm in tonight.
I'm too weak to move, much less hold both our weights. When I called him, I wasn't able to say anything into the phone; I just ended up knocking it off the cradle and was barely able to dial to call him in the first place. When he came in to see if I was ok, he found me face down, covered in blood from the cuts on my back. I weakly shook my head when he mentioned getting me to the hospital. I can tell he doesn't like it, but I'm glad he's going with me on this. Somewhere he learned how to pick up deadweight, because I wasn't able to help much when he picked me up and moved me to the tub.
The feeling of him stopping brings me to the present, and then he starts again. Ow. The feel of the soap, water and washcloth is almost as bad as being cut in the first place. But at least Colt isn't a suck fuck that gets off cutting others, and whispering dirty things into their ears while they scream.
I had heard rumors about what a sick fuck Chris was, but discounted them as locker room bull shit. Evidently I should have paid more attention to what I heard. He caught me by surprise tonight, and cuffed me before I knew what was happening. From the amount of blood I can feel, I seem to bleed as much from my back as my head when I blade for matches.
When I hear the sound of something hitting a trash can, I know that he tossed the wash cloth and from the lack of heat I know that he went to get another one. I have a feeling that the sheets are going to join the first washcloth in being trashed. I severely doubt that anything will be able to get that much blood out of my sheets. I can feel the heat of his legs out side of mine again, lower than before. The upper to middle part of my back hurts less than before.
In the murmuring I hear Colt say that he hopes that I won't go back to the bastard. He has nothing to worry about. I plan to walk away and never look back. It was a one sided mistake that I don't plan to repeat again, and I also don't plan to put myself in a position to be hurt again, emotionally or physically.